The Louis CK Question

On Tuesday, the "Twitterverse" was all a-flutter with the news that Louis C.K. had returned to preforming stand-up at one of his home clubs in New York City, The Comedy Cellar. The set, which was about 15 minutes long, was impromptu and unannounced. When C.K. arrived on stage, he received a fairly lengthy standing ovation before beginning his performance.

This comes about 9 months after C.K. was accused of sexual misconduct against five different women. Specifically, he was accused of coaxing each of these women, all of whom were fellow comedians, into his hotel room and proceeded to masturbate in front of them.

Shortly after the New York Times published the article that brought these accusations before the public (they'd been circulating as rumors through the comedy world for years apparently), C.K. released a statement admitting that all of the accusations were true. It was after doing so that he vanished from public life, until last week.

Scanning through the tweets, some coming from fellow comics, some from former fans, and some from still loud-and-proud fans, one thing became readily apparent: a LARGE PORTION of people are still NOT happy with Louis. In this post-Weinstein Effect, #MeToo world (which, you, if you don't like it, can partly thank President-Grab-Em-By-The-Pussy for inaugurating), where "thoughts and prayers are not enough," many people still believe that Louis C.K. should not be allowed to begin the process of rebuilding his career and his public image.

The main reason for this is that many believe that Louis has not made a great enough public effort--besides his admission of guilt--to make amends for what he did.

I am one of these people.

When the news broke that Louis had pulled his self-financed film I Love You, Daddy from distribution just before the revelatory article broke, the feeling that went through me could only be adequately described as dread.

When I read the article, however, that dread morphed and fractured into a mixture of honest shock, confusion, rage, and betrayal.

Betrayal especially--because Louis C.K. was one of my favorite comedians. (This is going to take a lot of explaining, so, if you're still interested, join me on a journey through time).

Like most people, I didn't have a happy adolescence. The experience is so universal that I--in an exercise of my own innate pretentiousness--composed a little epigram about it:

"Adolescence is the period in your life where you acquire all of the mental illness and emotional scars you'll have to contend with as an adult."

I still believe this to be true.

The hormones coursing through your body and, especially, your mind that slowly transition and transform you from a child to an adult cause you to be at your most emotionally raw. They also, due to the bodily changes and burgeoning sexual awareness, cause you the greatest mental anguish because of your heightened self-consciousness.

On an even deeper level, at this time in your life, your anguish is compounded by the inevitable shattering of many childhood illusions. The world isn't a fair place. Justice isn't blind or guaranteed. Good frequently doesn't triumph over evil. God isn't watching out for you. Death is an inevitability. And the big one, everyone is full of shit, especially all the authority figures, including your parents.

For some teens, this is unbearable. You need only look at suicide rates to verify that. Some however do find life preservers that allow them to survive and endure this period of life.

My life preservers were books and stand up comedy.

I wrote previously that George Carlin was my benchmark for good comedy, and this remains true. The reason why is that he was the first comedian to whose work I obsessively listened. His comedy from the 90s and the 2000s (the last great period of his career) was what I loved the most because, to me, he was one of the few people who understood how fucked up the world was and bluntly acknowledged it by making jokes about it. He was the man whose work made me realize that I wasn't crazy or alone in thinking the world was full of shit--because THE WORLD IS FULL OF SHIT.

However, I wanted to branch out. Just as I read many books, I wanted to listen to other comics. So I started looking for people like George, who also possessed the same high quality shit-detector I for which I admired him.

From George, I went to Richard Pryor. From Pryor, I found many other greats over the years.

(Just to name a few).

Chris Rock. Redd Foxx. Rodney Dangerfield. Dave Chappelle. Phyllis Diller. Joan Rivers. Sarah Silverman. Kathleen Madigan. Lewis Black. Patton Oswalt. Frankie Boyle. Ricky Gervais. Jimmy Carr. Wanda Sykes. Robin Williams. Bill Hicks. Barry Crimmins. John Pinette. Jerry Seinfeld. Bill Engvall. Larry the Cable Guy. Jeff Foxworthy. Ron White. Jim Norton. Marc Maron. Paula Poundstone. Gabriel Iglesias. Cristela Alonzo. Alonzo Bodden. Tig Notaro. Sam Kinison. Ralphie May. Ali Wong. Margaret Cho. Brian Posehn. Paul. Mooney. Patrice O'Neil.

And, of course, Louis C.K.

Louis was in fact one of the first comics I got into post Carlin/Pryor, and he was one of my favorite living comics because he kept churning out material, something an obsessive personality-type like me appreciates.

 At the time, he'd just released his first two hour-long specials Shameless and Chewed Up, as well as his half-hour HBO One Night Stand. I immediately became a fan. His brash, perverse, and at times poignant sense of humor appealed to me. From then on, I kept a watchful eye out for any new releases from him, and he never failed to bring out new stuff.

Next came his comedy film Hilarious, which was then followed by his show Louie and his self-released concert special Live at the Beacon Theatre. It was at that point that Louis's career finally "popped." Everyone and their mother knew who he was because of his TV show, not just comedy nuts like me.

For the next seven years, Louis had a golden period. Five season of Louie and followed by three more specials (Oh My God, Live at the Comedy Store and 2017). Two more specials produced for other comics (Barry Crimmins: Whatever Threatens You and Todd Barry The Crowd Work Tour) and three more produced series (Horace and Pete, Baskets, and Better Things). Louis C.K. was the king of comedy and I couldn't have been happier because I was a fan. I memorized, nearly word perfect, many of his routines.

I think its universal that some of the things we find in our youth, particularly during our adolescence, are things we eventually grow out of. We, however, do remain actively attached and interested in others, and Stand Up Comedy was, for me, one of those things.

Then the news hit. The oil spilled, and there was no cleaning it up.

Suddenly, I couldn't watch any of Louis's stuff, especially the masturbation jokes (which are numerous). I couldn't watch any of his stuff because I no longer saw my favorite comic. I saw the face of a man who avoided, for years apparently, taking responsibility for acts that affected other people in a negative way. I couldn't watch or listen to his stuff because the idea that someone I enjoyed had done something like that caused too much cognitive dissonance for me to handle. Most of all, I couldn't watch his stuff without thinking about the people his transgressions affected.

What hurt most was that this was someone I associated with helping me traverse an emotionally difficult part of my life. For him to be someone who would do something like this, and then hid it like the sheets he pissed on over night out of shame and fear of what has transpired, filled me with a purely visceral rage. It's nine months later, and only now can I talk about how this revelation effected me.

Comedy has always been filled with fucked up people. You have to be a little fucked up to be able to make people laugh and to want to make people laugh. Richard Pryor had both a history of drug abuse and was a chronic womanizer, constantly trading one wife for another. Yet, most of us forgive him for that and still find him funny to this day because those were "Personal Problems." His actions mostly only affected himself and no one else (save his immediate family).

However, once such actions start affecting other people the story changes. It's one thing to be a fucked up person and do things that hurt you; it's another thing to be a fucked up person and do things that inflict hurt on other people (especially if its multiple people).

Now, to be fair to Louis, he did admit to his transgressions, something no one else affected by the #MeToo movement has done. It's also clear that he must've been genuinely ashamed of what he did. Nobody tries to hide things they're proud of. (Whether he hid it out of pure shame or for the sake of his career, I don't know--likely both though). But, in our culture today, that's not enough.

I mentioned earlier that we in this country have a new Admitting it once you're caught is only step one.

I, however, have no idea what step two or three is.

I don't know what Louis would have to do to rectify this blight on his public image. Donate a bunch of money to a foundation to help abused women? Go on a show like 60 Minutes to explain himself and promise to make amends? Build an entire hour of comedy around this whole thing and have it be the center piece of his next special? Or, maybe, bow out and never try to come back?

I don't know. Many have commented on what they think he should do and what he's failed to do and learn, but I don't know. That' s a decision for him to make.

And, he'll have to understand that, even after he does it--this hypothetical grand gesture--there are many people who still will not forgive him. I'm certain the women will not forgive him. I'm certain that are former fans of his who will only see this action as a "Save-My-Career-And-Cover-My-Ass" move and not a genuine act of indemnification and will not forgive him. I'm certain that there are even fans who want him to return because they still think he's funny, but only after his mea culpa, who will not just FORGET that this happened.

You can't just cover something like this up with white out and pretend it isn't there.

I hold out hope that he will do something to mitigate this. Why? Because Louis has two daughters (I know, because he talks about them endlessly in his comedy). Two young women. Two young women who could easily grow up and have something similar and equally horrible happen to them, for which I'm sure he would want the hypothetical transgressions penalized.

Until he takes action and does something that shows his contrition, though what he did and what he does from here out will just piss me off. Every action you take has its consequences. Redemption in the aftermath of those consequences should be possible, but it shouldn't be easily earned.