For Nick Thune, Storytelling Runs in the Family

Stand-up comedians require a certain kind of demon to do the work—or at least that’s been the generalizing trait associated with the form and its players for many a year. Think of Richard Lewis’s brooding neuroses or Chris Rock’s simmering indignation. Nick Thune doesn’t have as much to go on in that department, so he impertinently blamed his father in his 2014 special Folk Hero. “Give me something to build off,” Thune joked at the time, “give me a reason to drink.” No such luck.
If the stable, well-rounded and supportive existence Thune’s father provided didn’t prepare his son for comedy, at least his storytelling did. “My dad is such a great storyteller and I wanted to try and do what he can do,” Thune says over the phone, his voice edging past groggy after celebrating his birthday the previous evening. His newest special, Good Guy, which premieres on Seeso on December 22nd, achieves that goal by working with only three stories: the time he accidentally got his dog super high, what he’d do as a backup career, and the long, winding and insulting road to discovering his baby’s sex. If his father failed to ante up with the demons, he at least modeled the best way to keep an audience captivated across such lengthy escapades. “The way that I can best explain it is if you’re at a restaurant with eight people and someone’s in the middle of telling a story, and then a waiter comes to take everybody’s order, it’s kinda hard to come back from that, as far as a story goes,” Thune explains. “If my dad is telling a story, the second the waiter leaves, everybody turns and looks at him, and says, ‘You were saying, Eric?’ He has a way about him that people want to listen.”
Coming at a time when attention spans seem on thin ice and quick, energetic pacing can be the saving grace for many a comedian, Thune wants to push his comedy in a different direction. “I like the idea of making obscenely long stories interesting, and hopefully they came out that way,” he says. Good Guy’s form shifts dramatically from how he used to perform on stage. Back then, he stood in front of the mic while playing guitar and delivering punchline after punchline reliant upon wordplay. The point was never to make musical comedy, but to use the guitar as a prop in order to bolster the astute if borderline smarmy character he portrayed onstage. “It buffered who I was as a performer; I couldn’t be me,” he says. “It was almost bulletproof. Like there’s no problems with him. He’s making funny ideas and good choices where the real person isn’t.”
But it would take a serendipitous, if painful, moment to force him to try something else. He broke his arm. Getting out in front of audiences without his buffer made him rethink his entire act. “I finally realized without the guitar I was so vulnerable and I could be myself, and it was fun and exciting in a way it hadn’t felt,” he says. In the right creative hands, being uncomfortable breeds a refreshing kind of funny. What resulted were a series of humorous anecdotes that he refined in bits and pieces on The Tonight Show, Conan and elsewhere until he shaped them into the three narratives that appear in Good Guy. “There was even a thing, like ‘Should I even do these on the special since I did them on the show?’” he admits. “But they obviously became a lot bigger and different.”