Laurie Kilmartin walks onstage, assumes the Larry Craig “wide stance,” and then crosses the line separating civility and comedy — not because she’s vicious but because it’s her job.
Using a sharp tongue instead of a steak knife, the mom in Kilmartin carefully cuts stinging social commentary into sound-bite-size wisecracks, the easier to feed them to connoisseurs of sarcasm.
But even then, judging from the what-did-she-just-say-can-we-laugh-at-this? reaction of many audience members listening to Kilmartin record Five Minutes to Myself, her new CD from Rooftop Comedy Productions, some people still find it hard to swallow rips on abortion, racial stereotypes and, yes, rape. Well, lighten up, people, and listen up: Kilmartin is adorably grim.
’Fess up, overworked, undervalued moms everywhere: Like Kilmartin, you secretly want to scream at your bellyaching brood, Go to your womb! She calls out men for being what most of them are: impervious jerks-in-progress, though she sensitively lessens the blow by using a rubber mallet instead of a pickax to bludgeon the oblivious brotherhood.
By fearlessly probing her netherworld – and exposing it publicly – on Five Minutes to Myself, Kilmartin twist-ties together 24 horrifyingly uproarious tracks instead of creating just another string of jokes.
Buy Laurie Kilmartin’s Five Minutes to Myself.