Ian Fineman - The Queens of Comedy: Amy Schumer, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler, and Chelsea Handler

The Queens of Comedy: Amy Schumer, Tina Fey,Amy Poehler, Chelsea Handler

By Ian Fineman

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Amy Schumer

Part 1: The One and Only Amy

Sitting inside the comedy club Zanies inRosemont, Illinois was Michelle Fantor. An aspiring comic fromupstate New York, Fantor recalls an evening about seven years priorin Manhattan.

We are all hanging around the bar newpeople to one another laughing, carrying on and there was onegirl in particular who was just extremely funny and real, Fantoradmits. She was just really easy going and I thought she was thereto see a friend or maybe another standup perform, and when I asked,she was like No, Im doing a set here in a bit. That was AmySchumer. The girl at the bar was the same girl on the stage. Therewas literally no discernible difference. She was raw, she was sweetand innocent but also very strong on her own two feet. I loved herright away.

Ask anyone who has ever known Amy Schumer personally or fleetingly and they all say the same thing. Thereare no affectations about Amy Schumer. Nothing contrived. Nothingovertly aesthetic. Nothing fake. Amy Schumer is one of the fewperformers in recent show businesses memory to cultivate asuccessful career by truly being herself even when some toldSchumer she was crazy for investing so much of her time into tryingto become a stand-up.

Audiences like what they see too. And theyhave been applauding Schumer around the county for years now, butonly after her spring 2014 speech at the Gloria Awards and Gala --hosted by the Ms. Foundation for Women did audiences realize justhow legitimately genuine and personal Schumer is on stage.

Below is a transcript of Amys rarely heardspeech that evening:

Right before I left for college, I wasrunning my high school. Feel it. I knew where to park, I knew whereto get the best chicken-cutlet sandwich, I knew which custodianshad pot. People knew me. They liked me. I was an athlete and a goodfriend. I felt pretty, I felt funny, I felt sane. Then I got tocollege in Maryland. My school was voted number one ... for thehottest freshman girls in Playboy that year. And not because of me.All of a sudden, being witty and charismatic didn't mean shit. Dayafter day, I could feel the confidence drain from my body. I wasnot what these guys wanted. They wanted thinner, blonder, dumber... My sassy one-liners were only working on the cafeteriaemployees, who I was visiting all too frequently, tacking on notthe Freshman 15, but the 30, in record-breaking time, which led mymother to make comments over winter break like, "You look healthy!"I was getting no male attention, and I'm embarrassed to say, it waskilling me.

But one guy paid me some attention Matt.Matt was six feet tall, he looked like a grown-up von Trapp child,and he was five years older than me. What?! An older boy, payingattention to me? I must be okay. Uff. I made him laugh in our biolab, and I could tell a couple times that we had a vibe. He was asuper senior, which is a sexy way of saying "should have graduated,but needed an extra year." He barely spoke, which was perfect forall the projecting I had planned for him. We grew up in the sametown, and getting attention from him felt like success. When Iwould see him on campus, my heart would race, and I would smile ashe passed. I'd look in the mirror and see all the blood rise to myface. I'd spend time analyzing the interaction, and planning myoutfit for the next time I saw him. I wanted him to call. He nevercalled. But then finally, he called.

It was 8 a.m., my dorm room phone rang."Amy, wassup? It's Matt. Come over." Holy shit! This is it, Ithought. He woke up thinking about me! He realized we're meant tostart a life together! Let's just stop all this pretending that weweren't free just to love one another! I wondered, would we raiseour kids in the town we both grew up in, or has he taken a likingto Baltimore? I don't care. I'll settle wherever he's mostcomfortable. Will he want to raise our kids Jewish? Who cares? Ishaved my legs in the sink, I splashed some water under my armpits,and my randomly assigned Albanian roommate stared at me from underher sheets as I rushed around our shitty dorm room. I ran rightover to his place, ready for our day together. What would we do?It's still early enough, maybe we're going fishing? Or maybe hismom's in town, and he wanted me to join them for breakfast.Knock-knock. Is he going to carry me over the threshold? I bet he'sfixing his hair and telling his mom, "Be cool, this may be theone!" I'll be very sweet with her, but assert myself, so shedoesn't think she's completely in charge of all the holiday dinnerswe're going to plan together. I'll call her by her first name, too,so she knows she can't mess with me. "Rita! I'm going to make thegreen bean casserole this year, and that's that!" Knock-knock. Ringring. Where is he?

Finally, the door opens. It's Matt, but notreally. He's there, but not really. His face is kind of distorted,and his eyes seem like he can't focus on me. He's actually tryingto see me from the side, like a shark. "Hey!" he yells, too loud,and gives me a hug, too hard. He's fucking wasted. I'm not thefirst person he thought of that morning. I'm the last person hecalled that night. I wonder, how many girls didn't answer before hegot to fat freshman me? Am I in his phone as Schumer? Probably. ButI was here, and I wanted to be held and touched and felt desired,despite everything. I wanted to be with him. I imagined us oncampus together, holding hands, proving, "Look! I am lovable! Andthis cool older guy likes me!" I can't be the troll doll I'm afraidI've become.

He put on some music, and we got in bed. Asthat sexy maneuver where the guy pushes you on the bed, you know,like, "I'm taking the wheel on this one. Now I'm going to blow yourmind," which is almost never followed up with anything. He smelledlike skunk microwaved with cheeseburgers, which I planned onfinding and eating in the bathroom, as soon as he was asleep. Wetried kissing. His 9 a.m. shadow was scratching my face I knewit'd look like I had fruit-punch mouth for days after. Hisalcohol-swollen mouth, I felt like I was being tongued by someonewho had just been given Novocain. I felt faceless, and nameless. Iwas just a warm body, and I was freezing cold. His fingers pokedinside me like they had lost their keys in there. And then came thesex, and I use that word very loosely. His penis was so soft, itfelt like one of those de-stress things that slips from your hand?So he was pushing aggressively into my thigh, and during thisfailed penetration, I looked around the room to try and distractmyself or God willing, disassociate. What's on the wall? A Scarfaceposter, of course. Mandatory. Anything else? That's it? ThisIrish-Catholic son of bank teller who played JV soccer and didMathletes feels the most connection with a Cuban refugee drug lord.The place looked like it was decorated by an overeager set designerwho took the note "temporary and without substance" too far.