Comedy has always been more than just jokes. At its best, it’s recognition. A shared understanding between performer and audience that says, “You’ve lived this too.” That’s what makes live comedy so powerful—it turns everyday experiences, family chaos, awkward moments, and cultural quirks into something collective. People don’t just laugh because something is funny. They laugh because something feels familiar.
In this episode of Showtime, Andrew G sits down with James Liotta, a performer who has spent more than 25 years building a career across comedy, theatre, radio, television, and live performance. What begins as a conversation about entertainment quickly becomes something deeper: a reflection on identity, persistence, cultural storytelling, and the reality of sustaining a creative career over decades.
For James, performing started young. At just eight years old, he stepped onto a stage in front of a live audience and instantly felt the impact that performance could have on people. It wasn’t fame that hooked him—it was the reaction. The laughter. The energy. The feeling that for a moment, everyone in the room was connected through the same experience.
That instinct stayed with him.
Long before television appearances and national tours, James was doing the unglamorous work most audiences never see. Community theatre. Volunteer radio shifts. Answering phones at stations as a teenager. Learning every part of the process from the ground up. While others may have seen unpaid work, he saw opportunity. Every late-night shift, every small role, every local production became part of the foundation that eventually turned entertainment into a full-time career.
And that career was never built around chasing celebrity.
Throughout the conversation, James repeatedly returns to the same idea: he never wanted fame for the sake of it. What mattered most was simply being able to continue performing. To keep working. To keep entertaining people. In an industry often obsessed with visibility and status, that mindset feels surprisingly grounded.
That perspective also shaped the way he navigated opportunities. Early in his career, James was pressured to choose a single lane—particularly when radio executives suggested he abandon acting and comedy to focus entirely on broadcasting. But even then, he resisted the idea that creativity had to fit into one category. Rather than narrowing his path, he expanded it. Theatre, stand-up, hosting, television, live events—each became part of a career defined by versatility rather than limitation.
Much of James’ comedy is rooted in his experience growing up in an Italian-Australian family. The stories, accents, grandparents, cultural misunderstandings, and family dynamics that shaped his childhood naturally became material for the stage. What’s interesting, though, is how universal those stories become once they’re shared with an audience.
Even people outside those communities recognise something in them.
That’s part of why cultural comedy resonates so strongly in Australia. In a country shaped by migration and multiculturalism, audiences often see reflections of their own families in someone else’s story. Whether it’s Italian, Greek, Lebanese, Maltese, or countless other backgrounds, the humour often comes from shared experiences: strict parents, language barriers, generational clashes, and the constant tension between old traditions and modern life.
James understands that balance well. While much of his work embraces cultural humour, he’s also spent years expanding into broader observational comedy, challenging himself to connect with audiences outside familiar spaces. For him, that challenge is part of the excitement of performing live. Every audience is different. Every room responds differently. And no matter how many years you’ve been doing it, there’s never a guarantee.
That unpredictability becomes even more apparent in Nonno and Yaya, the nationally touring live comedy show James performs alongside George Kapiniaris. Built around exaggerated Italian and Greek grandmother characters, the show blends stand-up, sketches, music, and improvisation into something that feels both nostalgic and chaotic in the best possible way.
The appeal goes beyond cultural references. There’s something universally recognisable about grandparents trying to navigate modern life. Putting a traditional Nonna into absurd situations—like becoming an Uber driver—creates comedy because audiences instantly understand the contrast. It’s familiar, exaggerated, and deeply human all at once.
But behind the laughter is years of discipline.
One of the strongest themes throughout the episode is the idea that longevity in entertainment requires far more than talent. It requires consistency. Adaptability. Business instincts. James speaks openly about the importance of creating your own work during quieter periods instead of waiting for opportunities to appear. Contracts, negotiations, pitching yourself, producing shows—those responsibilities become just as important as the performance itself.
That reality often goes unseen by audiences.
People see the finished show, the applause, the laughter. They rarely see the uncertainty behind it. The rejection. The slow periods. The risk of investing in your own productions without knowing how audiences will respond. Even after decades in the industry, James admits rejection still stings. The difference is that experience teaches resilience. You keep going because the next audience, the next gig, the next opportunity is always out there somewhere.
And through it all, live performance remains the constant.
There’s a reason theatre and stand-up continue to matter in a world dominated by phones and endless scrolling. Live performance offers something digital spaces can’t fully replicate: presence. A room full of strangers reacting together in real time. Moments that can’t be edited, filtered, or repeated exactly the same way twice.
James talks about that connection with genuine appreciation. Whether it’s a theatre audience laughing together, an improvised exchange that unexpectedly lands, or a crowd recognising themselves in a story about family, those moments are what continue to drive him after all these years.
Because at its core, this episode isn’t really about fame or television or even comedy itself.
It’s about persistence.
About building something slowly over time. About staying committed to the work even when the industry shifts around you. About understanding that creative careers rarely follow a straight line, and that success often comes not from one breakthrough moment, but from years of consistently showing up.
And maybe that’s what audiences connect with most in performers like James Liotta.
Not perfection.
Just authenticity, experience, and the willingness to keep stepping onto the stage—again and again—hoping to make people laugh.
About continuing to show up, even when the outcome is uncertain. About choosing independence, even when it’s harder. About finding meaning not just in the big moments, but in the repetition—the thousands of shows, the countless audiences, the small, consistent steps that build something lasting over time.
Because sometimes, success isn’t a single breakthrough.
Sometimes, it’s showing up—again and again—until the world finally catches up.
