How Tom Sainsbury turned viral skits and a podcast into a TV hit

Tom Sainsbury turns small‑town gossip into national television

Raised on a dairy farm in Matamata, Tom Sainsbury has a knack for making the small and familiar feel unexpectedly large. His first screen moment was as unlikely as it was amusing — a slice of beetroot in a McDonald’s ad — and since then he’s moved through scripted TV (Wellington Paranormal, Educators), built a popular podcast and adapted that audio world for television with Small Town Scandal. What ties his work together is a sharp ear for local chatter and a warm comic touch that treats characters with affection rather than malice.

From quick sketches to a devoted audience

Sainsbury’s sweet spot is short, topical comedy. He writes, films and posts brisk sketches — the kind of pieces you can watch between emails — and often plays multiple roles using face‑swap and split‑screen tricks. Those clips feel immediate and intimate: low on polish but high on personality. That DIY energy turned into a loyal following, which in turn opened doors to established collaborators and caught the attention of TV producers at home and abroad.

Fast production comes with ethical questions. The same tools that let him riff quickly — rapid publishing and face‑swaps — can blur attribution or create misleading images. Sainsbury deals with that by crediting contributors, running material past collaborators, and tightening verification when a sketch could touch on real people. Those steps protect his creative freedom while guarding his reputation.

A television leap and an unexpected casting coup

The podcast’s leap to the screen crystallised when Felicity Kendal agreed to play Sue, the protagonist’s mother; Sainsbury reached out to her directly. Her casting gave the series instant gravitas and helped position the show for international sales. The TV adaptation preserved the podcast’s sly, affectionate voice but widened the lens: scenes were expanded and made cinematic, and significant filming took place in London after early discussions between Kendal and the producers.

Signing a seasoned actor did more than make headlines. Kendal’s involvement clarified tone for potential buyers and smoothed distribution conversations, culminating in deals with major broadcasters including the BBC. Naturally, rights and clearances were handled rigorously, but the creative choice to keep the story warm while broadening its visual scope paid dividends — the show kept its true‑crime comedic edge while adding faces, places and more texture to its small‑town world.

Viral characters, craft and the minute‑long gag

Moving from audio to images changed the mechanics of the humour. Where the podcast relied on voice and timing, the TV series leans on composition, small visual beats and recurring visual payoffs. Sainsbury’s background in short‑form content helped: he knows how to sculpt a single moment so it’s instantly shareable. Characters like his ’80s Mum, Boomer Dad or the manic wine reviewer Fiona are deliberately archetypal enough to read immediately but grounded in specific detail so they feel alive rather than cartoonish.

That visual expansion required stricter editorial standards. Jokes that were safely vague in audio could become risky when pinned to a recognisable face or place, so the production beefed up verification and editorial oversight. The trade‑off was worth it: less ambiguity but richer storytelling and more opportunities to deepen characters.

Social platforms as a strategic engine

Social media isn’t an afterthought for Sainsbury — it’s a cornerstone of his career. He treats platforms differently: Facebook carries New Zealand‑specific sketches that land with local audiences, while Instagram hosts broader or more experimental work. That discipline keeps his output fresh and targeted.

His online fans are unusually loyal. A devoted group of mostly Gen‑X women — nicknamed “Fanburys” — push content into new circles and turn digital attention into ticket sales for live shows. He mixes low‑cost, rapid production with stand‑up and touring; the live work is a steady income source, while daily clips keep audiences engaged between tours. It’s a practical model that hedges against the fickleness of online trends and builds a dependable connection with viewers.

Collecting real scandals — and knowing when to fictionalise

Sainsbury mines real small‑town gossip and headlines for material, then filters them through a comic sensibility. He’s careful about where to draw the line: some stories serve better as thinly veiled fiction than as direct retellings. That editorial judgement protects people’s privacy and keeps the humour pointed without being cruel. It’s a balancing act — honouring the absurdity of small communities while avoiding harm.

Private life, principles and the person behind the persona

Sainsbury’s sweet spot is short, topical comedy. He writes, films and posts brisk sketches — the kind of pieces you can watch between emails — and often plays multiple roles using face‑swap and split‑screen tricks. Those clips feel immediate and intimate: low on polish but high on personality. That DIY energy turned into a loyal following, which in turn opened doors to established collaborators and caught the attention of TV producers at home and abroad.0

Career reflections and what’s next

Sainsbury’s sweet spot is short, topical comedy. He writes, films and posts brisk sketches — the kind of pieces you can watch between emails — and often plays multiple roles using face‑swap and split‑screen tricks. Those clips feel immediate and intimate: low on polish but high on personality. That DIY energy turned into a loyal following, which in turn opened doors to established collaborators and caught the attention of TV producers at home and abroad.1