The Comedians

by Kliph Nesteroff

Television avoided comedy about the attacks, but satirical newspaper-turned-website The Onion devoted its next issue to 9/11. Headlines like “American Life Turns Into Bad Jerry Bruckheimer Movie” and “God Angrily Clarifies ‘Don’t Kill’ Rule” resonated with readers. The Onion also managed to convey the feelings of comedy writers with the headline “Report: Gen X Irony, Cynicism May Be Permanently Obsolete.” It earned the admiration of comedy writers across the board. “They did it quickly and they had the absolute perfect tone,” says Smigel. “It wasn’t remotely offensive. It was heroic.”

  The 9/11 attacks affected comedians in personal ways and changed the approach of some. Dennis Miller had always held a combination of liberal and conservative views, but September 11 turned him into a vocal jingoist. “9/11 changed me,” he said. “I’m shocked that it didn’t change the whole country, frankly. I stepped up after 9/11 to a more serious approach to protecting this country.” His stand-up act became a platform for not just comedy, but pronounced opinion. Tom Smothers, clinging to his 1960s credentials, stormed out of a Miller stand-up gig in 2002. “I went and saw his act and I kinda started heckling because I couldn’t believe it. And my wife said, ‘Just shut up and get outta here.’ I walked out. I was so upset. It was just, ‘Bomb everybody, those ragheads, people in mud huts, they don’t have a country, they’re a bunch of stupid assholes.’ 9/11 turned a lot of people around.”

  Jay Leno considered himself a liberal guy, but 9/11 made him cautious about his jokes. “During 9/11, I gave Bush a pass. And I remember about two months had gone by, and then one day I sensed that maybe people were ready. I said, ‘Folks, if you don’t laugh at this joke, that means the terrorists have won.’ And it got a huge laugh. And it wasn’t that funny. But they sensed that, now that it looks like the administration is using this as a crutch, it’s okay to come in slowly with the jokes and roll them in. I remember that joke was a turning point. When it’s obvious to the audience what’s happening, then it works.”

  ABC failed to renew the program Politically Incorrect after host Bill Maher made a controversial comment about the 9/11 hijackers. Politicians referred to the hijackings as a cowardly act and Maher responded, “We have been the cowards lobbing cruise missiles from two thousand miles away. That’s cowardly. Staying in the airplane when it hits the building—say what you want about it—it’s not cowardly.”

  Politically Incorrect had debuted on Comedy Central in July 1993. When it moved to ABC in January 1997, Comedy Central filled the vacated time slot with a different news-oriented program—The Daily Show.

  The Daily Show premiered on Comedy Central on July 22, 1996, hosted by sportscaster Craig Kilborn. Stephen Colbert and comedian Lewis Black were contributors, although neither had much stomach for Kilborn and his smug demeanor. Colbert later said Kilborn’s only strength was reading the teleprompter. Kilborn accepted an offer with David Letterman’s production company, and Jon Stewart took over The Daily Show in January 1999. Over the next several years the program gained momentum and was rivaled only by SNL for its star-making capacity. Thanks to regular Daily Show appearances, Lewis Black and Demetri Martin became major stand-up draws, John Hodgman and Kristen Schaal procured an enormous fan base, Steve Carell became a movie star and Stephen Colbert, John Oliver and Larry Wilmore got their own programs.

  The Colbert Report, starring Stephen Colbert, debuted on October 17, 2005, cocreated by Colbert and Allison Silverman, a former writer with The Daily Show and Late Night with Conan O’Brien. It was the rare political satire that didn’t alienate mainstream viewers. Colbert’s character was impish and pixie-like, likable despite making horrible, pompous statements. His character was such a moron he could hardly be blamed for the things that came out of his mouth. Based on reactionary pundit Bill O’Reilly, Colbert’s comedy was largely inspired by Don Novello, the former SNL contributor best known for his character Father Guido Sarducci. Colbert said, “I loved Novello’s stuff so much I wanted to ape it.”

  Colbert’s commitment was so total and so convincing that his character often appealed to the very people he was ridiculing. The bookers of the White House Correspondents’ Dinner didn’t see a contradiction when they booked him to perform on April 29, 2006, in front of a Republican president whom he routinely eviscerated Monday through Thursday nights on Comedy Central.

  Political comedians like Will Rogers and Bob Hope had ribbed politicians for years, but it was a superficial roasting, one that poked fun at their golf game rather than their policies. Mort Sahl attacked Washington from the nightclub stage and Pat Paulsen did so from the safety of a television studio, but no comedian had ever dared criticize the president to his face. Colbert did just that, making an audience of Washington power players extremely uncomfortable. Appearing at the Correspondents’ Dinner, he stood behind a podium and compared the administration to the exploding Hindenburg. When he criticized the Iraq War, the audience sat cringing in silence, unsure how to respond with the president of the United States sitting right there on the dais, squirming before their eyes. Several of the president’s aides walked out in protest, claiming, “Colbert crossed the line. I can see that [President Bush] got that look that he’s ready to blow.”

  “A group of writers worked on that speech together,” said Allison Silverman. “This is the type of material we write every night. It never occurred to me that it would affect the audience so intensely. So when I witnessed the reaction, I was shocked. Shocked. The speech definitely wasn’t getting a great response. He just kept committing to it, plowing forward. We had no idea how the speech would be perceived. Even later, when we did find out, we were surprised by the strength of response. The reaction to that speech was a lesson on how many people wanted a voice of criticism at that time.”

  The morning papers, for the most part, ignored Colbert’s performance. Reports focused on the other comedian at the function, Steve Bridges, who did a crowd-pleasing impression of the president. The New York Times, the Chicago Tribune and CNN failed to mention that Stephen Colbert was even there.

  But in the days and weeks that followed, the performance gained traction. The C-SPAN website offered two separate feeds—one of Colbert’s twenty-minute roast in its entirety, and the other focused solely on the reaction of a visibly annoyed president. When the video was uploaded to a brand-new website called YouTube, it reached nearly three million people in just forty-eight hours. The audio became one of the top downloads on iTunes for the next five months. And after several months of reflection, New York magazine assessed it as “a controversial, possibly very funny, possibly horribly unfunny, possibly bravely patriotic, and possibly near-seditious monologue.” It was one of the earliest examples of the Internet’s turning an otherwise passing comic moment into something lasting.

  The Internet changed everything. Although uploading a video hardly guaranteed an audience, the Internet was a key tool in the comedy careers of Dane Cook and Louis C.K. Cook marketed his tours directly to fans on Myspace in the early 2000s. He endeared himself by being accessible over the Internet, and soon he was selling out arenas without ever having had major television exposure. He was the most popular comedian in America for a while, just as Myspace was one of the most popular websites. Cook had invented a modern way of marketing comedy, and the comedians who had worked harder and longer using the old-fashioned model were stunned. “With Dane Cook, I just don’t see it,” said Robert Klein. “He made a career for himself on the Internet. I just don’t get it.”

  Louis C.K. entered a new level of popularity around 2005, when he started ridiculing his own children for being assholes. It hit a nerve with frustrated parents, and his career gained momentum. Then, with a bit of Internet luck, C.K.’s career hit new heights. C.K. did a panel segment on Late Night with Conan O’Brien in autumn 2008, talking about an entitled generation in which “everything’s amazing, but nobody’s happy.” The segment aired on NBC and did fine, but when a random YouTuber uploaded the video a full nine mo
nths later, it was circulated widely around Facebook and other websites. It introduced C.K. to droves of new people.

  His next bout of good press came when he offered his latest stand-up special as an affordable, direct download, skipping the traditional television route. A couple years earlier he reflected, “They don’t put that much of a premium on comedy specials anymore. The new model for doing a special is that you get a company to shoot it with you, they bankroll it, and then you own the video rights. Then a place like HBO shows it for a pittance, just to advertise it, and then you sell it on DVD and you make money that way. But you don’t make a special to make money in my eyes.” When he skipped TV altogether and made his latest special available on his website for five dollars at the end of 2011, it made him over $1 million. Comedians copied his successful business model, but no one pulled in the same kind of audience. The business model of comedy was changing, but the most important variable was the same as ever: good luck.

  Comedy had come a far way since the days when a cussword could land a comic in jail. Comedy veterans held a variety of views on the contemporary climate. Former Marx Brothers scriptwriter Irving Brecher observed in 2008, “Comedy these days takes on subjects that have some sort of importance. Now a writer can talk about abortion, the death penalty, immigration. I don’t even know if I would have wanted to deal with the abortion issue when I was writing, but it would have been nice to know that I could have touched on something real if I had wanted to.”

  Rebels of the 1970s like Chevy Chase and Lorne Michaels were absorbed by the mainstream, and SNL is now just another stop on the corporate promotion train. SNL head writer James Downey said the reasoning behind the show’s musical bookings has changed over the years. “Nowadays the choice of the music [is] entirely about getting kids to watch or earning a big rating. And in the old days, that’s the kind of thing that would have prompted a full-scale staff revolt.”

  George Carlin was extremely critical of what SNL had turned into. “This group of people, who were once considered radical and revolutionary, has become just another fucking Hollywood celebrity club.” He went so far as to call Lorne Michaels “a fucking hands-and-knees cocksucker.”

  It was a vulgar statement, and indeed Carlin said he adjusted his persona during his final twenty years to be angrier and more profane just in order to compete with modern comedians. Robert Klein believes there has been a devolution in comedy and its patrons. “I personally believe that comedy audiences have become less cognizant of the world around them, less well read, and generally expect more vulgar and gratuitously cruel humor than the ones I started with in the late 1960s.”

  Many of comedy’s giants abandoned stand-up during their nightclub primes. It’s interesting to imagine what the stand-up acts of Woody Allen, Albert Brooks and Larry David would have looked like if they had stuck with it all these years. None have returned to the nightclub stage since their formative years, but all three have considered it. Woody Allen said in July 2013, “I’d like to get back onstage and do stand-up again. I’ve just been toying with the idea. I would love to see if I could.”

  Larry David recently said, “If I had an act, it seems like it would be good. I’ve been trying to write some material. I have it in notebooks. The idea of putting the whole thing together fills me with dread.”

  Albert Brooks wonders about it. “I think about it. I think I’d enjoy it more now. I have less to lose. Tweeting is almost stand-up, the basis of it. All I have to do is show up somewhere and read them.”

  Twitter was the perfect medium for the short-form joke. Being limited to 140 characters instilled a joke-writing discipline and gave a comedian a platform on which to test jokes instantaneously. If a Twitter feed hit the right nerve, it could boost a comedian’s career. Comedian Todd Barry earned a new following of people who had no knowledge of his stand-up act, but loved his Twitter persona. He saw a boost in stand-up ticket sales as a result. The comic tweets of Rob Delaney led to a following of over a million people. Delaney had never done stand-up, but his steady stream of jokes led to a book deal, a television pilot and a special award from Comedy Central. These success stories gave Twitter-using comics the same kind of hope that Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show once gave to struggling comedians.

  Twitter was a conduit for the written joke. Simultaneously a new audio vehicle became essential for online comedians. Podcasting existed at the turn of the millennium, but didn’t spread until simplified software was provided free in Apple’s June 2005 version of iTunes. Over the next several years comedians Scott Aukerman, Greg Behrendt, Doug Benson, Bill Burr, Adam Carolla, Greg Fitzsimmons, Todd Glass, Chris Hardwick, Pete Holmes, Jay Mohr, Jimmy Pardo, Greg Proops, Joe Rogan, Paul F. Tompkins and Aisha Tyler would take advantage of the technology, cultivating a loyal cult of listeners as hybrid comedian-broadcasters. Part comedy, part talk show, podcasts helped sell tickets when their stars traveled the country doing stand-up. The Onion’s website A.V. Club made a nice analogy, comparing the new podcast proliferation to the comedy record craze of the early 1960s.

  In March 2010 Scott Aukerman and a Wall Street investor founded Earwolf, the first “podcast network.” It provided the space and equipment and produced individual comedy podcasts for a variety of talents under one catchall banner. Comedian Chris Hardwick followed the concept and hit paydirt with his Nerdist Industries, a podcast network targeting superhero, tech and video game culture. The audience for each podcast is a fraction of what a network television series would bring in, but unlike with so much of television, the audience is not there accidentally. Podcast fans seek out favorites and remain loyal. In the new, atomized world of Internet show business, a cult following is a sustainable achievement.

  Marc Maron’s podcast was the primary success story of the genre. It inspired scores of comedians to start their own podcasts, hoping to emulate his popularity. Maron had started stand-up in 1986 and did long stretches in Boston, Los Angeles, New York and San Francisco. He became a staple along the Alternative Comedy circuit in the early 1990s and was the most frequent guest in Conan O’Brien history. But by 2009 he felt as if he had hit a career bottom. He started his podcast just for the sake of it. Once he became a DIY broadcaster his career climbed at an incredible rate, bringing him the fame he had craved for two decades.

  WTF with Marc Maron launched in September 2009 and after twenty-four months had been downloaded twenty million times. One of the first episodes that gained wide attention was Maron’s two-part investigation into charges that comedian Carlos Mencia was a joke thief. It was required listening in the comedy community. A few months later Maron interviewed Gallagher, the popular prop comic of the late 1970s, and it descended into a tense shouting match. Maron confronted Gallagher about xenophobic statements he had made and Gallagher stormed out of the interview in anger. It was a seminal moment that proved WTF with Marc Maron was not just a simple interview show, but often a compelling drama.

  Maron’s twenty-plus years as a stand-up gave him an informed point of view when he interviewed fellow comedians, an understanding that most interviewers did not possess. He achieved an intimate dynamic not unlike that of Tom Snyder’s old Tomorrow show. At its best WTF with Marc Maron was hypnotic. Any comic with success in podcasts owes him a debt of gratitude.

  Marc Maron trekked up to the Napa Valley with his podcasting equipment to speak with Robin Williams in 2011. Williams spent the hour talking about his anxiety, depression and fear. Four years later Williams succumbed to them and took his own life. “There was a humanity to Robin Williams,” Maron said after his death. “The spirit of pure comedy ran through this guy . . . There’s never been a comedic artist like this guy. And there’s no more painful realization that the other side of whatever comic genius is—is sometimes this. That with that sensitivity, that with that perception, that with that empathy, that with that love, that with that mental agility, comes a heart too heavy to live.”

  It was not widely kno
wn that Williams suffered from depression. For fellow comedians, it was not surprising. The best comedians were sentient beings, men and women with powers of perception, sensitive to life’s absurdities—and its cruelties. While the “tears of a clown” concept may be greatly exaggerated, sensitivity is a common trait of the artist—and it is frequently accompanied by depression.

  Williams said he emotionally bottomed out around 2002, overcome by a feeling of dread that could not be rationally explained. He felt uncontrollable anxiety about his life and an intense fear of the future.

  His cocaine and alcohol use during the late 1970s and early 1980s was well known, and his twenty years of sobriety since then was a source of pride. In 2003 Williams relapsed, making a decision to start drinking again in order to alleviate his uncontrollable anxiety. What started as a weeklong binge turned into three years of alcohol dependency.

  Williams had no specific explanation for his relapse. The man who seemed to have everything was in deep suffering. “It’s not caused by anything,” said Williams. “It’s just there. It waits. It lays in wait for the time when you think, ‘It’s fine now. I’m okay.’ Then, the next thing you know, it’s not okay.”

  The manic presence Williams had onstage was that of a man burning off all those anxieties, all the depression, all that fear. “Going onstage is the one salvation,” said Williams. “I’m not going to stop.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you to Marc Maron for bringing my work to a wider audience. Thank you to those who, like Marc, helped me gain legal status in the United States: Jerry Beck, Brent Bambury, Brent Butt, Mark Evanier, Drew Friedman, Zach Galifianakis, Lana Gay, Howard Gewirtz, Leonard Maltin, Jenni Matz, Guy Niccolucci, Lisa Jane Persky, George Schlatter, Jim Windolf and Andy Zax.

  Thank you to the comedy experts for their enthusiasm and all that comes with it: Jeff Abraham, Wayne Federman, Jim Gentile, Dan Pasternack. Thank you to the first interview subjects of my career, Tom Smothers and Steve Martin; their generosity sent me on an obsessive path.