"Bachelorette" Premieres at Sundance, Draws Inevitable Comparisons

By WICF Editor Liz McKeon


Writer-Director Leslye Headland's movie based on her off-Broaday play premiered last night in Park City, and the comparisons are blowing up my inbox this morning: "Is Bachelorette a Bridesmaids rip-off? No? OK, then, will the general viewing public see it that way?" ... and so on, and so on, ad nauseam.


To be honest, I expected the next female-driven ensemble comedy to get the Bridesmaids comparison, because the movie-going audience has been trained to view comedies featuring women — hell, even all movies featuring women — as niche entries, and not as showcases for silver screen-representatives of roughly half the population. I just didn't expect the next big movie to be a movie about bridesmaids. Makes my job standing on this soapbox a little bit harder. 

Photo from theberry.com.

I'll stand up here anyway, though. If a comedy can't cover the ground around what is purported to be one of life's seminal events without being called a copy, well, what I have to say is that weddings have been covered in film before, and they'll be covered again. As The New York Times reports, Headland told the Sundance press, “I admit that I am a little concerned about expectations ... My movie is nasty, dark, complicated and a little bizarre. If people come in expecting Bridesmaids they may have a heart attack. Or they might hate it and leave.”

Reuters makes their peace with the film by invoking the name of the great master of generationally iconic, yet in-hindsight-remarkably-un-P.C. '80s odes to the Baby Boomers, John Hughes. “I was mad our generation didn’t have an iconic movie, so I decided to make one,” [Headland] said at the Eccles Theater, wearing a studded black dress that could have walked out of the 1980s. “I wanted to make a movie for us, about people like us. Isla is really just a drunk Molly Ringwald."


After reading the initial responses from the press, I'm struck by the thought that they're doing exactly what I'm doing, just for a less women-centered audience. They're trying to head off the comparisons before those critiques can really take root. Comedies by and about women should be presented as comedies first, and, hopefully, we're getting to that place. In the end, I think the quote The L.A. Times' movie blog "24 Frames" says it best, "The director told 24 Frames before the festival she didn't mind the comparison as much as you might think: "I look at it a little like Bonnie & Clyde in 1967," she said. "You have a movie that gets everyone's attention and all these comparisons are drawn, and they're not always right. But then it's like, 'Thank God, let's make more movies like that.'"

My Trouble With Tina

By WICF Contributor Meghan O'Keefe

Little, Brown & Co.

I’m beginning to get very worried about reading Tina Fey’s Bossypants.

The more and more I hear about Tina Fey’s personal opinions about feminism and comedy writing, the more I get weird knots in my stomach. As I get older, I’m finding myself disagreeing more and more with her and as someone who’s primary comedic (and life) influence is Tina Fey, that’s slightly worrying.

Let me back up. I should start by saying that Tina Fey literally changed my life. Before Tina Fey was on Weekend Update, I had a very specific understanding of what a nerdy, quiet brunette who wore glasses and wrote for her high school newspaper could accomplish in life. I was a good girl. I was a smart girl. I was probably going to be a journalist, teacher or book editor. It would be a good life, but one that was based upon honoring rules to a fault. Because I’m a good girl, breaking rules scares me. Order provides security and security provides happiness. When Tina Fey shot to national recognition as the first female head writer of “Saturday Night Live” and co-anchor of Weekend Update, it was as though a huge door had opened for me in my life. A smart girl who loved playing by the rules could bend those rules if she was smart, hard-working and funny. I had had a breakthrough moment like that before. When I was young, I saw Jennifer Saunders ride an airport luggage conveyor belt in an episode of “Absolutely Fabulous.” Something clicked back then in my head: You could break the rules if you were doing it for a laugh. I was a geeky girl in Delaware, though. I couldn’t look at the foreign and fabulous Saunders and see myself in her. But when I read an article about Tina Fey and discovered that she grew up less than a thirty-minute drive away from me and was editor of her high school newspaper as well, I finally felt a kinship with a female comedian. It wasn’t crazy for me to want to be funny; it was natural. I started writing comedy and performing improv. By expressing myself through those art forms, I finally found an inner confidence I’d always lacked and forged friendships with true kindred spirits. Every happiness I have now in life I owe in some respect to comedy, and I owe comedy to Tina Fey.

Meghan, once she became
comfortable as a comedian.

The danger with having one person inspire you to pursue a craft is that you tend to think they are the end-all be-all when it comes to how to approach that art form. In high school, I tried to write poetry like Emily Dickinson and short stories like Katherine Mansfield. I still find myself approaching satire with a Fey-like bite. Somehow, I was lucky enough to know early on I could never be exactly like Tina Fey. She had stated several times that she felt safer and more confident in glasses; I feel more self-assured wearing contacts. That sounds like a really dumb and superficial difference, but it created a crack between how I saw myself and how I saw myself relating to Fey. I knew I would never, ever be exactly like her. I still look at my sketch writing and notice it might be hindered by trying to evoke Fey’s sharpness too much. My sense of humor is deeply rooted in the same mesh of silly and smart that she brings every week to “30 Rock.” However, my voice as a stand up and my opinions as a woman seem very different from Fey.

Maybe the reason I’m worried about what her opinions on feminism and comedy writing are is because she is undoubtedly one of the few women whose opinions on those subjects are widely respected. Fey currently stands as the most successful and, at least, most visible, female comedy writer in America. Her opinion does matter, and because there isn’t another woman who’s obtained her level of notoriety to enter the argument, that opinion becomes fact. Everyone defers to her because, frankly, there’s no one else to defer to. So when, as a young woman and aspiring comedy writer, I find myself disagreeing with a lot of her opinions on womanhood and comedy writing, it puts me on uncomfortable ground. If someone who’s older and wiser has certain opinions on subjects based on life experience, then I, as a neophyte, should certainly defer to them. Right?

Meghan O'Keefe!

Wrong. If Tina Fey has taught me anything, it’s that it’s important to have faith that your point of view as a female comedy writer is important because it’s different from a man’s. Going further, it’s even more important if my point of view as a female comedy writer is different from other female comedy writers, because that means that the diversity of female voices in comedy is equal to the diversity of male voices in comedy. You can’t tell me that Larry David and Adam McKay and Louis CK and Dave Chappelle all approach humor with the same perspective. If they did, comedy would be incredibly boring. The best comedians respect other as writers and performers. They try to learn from each other, but they stay true to what makes them unique. Likewise, female writers should strive to learn from Fey’s example, but also work to step out of her shadow. The biggest thing I’ve learned from Fey’s career is that you need to approach your comedy writing with discipline and intelligence. Unlike Fey, I think sharks and robots are really funny and slut-shaming is kind of in poor taste.

Tina Fey will never stop influencing my work. Even last week, three of the four articles I had published online* referenced Fey in some capacity. As role models go, she’s pretty amazing. So far, she has managed to balance life as a wife and mother while pioneering a new role for women in comedy. I’m really lucky to have someone like her to look up to, but that looking up to someone doesn’t mean that we always have to see eye-to-eye.

Oh, and I’m still probably going to read Bossypants and obsess over it.

*I wrote a review of "30 Rock," an essay about Mean Girls (and Clueless), and Fey came up in an interview I did with Jessi Klein.


Reblogged with permission from Meghan's Tumblr, "Meghan is Okay. Just Okay. It's Cool." Meghan O'Keefe is a comedian in NYC.

Welcome to WICF 2011!

By WICF Editor Liz McKeon


This is it — the first of five days of laugh-out-loud comedy presented by the Women in Comedy Festival!

Here's why I love WICF: Both the festival and this attendant blog provide women with a safe, amazingly productive space to let loose and create incredibly funny work. WICF extends that offer of a place in which to play to men. We embrace lesbian, gay, bi, and transgender comedians. WICF is a queer-friendly festival. WICF is a woman-friendly festival. WICF is a male-friendly festival. And, above all, WICF is a damn funny comedy festival!

WICF does not purport to be the voice of women in comedy. Instead, it's a place to showcase that voice, to let it shine. Nothing drives me crazier than when someone takes a piece they've seen on stage or online from WICF and holds it up as "the" opinion of all women in comedy. How could we possibly provide anyone with the single opinion of every women in comedy? That would be impossible, women make up, give or take, half the population. A large percentage of that half is made up of funny, funny people. And they certainly don't all agree with each other. It is, in fact, the opposite of what we do. WICF isn't the voice of women in comedy, it's a platform for all women in comedy to make their voices heard. It's a platform for everyone in comedy to make his or her voice heard.

And here's our opening salvo:

Women in Comedy Festival (WICF) 2011 Trailer from WICF 2011, directed and edited by Sasha Goldberg. Music by Jacob Lipcon.

Buy WICF 2011 Tickets Here
Register For Workshops Here

The Jaime Sommers Theory of Bionic Improvisers

By WICF Contributor Pam Victor
(Pam will be performing with The Ha-Ha's this Thursday at WICF in "Shrink: Where Freud Meets Funny!)

“Maybe it's about how moms are naturally good at giving others the spotlight. The tendency to let their little ones shine and be the best they can be translates really well into improv. The mothers that I've improvised with, for the most part, rarely steal a scene in a selfish way, and are more often than not contributing in major ways to another actor's moment.”
– Scott Braidman, Experienced Improviser and Teacher

Scott could be right. Perhaps it is the nourishing, womb-like embraces of all our fellow players. Like a short, big-breasted Jewish bubbe who never sits down to eat the meal she has been up since 3 a.m. to prepare. “No, you eat, bubala. Don’t worry about me. (sigh) I’ll be fine licking up the crumbs you leave behind when you’re done.” But maybe there’s a little more to it than that.

Maybe moms make good improvisers because of special superpowers bestowed upon us. Call it luck. Call it a convergence of biology. Call it karmic reward for dealing with gag-inducing diaper explosions in the middle of a wedding reception that have you eyeing the cleansing rivulets of the champagne fountain with alternative motives. Any way you split the stream, many moms rock the improv stage in a way under-recognized by the dominant class of white boy improvisers (with the noted and appreciated exception of Scott Braidman). Why? May I present to you the Jaime Sommers Theory: Improvising moms are bionic.

First of all, moms bring to the stage their freakish strength. You’ve heard the story of the mom who lifts a bus to get it off her child. Personally, I’ve given up my career to raise my kids. Those twerps are a huge fucking investment, man. Do you seriously think I wouldn’t gladly rip your head from your shoulders like a Fruit Roll-Up from its wrapper if you so much as look sideways at my kid? You better believe moms who improvise bring that same intensity to their scene work. Improvising battling aliens with spaghetti is small potatoes when you possess the superhuman powers to lift an actual 10-ton Mack truck.

In addition, a mom’s senses are refined to a ninja-like sharpness. Once, when I was pregnant, I was driving by a café at 55 mph with all the windows rolled up when I said to my single/no kids friend, “Boy, they are frying up a whole mess of food in that restaurant!”

My friend was like, “What the fuck is wrong with your face? How can you smell that?” I just shrugged. How could she not smell that? Like I said, bionic.

When my son was a baby, I could hear him before he started crying. I could see so well I was friggin’ echo-locating. That’s how finely tuned my senses became. And I still have a superpower ability to send out an Expanding Radar of Potential Dangers within a three-mile radius of my kids. “At 11:47 tomorrow afternoon,” I could tell my kid. “You’ll be walking by a counter that has a very sharp-looking edge. Be careful.”

And everyone knows the strength of a mom’s right arm when the car is coming to a quick stop. That badass human seatbelt swings out to brace the passenger at lightning speed that surely defies the laws of physics. Newton didn’t even attempt to figure that shit out. So it would seem an improvising mom brings to the stage extra-powered senses and strength unbound by natural principles. Surely that skill set adds something distinct to one’s improv tool box, no?

On top of that, most improv comedy moms aren’t exactly shy. When you’ve had three people with pointed instruments staring at your twat, everything seems somehow less risqué. A mom enlivens the stage with that energy: “Bring it on, bitches. There ain’t nothing you can throw at me that is scarier than extruding a human head from my magnolia.”

Finally, as Rachel Klein smartly noted in a previous post on the WICF blog, when a mom comes to improvise, she ain’t there to fool around. At rehearsal and performance, I feel like I’m Tim Robbins bubbling up out of that pipe-full of poop in Shawshank Redemption. I am free! Free, I tell you. So let’s play hard and work harder, ‘cause the warden is hot on my trail.

Badass photo of the bionic Pam Victor,
credit: Megan Brantley.

Sure, moms might be good improvisers because of our selfless care-taking abilities. But maybe it’s also our superpowers too. Fierceness. Strength. Heightened senses. Braveness. Look, little people literally have shit on our party dresses. Everything from there on out is just plain fun.



Pam Victor is the founding member of The Ha-Ha’s (formerly The Ha-Ha Sisterhood). She produces Happier Valley Comedy Shows. Pam writes mostly humorous, mostly true essays and reviews of books, movies and tea on her blog, "My Nephew is a Poodle."

My Mother, the Comedian: A Life, with Kids, in Comedy

By WICF Contributor Rachel Klein


"Confessions of a Juggler," Tina Fey's article on working moms in the entertainment world and the rude questions which are so often posed to them, has touched off a storm of words within the blogosphere. WICF contributor Rachel Klein has her own compelling take on being a mom, being a comedian, and putting together the puzzle pieces of a life onstage. "Confessions of a Juggler," Tina Fey, The New Yorker, February 14 & 21, 2011, pp. 64-67.

Let’s get this out of the way right from the start: I am done having children. Contrary to what some people who clearly just got out of a time machine from the 1950s ask, I’m not interested in “trying one more time for a boy.” I don’t miss nursing, or changing diapers, or waking up every two hours in the middle of the night to feed a human being the secretions of my own body. When all of my friends are finally sending their kids of to their first days of kindergarten, I’ll be dropping mine off at college, and I can’t freaking wait. I also don’t regret having children when I was twenty-four, or getting married when I was twenty-two. I love my husband. I love my kids. Plus they’re always saying awesome stuff like, “Harry Potter is basically just Luke Skywalker, right?” and “I hope Nicholas Cage’s daughter appreciates what he went through to bring her that bunny!” And there’s something else: I don’t regret the time I took off from comedy, because it was those life experiences that I had in the intervening years that have given me my unique comedic perspective.

It’s a little strange, feeling like the people I perform with every day are very much my peers, and yet so disconnected from one of the most important parts of my life experience. And it goes both ways. When my twenty-something friends ask for dating advice, I tell them the seemingly shocking truth that I literally never dated as an adult, and so, were I to give them advice, I’d probably just try to recall what Rachel did in a “Friends” episode or something. They, for their part, don’t know what it’s like to have to negotiate nights out with your husband, since any night you are gone at rehearsal, or a show, or “team bonding” is a night that you are asking him to stay home with the children—or pay $60 for a babysitter to do it. I once had the members of my improv team in Chicago literally chip in five bucks each so that I would stay another few hours with them at the bar when I complained about how much the babysitter was going to cost. Being a wife and mother in comedy is not really living two different lives; it’s cramming the commitments, relationships, and ambitions of two lives into one life-sausage. And sometimes it’s a tight squeeze.

Rachel and her beautiful girls

A few years ago I was coaching a high school improv team. One night we had particularly low numbers at rehearsal, and no one had let me know beforehand they’d be out. I launched into a tirade about how every moment I was choosing to be with them was a moment I was spending away from my children. That I was okay with making that choice if I knew the time would be well spent, but that I wasn’t going to tolerate them just blowing me off because they were watching “Gossip Girl” and couldn’t be bothered to make it out to rehearsal. The next week the student leaders made a reminder notice with a picture of my kids (that they’d found on my blog) and the copy: “What are you doing Wednesday night? Spending it with your children? Ms. Klein isn’t. Feel the guilt.”

Everyone showed up.

But, I will say this: there is something about the crystalline clarity that the life I live provides. Because every choice carries with it such a clear set of options, and because every moment I’m choosing one thing I love I’m actively choosing to spend time away from something else I love. I make my choices wisely. I don’t have time to not love what I’m doing, and whom I’m doing it with.

That’s led me to create a Harold team at ImprovBoston, Maxitor, consisting of like-minded performers with passions and empathies that match their talents. When I choose each week to spend time rehearsing and performing with them, it feels like the right choice. It’s time away from my family, but it’s time that enriches my life, and I bring that feeling back home. One of my favorite questions I get asked by my sleepy kids when I come home from a show is, “Were you funny?” Of course, my other favorite question they ask at those times is, “Why do you smell like pine trees?” (The answers to those questions, of course, are “yes” and “gin”, respectively.)

Of course, the reality is that there are a lot of great opportunities I pass up because they would just push too far into the time I’ve already set aside to be with family. And the opportunities I do take on beyond my regularly-scheduled rehearsals and performances have to be carefully chosen and planned for. When I choose to go to an improv festival, I have to plan for my children to have playdates, for their lessons to be rescheduled, and for all this to happen without my husband feeling overwhelmed by a weekend of single parenting. And my experience at that festival, or show, or rehearsal, is heightened by my understanding of all of the sacrifices and rearrangements and compromises that went into making it possible. Of course, it’s also heightened by the all-night rager involving way too many people crammed into my hotel room until way too early in the morning, drinking PBRs chilled in the bathroom sink — but that’s a different kind of heightening.

Really, though, what I’m talking about is a feeling I think anyone who pursues a life in comedy feels. As my friend and teammate Natalie Baseman recently said to a group of students for whom we performed at a local school when they asked us why we seemed to be having so much fun onstage, “None of us get paid to do what we do, so we have to do it because we love it.” Comedy, like any art form, is a labor of love. Sort of like being a mom.

Rachel Klein began in comedy in college, performing with The University of Chicago's Off Off Campus. After a fi ve year getting-married/baby-making hiatus, she returned to the stage at the Second City Conservatory and with the Harold team Chopper at the iO theater in Chicago. She joined ImprovBoston when she moved to Boston in 2008, and currently coaches and performs with t he Harold team Maxitor. She was in the cast of the popular ImprovBoston showcase show This I mprovised Life, and has directed and performed in several other groups and shows in the Boston area. She also teaches improv at ImprovBoston and Gann Academy, where she teaches English. Rachel blogs about the comedy that is motherhood at accidentalfeminist.com, and her comedy writing has been featured on the popular humor website McSweeney's Internet Tendency.

From a BIF 2

By Guest Blogger Pam Victor

      T.J. Jagodowski said something along these lines in the must-see documentary Trust Us, This is All Made Up, “I need improv a lot more than improv needs me.”

       Word.
       Improv has me by the short hairs and it ain’t letting go any time soon.

These are the thoughts going through my mind as I’m driving down a dark, country road at midnight on Thursday night, on my way home after performing with “That’s What She Said” at the Boston Improv Festival. What else would compel me to drive four hours for a 25-minute experience? It’s an addiction, plain and simple, and there is little I wouldn’t do – aside from blow a guy for money – to get my improv fix. The sad fact is a $20 blow job is all that separates me from a crack ‘ho.

And it’s not like I can just roll out of bed and into the car. An entire day of little-by-little preparations goes into facilitating my ability to perform at night. I am a married homeschooling mother of two living in western Massachusetts. Performing at the Boston Improv Festival requires making dinner for the kids, renting them a marathon-length movie (The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers, baby!), collecting eggs from the chicken coop, feeding the dog and cats, getting my mom to watch the kids, leaving a page of instructions on the academic work they need to do, and crawling out from under a small hill of guilt that I’m abandoning my kids just to go make funny with people I like. (Are moms even allowed to do that???) Not to mention the gentle mew-mews I need to make in my husband’s ear to soften his realization that tomorrow I will be leaving him for the entire weekend so I can take workshops and watch enough improv to fill me. Come to think of it (no pun intended), it takes a fair number of blow jobs keep him contented enough to blur the image of me quietly closing the door behind me on Saturday morning. So I guess if you want to get technical, the only difference between me and a crack ‘ho is that I do it for free. But of course I should be used to that by now. I’m an improviser.

But who the hell cares? As I’m on stage, I’m living in the zone of single-minded Zen presence where I can Be Here Now. On stage, there are no kids, no husbands, no chickens, no dirty dishes waiting for me at home. I’m at one with the Universe and connected to Moment. And I’m alive, so alive. It’s all worth it. T.J. was so right. Fuckin’ improv, man.

Pam Victor is the founding member of The Ha-Ha’s (formerly The Ha-Ha Sisterhood). She produces Happier Valley Comedy Shows and PV Comedy Jams. Pam writes mostly humorous, mostly true essays, quickies and reviews on her blog, “My Nephew is a Poodle.”

WICF chats with ITV Festival Director, Jenny Tesler

This month, WICF interviews ITV Fest Director, Jenny Tesler. Want advice on what makes or breaks a pilot's submission to the festival? Read on!

AJ Tesler, Executive Director, and Jenny Tesler, Festival Director, at the 2009 Independent Television Festival.

What is your experience/relationship with comedy in general?
I have a love/hate relationship with comedy.  I love performing, I hate the anxiety before an improv show.  My comedy experience started at the Second City LA conservatory, from there I studied at the Groundlings and then the Upright Citizens Brigade LA.  All three training centers were vastly different from each other in style, I always felt there was something to learn.

How do you feel gender plays a role in comedy?
It depends what we are talking about.  I spent three years performing in a weekly show at Second City LA and the women in the show were strong and supportive of each other.  I'm the Festival Director for the Independent Television Festival now and have noticed that other mediums, such as Web Content and TV are different.  There is a strong majority of submissions that we receive that are male dominated.  I'm pleasantly surprised when we receive a submission that has a strong female lead...it's refreshing.  The world of comedy seems to be dominated by men, so I'm a big proponent of women being strong and making their presence known.

You are a working woman in "the industry."  Any tips for women who want to succeed in the industry as well?
I'm not sure if I have any tips, but I do have some cliches.  Just do it.  Don't give up.  Keep on keeping on.  If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.  They're cliches for a reason...they're true.  Focus on what you believe in and you don't have to listen to everyone who gives their opinion unless everyone's opinion is the same.  In that case, you may want to listen and adjust a little.  Side bar...your mother's opinion doesn't really count at all.  Side Bar to side bar...the previous side bar only refers to comedy.   Listen to your mother about everything else.

What is the most exciting part about working on the ITV Festival?
The most exciting part about working on the  ITVFestival is meeting the pilotmakers for the first time.  The day of pilotmaker orientation, everyone is excited and anxious to have their projects screen.  Most pilotmakers don't know each  other on that day, but by the end of the week, business relationships and friendships have formed.  There is a feeling of community...that's the best part.

Any overall observations about women's submissions to the festival? 
There is a subtle difference between a show that has been written by a male than by a female.  Women tend to show women in a positive way, with more layers.   There were two shows this year at ITVFest that were female driven, both written by women with a female lead.  Temporary Life and Merrime.com were both shows that I would watch if they were on TV because the female leads were well rounded, endearing and funny.

What do you think makes or breaks a Pilot submission to the ITV Festival? 
Each pilot is judged on production value, writing, directing, acting, and serial potential.  We are looking for projects that are creative, new, innovative and produced with some level of professionalism.  If you can achieve all that, you will have a successful pilot.  Oh, and story and character are important too.

Is there a common problem you see in submissions that you want to just take people by the shoulders and SHAKE them for?
Yes.  I don't think most people realize how important casting is.  There have been several shows that have been good ideas, but the acting was terrible.  This makes a show hard to watch, which means, if the producer of the show can't even cast it, then how can they sell it.  If you live in LA or NY, then you have no excuse for not finding good actors.  If you don't, then go to your local theater, I'm sure those actors would love the opportunity.  Another common problem is trying to make an entire pilot out of a sketch.  Sometimes this works.  Sometimes there's a reason sketches are 3 minutes long.

Don't shake the baby!
I'm not sure if you are insinuating that I would be a bad mom, but I do agree that shaking babies is bad.

How has your experience in improv and comedy helped you in what you do today?
My experience with improv and comedy has opened my eyes to many styles of comedy.  I can appreciate comedy for comedy's sake.  I also think I have a better eye for what works than I used to.  It helps me separate the good from the bad.

You have really nice teeth. Sorry, I guess that's not a question.
Thanks.  I had braces in middle school, I didn't wear my retainer, so now I might get invisalign to straighten them again.  If I had only known then what I know now, I would have worn my retainer and not kissed that boy Tommy.

Who are some comedians that you admire?
I am a fan of Christopher Guest, so the obvious players would be Jane Lynch, Catherine O'Hare, Jennifer Coolidge, and Parker Posey.  My other favorites would be Francis McDormand, Tina Fey, Kay Cannon, Amy Poehler, Lisa Kudrow, Gilda Radner, and Meryl Streep.  I think everyone should always say they admire Meryl Streep, no matter what.  She's probably one of the best of everything, steel worker, cop, lawyer, you name it.

How do you think women have changed/affected the comedy industry?
I think that the industry is constantly changing for the better.  I actually think women are running it now.  Most TV executives are women, some of the best shows on tv are written by women and every great male comedian wants a female counterpart that is on par or better.   Women even write better Evite comments.


Check out Jenny in her various projects, including the ITV Fest!
Independent Television Festival
Jenny on Funny or Die

Thanks, Jenny!

- Raero