Jeff Ross has earned the moniker “Roastmaster General” for a brand of insult comedy he’s honed on stage and in multiple Comedy Central specials over the years. But he proves himself to be a big softie in his new 90-minute show, Take a Banana for the Ride, now playing at Broadway’s Nederlander Theatre. Less a conventional stand-up routine than an autobiographical one-man show, Ross’ routine inches close to TED talk territory with its repeated lessons about the therapeutic power of humor. (Like the bananas that are a recurring motif and handed out to theatergoers as they leave, he reminds us, humor offers a sweet center even if the tough outer skin has been bruised.)

Ross defies our expectations in other ways too. For one, he’s wearing a bedazzled suit in French’s mustard yellow (designed by Toni-Leslie James) that would make him an easy target at any televised roast, or indeed in any large crowd outside of the Catskills of the 1960s. While clips of some of his famous roast routines occasionally appear on one of the 20 framed screens behind him (Stefania Bulbarella designed the projections on Beowulf Boritt’s classy set), he postpones launching into any significant digs at audience members until a perfunctory walking tour of the orchestra section just before the curtain call, where he’s tailed by a camera operator so that those in the balcony won’t miss anything. Even more oddly, he’s accompanied on stage by a pianist (Asher Denburg, who also serves as music director) and a violinist (Felix Herbst) as he croaks out a handful of original songs, including a celebration of achievements by the Jewish people with the NSFW refrain, “Don’t Fuck With the Jews.”

The standup-set-as-memoir is nothing new. The best antecedent for Ross’ show may be Billy Crystal’s 700 Sundays, in which the actor, comedian, and repeat Oscar host recounted his childhood in Long Island in the 1950s and ’60s and the death of his father, a music producer and record store owner, when the future star was just 15. In two Broadway runs a decade apart (the last in 2013-14), Crystal reveled in the traditions and cadences of older Jewish comics from the Borscht Belt while bringing a real craftsmanship to his unabashedly sentimental account of his upbringing.

Ross tells a story that’s remarkably similar. He grew up Jewish in suburban New Jersey, where the family business was a catering operation and wedding ceremony destination called Clinton Manor founded by his great-grandmother. The place employed many relatives, including his dad and Jeff himself. Since the walk-in fridge was the only place on the premises that afforded anything resembling privacy, he recalls, “during all our father-son talks our nipples were hard.” Like Crystal, Ross also endured the early death of both of his parents, his mom to leukemia when he was 14 and his dad to drug-related causes when he was a student at Boston University. While living in the family home as a young adult with his grandfather, a WWII vet who wore a nut from a captured Nazi submarine as a ring, Jeff discovered his calling as a comedian. He took himself across the Hudson River into Manhattan for open-mic nights and showcases (often with a banana that his Pop would thrust into his hand, for the ride).

Ross’ offers heartfelt tributes to both his parents, and to Pop, and to deceased comedian pals like Gilbert Gottfried, Norm Macdonald, and Bob Saget, as well as to the German Shepherd he adopted during the pandemic whom he portrays as a canine successor to the Nazis (complete with accent) in its single-minded pursuit of treats at all cost. He typically punctuates his death-focused anecdotes with punchlines, but there’s an overriding melancholy here that dampens the overall mood. The writing is not as strong as Crystal’s, alas, and the jokes don’t land with the frequency you’d expect. (He scores some of his biggest laughs early on when poking fun at his own alopecia-induced baldness, comparing himself to a “Jeff Bezos blow-up doll” or “Pitbull if he was attacked by a pit bull.”)

While twinkly-eyed sentiment is embedded in Crystal’s brand, Ross has built a reputation on a more take-no-prisoners approach to comedy as verbal assault. He nods to his reputation for that kind of schtick here without every really embracing it, or even explaining why he’s so drawn to that style of joke-telling. So we’re left with a talented comedian who seems out of his element, pacing the stage in a quest for sympathy as well as laughs. No matter how tough a banana’s skin, though, peeling it often leaves just soft, squishy mush. ★★☆☆☆

JEFF ROSS: TAKE A BANANA FOR THE RIDE
Nederlander Theatre, Broadway
Running time: 90 minutes (no intermission)
Tickets on sale through Sept. 28 for $69 to $209