by Janine Harouni arrives at her local pub in east London with a small white dog, Charles Barkley, “born with fur” in tow. It is a frosty day and, in a wonderful winter scene, we find seats near an open fire. Charles looks for strokes from me but ends up yelling at a passing man.
“He doesn’t like men as much as women,” says the US comedian and actor, “he wants to protect us.” Charles has been much more protective lately, even guarding the front door, because three months ago Harouni gave birth to her son.
What does maternity leave look like for a standup comedian? “It’s a lot like not taking maternity leave,” says Staten Island native Harouni. “A week after the baby was born, I was making noises. I’m in Manchester and Oxford, filming. You can’t say it’s not working.”
That wasn’t all negative. “A lot of people say you lose your identity. But really, it’s changing, and it’s a difficult adjustment to make,” she says. “To go back to work, which I love, it feels like I haven’t lost that part of myself.”
Harouni is gearing up to take his latest Edinburgh comedy award-nominated show, Man’oushe, on the road. A year ago, it started as a show about preparing for parenthood. But as 2023 drew to a close, with her miscarriage, then the death of her friend and collaborator Adam Brace, “it was a show about the worst year of my life and trying to make whatever sense I could out of that.” “.
When she committed to last year’s Edinburgh festival, it was soon after the miscarriage and she found out she was pregnant again. Harouni didn’t know what would happen in the coming months, so she signed up. She wanted to talk about her miscarriage: “I thought I knew what a miscarriage was, but then I went through one. It’s much more painful than I could have imagined.”
There was secrecy and shame. “Part of my shame is: well, this wasn’t a real child, so why would I be so sad?” she says. “I’m very pro-abortion, but it was a child that was wanted. My brain was sending me mixed signals. In our culture, there is no funeral, you don’t name the child, it’s like it never really happened. But really, it felt like my child had died.”
Harouni’s miscarriage happened between her eight and 12 week scans, when we are asked to keep a pregnancy secret. “You should tell everyone,” says Harouni. “Because if you miscarry, you need a support network.”
His instinct for exploring difficult personal experiences on stage was developed, not innate. Most people think that the stand is always a solo effort; Harouni worked with Brace, a writer and director who shaped hits, behind the scenes, such as Alex Edelman’s hit stand-up and Liz Kingsman’s Olivier-nominated One Woman Show. Brace helped expand his thinking about what he could stand for and encouraged Harouni to allow quiet moments between the punch lines. “It’s so unnatural for me to be vulnerable,” she says. “It’s uncomfortable to be serious.”
When you are pregnant, you are huge. It felt powerful to be so big
In Stand Up With Janine Harouni (Please Stay seated), Harouni’s 2019 debut, which earned her a best newcomer nomination in Edinburgh, she explored the complicated relationship with her father, the son of a Lebanese immigrant who supports Trump. She also recounted one of the most difficult times in her life, when her parents nursed her back to health after a car accident that left her unable to walk. Brace encouraged her to include the story of the car accident: “I was very resistant. But it pushed me, and that show was a lot funnier because that piece is there.”
Harouni started standing later than most, in his late 20s. It wasn’t her first taste of acting, though – when seven-year-old Harouni saw Annie on Broadway, “I went to my mom and was like: ‘I want to do that.'” She participated in the Staten Island Children’s Theater Group until 18 years of age. Eventually, a place at the London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art (Lamda) brought her to the UK. “I thought I was going to do Shakespeare plays at the Globe,” she says. After graduating, she was cast as Julia in the West End production in 1984. When that finished, “I was unemployed for almost a year and I thought: OK, this it’s what being an actor is all about. I’d say it’s auditions, but you’re lucky to even get an audition.”
She got a taste of comedy when she and two Lamda friends, Meg Salter and Sally O’Leary, started writing sketches together as Muriel. Over lock, She is asking for it – by satirizing the victim-blaming line often directed at women who have been assaulted – received 125m views.
Standup felt like an opportunity to regain control of her career after a dry spell. Trump’s jokes and comments to his parents from New York went down well and she was soon entering the finals of the competition. Awards evoke mixed feelings among comedians, but “it helps you get paid”, says Harouni. “There’s a voice in my head that keeps telling me I’m not good. Having external validation helps.”
On the outskirts of Edinburgh last year, she performed Man’oushe six nights a week and was eight months pregnant, getting closer to her due date. “As women we don’t take up much space in the world and we are not directly encouraged to do so. When you are pregnant, you are fucking huge. It felt very empowering to be that big,” she says.
It also gave the subject of miscarriage a hint of hope – the audience could see that it was not the end of the story. Harouni was, of course, delighted that her pregnancy continued but was also struck by the inequality – it meant having hundreds of injections and tablets. “And all my husband had to do was cum!”
On stage, Harouni finds humor in the biggest side effects of pregnancy, and how unprepared she was for them: “I was one of the most miserable pregnant women. I complained about everything.” Each night, she asks an audience member to share their own weird side effects. “People think it’s a women’s issue, but it’s so important to talk about it, especially in front of men. ,” she says.
It felt right to start talking about Brace in the show too – it was about everything he taught her about the value of vulnerability. “If anything, it felt weird to be on stage and not talk about the grieving process.”
She learned of Brace’s death aged just 43, due to complications from a stroke, while traveling to preview his show last April. Grief, especially in the UK, says Harouni, can feel very private. While that’s true for some people, “for me, I like it when people bring it up, I like talking about it, because it’s on my mind all the time anyway,” she says. “It was very comforting to talk about him when he was grieving. The amount of people who came up to me after the show and experienced a similar loss made me feel less alone.”
Harouni shaped the pain into a show about love, loss and parenthood. She reflects on her Lebanese heritage – her grandmother, after whom she is named, was a successful singer in Lebanon working with the Arabic music great Fairuz, but she sacrificed her career to move to the US, “and give opportunities for his unsuccessful children. living in the land of warthors”, says Harouni. “We are both immigrants. We are both performers. I wanted to portray her experience.”
Brace was a parent in his own way, Harouni says on stage: he shaped so many comedy careers, so many peerless shows. “It was so nice to be on the edge and see Adam’s echoes,” Harouni’s voice says. “It felt like he was still alive because what he taught us all still applied. It was the best.”
Jokes, and joy, cut through the adversity. “Comedy and tragedy go hand in hand. Even though I talk about losing a friend and losing a child, I try to end the show with hope and love,” she says.
Now that her son is here, Harouni has shared new jokes about him and his caesarean delivery. He has reached the age where he smiles and laughs – it’s easy to find hope in that. “I like to make people laugh,” says Harouni. “But I am love laughing at him.”
Janine Harouni tour 14 January until February 26; The Manchester tour begins.
