It says a lot about the magnificence of Katherine Ryan, Judi Love and Rosie Jones that the first time they properly met was when they were part of a lineup playing Wembley. It was 2019, and the three comedians were featuring in a Comic Relief night. Their paths would cross professionally – “It’s a small world for the females in the industry,” says Love – but not really socially. All were busy with their own projects plus, points out Ryan, she and Love have children. “And Rosie’s got dates,” says Love. “A packed sexual calendar,” adds Ryan, and Jones leans back and guffaws (she doesn’t deny it). They laugh at each other’s jokes, hug each other goodbye, avoid talking over each other – you’d think they’ve been close friends for years. But that’s not the case – don’t forget Covid happened not long after they met, says Jones. And on most TV panel shows “it’s still a case of ‘we’ve got one lady’ so it means that we don’t get to do the same TV shows”.
Now, finally, they are working together properly (and have become great friends in the process) on new Comedy Central show Out of Order. Jones hosts, Ryan and Love are team captains, and it’s all based round a group of members of the public, known as “Rosie’s Regulars”, being ranked from least to most likely across a number of categories. If this sounds basic on the page, imagine Love getting up close to examine a man with four nipples, or a four-times-married regular explaining where her relationships went wrong.
“You build a relationship with them,” says Love of the regulars, “which was nice because the show does touch on stereotypes and perceptions, but with fun and laughter.” It exposed their own biases, says Ryan. “I definitely am not as good a judge as I thought I was. People really surprised me and I learned not to make snap judgments, because most of mine were wrong.”
The regulars – eccentric, hilarious, interesting – feel the equals of the celebrity guests. “They make it,” says Jones. “That’s what I’m so proud of, that we got the range of the UK bottled up, people from different backgrounds, different places, just coming and having fun.”
It was important, she says, that however chaotic and filthy and funny the show was (and it is), the underlying feeling was one of empathy. With the regulars, “it would have been very easy to mock them, make fun of them, but we loved them so much”. This has only just occurred to her, says Ryan, looking at Jones sitting next to her in a Guardian meeting room, “but Rosie very cleverly curated a panel of comedians, as well as regulars, who were mostly minorities in some way and had been on the receiving end, probably, of something nasty – ableism, sexism, racism.” It changed the tone. “When you hear comedians, or podcast hosts especially, say: ‘You can’t say anything any more,’ we said everything, but we did it with the intention of fun, comedy and kindness.”
The three comics are all too aware that representation of this kind isn’t the norm in comedy. When Ryan, who is Canadian, first came to the UK, she says that when watching comedy panel shows, “it didn’t jump out to me straight away that it was loads of male, privately educated, mostly white men who were coming from a very similar perspective. Then slowly, it started to look very strange, and now I would look at something like that and go: this isn’t what the UK looks like.”
For Love, at first she was grateful for any opportunity to be on TV, after grafting at open mic nights. “It’s not until you’re in the studio and you’re seeing people that you’ve wanted to work with or you admire, you think: should I be in this space? You question it for a bit. That’s why it’s really important to see people that you feel represent you, other women, and that’s why this show, for me anyway, was really empowering.” The three clearly have a lot of love for each other, and the show. “I hope that comes across,” says Ryan, then adds with a smile, “also, it will make the right people angry.”
Every time Jones is on TV she gets abuse, she says. Ryan adds: “I didn’t realise what that abuse was like until I was tagged on loads of things with you [on social media].” Love agrees. “Naively, I didn’t know you got so much abuse. I get a lot of abuse and I ignore it, but I just thought: flippin’ ’eck.” How does it affect her?
“I’d be lying if I said it didn’t upset me,” says Jones, “but luckily I am surrounded by such a strong network of brilliant friends, family, colleagues who support me. Do I need a thick skin? Yes, I bloody do. But I’m able to switch it off, I don’t look at social media when I’m on TV and I focus on the positives – on the people coming up to me saying: ‘I’ve never seen disability portrayed like you do,’ or if they are disabled, coming up to me and saying: ‘Thank you for making us feel seen and worthy and valid.’”
When Jones was asked to host, and given control over many of the decisions, she says: “I never wanted people to go: ‘Great, we’ve got a gay, disabled woman hosting, now let’s pat ourselves on the back and fill it with straight white men.’ I wanted to see that diversity throughout – the production team, the regulars, the guests – because I fundamentally believe we make a better show if we have loads of different voices.” A trainee scheme was set up to give underrepresented people a chance to get into the industry (Jones was a TV researcher before she became a comic). “We had two disabled trainees, it was their first job in TV and that was so important to me because I know how hard it is to start in the television industry when you’ve got a disability.”
Jones has plenty of experience of how difficult TV sets can be to navigate as a disabled performer. She has been on sets where she has managed, but she adds: “If I had a different disability, or my cerebral palsy was slightly more severe, that would create more problems.” As a result, when she had a say in Out of Order’s set design it was to ensure it was fully accessible. But this is just the starting point. Widening access is also, she points out, about working conditions, with filming usually involving long days.
“I am concerned that if [most TV shows] had a talent with a disability who said: ‘I can only work four hours a day,’ I’m not sure they could facilitate that. So then we get into the murky area of people working longer and harder than their bodies can cope with, and we get into exhaustion, burnout.”
However, she has noticed more awareness and inclusion. “Out of Order was long studio days but when I said I can only do two days in a row, they listened to that and adapted it. I’m now established, though. Would [TV companies] have the money and means to do that for a newer comedian? It’s a problem in general – we are people having to navigate a world that isn’t set up for us. I spend a lot of my time and energy fitting into a non-disabled world, and over time that is so exhausting.”
Love and Ryan were her first choice of team captains. “I didn’t know you, but I thought you were incredible, and that opinion has just grown,” she says, looking at them both. It wasn’t deliberate to create a female-led show, she says, but that’s what happened – the production team is also women-dominated, and did change the atmosphere, thinks Jones: “For me, definitely, there was a level of care that I’ve not felt on another panel show. They got it.”
Love agrees. “There’s just things that we understand, and in those moments we would be a bit more nurturing, so you don’t have to feel like I’m that mum on the panel that’s going to say: ‘What time is it going to finish?’ because I’ve got childcare.” She found the experience inspiring. “I think what’s so beautiful is that we’ve all got our own voices. But it was just electric, it was crazy, it was fun. We could be our unique, amazing, individual selves, and not feel like you had to back down because you were the only woman in the place. That was brilliant.” Ryan agrees – it was emotional too, she says. “And it’s even better to get that emotion, moments after Rosie’s been twerking on the ground,” she adds with a laugh.
For Jones, the stakes are even higher. What would it have meant to her to have seen someone like her on TV when she was growing up? “Everything,” she says. “If I’d seen not only a physically disabled woman, but a person who was happy and comfortable and proud to be in the body she’s in, that would have meant the world, and would have given me confidence, not only in my ambitions and aspirations for my career, but in my personal life as well. If one person can watch me and go: ‘If Rosie can do it, if she can be whoever she wants to be, I can.’ That makes all the abuse worth it.”
Out of Order begins on 26 February on Comedy Central.
