MINNEAPOLIS — Al Franken helped revolutionize TV. Louie Anderson won Emmys. Mitch Hedberg developed a cult-like following.

But no comedian with Minnesota roots has been gutsier — or more influential — than Maria Bamford.

Despite her enormous talent, the Duluth-raised comic has never attained star status.

Netflix CEO Ted Sarandos claims her 2016-17 series, “Lady Dynamite,” is the best original show his streaming service ever produced.

It was canceled after 20 episodes.

But the 56-year-old performer is on the verge of finally getting some respect. The documentary, “Paralyzed by Hope: The Maria Bamford Story,” is now streaming on Netflix and will most likely be remembered come awards season.

That special, along with a spring performance in Minneapolis, provided plenty of proof that she’s our Queen of Comedy.

She shows it’s OK not to be OK

Most new comics aren’t shy about turning their routines into therapy sessions. They have more jokes about mood disorders than they do about airline food.

But when Bamford starting talking about her mental health in the mid-’90s, it was largely uncharted territory.

“Is everybody ready to have a good time?” she said near the top of her April 25 show at Pantages Theatre. “I’m not a good time.”

In the documentary, co-directed by Judd Apatow, she shares stories about how she suffered from depression, suicidal thoughts and eating disorders at a young age.

“She’s really tormented,” says Conan O’Brien. “It’s not shtick. It’s palpably real.”

Stephen Colbert, another of the big names interviewed in the film, said her bravery is a big reason she’s his favorite comedian.

“She’s funny and heartbreaking at the same time,” he says.

Bamford didn’t dive as deep as usual in her Pantages show, but she did take a moment to address her 11-year marriage to Scott Marvel Cassidy coming to an end.

“Both of us thought the other was going to change,” she said. “Instead, we both just doubled down.”

Don’t be surprise if Bamford has a lot more to say on the subject her next time in town. (The closest gigs on her current schedule are in Chicago in April 2027).

She’s unpredictable

If you don’t know what Bamford will say next, you also don’t know which way she’ll move.

In her Minneapolis appearance, she pranced on and off stage like My Little Pony, writhed on the floor, struck a flamingo pose and ran screaming off into the wings like the Wicked Witch being offered a glass of water.

She’s got about a dozen voices, from a brittle aristocrat to a “Lord of the Rings” villain, all competing to get out.

In 2012, she taped a comedy special from her living room with her parents as the only audience. And as the film reveals, she recently began doing 8 a.m. sets at a California clown school.

A lot of this doesn’t make much sense, which makes it all the more hilarious.

“I’m something other comedians go and see and say, ”Huh?" she said onstage.

More likely, they’re going, “Wow!”

She’s got a Midwest work ethic

There are many moments in ”Paralyzed" where Bamford is sporting T-shirts promoting the University of Minnesota (which she attended in the ’90s) and the Duluth band, Low.

There are also shots of her playing the violin outside of Orchestra Hall, hanging out at Bryant Lake Bowl and performing at Acme Comedy Company.

But the best way she shows her Minnesota upbringing is by working harder than her peers. Her fellow comics in the film are floored when they learn that she often recruits strangers on social media to test out new material over coffee, paying them for their time.

She knows the importance of money. After an appearance on “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno,” she showed up at NBC the next day for her temp job.

Still, she’s wary of the corporate world. The centerpiece of her latest tour has to do with being uncomfortable doing gigs for McDonald’s. The film explores the massive guilt trip she endured after being the star of TV ads for Target, a company she came to resent for their labor practices.

“I started feeling bad about it,” she says in the movie, which also reveals that she wrote the New York Times’ Ethicist for guidance. ”I was so obsessed that they were evil."

She’s a sweetheart

At one point during her one-hour performance in the Twin Cities, she started engaging with a woman in the front row. The audience member got nervous and began to babble nonsense.

Many comics would take that as an opportunity to pounce. Instead, Bamford, who was wearing 27 friendship bracelets, comforted her like an aunt at Christmas. She even handed her $20 for playing along.

Bamford’s go-to outfit in the documentary is merchandise from “The Dork Forest,” a podcast that her friend, former Minnesotan Jackie Kashian, does out of Los Angeles.

The fact that Bamford would use such a high-profile project to promote another comedian’s work says a lot about her. Now it’s time for comedy lovers to give back to the pioneer. Start polishing that crown.

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(Neal Justin is the pop-culture critic of The Minnesota Star Tribune.)

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