Bust Magazine - Fall 1999

An Interview with Upright Citizens Brigade's Amy Poehler
by Tori Galore photo by Danielle St. Laurent

(Click on images for larger version.)

Experiencing truly brilliant improv comedy is like sitting in the front car of a really smart roller coaster ride with no stretches of straight track. Right now in America, no one is offering a more exhilarating ride than the Upright Citizens Brigade [UCB]. And Amy Poehler, the 28-year-old lone female of this four-person comedy troupe, is one of the most rapier-witted women out there. She is a comedienne-slash-actress nurtured on the wild energy of the Chicago improv scene, and her excellence has been touted by her peers, who acknowledge the new standard she's set. This universal awe and respect for her work is only compounded by the fact that everyone I've ever spoken to has a huge crush on her. Including me.

Do you like your body?
Yeah. It took me a really long time, though.

How would you describe it?
Like a 15-year-old boy's.

How much of your body's femaleness do you bring to the work you do in improv?
I don't think very much. Especially when I improvise, I try to be very neutral. And also the context and the tone of [UCB] is very masculine. When I get on-stage, I never want to think about how I look. A couple of characters this season on the show have had big boobs or we've had to put hip pads in with these birdseed pouches, and it really does make you feel totally different. I'd stare at [myself] thinking, "Wowww..." because I've always had to compensate for how I felt about myself by making fun of myself. When you look through old yearbooks and you see the class clowns, the boy is great at making fun of other people, and the girl is great at making fun of herself. I grew up a real tomboy, and all my T-shirts and sweatshirts would be really stretched out from pulling them away from me because I was so flat-chested. I was always very sensitive about not looking very womanly and not having any hips; I was the pool party, shirt-over-the-bathing-suit girl. Then I learned to be really into it, because I thought, I'm very lucky that I'm small and I don't have to worry about what a lot of my friends worry about: their weight, a terribly unfair thing, even in comedy. You look at all these women being told to lose weight, then you look at all these fat jolly bald ugly guys and it's a joke.

Conversely, it's also terribly biased that an attractive woman sometimes has to downplay her girlish looks to be considered serious about her work.
Right. I have friends who are really attractive and it hurts them because people also don't think they can be funny. Is it unfair? Yes. Is it new? No. Will it ever go away? No. So, you have to decide.

I've noticed that you never play the gender card, except when a particular character necessitates it. Why?
It just limits you. I was thinking about the adage that vanity has no place in comedy; you have to allow yourself to be fat and ugly. Women, sometimes, limit themselves in comedy because they don't want to do that.

I've also noticed that you wear T-shirts, sneakers, minimal make up--a no frills look.
When you're asking the audience to accept that you're someone else, clothing can be a huge distraction. The times that I've taught improv, I've told women, "You're just way too sexy, which isn't helping you in any way, and guess why you're always playing the hot girlfriend?"

How important is your body to your craft?
To me, it's important that I can manipulate it. I like the UCB because we're a real physical group. We push each other a lot, get down on the ground and roll around. Because I work with good people, I forget how short I am on-stage, how light I am, and don't realize it until I watch the videotapes of our shows. "Oh my God, I'm so fucking short!" I'm incredibly self-conscious about my body.

In what way?
I'm always afraid that people are going to think that I'm trying to look good. I'm not comfortable with the sexy part of things, that's never really been who I am. I'm just all about comfort.

Do you think there's room to combine comfort with your girlie side?
When I first started improvising, I didn't want to do girlie scenes, so I forced myself to play the fireman and the construction worker. But since then, I've relaxed.

Would you ever want to be a guy for a year?
No. I really like being a woman. I usually find men to be pretty transparent and disappointing. [Laughs.]

Would you be offended if someone described you as beautiful?
No. It would be a complete lie if I were to say I was offended by that. When I find someone funny and I think that they're talented or brave in some way, that makes them attractive to me, regardless of how they look.

It's still nice to hear, though.
Absolutely, but not as important as "I think you're funny." I'm not courageous enough to not care at all about that stuff. But in this business, I don't want to be categorized with the women who are pretty and funny. Do you know what I mean? Growing up, I was always attracted to the Gilda Radners of the world who never seemed too pretty to laugh with. Catherine O'Hara is a good example of someone who's really beautiful, but her appearance is never what her comedy is about. Nowadays, it's like, "isn't it really amazing that this beautiful woman can tell a fart joke?" I hate that; it's just so boring. When I did [a different] pilot, this woman wanted me to wear a padded bra.

What did you think about that?
If the joke of the scene is that I have big tits, then I'll wear it, but if it's just for me to have bigger tits, I don't want to wear it. Does every show have to be like Friends where everyone is hot and funny? Don't you lose something when you focus that much on being hot?

What would you tell the funny sidekick in high school right now?
Start writing. Write your own stuff because no one's going to write anything for you. Perform only with people you get along with, because life is too short. Write about what you know. Find your distinctive voice. Don't be so adaptable to what your boyfriend thinks is funny; remember that you're rock solid. Make yourself laugh. If you're funny, it doesn't matter what you look like.

Upright Citizens Brigade can be seen weekly on Comedy Central.