Brian Regan

He takes up a lot of space. He paces the stage like a frustrated coach, leading with his chest, shifting his weight from foot to foot. He uses his voice to do heavy lifting, dropping into a low, gravelly boom or whining in a high register when he plays a petulant kid. When he acts out an eye exam or a spelling bee, he scrunches his face into a look of genuine panic. He is intensely physical, playing both sides of an ordinary conversation until someone starts yelling.

He occupies a rare position in standup. He works clean, but he is closely watched by comics who work dirty. He plays massive theaters on sheer momentum, having built his audience over decades on the road rather than through network television deals.

He plays a guy who is proudly, defensively wrong. He routinely positions himself as the dumbest person in any situation, baffled by shipping options, serving sizes, or emergency room pain scales. He avoids long narrative arcs in favor of short, self-contained scenes. You aren’t hearing his takes on society; you are watching him try to understand how a refrigerator works and getting angry at it.

His supporting role as a recovering addict in the series Loudermilk made it obvious how much sheer acting goes into his standup, where he is always playing a slightly slower, deeply confused version of himself.