‘It feels so taboo’: Natalie Palamides on playing two halves of a toxic couple and her shocking next offer | comedy

SHe’s the toast of Off-Broadway now but nothing about the early work of Los Angeles clown Natalie Palamedes screamed mainstream darling. In her debut show Laid, a bizarre take on maternal anxiety that won her Best Newcomer at the Edinburgh Comedy Awards, she gave birth to eggs and then broke them on stage. In her second film, Nate, she cross-dressed as a beer-drinking character for a sexual assault and consent workshop with her astonished audience. Who would have guessed that this loose cannon would soon be the clown coach of Hillary and Chelsea Clinton, on Gutsy? Who then saw an extended race in New York City, packed with celebrity attendees?

“Drew Barrymore came, Kevin Bacon came,” Palamides says in a video call from her native California. “Sabrina Carpenter came in: That was crazy. Dua Lipa, Nathan Felder, Neil Patrick Harris.” The show was Weer, and was running (until shortly before Christmas) at the “birthplace of Off-Broadway”, the Cherry Lane Theatre, recently relaunched by hip film studio A24. When we speak, Palamides, 36, is suffering from the flu, her body’s revenge for three months of marathoning. “I thought a month would be the longest I’d ever do it,” she growled. “It takes a lot of physical endurance to get to the show.”

Premiering in Edinburgh in 2024, Weer is based on the gender-bending character Nate, and stars Palamides as two halves of a romantic comedy couple. And when I say “halves,” I mean it: one half of her face and body plays Mark (patterned shirt; facial hair), and the other, Christina (fluffy pink shirt; flowing locks). This hot mess of the show returns from a car accident to witness the three-year period of their relationship, with Palamedes now flirting and making up with herself, now fighting and abusing herself. It’s an iconic performance showcase, all in the name of outrageous entertainment and a warped celebration of ’90s romantic comedies.

Even putting on makeup and costumes each night takes several hours, she says, not to mention the exhausting solo role. “I made sure to take good care of myself,” she says. “I do biotherapy and red light therapy every day.” She’s convalescing in Los Angeles, and would like a break – but the show’s UK return is on the horizon, and it’s another chance for London audiences (and perhaps celebrities too) to see what the off-Broadway buzz is all about.

What chord does Palamedes think Weir has struck with audiences? “I hope it’s the rollercoaster ride element that makes them feel so drawn to the show,” she says. “Being able to have big laughs and joy and then also feel those tender, vulnerable moments.”

“When I was making it, I went to see The Notebook on Broadway. Not to chase anyone, but it’s one of the most successful romantic movies ever. And it was very frustrating how they did it on stage. In the movie, when they kissed in the rain, it was very watered down, they were finally back together. But on stage, you couldn’t have that feeling, and they didn’t create any tension with them being apart and wanting each other. ” Weer will be different. “I was determined that all those emotions you feel while watching those films would be in my show.”

Mission accomplished – and more. Weer is not just a tribute to romantic comedy, it is also a critique, hiding (like most of Palamides’ work) under the skin of assumptions and mores about gender. “I wanted to explore how in most romantic comedies that are fueled by our culture, the relationships are toxic, but you still encourage them to be together. Was it possible to show the audience a more intense, toxic relationship, and see if the audience still wanted them to be together?”

It’s an investigation that cements Palamedes’ place, alongside her old mentor Phil “Dr. Brown” Berger, at the spearhead of the current clown boom. As well as her own performances, and a starring voice-over role in the animated sitcom The Powerpuff Girls, she directed Bill O’Neill’s slapstick comedy The Amazing Banana Brothers, is developing Lady Magic’s cabaret (staged at last year’s Edinburgh Festival) for a residency in Las Vegas – and has been invited by the Clintons to teach them physical comedy for their TV series. She is also now planning a screen version of Weer.

“I have no idea how it happened,” Palamedes says of her status as the most comedic fool. “I just keep persevering and trying to make good art.” Although she’d love to take some downtime, Palamides is debuting a new solo project at the Netflix Is a Joke Festival in May — and if you were expecting to cash in on her latest success, you’ll be disappointed. The next idea, she says, “is not palatable. It’s very disgusting. It’s based on a character I’ve played many times.” [on stage] The one who says she is pregnant with the Second Coming, gives birth to a raw steak, beats her until she stops crying, and then eats it.”

“I’m afraid to do it, because I was raised Catholic. I was very afraid of Satan and demons when I was growing up. It seems like it’s taboo to delve into that area.” But taboos are the currency of Palamedes: this is a clown who trades less in red noses, and more in red flags. Whether she’s flying it into Weir or the carnival of sacrilege that will follow, good luck keeping your eyes off her.