Jeff Ross’ Broadway Debut: The RoastMaster on Leaving Politics Offstage, Singing Live and Embracing His Serious Side
- Jeff Ross makes his Broadway debut with his one-man show "Take a Banana for the Road," reflecting on his life and career through humor and song.
Jeff Ross is constantly traveling for work, flying across the country – often hitting multiple cities in the same weekend – for comedy gigs. But the veteran stand-up had held onto his Manhattan apartment for 20 years in hopes that he’d eventually return to the Big Apple as a working stage actor.
That dream is coming true as Ross makes his Broadway debut with “Take a Banana for the Road.” Previews began on Aug. 5 ahead of opening night on Aug. 18. Named for his grandfather’s advice about traveling, the one-man show follows the comedian’s upbringing in New Jersey before earning the nickname “Roastmaster General” for his piercing takedown of celebrities in roasts. Here, he uses humor and song to reflect on many not-so-funny topics, like losing his parents at a young age, as well as three famous friends – Bob Saget, Gilbert Gottfried and Norm Macdonald – in quick succession in recent years. While he’s telling these and other stories, including one about his colon cancer diagnosis and recovery in 2024 and another about his beloved German Shepards, he’s accompanied by a giant LED screen and a two-piece orchestra to provide the kind of flair that bare-bones solo shows don’t always offer.
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“I always want to do something extra ,” Ross says in his dressing room at the Nederlander Theatre the day after the first performance. “I’ve seen some Broadway shows that felt like breakfast and lunch, but I didn’t quite get dinner. I wanted this to feel like a full meal. I need a little schmaltz in my life.”
What was the first preview performance like for you?
I couldn’t sleep the night before, which was a good sign. But I wasn’t nervous. There was a guy in the front row with his feet on the stage, and his wife was on her phone. Her phone went off, and I’m like, “Oh, this is like any other fucking gig. No phone is going to throw me off.” I’ve done the hard work of blocking the show, and I can smoke a joint and add in some more jokes. That part is fun.
Does it require a different kind of stamina to perform eight shows a week compared to touring as a comedian?
I don’t know yet. Billy Crystal told me I’ll be a new kind of tired. But I enjoy waking up in my own bed as opposed to heading to JFK or Newark Airport. Normally as a comic, it’d be Friday in New York, Saturday in Detroit, Sunday in Cleveland, or whatever. So there’s a real charm to the idea that I’m home and I can have dinner and walk my dog by 10:30 p.m.
You’ve been developing the show for a long time. How has it evolved?
I started writing and performing it in the mid ’90s, but I didn’t have the strength emotionally to keep it going. As circumstances in my life happened, mostly losing three pals in eight months, I go, “Let me look back at what I used to do about mourning, death and resilience.” Just as I was getting the rhythm of the show, I got diagnosed with a tumor in my colon. So I had to take another break. I was terrified I would never get back to this. Not because I thought I was going to die, but more like, “Something else will come up.”
What is it like to be vulnerable onstage when so many people know you for celebrity roasts?
That part has been genuinely terrifying because, as a comedian, you want to have some swagger. You don’t want to let them see you sweat. I had to drop that. On top of that, I had all these stories about my mom and dad. We’re in rehearsals, and the tech people were like, “All right, let’s take it back to the beat where your mom dies.” And I’m like, “That’s just a cue on someone’s sheet. But for me, it’s a very vivid memory.” I have to go, “He didn’t mean it that way. He just wants to get the lighting right.”
Are people surprised to find out that you have a serious side?
I walk through an airport and people will go, “Roast me!” People treat it like it’s a party trick, but there’s a person in there. If I was that mean all the time, I doubt I would have any friends and survive in show business.
Why did you want to take this show to Broadway?
If you don’t surprise your audience at this stage of the game, I think you kind of fade away. I’ve seen that happen to funny people. They go, “This works. Let me keep doing this, because it pays the bills.” I always kept my overhead down. Part of that is not having kids and a wife. I live the life of a bachelor in that I can do what I want creatively. It gives me some freedom. I’m not responsible for anyone but myself and my dog. So I go, “Let me take a creative swing here.” Instead of going on the road and touring like a regular stand-up act, I can invest in something that’s more creatively fulfilling at this point, especially after a near-death experience.
You speak in the show about changing your last name from Lifschultz to Ross. Why did you decide to do that?
It was early in my career. I was coming out of the open mic scene, and I got booked on “Star Search.” Ed McMahon was the host, and he kept introducing me saying, “This week’s challenger, Jeff Lipshitz.” And then the next episode was “Jeff Lipshot.” He just couldn’t get it right. I was flying home, and I thought that maybe my last name is too complicated. I didn’t have confidence, so when they screwed it up, it screwed up my performance. I spent the first 25 years of my life correcting people, every teacher, every employer, every date. How do you spell it? How do you say it? I was like, “I don’t want that to be the first thing that people ask me about.” So I went with my middle name, Ross, named after my great grandma, Rose.
Did you feel like you were losing any part of your family identity by changing it?
No. It was a little weird, but my grandfather was a band leader, and he went from Lifschultz to Larson many decades sooner. He was gone already, so I didn’t get to talk to him about it. But I’d gone to film school, and I studied advertising and design, and I was like, “I don’t think Livshultz is going to work as a calling card, as a marquee.” Now people are more open to that kind of stuff. But at the time, I’d been teased about my name as a kid so much that I was like, “Why am I giving people this? Let me make it simple.”
This show has more singing than I expected.
You call that singing?
Did you take singing lessons?
I sat in this dressing room with Idina Menzel [when she was performing in “Redwood” at the Nederlander] and told her about my show, and I go, “I sing in the show.” She looks at me, her head tilts, and she goes, “On key?” I go, “No.” [Laughs]. I’m on Broadway. I wanted to challenge myself. But I’m careful to make sure the music tells the story just like the jokes do.
Everyone leaves the theater with a banana for the road. What’s the banana budget?
It’s significant. It’s in the $1,000s per week. Bananas aren’t cheap with the tariffs. It’s a whole thing. Someone has to pass them out, check them for fentanyl… No, I’m kidding. But it was a big discussion. I really pushed hard.
Is there room in society for edgy humor?
Funny either gets a laugh or doesn’t. I’ve been talking about this show and the sentimental side, but once I’m up there, the biggest laugh I got was about me looking like Bruce Willis if his trainer also had dementia. Life sucks for a lot of people. Laughing is like a massage for your brain, so to start watering it down, who wants that? I’ve yet to meet somebody who goes “You were a little too edgy for me.” It’s like, “All right, maybe you should stay home.”
Is there anything that you wouldn’t joke about?
I never want to hurt anybody’s feelings. Comics are sensitive; people are sensitive. As far as particular topics, I don’t think anything is off limits. I do leave politics out of this show because I feel like people need a break. I have so many friends on all sides of it that I’d rather have them come together at my show.
I noticed your dog has a dressing room at the Nederlander. Was that a non-negotiable?
The advantage of having a small cast is that there’s a little extra room. She calms me down, and it’s nice having her around. And she’ll be part of the show. She wasn’t ready yet on the first night, but she comes out during curtain call. She jumps on the couch, sits there with me, and we howl.
How long has she been training?
All her life.
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