Stream It Or Skip It: ‘Sam Morril: Same Time Tomorrow’ On Netflix, A Comedian Who Recognizes That Sometimes Your Outrage Is Insincere

Sam Morril is a case study in proving his worth to the streaming giants by first making his own stand-up specials and projects and releasing them free on YouTube. Netflix’s top comedy programmer Robbie Praw singled Morril out earlier this year in a Decider interview, so it’s no surprise to find Morril’s latest special on Netflix.

SAM MORRIL: SAME TIME TOMORROW: STREAM IT OR SKIP IT?

The Gist: Even if you haven’t seen Morril before, there’s a good chance you’ve heard him. It’s his voice telling jokes (from his actual act) as Joaquin Phoenix’s Joker waits to take the stage at an open mic.

Morril also just launched a podcast, Games With Names, with former Super Bowl MVP Julian Edelman, a pairing that makes more sense if you live in New York City, where the comedian hosted a talk show on MSG back in 2017. He’s been perhaps even more prolific in the pandemic. His February 2020 special, I Got This, released for free on Comedy Central’s YouTube channel, has chalked up more than 11 million views. That fall, Morril put out a pandemic special stitching together rooftop performances, Up on the Roof, attracting more than 1.85 million views on his personal YouTube channel. Then in 2021, he starred in and released a YouTube documentary about New York City comedy clubs slowly opening back up to Full Capacity.

Morril made it onto Netflix earlier this year, performing a quick set and getting interviewed by David Letterman for That’s My Time with David Letterman.

What Comedy Specials Will It Remind You Of?: With a raspy voice, an edgy attitude and a penchant for punchlines, Morril falls somewhere between his contemporary Mark Normand and an idol such as Dave Attell.

Memorable Jokes: Filmed at The Den Theatre in Chicago this June, Morril gives you a sense of his sensibilities straight from the jump, saying: “Finally, a shooting in Chicago that doesn’t involve a teenager. This is gonna be great.” He uses that launch line to pivot quickly into multiple jokes about cops, teachers, and the show COPS.

Morril isn’t afraid to wade into the political/cultural debates of the day, although he often stakes out a position as the middleman, an island set apart from the outrage.

He suggests we simply presume any old movie is problematic by virtue of its age, that we cannot cancel an author who’s already dead, and that a friend ranting about a trans swimmer winning college races is insincere because who cares about women’s swimming?

While some comedians rush to defend or criticize one of their own in Dave Chappelle, Morril asks them to spend their time more wisely. “Dave is doing great. He flies private. He performs in arenas, and he makes $24 million a special. You borrowed money from your mother recently. Focus on you.”

Morril seems more concerned over the poisonous, addictive nature of social media, saying “TikTok is crack” with an algorithm designed specifically to keep you staring at your phone, then wondering what happened to your time afterward.

It’s a peculiarly ironic bit, considering the staging of this special, which not only includes the types of crowd work bits that comedians love to post on TikTok and Instagram, but also subtitles the audience replies in bold block letters, much like you’d see them expressed on social media.

Our Take: At one point, Morril mockingly suggests he should call this special 9/11 Abortion Holocaust, which could both describe three of his routines as well as reliably set expectations for unwary viewers.

In truth, the title he chose comes from a bit about Morril confronting his disgust about looking at porn online. It’s joke with tags leading down a dark, disturbing rabbit hole that leads past pedophiles, the Catholic Church, Jewishness, and the homoerotic experiences of pubescent boys.

Morril tries to brighten the mood by comparing his ability to defend his taste in movies to his proficiency with sex, then comparing the plot of a superhero movie to that of a special needs kid. To which he even admits is a joke that bombed in five straight shows in Portland, Ore., but somehow killed in St. Louis. So he fully understands the fickleness of audiences. Moreover, he even wants to give you an out, imagining a guy in the crowd on his first date, whispering: “This is disgusting.”

But Morril also openly acknowledges he’s in therapy. And if you were paying close enough attention to his act, you could’ve probably figured that out already.

Our Call: STREAM IT. There are two refreshing surprises to Netflix’s first stand-up offering in September: 1) that a comedian can say the word “cancelling” without trying to claim victimhood or cultural oppression, and 2) that an hour of stand-up really only needs to be about 45 minutes. Just like the old-school comedy-club rules.

Sean L. McCarthy works the comedy beat for his own digital newspaper, The Comic’s Comic; before that, for actual newspapers. Based in NYC but will travel anywhere for the scoop: Ice cream or news. He also tweets @thecomicscomic and podcasts half-hour episodes with comedians revealing origin stories: The Comic’s Comic Presents Last Things First.