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this scene seems to say.
Its just like she said!
This kind of footage returns throughout the special, woven in between scenes of Orjis stand-up performance.
Heres a talking-head interview with her parents, teasing her material about parental expectations.
Heres a scene where she asks for directions, right after a riff on how Nigerians cant give directions.
In each of these, documentary scenes are spliced with scenes of a filmed comedy performance.
They underline the expectation and value of personal access.
Maybe most frustrating is that documentary footage rarely makes a comedy special funnier.
You may know the comedian better now, but that doesnt mean you laughed more.
Stand-up comedy is ripe for the uneasy, false collapse of the personal and the performance.
And in docucomedy, filmmakers are eager to show receipts.
But while that impulse is certainly understandable, the need for it is regrettable.
Orji onstage is so buoyant, so magnetic.
There is less time to breathe between sections of material, less time to react to what was said.
Those documentary insertions rob us of the opportunity to see the full extent of Orjis greatness.
An hour of comedy is a mountain to climb.
Great comedy maintains its own internal pressures and releases.
Documentary insertions disrupt that flow; they are too-easy relief valves.
There are ways to make this kind of hybrid form work.
It still interrupts the experience of watching Gulman onstage.
Theres nothing wrong with parasocial relationships.
