Tom Gleeson on Comedy, Controversy, and Being 'Out of Touch' in Melbourne
As we stroll down Collins Street in Melbourne, passing luxury boutiques and a theatre adorned with his image, comedian Tom Gleeson reflects on his perceived relatability. "A friend once told me, 'Everyone thinks you're relatable because you're from the country, but you're not at all. You've never had a real job, always worked in the arts, and never set an alarm for work. This idea of you as a regular Australian guy is just not true,'" Gleeson shares. This disconnect, however, lies at the heart of his appeal.
On screen, Gleeson digs into the reputations of politicians and celebrities, extracting embarrassing truths with surgical precision. He voices what many think but only dares say in private, doing so from stages like the Logies, surrounded by the rich and powerful. His viral segment, Hard Chat, on Charlie Pickering's ABC show The Weekly, led to the spin-off Hard Quiz, now in its 11th season. Here, he targets regular Australians, a move that divides viewers.
The Fine Line of Provocative Comedy
"There are people still, to this day, who hate Hard Quiz because the host is so obnoxious," Gleeson admits. "It's like, you do know I'm doing it on purpose? If you can't detect that, it's a rough ride. Taking everything at face value must be exhausting." Despite his on-screen persona, those who work with him describe Gleeson as quite lovely—a good conversationalist, generous with stories, and eager to reminisce about his early days as a standup at the Melbourne Comedy Festival.
This year, his show Out of Touch fills the Regent Theatre nightly, where audiences sit in plush leather seats while he jokes about his inability to manage his wealth. "I guess the show should be called Out of Touch—in brackets and self-aware. The self-awareness kind of wrecks it, doesn't it?" he muses. This self-awareness might soften his brutal honesty, but it's that unfiltered approach that thrills fans, whether he's mocking Karl Stefanovic's party-boy image or a Hard Quiz contestant's nerdy obsession.
Balancing Entertainment and Sensitivity
"When I've got to weigh up entertainment versus hurting people's feelings, I'll pick entertainment every day of the week," Gleeson states. "But as time wears on—I might be deluded—but I feel people know that I'm coming from a good place." He emphasizes that his comedy mocks facades, not personal depths, and he's open to similar critique. Our walk through Fitzroy, past workers' cottages now worth millions, brings back memories of his early life with his wife, Ellie Parker.
He recalls exact rent amounts from 20 years ago, being evicted for a landlord's son, and buying a house in Romsey out of spite. "I don't want to have a landlord ever again," he declares. Money is a recurring theme, from tutoring high schoolers for $450 a week to choosing standup over pharmacy. "An executive at Triple M once said, 'You either have to be talking about sex, money, or dieting. That's it. It's the only things people care about,'" Gleeson recounts, initially resisting such formulas but now embracing them in Out of Touch.
Reflections on Fame and Humility
On a chilly Melbourne morning, with blue skies and rain clouds overhead, Gleeson points out old haunts like The Black Cat, a bar he avoided for being "too cool." He contrasts this with his quiet life in Romsey, population under 5,000, where graffiti and vomit are familiar rather than foreign. After touring regionally, he'll return to hosting Hard Quiz and Taskmaster, testing audience limits for brashness.
He rejects traditional TV host maxims—making audiences feel welcome, being humble—as corny. "Talking publicly about earning too much money during a cost-of-living crisis breaks all the rules. That is not what a TV host should be doing. You are supposed to be grateful, privileged. When everyone says that, it sounds boring. To me, it's suddenly funny to say the opposite," Gleeson concludes. His national tour of Out of Touch continues until September, with Melbourne shows running until Sunday.
