The good, the bad and the smutty
Mini reviews of 17 Netflix comedy specials released this year amid the tidal wave of standup you can now stream at home
Cristela Alonzo: Lower Classy (out of 4) Maybe you have to be Hispanic; the San Antonio crowd audibly, flatly adores this one-time sitcom star. And Alonzo’s pace cannot be faulted but, despite the game physicality of her performance, her persona is mostly a familiar one: jokes about growing up poor and lamenting her weight are predictable if well done. And a routine about Sarah McLachlan’s “Angel” (the sad song from the ASPCA ads) is kinda old hat in 2017. Maria Bamford: Old Baby A conceptual novelty — the performance venue changes every few minutes, apparently illustrating Bamford’s slow rise through the standup ranks — provides a shot in the arm for this high-strung veteran’s show, where personal issues are brought to life with the comedian’s animated face and voice and willingness to get silly. Fans will recall a couple of lines from sets a few years ago, underlining her show-ending comment: “Friends ask me, ‘Are you even writing anymore?’ ‘No. No I am not.’” A critics’ darling; me too. Mike Birbiglia: Thank God For Joke Ironically, given the title, this genial, low-energy performer is more of a storyteller than a joke-teller. His personal tales are engaging but lowstakes; there’s a bit of religious material — “that joke is comedy myrrh,” he notes in passing — with only the gentlest grazing shot of controversy (a bit likening police shootings to kills by bears, except there’s no “press conference where the other bears stand behind the murderous bear”) and the longest setup imaginable for a worthy joke at the expense of David O. Russell. Neal Brennan: 3 Mics The conceit of the show — which he previewed at JFL42 last year — is as the title suggests, a trio of microphones: at one the Chappelle’s Show co-creator does one-liners; at one, more standard standup; and darker, confessional stuff at the third. Material and delivery at each are great, but the format gets in the way a bit; one senses that the third mic is where he really wants to be. Bill Burr: Walk Your Way Out Falls well short of his previous specials, notably 2012’s You People Are All the Same. Burr’s pique and paranoia are still with him, but before a wary Nashville crowd he belabours some bits about overpopulation, fat people and Hitler. Moments involving drinking and driving, and Ronald McDonald provide hope that the old Burr is still there. Dave Chappelle: The Age of Spin Like catching up with an old friend, if your pal happens to be the most fearless comedian around. His take on race, gender, war and history — and lots of popular culture for the L.A. audience — have the potential to offend. Yet it’s balanced throughout by actual empathy — watch him complicate your thoughts on Bill Cosby, just so he can render you helpless with laughter and shock with a callback to an earlier joke that once seemed pointlessly rude.
I won’t spoil even one line; the best ones would get anyone but him in trouble. Dave Chappelle: Deep in the Heart of Texas Looser and less structured than the L.A. special, filmed a month earlier in 2015, this one has much more personal material about his family life. His time away from the stage and the age of these specials — recorded on his own and then sold to Netflix — shows a bit, as Chappelle’s topical material includes prompts to have the audience remember when the names “Ray Rice” and “Donald Sterling” were on everyone’s lips. Louis C.K. 2017 A trimmed version of what he brought to Toronto earlier this year, and better for it.
The bit about Sept. 11 deniers hasn’t gotten better, but in the two realms where he mostly dwells — family and philosophy — he scores hit after hit after opening with a nice long bit about abortion.
Suicide, love, his dog, the myth of Achilles: on every topic he pushes for a joke that makes the audience laugh but get uncomfortable, too.
“Please, please, don’t,” he says, disrupting an early applause break. “You’re not gonna like it.” Jim Gaffigan: Cinco In his last special, Gaffigan seemed keen to leave his old topics (sloth, kids, food) behind. But your muse dwells where it wants, I suppose. Seven opening minutes of weight jokes (“all right, let’s see how fat this bastard got”) show we are right back into familiar territory, buttressed with expansions into topics likes Netflix binging (a natural for the comic champion of the lazy and indoorsy).
It’s truly remarkable how much good new material he finds, given a persona that seems to resist maturation — the sneakers he wears onstage here make him look like a toddler. Jen Kirkman: Just Keep Livin’ The highlight here are Kirkman’s extended reflections on her sexual ignorance and inexperience growing up, and the lies she told about all of it. Those who remember her from Paul F. Tompkins’ old Pod F. Tompkast podcast will not be surprised how remarkably funny she can make a superficially unremarkable Catholic girlhood.
A bit about if men menstruated is not, however, quite the fresh spin she wants it to be. Jo Koy: Live from Seattle After a crass start, this high-energy track-suited performer strikes a lot of chords with a raucous Seattle crowd, apparently with a healthy contingent of Filipino heritage like Koy’s. As with Alonzo, growing up deprived is a rich vein but enriched by his own relatable experience raising his son as a man-child: “I go, ‘Jo, do you want a PS4 this Christmas?’ He goes, ‘Nah.’ I go, ‘Why the f--- not? You’re selfish, bro.’” His sexual capers distort reality out of recognition sometimes and, once again, it gets crass — even lowbrow — but the screams from the audience give no hint of offence. The Lucas Brothers: On Drugs The title is not meant to state that identical twins Kenny and Keith Lucas were actually under the influence while recording this special, but given their loose, at times sloppy delivery you might get confused. This looks to be the smallest venue and the shortest running time of these specials; it’s clean and benign, but of
sK all the specials this is the one that feels the most unnecessary. Norm Macdonald: Hitler’s Dog, Gossip & Trickery Our national treasure’s latest is not on the level of his last offering, 2011’s Me Doing Standup. Starting and ending in media res, and loose to the point of being ragged, it includes several bits that were also on Macdonald’s much-circulated last appearance on David Letterman’s show and, tragically, includes only an audio hint of an exceptional bit (admittedly, sort of a rape joke) on Jerry Seinfeld’s web series. His minimal performance style — he’s just standing behind a mic stand 95 per cent of the time — and his horror of topicality have him painted into a bit of a corner, so the writing is everything and sometimes the jokes are just good, not great. It picks up substantially in the second half, thanks of course to Hitler. Trevor Noah: Afraid of the Dark Did you know that Barack Obama is widely perceived as cool? Did you know that white North Americans are immigrants to this land? Deprived of his Daily Show writers, Noah’s material is never as good (or as lean) as his talent for vocal mimicry deserves, and his preoccupation with prejudice, though honestly come by, seldom leads to anything very subversive or surprising. Jim Norton: Mouthful of Shame Forget what I said about Jo Koy being crass. This is crassness, relentlessly perverse and sexual — and yet fair-minded and funny, if you can bear all this filth (if you can’t, give it one star instead of the three above). Decency forbids identifying the sex act likened to “kissing the scalp of a marathon runner.” Interestingly, he also makes the same suicide-note joke as Norm Macdonald; the latter’s version is more elaborate and strange, but Norton’s is leaner. He hits his mark and moves on. Katherine Ryan: In Trouble This Ontarian has taken Britain by storm with her good cheer and remarkably creative vulgarity: commenting on the reluctance of Bill Cosby’s accusers, she notes that a certain comic actress could “wear me like a watch” and she’d say nothing. The material pinballs from Joan Rivers to Ryan’s daughter without losing her fresh, tart point of view. I predict she’ll get huge over here, too. Amy Schumer: The Leather Special Don’t believe the haters, or maybe the lovers either: this is the same smutty Schumer you’ve always known — wide-eyed and impish, alternately proud and abashed — but there are fewer surprises. The sex stuff does go over better than her diarrhea routine or the digression about gun control, anyhow.