Even the great ones bomb. Such was the case when comedian Maria Bamford returned to the University of Minnesota on May 14 as the keynote speaker for her alma mater's split graduation ceremonies for the College of Liberal Arts in Mariucci Arena. The first one went fine; the second did not.
Truth be told, the lackluster response had much to do with the audio-challenged hockey arena, a venue where the only surefire laugh is Goldy Gopher riding a Zamboni. But like a pro, Bamford accepted the bulk of the blame.
"It's always me," she said a few hours later, after swapping out a cap and gown for floral-imprinted casual wear. "Sure, the morning crowd might have been more lively, but maybe I was livelier, too."
It's the season for prominent figures to share advice and personal stories through commencement speeches, in hopes that students will retain some pearl of wisdom following their final college kegger.
Facebook Chief Operating Officer Sheryl Sandberg used her time at Virginia Tech to speak on loss and grief. Arnold Schwarzenegger told Houston University grads that the self-made man is a myth. At USC, Will Ferrell spoke about the importance of giving to charities, then launched into a rendition of "I Will Always Love You."
For Bamford, exposing her personal side is old hat. As pointed out by her "warmup act" — College of Liberal Arts Dean John Coleman, who did an accidental impression of the monotone teacher in "Ferris Bueller's Day Off" — few comedians working today are as open as Bamford. Her willingness to explore her addictions and battles with depression (she was in a treatment center during her own 1993 graduation) is a primary reason that her Netflix series "Lady Dynamite" was renewed for a second season and that Rolling Stone recently named her one of our 50 funniest people.
But the Duluth native still found the experience enriching, especially a Q&A session with a few dozen theater majors that followed the stuffy pomp and circumstance.
"I found myself saying stuff I wanted to say to myself, listening to my own advice," Bamford commented as students filed out of the black box theater in Rarig Center. "You're talking and you're thinking, 'Oh, right. I remember why this is so much fun.' "