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The problem with comedy, or is it just (some) men?

By Tom Ryan

Controversy often swirls around stand-up comedians when their perceived transgressions on or off-stage are seen to require an apology or even some sort of punishment.

As outlined in an episode of the engrossing 2022 documentary series The Dark Side of Comedy (SBS On Demand, two seasons), for example, Andrew Dice Clay’s routines during the 1980s era of “shock comedy” led to accusations of racism and misogyny. And the footage of him on stage spouting vitriol about immigrants and women suggests, as one commentator puts it, “a monster that’s out of control”.

His response to that charge was that “the Dice Man” was just a character he was playing. It wasn’t him. His real name is Andrew Clay Silverstein and the accusations related to his stage persona. At the same time, his performances there for the approval of roaring, fist-pumping, predominantly male audiences certainly support the episode’s suggestion that his shows were fashioned more like macho rallies than comedy acts.

Andrew Dice Clay: shock comedy.

Andrew Dice Clay: shock comedy.

In the episode, famed women’s rights attorney Gloria Allred has little sympathy for his protestations. “He has to take responsibility, which I have not seen him do yet,” she says. “Responsibility means acknowledging what you did was wrong to the people on whom you inflicted that wrong.”

That’s almost what Louis C.K. did in a short piece he wrote for The New York Times in 2017 after being outed in its pages for masturbating in front of a number of women, behaviour which related to his off-stage “performances”. On stage and on screen, he specialised in flawed men and their myriad screw-ups. The private encounters dated back to 2002, and it was the women’s work in the comedy business that led them into his company.

“These stories are true,” he wrote. “When you have power over another person, asking them to look at your dick isn’t a question. It’s a predicament for them. The power I had over these women is that they admired me. And I wielded that power irresponsibly.”

Consequently, he stepped away from the public eye for nine months before returning to the stage at Greenwich Village’s Comedy Cellar.

Louis C.K.: ‘I wielded that power irresponsibly.’

Louis C.K.: ‘I wielded that power irresponsibly.’Credit: Angela Lewis for The New York Times

At which point, into the fray steps Caroline Suh and Cara Mones’ excellent, thoughtful documentary, Sorry/Not Sorry (2023), which arrived this month on DocPlay. Commissioned by The New York Times as a follow-up to its 2017 articles, it takes an admirably dispassionate view of the developing history of the case. The approach is measured and reportorial, which is not to say that it doesn’t have a point of view. That’s evident in the material the filmmakers have chosen to include and the way they’ve arranged it.

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Louis C.K.’s involvement was invited but not obtained and four of the five women originally interviewed by the Times also declined requests for interview. So the filmmakers turned to stand-up comics Jen Kirkman, Megan Koester and Tig Notaro to relate their experiences, alongside Abby Schachner – who’d accused him of audibly masturbating during a 2003 phone conversation with her – choosing to repeat her charges.

Acknowledging that she’d long been “a big Louis fan” and wondering what’s supposed to happen to all those who’ve been “#metoo’d”, Suh says that she and Mones “wanted the film to be less conjecture and more the actual facts of the story”, and that her inspiration was the question of “who are the gatekeepers, who’s allowed back and who isn’t?” Hearing the women’s stories, she says, “was really a game-changer in terms of redirecting and reframing my thinking”. Mones came on to the project after the shoot had been completed, her involvement mostly to do with how best to structure the film.

The film’s emotional thrust pivots on the women’s testimonies, which are disturbing and riveting. Equally compelling, though is the underlying irony that Louis C.K.’s aberrant exhibitionist inclinations, as well as his recognition of the problems they posed, had long been evident. Suh and Mones draw on his public performances as well as his work as a writer/director, such as I Love You, Daddy (2016), and as a producer, including Notaro’s TV series One Mississippi (2015-2017, Apple TV+ rental), to make the point. And Kirkman points out how often male comedians “are telling us who they really are but we’re not listening”.

Footage of an on-stage routine has Louis asking: “How do women still go out with men when, globally and historically, we’re the number one threat to women?” Critique or a confession?

Shortly afterwards he declares, following in the stumbling footsteps of those comedians who mistakenly believe that they speak for everyone of their gender (or the entire species): “You know what’s really sad about men? We can’t have a beautiful thought about a woman that isn’t followed by a disgusting thought. That’s how our brains work.” The self-loathing here is palpable.

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Just as disturbing are many of the responses by members of the “comedy community” to the news of their colleague’s transgressions. Noam Dworman, the owner of the Comedy Cellar, tells the filmmakers that the primary issue for him in enabling Louis’ return to the stage was getting bums on seats. It’s all about business, he says (adjusting his blinkers), “and that’s where I was drawing my line”.

Elsewhere, a poisonous Dave Chappelle stand-up routine tries to turn Schachner into a whiner, asking: “Why didn’t she just hang up the phone?” No wonder the women interviewed all express concerns about the “career repercussions” for speaking out.

During one of his return shows, clearly emboldened by the support he’s received from others in the business, like Chappelle, and to a cheering audience reminiscent of the one hooting for “the Dice Man”, Louis even downplays his apology. Shrugging his shoulders in mock bewilderment, he says: “I like jerking off. I don’t like being alone. What can I tell you?”

Despite rumours that had been circulating for years, Jon Stewart awkwardly sidesteps questions about Louis, saying he knew nothing about this side of his friend’s character. Sarah Silverman deals with the issue more gracefully, postponing an answer to the question about whether or not “you can still love someone who did all these bad things”. “The only people that matter right now,” she says, “are the victims.”

Valuable insights in the film come from those who acknowledge that they’re going through a learning process. One of them is Michael Schur, co-creator of the Parks and Recreation series, who was responsible for casting Louis in a guest role. Schur says that, after he heard the stories about him from “a bunch of people”, he’d initially thought: “That’s not my problem. I didn’t do that.” Only to subsequently realise the implications of such a position: “The fact that I thought it wasn’t my problem is the problem.”

For him, the line that separates the acceptable from the unacceptable is very different from the one drawn by Dworman. “You have to draw it somewhere. You can’t have no line. Maybe tomorrow I will get a new piece of information and I will have to erase that line and I will have to draw it somewhere else.”

Sorry/Not Sorry saves the most telling – and bleak – comment about the case until near the end. Asked for her view of the situation, Black Latina-American comedienne Aida Rodriguez situates it in a wider context, proposing that the whole cancel-culture business is actually “a ruse”. “Homophobia, transphobia, racism, misogyny! None of it went away. So where’s the cancel culture? Tell me what happened.”

The film has been unfairly criticised by some for not taking a stronger position, for not explicitly passing judgement on Louis C.K.’s sexual misconduct and on the responses of his supporters. And for not answering the question about how long transgressors like him should be punished for their actions. In fact, though, it’s cleverly guiding us towards understandings that encourage an appreciation of the complexity of the issues under consideration.

Sorry/Not Sorry (DocPlay) and The Dark Side of Comedy (SBS On Demand, two seasons)

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Original URL: https://www.theage.com.au/culture/tv-and-radio/the-problem-with-comedy-or-is-it-just-some-men-20240822-p5k4kk.html