Welcome to the Deep Dive. Today, we're really
getting into the weeds on a career that's, well,
fascinating because it operates on two parallel
tracks. Definitely. You've got the brilliant
comedic satire, the guy you recognize instantly,
right? Al Madrigal. Yeah. Especially from The
Daily Show. Uh -huh. That sharp, kind of deadpan
delivery. Exactly. But then there's this whole
other side. The sources we dug into, they paint
a picture of someone who's not just performing,
but like fundamentally reshaping the business
side of comedy. It really is a story about refusing
to be pigeonholed. Creatively. Ethnically. In
any way, really. So our mission today is to unpack
the whole thing. Alessandro Liborio Madrigal,
comedian, actor, writer, producer, the whole
multi -hyphenate deal. And specifically, we want
to look at how his background, this really interesting
mix of Mexican and Sicilian heritage, how that
didn't just fuel his comedy. Right, which it
clearly did. But also became the driving force
behind building something entirely new. The All
Things Comedy Network, ATC. That dual identity
seems absolutely key from the get -go. We often
just see the performance, the jokes. But the
sources suggest a very deliberate strategy. He
took his own experience of being sort of multi
-ethnic, feeling like an outsider, maybe to multiple
groups, and used that not just for stand -up
material, but then he looked at that feeling
of exclusion and thought, okay, how do I build
something so others don't hit these same walls?
Exactly. And you see that playing out everywhere.
His political stuff, sure, but also creating
something like the Primo's comic book, which
is just steeped in this reimagined Mayan mythology.
It's incredible. It connects all the dots. It
really does. His career is kind of a blueprint
for how you navigate the old system, the traditional
industry, while at the same time building your
own independent thing. He didn't just want a
seat at the table. No way. Yeah. He built a whole
new restaurant, like you said. Yeah. And to really
get that ambition, we need to go back. Yeah.
Back to the foundation, which maybe surprisingly
is really grounded in San Francisco. Okay, yeah.
Let's dig into that foundation because it's not
the typical struggling comedian origin story,
is it? Not at all. So. Full name, Alessandro
Laborio Madrigal, born July 4th, 1971, San Francisco.
And that heritage, let's nail it down. Fatherside
Mexican from Tijuana, motherside Sicilian. So
right from birth, he's straddling these two really
distinct, powerful cultures. He grew up in the
Inner Sunset District in SF. And this is one
of those amazing little details the sources bring
out. Comedy was literally in the air. Mike Pritchard,
Michael Meehan. successful comics were his neighbors.
Wow. Really? Yeah. So the rhythm, the timing,
the business of comedy was happening right there,
even before he thought about doing it himself.
That's fascinating. And then look at his education.
It suggests a very structured upbringing. École
Notre -Dame de Victoire. Right. A private Catholic
school. Big emphasis on French language and culture.
So we're talking discipline, languages, structure,
not exactly Improv 101. Then St. Ignatius College
prep for high school, graduated 89, University
of San Francisco after that. Again, it doesn't
scream drop everything for open mic night, which
makes his first career path even more striking.
Absolutely critical because for 10 years, a whole
decade after college, he wasn't doing comedy
professionally at all. No, he was working in
human resources in a staffing agency run by his
family. And here's the kicker, the detail he
always brings up. His main job, his crucial responsibility
for years. Is firing people. Firing people. Can
you imagine? Talk about a crash course in high
-stakes communication. It's like the ultimate
accidental boot camp for stand -up. Seriously,
think about what that involves. You have to have
your script down cold, your reasons. You need
total control. You have to project calm. Well,
dealing with someone who's probably upset, angry,
scared. Exactly. Highly emotional, unpredictable
situations. You've got to read the room in a
split second, know when to talk, when to pause,
when to just listen. It's intense interaction.
So it wasn't just paperwork. It was live emotional
de -escalation over and over. That's what he
says. He talks about it a lot. Handling those
really scary situations, as he put it, just completely
wiped out any potential stage fright. We're telling
someone they've lost their job. Facing an audience.
Even a tough crowd. The stakes just seem lower.
Yeah, what's the worst that can happen? They
don't laugh. Right. Compared to dealing with
real human fallout. He basically says it gave
him the fearlessness to bomb. to fail publicly,
which is essential for a comic. And he did that
for 10 years before finally deciding, okay, comedy
full -time. That was 1998. That decade, that
real -world pressure cooker, you could argue
that was way more valuable training than any
comedy class. It built that unflappable persona
we see. Okay, so that calm, almost structured
approach he learned in HR, it comes with him
onto the stage. Definitely. But his material
immediately dives right into the messy stuff,
right? The identity complexities. As soon as
he hits the circuit, his stand -up is mostly
stories. Yeah, very narrative -driven about his
life, his family, and crucially that feeling
of confusion or just the weirdness of being both
Mexican and Sicilian in America. He found that
sweet spot pretty quickly, it seems. Observational
stuff, satire. Uh -huh. Looking at cultural assimilation,
how people act. American culture generally, but
always through that multi -ethnic lens. Started
out in the San Francisco clubs, obviously. And
he co -founded a sketch group early on. Yeah,
Fresh Robots. That was one of his first ventures.
And the breaks start coming. 2002 seems like
a key year. SF Sketch Fest with Fresh Robots.
Right. And then getting into the New Faces Showcase
at Just for Laughs in Montreal. Which is huge.
That's the industry basically saying, OK, pay
attention to this guy. But with that visibility
came. This seems to be a recurring theme, especially
for artists navigating multiple identities. Oh,
absolutely. The sources really highlight this
tension. The industry immediately tried to put
him in a box. Latino comic, that's the label.
Okay, for marketing, easy categorization. But
at the same time, he's getting pushback from
within the Latino community sometimes. Like,
oh, he's not Latino enough, specifically because
he didn't speak fluent Spanish. Wow, that's a
tough spot. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
labeled by one group, policed by another. It's
a classic double bind. And that conflict, that
feeling of being caught in the middle, that became
the absolute core of his early comedy. And he
weaponized it, basically, turned the criticism
into his strength. Brilliantly. I mean, winning
the Best Stand -Up Award at the U .S. Comedy
Arts Festival in Aspen in 2004, that was massive
validation from peers. From the industry. Saying
his comedy worked beyond just the label. Exactly.
And that directly led to a talent holding deal
with CBS. Things started moving. Which eventually
builds towards that landmark special in 2013,
Why is the Rabbit Crying? on Comedy Central.
Yeah, that was a big one. Not just popular, but
critically loved. Made year -end best -of lists
for places like Westward and The Village Voice.
And the critics noticed how he was doing it,
right? Totally. They pointed out that he wasn't
just reinforcing stereotypes, he was deconstructing
them. Taking the gap between what people expected
a Latino comic to be and his actual reality.
And finding the humor in that disconnect. Yeah,
milking incongruity, as one reviewer put it.
He acknowledged the label, but only to immediately
pull it apart. It was smart. Taking that personal
anxiety about identity and making it universally
funny, you know, about how we categorize people.
And he kept refining that with his next big special,
a 2017 Showtime one, Shrimp It Ain't Easy. Right.
Tell me about that one. Well, what's interesting
there is the context. They filmed it at the Masonic
Lodge at Hollywood Forever Cemetery. Yeah. Kind
of adds this unique, almost somber vibe. Unusual
choice. And it was directed by Neil Brennan.
Okay, Chappelle's show co -creator. Known for
his own really raw personal stand -up. Exactly.
So you feel that... influence, maybe pushing
magical towards even more layered and intimate
stuff. Still funny, obviously, but moving maybe
further into self -reflection beyond just observational
humor, constantly evolving his style. So he's
got the stand -up cred, critical acclaim, and
network deal. Naturally, he tries to leverage
that into film and TV. Which brings us right
back to those gatekeepers you mentioned. Yeah.
And his early attempts at sitcoms. They really
show how precarious that traditional path can
be. Oh, yeah. We got to talk about the Otegas.
Fox, 2003. Huge potential, right? Based on a
successful BBC show, The Kumars at number 42,
Madrigal was the son hosting a talk show from
his parents' backyard. Sounds like a great concept.
It was. They filmed six episodes he was starring.
Yeah. And then Fox just shelved it, pulled the
plug before a single episode aired. That's got
to be brutal for a comic getting their big break.
Starring role, network show. Gone. It says a
lot about how little control creators often have
in that system. Your fate is entirely in the
hands of executives. And that wasn't a one -off,
was it? The CBS deal led to a few roles, too.
Yeah, a bit of a pattern there for a while. He
was Jesus in Welcome to the Captain. Lasted five
episodes. than a more substantial role. Dennis
Lopez in Gary Unmarried, that ran for 20 episodes,
so more stability. But still supporting roles
in the shows themselves didn't quite stick. Right.
He's killing it on stage, getting all this acclaim,
but translating that into durable TV success
within the existing structure is proving really
challenging. He did find a better foothold with
NBC's About a Boy. Played Andy. 28 episodes.
Got an Imogen Award nomination for that in 2014.
That was a good run. And then he did something
kind of different, playing a comedian, but in
a period drama. Right. I'm dying up here. The
70s dark comedy about the L .A. comedy scene.
Yeah, executive produced by Jim Carrey. That
show explored how rough and competitive that
world was. Kind of exploitative, even. So for
Madrigal, who'd been fighting against being boxed
in. Playing a character, Edgar Manny Martinez,
who's navigating that toxic hierarchical system.
It must have felt pretty resonant. Bit of meta
-commentary on his own struggles, maybe. But
the role that really put him on the map for millions,
the one that defined his public persona for years.
Had to be The Daily Show. No question. Joining
Jon Stewart's show in May 2011, The Senior Latino
Correspondent. That title itself is kind of a
wink, isn't it? Given his earlier struggles with
the Latino comic label. Totally. Using the label
ironically for sharp political satire. And the
story of how he got hired is pretty amazing,
according to the sources. It wasn't the usual
long audition grind. No. Adam Lewitt, one of
the producers, recommended him. Madrigal performed
a specific bit at a club, a piece about Texas
Representative Debbie Riddle. Ah, I remember
this controversy. She had this bill targeting
employers who hired unauthorized immigrants.
Right. And this was the satirical gold. The bill
had this massive carve -out, this unbelievable
exception, specifically for domestic workers.
The hypocrisy. Punish businesses unless it affects
hiring help for your own home. Exactly. Perfect
Daily Show fodder. Madrigal did his bit on that,
read it for Stewart. And Stewart hired him basically
on the spot. That's the story. It was just a
perfect fit. Madrigal's measured satirical style
clicked instantly with the show's whole ethos.
And that platform was huge. He even won a Genesis
Award in 2014 for one of his segments, Blowing
the Whistle on Whistleblowers. He became a major
voice. For sure. But even while doing The Daily
Show, he kept pushing into film. You see the
range expanding. Yeah, comedy is like night school
in 2018. But then switching gears completely
for drama, like playing Dan opposite Ben Affleck
in The Way Back in 2020. And jumping into the
superhero craze with Morbius in 2022 as Agent
Rodriguez. Right. Showing versatility. And he's
still very active in traditional TV, starring
as Oscar Rivera on Lopez vs. Lopez on NBC, renewed
for season two. So he's definitely still playing
the game within the studio system. He is. But
the real pivot, the thing that fundamentally
changes his career narrative that happens back
in 2012 while he's still at The Daily Show. Ah,
yes. This is the core of the deep dive, isn't
it? All those years dealing with canceled sitcoms,
the identity policing, the frustration of maybe
having your work shelved. And it seems like it
led to a realization. A huge one. Instead of
just trying to get hired by the gatekeepers,
he decided to become an owner to bypass them
altogether. Okay, so let's shift gears here.
Forget the performance for a second. This is
pure business strategy, economics. 2012, Al Madrigal
and Bill Burr launch All Things Comedy, ATC,
October 1st. And crucially, this wasn't just,
hey, let's make a podcast network for our buddies.
This was conceived as a direct challenge to how
things were usually done. How so? What was the
core difference? The mission statement essentially
was to be an artist -owned cooperative. We need
to unpack that because it's the whole point.
Back then, early podcasting days, and honestly,
still often today, if a comedian signed with
a traditional network, the network would usually
take... a huge chunk of the ad revenue like 50
60 sometimes even 80 percent wow and often they
demand ownership of the show itself the intellectual
property or at least exclusive licensing rights
for a long time so the comic Provides the content,
the talent, the audience draw, but gets a minority
share and loses control of their own creation
long term. Pretty much. ATC was designed to flip
that script entirely. As a cooperative, the fundamental
rule is the comedians retain 100 percent ownership
of their IP, their show, their back catalog,
everything. OK, that's huge. So how does ATC
make money? It functions more like a collective
bargaining unit. They handle the ad sales, the
marketing, distribution, leveraging the power
of the whole network. But the vast majority of
the revenue generated by a specific podcast goes
directly back to that podcast's creator. So it
treats the comedian like an actual business owner,
not just hired talent. Exactly. And the model
clearly resonated. The growth was explosive.
By 2014, just two years in, they reportedly had
like six dozen members. Over 50 podcasts already.
That fast. That shows you how much pent -up demand
there was among comics for something like this.
Absolutely. And today, sources say ATC hosts
over 50 major podcasts, pulling in close to 5
million listeners every month. That's real economic
clout. And it's power directed back to the artists.
The initial lineup really helped cement it too,
right? Having Bill Burr's monster hit the Monday
Morning Podcast as an anchor. Definitely. Plus
shows like the Long Shot Podcast, Artie Shafir's
Skeptic Tank early on. It attracted serious talent
because the deal was just better for them. And
they didn't just stick to podcasts. They expanded.
ATC Records. It launched in March 2014, releasing
comedy albums for people like Sam Tripoli, Brian
Scolaro, Jackie Cashian. Same principle, control
the distribution, control the financial destiny
across different formats. It feels like they
were building an entire ecosystem. It's a good
way to put it. Madrigal and Burr even co -host
that monthly All Things Comedy Live podcast,
featuring comics like Sinbad, Doug Benson. It
fosters community, mutual support, very different
vibe from the often cutthroat nature of traditional
Hollywood. Now, let's tie this back to Madrigal's
personal story, the whole not Latino enough thing.
How did ATC become part of that narrative? This
is really key. He's been explicit about it. He
sees ATC as a mechanism, a tool for improving
representation, specifically for Latin American
voices in media. How does that work in practice?
Well, think about it. If you build your own independent
platform, you don't need to pitch your idea for
a show featuring diverse voices to mainstream
executives who might not get it or might pass.
You just launch it yourself on ATC. Exactly.
You bypass the gatekeepers entirely. And you
see that reflected in their roster. They host...
Major Spanish language podcasts like Leandis
Legendarius or El Dollop. Giving direct access
to potentially huge audiences that might be underserved
by traditional American media. Precisely. It
removes those linguistic and cultural barriers
often imposed by conventional distribution networks.
It's like the ultimate creative comeback to the
people who tried to define him early on. When
they wouldn't give him the space he wanted in
their system. He built a whole new system where
hundreds of artists, including many Latin American
creators, could define themselves freely. And
his influence keeps growing, that overall deal
he signed with CBS Studios in 2021. Right. It
means he's now working from the inside, too,
developing projects within the traditional structure
while also running this powerful independent
cooperative on the outside. He's playing both
sides. OK, so he builds this incredible economic
engine with ATC, securing independence for herself
and others. Then what? He seems to turn his focus
back very deliberately to those core identity
questions. Yeah. But now moving beyond just stand
up jokes, he starts using longer formats to really
own and explore his cultural narrative. First
up is that documentary Half Like Me. 2015 on
Fusion. This felt like a direct follow up to
all that earlier criticism, didn't it? Absolutely.
It wasn't just stand up about identity. It was
an investigation, a personal quest. The premise
was him trying to get closer to his Mexican roots.
Right. Leading up to a family reunion in Tijuana.
Yeah. Using the documentary format to explore
different aspects of Latino culture in the U
.S. It was funny. Obviously, it's him. But it
was also a genuine attempt to connect with that
side of his heritage more deeply. And it landed
well, critically speaking. Oh, yeah. The L .A.
Times called it a critic's pick. The A .V. Club
found it solid and thought -provoking. And Madrigal
himself mentioned something really telling. What
was that? He said people started contacting him.
Educators wanting to use this special in their
classrooms. Wow. When your comedy documentary
becomes teaching material? You know, you've struck
a chord much deeper than just entertainment.
It really resonated with people grappling with
similar questions of belonging. so half like
me tackled the real world complexities the anxieties
but then he took this idea of reclaiming identity
somewhere totally unexpected into fantasy into
comic books with primos this is where it gets
really interesting i think his love for superheroes
which is well documented merges directly with
his mission for representation He wasn't just
consuming superhero stories. He wanted to create
them, specifically Latino superheroes. Right.
He created and wrote the Primo series, launched
in 2022. And he teamed up with serious players,
AWA Studios, Axel Alonso, the former editor -in
-chief of Marvel Comics. This wasn't a vanity
project. It was a serious push into the comics
industry. And the motivation was explicit. More
Latino stories, more Latino characters, more
Latino voices in that genre. Exactly. And the
concept of Primos. It's just this incredible...
act of, like, creative myth -making. Tell me
about the plot. Primos means cousins, right?
Yeah. It brings together three distant cousins
who find out they share this ancient, hidden
lineage. They're descendants of, get this, space
-faring Mayans. Space -faring Mayans, okay. Tracing
their ancestry directly back to the historical
Mayan king, K 'inichchena Bokal. or King Janab,
and their destiny, to save the world from this
ancient, destructive ancestor who harnessed alien
tech centuries ago. Whoa, okay, so choosing Mayan
history, King Janab. That feels incredibly deliberate.
Oh, it's a powerful statement. It takes indigenous
history often relegated to museums or seen as
past and makes it the source of futuristic cosmic
power. It completely flips the script on any
narrative of cultural inferiority. It's reclaiming
history and recharging it with sci -fi. And here's
the detail that ties it all back together beautifully,
connecting to those early not Latino enough criticisms.
That's it. Every single issue of Primos is published
simultaneously in both English and Spanish. So
the guy criticized for not speaking Spanish is
now creating this epic mythology rooted in his
heritage. And ensuring it's immediately accessible
to Spanish -speaking readers. No waiting for
a translation. It's instantly shared canon. for
both audiences. It's like the ultimate artistic
response. You question my connection to this
culture. Fine, I'll invent a universe where that
very culture holds the key to saving humanity,
and I'll deliver it in both languages. He's literally
writing new myths where his roots are the source
of galaxy -spanning heroism, defining the narrative
on his own epic terms. And it mirrors his own
life, doesn't it? The complexity he embodies
professionally is right there personally, too.
Absolutely. He's third -generation Mexican on
his dad's side. But then he points out his wife
is Korean Greek. Meaning his kids are what? Quarter
Mexican, quarter Sicilian, quarter Korean, quarter
Greek. Exactly. Talk about defying easy categorization.
Yeah. He lives that blended identity. Yeah. He's
living proof that culture is fluid. It's additive.
It evolves. It's not some fixed box that media
companies want you to check. So let's wrap this
up. Thinking about everything we've covered,
what are the big takeaways for someone listening?
What does Al Madrigal's story really show us?
Well, it's clear his path is way more complex
and, frankly, more strategic than just being
a funny guy who got famous. Right. We started
with him in HR, that surprising job, firing people,
which paradoxically gave him this incredible
stage presence, this immunity to fear. Then he
took that calm confidence, that sharp, satirical
mind. and used the Daily Show platform to turn
his personal identity struggles into really pointed
political commentary for a national audience.
But he didn't stop there. He saw the limits of
just working within the existing system. Exactly.
The frustration from those canceled shows, being
typecast. He didn't just complain. He channeled
it. He co -founded All Things Comedy. Building
that revolutionary economic model, artist ownership,
creative control, bypassing the old gatekeepers,
he became both a creator and a business leader.
mogul, really. And then... Armed with that independence,
he revisited the very identity labels others
tried to put on him, first through the personal
exploration of Half Like Me. And then completely
transcending it by creating Primo's, building
this fantastical world rooted in his heritage,
creating the representation he wanted to see.
It just demonstrates this incredible power you
gain when you decide to own your own narrative.
Across every single platform available to you,
stage, business, documentary, even fantasy comics.
He took the Latino. comic label, redefined it,
owned it, and then blew it up into something
far bigger and more interesting. Remember, early
on, the critique was not Latino enough, partly
because he didn't speak Spanish fluently. Right.
Now, he's a co -founder of a major comedy network
actively promoting Spanish language content,
and he's created a blockbuster potential comic
universe centered on Mayan space royalty. available
simultaneously in English and Spanish. Which
really brings us to a final thought, something
for you, the listener, to chew on. Consider this.
What kind of power, what kind of maybe revolutionary
act is it when you take the very thing used to
criticize you, the very reason they said you
didn't belong? Like not fitting a narrow definition
of your own culture. And you don't just refute
it. You use that exact cultural history, Mayan
kings, ancient lineage, to invent an entire universe
complete with intergalactic technology, effectively
rewriting or reclaiming that history on your
own terms and planting it firmly within the popular
imagination within the high fantasy canon itself.