It’s now been over three years since the first season of Serial kicked the podcasting craze into high gear. Predictably, however, the mainstream entertainment industry is still experimenting with how to co-opt the creative class’s preferred commute soundtrack into a more digestible, mass-market form. Mr. Robot’s Sam Esmail is converting the fictional Homecoming into a scripted series for Amazon, assisted by no less than Julia Roberts. Desus and Mero, cohosts of Bodega Boys, now front a charmingly lo-fi eponymous talk show on Viceland. True crime sensation Dirty John, a sort of hybrid between oral reportage and newspaper exposé, will find a second life as Bravo’s anthological answer to American Crime Story.
In fits and starts, the podcast-to-TV-series pipeline is locking into place, just as the radio-to-TV transition did 60-odd years ago. But common sense as the feeder system might be, no one’s quite figured out how to pull the evolution off in a way that takes advantage of TV’s amplified platform while preserving the intimacy that makes podcasting unique in the first place. Or at least they hadn’t until two black millennial women took their fondness for innuendo and “abbrevs” to HBO.
2 Dope Queens predates the WNYC podcast that bears its name, though the downloadable format is where cohosts Phoebe Robinson, a longtime Brooklyn-based comedian, and Jessica Williams, of The Daily Show, first connected with a national audience. Before New York’s beloved public radio institution had the ingenious idea to record them, Robinson and Williams emceed monthly stand-up shows together at Park Slope’s Union Hall. (You might recognize it from the final scene of The Big Sick.) Such an extended wind-up gave the pair time to hone the authentic, easy chemistry that became 2 Dope Queens’ chief selling point. Their practiced template fleshes out 10-minute sets and occasional interviews with deceptively casual catch-ups between friends. The effect is close to the first 10 minutes of any given WTF episode but with two young women riffing about street harassment and boyfriends instead of a middle-aged guy monologuing about cats.
When HBO picked up 2 Dope Queens for a miniseries of four full hour-long specials, the move made perfect sense: 2 Dope Queens may put its own unique spin on the concept, but live comedy still has more of a precedent in television than other subspecies of podcast. But bringing their act to a new medium would involve some major decisions, choices devoted listeners couldn’t help but be curious about. What concessions would 2 Dope Queens make to a wider audience, and which aspects of their loose, conversational rapport would they make a point to keep in the mix?
The version of 2 Dope Queens that unveiled itself this past Friday—and will continue to do so once a week for the rest of February—has visibly leveled up. All four specials, each one loosely organized around a theme like “New York,” were recorded at the Kings Theatre, a massive, 3,000-capacity auditorium. Williams and Robinson are, to their own obvious delight, styled to the nines. (“We got that HBO money / We got some money for our hair / That’s why they both look crazy / They look awesome,” Williams sing-songs. Robinson agrees: “I now get why Beyoncé’s always flipping her blonde hair. I’m just like, GIVE ME A MACCHIATO!”) And though the podcast has no trouble booking high-profile performers, there’s a deliberate effort to bring out the big guns for 2 Dope Queens’ grand entrance to TV: The guest for the interview segment is Williams’s former boss Jon Stewart, now at the point in his career where a surprise appearance can reduce an entire audience to breathless screams.
Robinson and Williams are clearly aware that the specials will be many viewers’ introduction to their cheekily raunchy rapport. Regular podcast listeners will pick up on the lack of updates from the hosts’ personal and professional lives, or even references to Robinson’s avowed passion for U2; instead, the special features a more accessible discussion of first New York apartments. In a testament to her charisma, Williams manages to make living alone in the West Village at 22 sound relatable.
Even as 2 Dope Queens excises deeper cuts, the HBO version offers up a condensed and repurposed version of the show’s considerable charms. Two of the featured comics, Baron Vaughn and Michelle Buteau—introduced as “the third dope queen”—are longtime friends of the show, and Stewart himself had previously stopped by for Williams’s birthday celebration in the summer of 2016. The set, a Pinterest-ready mock roof deck compete with Weber grill and IKEA-esque seating, easily conjures the impromptu-hangout vibe Williams and Robinson are known for, and the soundtrack (queer-inflected pop, female rappers) is as boisterous as the comedians themselves. Most importantly, Williams, Robinson, and their infectious enthusiasm for each other remain the center of attention instead of reverting to a more traditional showcase MC role á la John Oliver’s New York Stand-Up Show.
The best episodes of 2 Dope Queens feel more like the informal after-party to a comedy show than a show in themselves. That the HBO version of the franchise maintains that feeling, even after taking on the polish and production value that befits a prestige TV product, is the specials’ principal achievement. Adaptation is never easy, but 2 Dope Queens goes to show that taking podcasts to the next level might not be so hard after all.
Disclosure: HBO is an initial investor in The Ringer.
