I Used to Be Funny

In the bustling streets of contemporary London, Sam Cowell balances the chaotic rhythm of an au‑pair’s responsibilities with the restless ambition of a stand‑up comic dreaming of a stage of her own. By day she navigates the idiosyncrasies of a family whose expectations feel both comforting and confining, while by night she rehearses jokes in cramped rehearsal rooms, searching for a voice that can cut through the city’s constant hum. The world she inhabits is a mix of ordinary domestic scenes and the electric pulse of open‑mic nights, a place where humor becomes both a shield and a fragile bridge to connection.

Life takes an abrupt turn when Brooke, a former charge who once seemed like a fleeting but cherished chapter, disappears without a trace. The sudden loss ripples through Sam’s carefully ordered routine, pulling her into a search that feels as much internal as external. Haunted by memories of past trauma and the lingering aftershocks of PTSD, she must confront the anxiety that has long shadowed her performances and daily interactions. This inner turbulence is reflected in the film’s tone—a gritty yet warm‑hearted blend of raw honesty and wit, where moments of levity sit beside quiet, introspective beats.

Against this backdrop, Sam’s relationships begin to reveal hidden layers: a therapist who offers pragmatic grounding, friends who oscillate between supportive laughter and uneasy concern, and the family she works for, whose own secrets subtly echo her own. The narrative stitches together the ordinary and the extraordinary, inviting viewers to linger on the delicate balance between vulnerability and resilience. As Sam steps deeper into the mystery of Brooke’s absence, the story promises a journey that melds the search for another person with the search for self—an odyssey where rediscovering one’s voice may be the key to moving forward.

Last Updated: August 09, 2025 at 19:54