In his new national tour — which stopped by The Englert Theater on November 13th — comedian Dan Soder labels himself the “Golden Retriever of Comedy.” Going in, we thought that might mean his routine was a bit more lighthearted and family-friendly than your traditional stand-up set.
We were wrong. But that doesn’t mean the description isn’t apt in a different way. Dan Soder, much like a golden retriever, is affably stupid.
This isn’t a dig at Soder; in fact, he said this himself multiple times during his routine. Several of his jokes hinged on his supposed stupidity, from him sheepishly admitting to the audience that he thought “the city” would clean out his grandmother’s house after she passed to mistaking Iowa for Wisconsin in terms of the latter’s considerable population of serial killers. He approached a wide variety of topics in this signature style, finding humor in everything from hair transplants to true crime podcasts to misadventures with his friend’s dogs. This approach to comedy — something along the lines of “confused, but happy to be here” — seems to work very well for Soder, and when he’s on stage, it’s patently clear that he is in his element. He had a very relaxed stage presence, often laughing at his own jokes with the audience. When one section or person in the crowd seemed to respond more to a joke than the rest, he often turned to them as if acknowledging them directly, a personal touch that definitely contributed to his “golden retriever” energy.
But what is to be gained from the comedy of a golden retriever?
As co-writer Bodhi noted upon walking into the theater that night, comedy is uniquely hard to write about. The only thing it really needs to do is make you laugh, so finding any nuance in a joke can be sisyphean, a futile attempt to be sincere in an ironic medium. The jokes were funny, sure, but what does it mean? Why does Dan Soder sell out shows? Why do people find what he has to say funny?
In 2016, one of the most popular comedians was Dave Chappelle. He’s since lost his goodwill with many, but it’s still possible to learn from his style of comedy. Back then, what he said was not only funny, but it also provided nuanced commentary on society. It felt like it was actually informing people, not only making them laugh. This is what makes a comedian stand out from their peers: the ability to speak their mind and tell an impactful story. In a way, a comedian’s punchlines are secondary to the messages they tell between their jokes.
Following this framework, Dan Soder, between the lines, is a reflection of his audience. Most of the people in attendance at the Englert that night were rural, working-class white Americans, and his comedy seemed to speak to them on a deep level. He talked to the audience as if we were sitting around a bonfire together, sharing a beer, telling funny stories. The plainness of his speech and his often crass delivery invited us to see him as a friend, not a performer. In the later parts of his routine, he touched on topics like animal abuse and alcoholism, living in a single-parent household, and growing up poor. He talks about his traumatic childhood so cavalierly that it’s almost as if he assumes you understand where he’s coming from— and a large part of his audience does.
Dan Soder may not have any great revelations hidden within his comedy, but he clearly still works as a comedian. He delivers his material in a way that makes him immediately relatable and likeable. You laugh with him because he’s your friend.
Much like a golden retriever, his attitude is overwhelmingly positive, and we find him a net positive for comedy. He speaks to his audience in a way that fosters genuine connection, and he made every person in the crowd that night just a little happier— including us.
Co-written by Bodhi Brent and Bailey Vergara
