The youngest daughter of an Armenian priest, Lory Tatoulian’s first memory of making people laugh sounds straight out of a sketch comedy.
Her parents were entertaining a dignified group of Armenian clergy and other pillars of the Fresno Armenian community, when this little force of nature burst into the living room impersonating Elvis, followed by a spot-on Michael Jackson impression, and a provocative Madonna routine—leaving even the most pious of guests in stitches. It was a moment of unbridled showmanship, foreshadowing a career in which Tatoulian would wield her razor sharp wit and uncanny character portrayals to break down walls and build bridges of understanding.
She has been compared to sketch comedy legends like Tracey Ullman, Robin Williams, and Gilda Radner—artists who created iconic characters that live on in the American collective psyche. Her own creations have left a mark, particularly The Big Bad Armo Show, her comedic love letter to the Armenian community, which has steadfastly supported her evolution over the last 15 years as she honed her craft as a writer, actor, and producer.
Now the stage has been set for her to explore a broader canvas of cultural absurdities. Most recently, she leveraged her success with a live production for mainstream audiences called 2024, You Hot Mess, which premiered last December at the Groundlings Theatre, where she first planted the roots of her professional career. She describes the show as “a comedic deep dive into all the chaos and craziness” leading up to the 2024 presidential election. Yet, true to her personal ethos, which she claims is middle of the road, the satire cuts both ways. “This time, I invited friends and colleagues from across the demographic spectrum and the entertainment industry, and, yes, the political divide,” she underscores. “It was an equal opportunity jest fest without judgement or bias. Our sensational cast just let their characters speak for themselves. The feedback has been fantastic,” she happily reports.
Never one to play it safe, Tatoulian dares audiences to see themselves in her characters—and laugh in recognition. “Entertain-ing people is in my bones,” she says. It’s a gift that can be traced through her lineage: her father, before becoming an Armenian clergyman, was a comedian in Lebanon. From her childhood perception, the altar was simply another stage, with her father the leading man. Her mother, a poet and educator, had a gift for dramatic recitations at community gatherings. Even her grandmother, a survivor of the Armenian Genocide, staged a play to raise relief funds just months after her own escape. Then, well into her dotage, she injected herself into plays alongside younger generations. “With a pedigree like that, it never occurred to me that performing for audiences wasn’t part of a normal Armenian upbringing,” Tatoulian quips.
Far from discouraging his daughter’s theatrical inclinations, her father took her along on pastoral visits to convalescent homes, where she would entertain ailing parishioners, learning firsthand the transformational power of humor. “I could see their eyes light up with joy, and that was affirmation enough that I was onto something,” she recalls.
That “something” turned out to be a natural off-the-charts aptitude for capturing the absurdities of human nature and society through sketch comedy. “Personally, I love topical subjects and current events,” says Tatoulian. “I try to pinpoint the humor in any situation and portray the right characters to expose it.”
Her approach is flexible. “Sometimes the plot motivates the character; other times, the story is all character-driven. I always try to go deeper, like a dramatic actor does—finding an authentic point of view. As for the impressionist part, not to brag, but that’s something you either have or you don’t. It’s like having an ear for the pitch of a voice or pattern of speech and an eye for physicality, how the person moves, their gestures and gait.” A recent YouTube video in which Tatoulian inhabits the personage of Melania Trump is a brilliant example of combining impression with point of view.
Among her most beloved creations is Dandeegeen Hripsime Hovsepian, the flamboyantly unfiltered Armenian housewife. “She’s the women I grew up with—my aunts, the ladies at church. I was fascinated by how they tried to fit into polite Armenian-American society while still blurting out the most outrageous things, with their big hair and overstated outfits,” she says. “But Dandeegeen is more than a punchline; she’s a celebration. For my much younger nieces and nephews, this kind of Armenian woman is an endangered species.” Through Tatoulian’s sketches and videos, endearing oddballs like Dandeegeen and misfits like the salty know-it-all Sossi Hayrabedian can live on.
Despite fearlessly poking fun at Armenian idiosyncrasies, Tatoulian speaks of her community with deep affection. Growing up outside Los Angeles, she didn’t experience the dense Armenian enclaves of Glendale or Hollywood until she pursued her career in LA. “For once, Armenia wasn’t just this romanticized land of my ancestors. I was hearing the language on the streets, seeing our quirks play out in real situations. I was surprised no one was writing about this phenomenon regularly.”
That realization coincided with her studies at The Groundlings, the storied LA-based improv and sketch comedy troupe where she now teaches master classes and performs. But early on, she felt something was missing. “A lot of the sketches were very middle-America. I kept thinking, ‘There’s so much humor to be mined from the Armenian community.’ Two decades later, and I am still digging up gold. I have pages and pages of sketches yet to be performed,” she adds.
For once, Armenia wasn’t just this romanticized land of my ancestors. I was hearing the language on the streets, seeing our quirks play out in real situations.
Her Armenian fan base has matured along with her and Tatoulian looks back with gratitude. “I was doing solo shows and people would come. But when I put together my first big ensemble show with a live band in 2009, I had no idea how it would be received. I rented the theater on my own. It was a big risk. Thankfully, 300 people showed up, and they really liked it. That gave me the confidence to do more shows—until I was ready to take it to New York, funding the trip with ticket profits.” Since then, her audience has only expanded. “The last time we played in New York, fans from LA flew cross-country just to see the show. And now, people are bringing their teenagers, which I think is very cool.”
Tatoulian claims that she thrives on live audience energy. “Some people get so wrapped up in the scene, they talk back to us, breaking the fourth wall.” Yet, Tatoulian welcomes the banter. “I revel in that exchange, especially in the final segment of the show when Sossi Hayrabedian interacts with the audience. That’s all ad-lib. The unpredictability gives me such a rush of adrenaline. And Sossi is so wild, whatever crazy thing comes out of her mouth is bound to get laughs.”
When asked if she has ever entertained quitting the notoriously unstable entertainment business, she scoffs at the idea. “I’ve never had a Plan B. I’ve tried normal jobs, and I feel bad for any company that hired me. Of course, I am well aware that I have managed to avoid the Hollywood grind that so many of my actor peers have endured, with audition after audition,” she points out.
However, she does credit AGBU for opening her eyes to the real world of theater. “After a blissful summer at AGBU Camp Nubar, I advanced to AGBU’s Global Leadership Program in New York. They found me a summer placement at the New Victory Theater, which staged children’s plays on Broadway. I learned so much about the business side of theater. It’s been invaluable to me as a producer.”
Despite living in the heart of the film and television industry, Tatoulian remains devoted to the theater. She became hooked at age 14, when she was cast in a professional production of Bye Bye Birdie and asked to play a Jewish grandmother with a thick New York accent. “After the show, audience members came up to my parents, assuming we were Jewish. They couldn’t believe we weren’t. I guess I really nailed that character,” she decides.
It’s often said that the best comedy is all about good timing, and, coming off the success of 2024, You Hot Mess, Tatoulian instinctively knows it’s time to take another leap—this time into the world of stand-up. “These days, where online content creation fuels comedic careers, stand-up is a great way to expand audience reach and gain visibility,” she says, adding, “I can write my own material and comment on the state of society and the world with my own voice, letting the characters in my head chime in when needed. With no costumes, wigs, or props, it’s just me and the audience. For the first time, instead of stepping into the shoes of another character, I, essentially, would be playing myself.”
Just who might that self actually be? By all accounts, Lory Tatoulian is a downright comedic genius of her generation. And for all she has achieved so far—just for the fun of it—she has earned the right to say so with a straight face.
