I’ll admit that, aside from another student/actually a professional journalist I’m mutuals with on Twitter saying Mae Martin’s “SAP” is “funny, affirming, and poignant without once punching down,” I had no idea what to expect from Martin’s newest Netflix special. Being greeted with a surreal campfire scene where Martin declines a marshmallow but accepts a rubber band, I was delighted by the premise of a snow globe indicating storytime. Martin immediately draws you in with endearing expressions and movement that plays up the theatrics while still coming across as entirely authentic. The humor of the campfire scene with a mysterious man (Phil Burgers) is a bright way to start the special, treating the viewer to Martin’s compelling and charming body and facial expressions even in a spot of awkwardness or when asking for Burgers’s phone to chuck in the fire. Everything shows Martin as a bouncy, captivating person, to the point of them officially starting the special by stumbling out of a forest-themed backdrop.

Watching this feels like watching a friend get so excited they exhibit an almost childlike quality — pure, yet touching. At one point, Martin makes a point of commenting on watching their friend’s stand-up and noting that their show was dynamic, which they wished to be. And there’s humor in the  bit when removed from context, but it is highlighted further by the fact that Martin is so expressive and physical in this special. I was first introduced to their work in Netflix’s 2022 LGBTQ+ comedy special “Stand Out,” and even in that, there’s this physicality that makes Martin so engaging. Their first bit of their special is actually also in “Stand Out,” but they lead into it seamlessly by discussing  how their father is lost in the (moon) sauce, and they were so animated I continued to hang onto every word despite knowing the contents. Their excitement is tangible, coming through in hand gestures and bright movements, which underscores the beginning’s focus on a tranquil parent. Framing their special in the context of their parents sets the viewer up for something a little reflective, yet lively.

Around the halfway point, Martin starts a bit about the embarrassment of being an adult but having a room, only to lead into the abstract. Transplanting this idea of rooms as external expressions of oneself, they describe minds as rooms furnished with identity, which they specifically think of as snow globes. And the delight in Burgers’s face when Martin offers him a snow globe at the beginning of the special becomes more significant — this snow globe indicative of storytime is deeper, now, than an object; it is a symbol of the basis of communication. While Martin acts out this idea of showing mental snow globes to have conversation, complete with voices, there is an underlying contemplativeness. This is the first bit where they pause for a significant beat or two, providing a moment to relax into the snowglobe that is experiencing this special.

That is a feeling carried throughout “SAP” — commentary on some of the special’s material being more of a (amusingly concerning) vignette than a joke with a punchline, many jokes explicitly set in childhood or being significantly younger and an entire set-up regarding nostalgia feature in their work. They tease their younger self but remain loving, acknowledging the validity of their anger (likening it to being a teen buying a terrible house from a shady realtor) while also saying that, perhaps, getting a tattoo that says “oatmeal” and being self-destructive might not be the best way to react to being given a house that’s falling apart.

Toward the end, Martin gets more political, mentioning the 2016 election of Trump as proof that the world is “tilted on its axis,” and the efforts of Gen Z are going to fix the house they’ve been given. They even touch on less contemporary issues, acknowledging the colonial nature of gender binaries, specifically calling out UK media’s smugness regarding India decriminalizing homosexuality when England’s colonization of India was responsible for the initial criminalization, calling it the ultimate form of gaslighting.

Martin ends the actual stand-up with a Buddhist parable, which they start by asking the audience to stay with them, as it’s actually a positive story. Once it’s told, they are earnest, asking the audience to get it, to wait and see it through, because this parable, they reveal, is the origin of the special’s name, “SAP.” The special as a whole ends where it began, with Burgers’s character crying (due to their differences in humor), and me crying when Martin takes the snowglobe back, saying “It’s me, I’m me” and Burgers agreeing “You are you.” Credits role as Martin and Burgers get ready to bury some mail.

I didn’t go into watching this with any expectations, but even if I did, I don’t know whether  I  would have ever expected what I got. “SAP” is funny, reflective, poignant and just … good. Martin keeps it light, even when talking about serious matters, in a way that avoids minimizing the damage they’re discussing. And yes, I cried a little at the end, but I don’t think that’s a mark of an unsuccessful special. It is hard to blindly watch comedians these days without fearing that someone will be punching down on my and other people’s existence, so it is refreshing to see a show void of it. The end is an affirmation of existence for Martin and people like them, which is moving. And, I don’t know about you, but ending a comedy show with some laughter as well as some acceptance is a pretty good way to go.