Ricky Gervais in Milan: facing “Mortality” one Spritz at a time.
“Just because you‘re offended, it doesn’t mean you‘re right”
Ricky Gervais
When I read that line, it stuck to me like one of those uncomfortable truths only Ricky Gervais can make you accept — while laughing. He says it himself, and every time you hear him, you realize it’s true: with him, you laugh, even when you probably shouldn’t. Or maybe precisely because of that.
Today, July 24th, 2025, I saw him live for the first time, at the Unipol Forum in Milan. I’m writing this while the laughter is still echoing — the show ended just a couple of hours ago. A single Italian date for his show “Mortality”, and of course, sold out. Strangely enough. I say “strangely” because I didn’t think he was that famous in Italy, nor did I expect that many people to follow him — it must have been around 10,000 people.
It had that “I was there” atmosphere, the kind of big event where anyone who’s ever appreciated even a single episode of After Life or one of his stand-ups on Netflix felt the urge to be present. Gervais live is exactly what his legend promises: bold, razor-sharp, corrosive — and more in shape than I imagined.
I admit: I prepared. For days — maybe weeks — I listened to his shows on YouTube, trying to get used to the accent, the wordplay, that distinct British comic rhythm that sneaks into your brain and stays there. It was like training for a listening comprehension test, except with jokes about God, death, and misbehaving children. Yet during the show, between bursts of laughter, I caught myself wondering: is it just me who’s struggling to catch everything? Is the audience really getting all the jokes? Or is it a collective phenomenon — like Italy’s ‘Drive In’ in the ’80s — where you laugh in sync with others, just because everyone else is? Because with Ricky, it’s not only what he says that’s funny — it’s how he says it, when he says it, and that look in his eyes that says “I’m not joking… or maybe I am.”
From our skybox — a fairly privileged spot — I enjoyed the show, with a few detours to the bar where I discovered new types of Spritz, Cynar and Hugo, that helped make the evening even better.
The entrance with AC/DC’s “Hell’s Bells” was epic. Aside from that, “Mortality” doesn’t rely on special effects, elaborate sets, or epic soundtracks. It’s just him, a microphone, and freedom of speech treated like a personal religion. He talks about aging, death, kids, politics, God — and not once does he try to please everyone. Quite the opposite. He’s ruthless and honest, irreverent and sharp, just like that one drunk friend at 2 a.m. who somehow always speaks the truth.
Yet behind the intentional offensiveness, there’s always a flicker of humanity. As if he’s telling you: “Life is short — laugh while you can.” The audience laughs. Maybe they get it. Maybe not. Maybe just being there, caught in the rhythm of collective laughter, is enough. For me, that was the meaning. And that’s perfectly fine.
On the way home, I carried a thought with me: laughing about death won’t make life longer, but it sure makes it lighter. And if there’s one lesson in Ricky Gervais’s black humour, it’s this: irony is the most elegant self-defense we have against the inevitable.
It doesn’t matter how you die, enjoy your life.