No laughing matter
People writing about Louis C.K.’s return made me think.
Jerry Seinfeld likes to point out that a joke is not real life. When someone gets worked up about a joke that was offensive to a group of people, he insists that a joke is fiction, and so, it should not be considered offensive.
I’ve long been an admirer of the stand up comedy industry, and have closely followed the careers of many comics. I have been a Louis C.K. fan since before he became a phenomenon in the comic industry. So it was natural for me to tune in as soon as news broke of Louis C.K.’s return.
This is not an opinion about his resurfacing 10 months after he disappeared from public eye following his confession about sexual misconduct. This is a reflection that was caused by all the things I read, written by several people — many among whom are comedians and female — about what this made them feel.
These pieces highlighted with ruthless clarity, how Louis C.K. — a comedian whose brand was built on the flawed everyman — could be arrogant enough to return without reprimand from his fans. That, by joking about the kinds of things he joked about, he had set the perfect background for a way back if he were to fall as he did.
That’s when, for the first time, I realized I’m now afraid to laugh at a joke.
Comedy is not fiction anymore. There was a time when comedy was a job, when it was fiction, when comedians even exchanged gags. More and more, though, comedians are using comedy as a way of dealing with their own personal issues, to form their own ‘brand’ which is built out of broken pieces of their own personality. Their jokes are witty, insightful, and almost poetic expression of their pain. When Dave Chapelle jokes about racism, Aparna Nancherla jokes about depression, or when Louis C.K. jokes about perversity, it’s no longer a joke to me — it’s that awkward moment at a dinner party where someone tried to pass off a disturbing, potentially harmful, sometimes shameful flaw in an attempt to talk about it.
A few months after the news about his misconduct broke, I had watched, out of curiosity, Louis C.K.’s last special on Netflix . I noticed, perhaps due to a newly gained perspective, that it’s becoming harder and harder for me to relate to his jokes. I saw not a man making insightful commentary about the flaws in us all, but a man struggling to grapple with his own deep and disturbing psychological problems. I saw a man who was trying to see how far he can reveal his inner morbidity before the room would fall silent, in a desperate attempt to find an external way of knowing when to stop. I saw, not a man who deserved my respect, but an unfortunate man with a broken emotional compass who, in an attempt to fix it, monetized and glorified it to a point where he forgot it was broken. Every time we laughed, we became the ones who helped him along.
These jokes are not works of fiction. These are not jokes at all. This is no laughing matter.
