Louie C.K. at the Governor’s Comedy Club

People falling from greatness fascinates me the way Kim Kardashian’s ass fascinates me: I know about it and every now and again I can see it. It’s dramatic and accessible and gratuitous in a way that makes wasting time online more fun. I got to check that feeling recently when I heard an underground vocals-only recording from December 16th of Louis C.K. performing at the Governor’s Comedy Club on Long Island. The video’s doing the rounds on YouTube and as of my count on New Year’s day reached 286, 143 views. I should mention, that’s only two days after the video was posted on December 30th. Of the comedy acolytes who have already seen it, 806 people wanted to be recorded as saying they did not like it. (But 9.3K gave it a thumbs up.) This recording is comedy samizdat. It’s juicy. Louis has fallen to the bottom of the barrel and around 300,000 people want to know if he’s still alive. He is.

I’ll start out by saying I admire the man. I’ve loved his work for forever, but who gives a shit? Everyone loved that man’s work. He was Comedy just as Comedy started to make Drama boring. And then we found out about the bad thing. The shitty little man taking it out on the hopeful young women and the cover-ups that inevitably follow, the many tearful recriminations…and we got on with watching as one of the biggest stars got thrown off stage. His defense didn’t matter so we all just thought, “Let’s lynch him!” and we strung up a noose and watched as his eyes popped and his fat red head got impossibly bright. We were looking for blood and he had plenty of it. Also it was fine because it was historic! An Act of God. One of the mansions burnt to cinders in the great forest fire that feminist politics was now.

Remember, even in a town called Paradise, all those big houses burned just the same. It puts the fear of God in you. Anyone can be humiliated. It’s terrifying, Watch out! It’s not a joke. Louis’ death was political and the irony made it delightful. After all, he was a spy from our very own ranks! One of the most celebrated comedians alive and a critical link for white people: he bridged Obama-era liberalism with the working class. His voice was triumphant in an age of precipitous verbal battle lines, where television hosts regularly interviewed pundits on which phrases show you’re #MeToo and which your racist grandma might use. Everyone wants to be right here so you don’t break ranks easily. If someone proves they’re a traitor, ex-communication is sure to follow. Liberal feminism found an imposter in C.K. and now we get to punch him in the face!

Suddenly, love for Louis was naive. It hadn’t been before. We were all fans, the people buying tickets. And now we all agreed that no one would talk to him, whether we knew him or not. The corporate sponsors shuddered, the networks canceled his shows, and I’ll admit it felt weirdly mighty. How badly do you think we could hurt this guy? Everyone agreed it’s all right.

It’s got to be a similar feeling to the one Louis had jerking off in front of those girls. Absolute whimsical power. What weird shitty thing would you do if you could get away with it? And would getting caught matter nearly as much for you as it did for him? On the recording I listened to, Louis says he lost $34 million dollars in a single day. I don’t have anywhere close to that so I don’t know what it’s like to lose, but the comedian starts off by describing the same confused regret anyone might relate to and off we go, sympathizing with the Devil.

That’s comedy, right? For an hour of material, he got a standing ovation. It’s clear, he is still as good a writer as he ever was. You don’t need to see his delivery to see that. The structure of each joke is solid. The more outrageous, the stronger the foundation.

There is a difference though: He’s angry now.

Before the bad thing his comedy was warm and chubby. He made you feel O.K. about being regular. But then he did something we don’t want to think of as regular and we told him so and now he’s back to tell us something worse.

His vocabulary is noticeably smuttier. You can hear a lot of men laughing. It’s not a subtle show. He riffs off being a dumb American. A pig. He talks about not over-tipping your waiter because he may have a child chained to a radiator at home. The joke is percussive and dangerous. The way good comedy is — when you’re laughing at what you’re not supposed to. It’s uncomfortable because you know the thrill of one is dependent on the other: breaking the rules is only amusing when you agree with those rules. Louis is not a social justice warrior, he’s funny. And it’s enjoyable to laugh at things you take seriously. It helps you endure.

In the Governor’s set, Louis talks about his mom scrapbooking negative articles about him from the New York Times and how his thirteen year-old daughter thinks stand-up is stupid. The audience moans consolingly as he praises her lunge for free-expression and then he tells us what he wanted to say to her but didn’t: Her only accomplishment is being his daughter. It’s cruel and funny and true. What a weird and wily magic? To say something insulting and have it help what you can’t fix. This is hard to talk about. Just like it’s hard to talk about what he did. Maybe I’ve lost the point or just conflating details of the incident with the emotions they inspire, but I don’t really see how what Louis did is worthy of exile? Especially when you consider how powerful and important his voice continues to be.

It’s curious when you think how many stars are staying down. Weinstein will never work again, sure, but where the hell is Al Franken or Aziz Ansari? Their crimes are not the same. Not even in the same ballpark. Weinstein was playing a different game entirely and his scope of influence was absurd. He deserves to die, but the other guys, really? Some of them are major talents and workhorses. Gone! I figure, most men are probably more culpable of bad behavior than anyone wants discussed publicly so no one’s going to say boo when you drag another guy out. But now here’s Louis, talking about it. Exactly what he’s not supposed to do. All the stuff he’s not supposed to say: The teen Parkland-shooting survivors are punks or the myth that black guys have big dicks is true. He’s taking the opportunity to score his humiliation and you can’t say it’s not entertaining. People are watching.

There’s a scene in the TV show Louie when the comedian is on stage talking about his personal code of ethics. He says, “I think you could kill a guy and if you don’t get caught, it’s basically fine.” It’s not that Louis didn’t think he’d get caught masturbating. He was getting caught — clearly, that was the sexual thrill of it! He just never considered the goodwill of his legions of fans would fail to protect him. He was so high, falling was inconceivable. He couldn’t even see the ground! Well, he’s found it now so he’s shouting.

Some are asking, Why doesn’t Louis address the incident further? The bedroom scene? His motivation? Something! In his Governor’s set, he does talk about the times “When you do something wrong…” and finding out who your real friends are. Hilariously, they aren’t the ones you’d have picked and somehow the punch line is “black people” and you’re gagging because he makes sure it makes sense. In being intellectually offensive, he manages to achieve a real-life poignancy. This is not the world we’d have designed if any of us had really thought about it, but pointing out it’s weird inaccuracies can often make you feel better, even laugh.

The audience agrees. You can hear it on the tape. The guy recording the set that night is dying laughing. Deep belly laughs and exclamations to God. Toward the middle, he yells out, “I’m proud of you, Lou!” This is not an unimportant guy with some unnecessary skill. Louis presents nearly an hour of material to a rapt audience. That’s not nothing. Consider it. When did you last make someone laugh? When did you make someone do anything they couldn’t control?

So what am I saying here? Should geniuses really be treated any differently than the rest of us? Well, yes, I think they should because in fact we already do. Treat them differently, that is. By definition, they are different, better. They do things we can’t do. Or at least, don’t do as well. It may make their ethical responsibility greater but it doesn’t alter their proclivities. Disappointing, but true, which is why punishment is not just appropriate, its necessary! Tyrannical power is bread from unchecked liberty and we don’t need more dictators. But what kind of punishment is appropriate? And for how long? Is genius a mitigating factor?

These are difficult questions. Civilizations have warred over these questions and households riven in their wake, but it’s basic to discipline. How do you deal with someone you depend on when they do something wrong? These ideas are not only emotional, but practical. Traditionally, we leave it to experts to tell us what we ought to think and nod because it’s reasonable and try to remember what they said in case anybody asks, but really we all have other things to do so we just agree and get on with our day. Head down, follow the crowd.

Early cultural arbitration on Louis’ return to comedy is mixed. A lot of the critics want him to Stay the Hell Out!, but fans seem to be quietly mounting their resistance in sheer numbers. People want to see a body emerge from the wreckage.

At his banishment early last year, I decided to mourn Louis in secret like a religion under threat, pull up my collar and affirm the fact that I already knew men were assholes so why am I even surprised? He was gone and fair enough. Let’s bring in some new cultural kingmakers. Who else is out there? Turns out, that kind of talent does not come easy. In the time Louis’ been underground, no one has replaced him. If he’s at the top of the heap, it’s not because he was pushing others down. His talent created an industry around him. He may have abused some in the business, but he also helped create that business. Does that not also deserve our respect?

How important is it anyway to say what you’re not supposed to? What does it do for us to hear it said? Americans are big on free speech — the way we’re big on guns, porn and drugs. We are a nation of eager consumers and one of the products we crave is public speaking. So Louis goes out there and talks about what we’re afraid to even think and he does not do so without skill. That sort of courage is athletic, almost sexual. It made him a star.

At one point, Louis gives an eloquent disquisition on the meaning, use, abuse and consequent restriction of the word “retard”. This is contested territory and not at all some sort of cakewalk, no matter how long you’ve been a comedian. People do not like this word. Oddly enough, (and a bit of a side note) there are branches of the so-called “dirt bag left” who are contesting the restrictions on this word too (See: the podcast “Red Scare”). That said, the case is not settled. George Carlin may have made history listing all the words the mainstream media will not broadcast, but no one wants to protect the bully who uses them just to offend innocents. Retard is one of those words that illuminates our current cultural fault lines: distinguishing the woke, the better-than’s. What could you possibly need from that word that you couldn’t say another way?

It turns out, a lot. Louis goes through it. Meticulously. Landing a triple-axle on top of a spin. Just when you think he may die, he makes you think. Retarded people aren’t the point at all. We don’t even include them in our lives.

Why is Comedy so popular? What does it depend on and where do we find it? Louis’ recent revival was at a hole-in-the-wall whose owner pleads the fifth on giving Louis a platform, telling The Hollywood Reporter, “I don’t feel there’s a clear standard out there in the world of why someone doesn’t have [an audience].” I do. It’s called Talent and Louis’ got it.

He’s so relatable, trying not to laugh feels like an unfair fight. He’s funny! How can you discuss the merits of the joke while you’re laughing? It’s a problem because what he did was clearly shitty. We all know that. He knows that. But it doesn’t somehow make him un-funny or even irrelevant. I still want to hear what he has to say. Especially now that he’s been cast so low. It makes his comedy more urgent.

After all, it’s fun to do something you’re not supposed to. It’s part of the fun of comedy. You laugh because whatever’s funny isn’t happening to you. In other circumstances, you’d be crying. Your laughter is instinctive, heretical. “Look at that asshole! Jesus I’m glad it’s not me.” You think to yourself, safely seated.

As I’m writing this, a mother at the pizza place where I’m sitting, apologizes to her daughter for laughing at one of her impressions. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.” It’s a reflex. Something we can’t help. A lot like love. Or simple recognition. If laughter is honest, it isn’t done on purpose.

There’s another big problem here and it has to do with how we treat criminals: pretending they’re essentially rotten and best cast aside. It’s also why that joke at the top about how black people are the only friends you’ll have after you’ve done something wrong is so funny. Not because it’s not nice, but because it’s true. Black people are more familiar with cultural shade and criminal proceedings. They know what it’s like to be punished.

Make no mistake, social exile is a big deal. And surviving it is hard. Aziz Ansari is gone. Kevin Spacey’s repeated excursions into social-media viral-videos are just creepy. Not even Woody Allen has managed to make another movie and we’re still trying to make a piñata out of him for the kids. What the hell is Louis doing now if not pulling a straight-up Bill Clinton? He won’t stay down. This is old school and in the age of Trump, it just may work. After all, we need a more complicated politics if we’re going to understand our party going forward, what it takes to re-describe a united experience. It’s not easy to live together.

Loving Louis C.K. now feels like loving your shit-head husband. You still sort of have to if you still depend on him. It’s not an uncommon problem and it’s at the heart of the feminist struggle. Is the possibility of my life more or less important than its quality? It’s at the heart of any struggle for decency, speaking Truth to Power. It’s also at the heart of Comedy. The fact that many of us stay in bad relationships because it’s all we’re being offered, it’s all we have.

It turns out, even assholes are necessary. The question is whether being an asshole is obligatory or maybe even helpful? Perish the thought. It gets weedy here. True humility can feel intolerable. No one wants to be the butt of the joke everyone’s laughing at. So just how strong do you have to be to go from the bottom to the top then back to the bottom and try to rise again? Pretty fucking strong. In fact, I don’t think it’s at all an ordinary thing to do. It’s not normal. It’s not what we expect. But then again…neither is a good joke.