When Louis C.K. was publicly accused of sexual misconduct—and subsequently confirmed that "these stories are true"—he partially withdrew from public life before gradually making a comeback. This trajectory began with performances at comedy clubs just nine months after the news broke in the fall of 2017 and continued with sold-out tours, self-distributed specials, a Grammy, and, finally, *Ridiculous* (a new hour-long special available on Netflix); yet, one thing was never in doubt: his talent.
C.K. is one of the most gifted and influential artists of his generation, and he would remain so even if he never stepped onto a stage again. His FX series *Louie* paved the way for a wave of auteur-driven comedies like *Ramy* and *Dave*; his pioneering method of selling specials and self-funded projects—such as the drama *Horace and Pete*—directly through his website anticipated the so-called "creator economy," built on a direct connection between artists and fans. (This same infrastructure would also allow him to weather the storm that lay ahead.)
Director: Louis C.K.
Stars: Louis C.K.
All of this was grounded in a self-deprecating stage persona that mined middle-aged masculinity for comedic effect. C.K. had been working for decades, but his career truly took off when he transformed into a potbellied, divorced dad who poked fun at his own decline. It was no coincidence.
Thus, it should come as no surprise that *Ridiculous* delivers an hour of solid material, performed with the mastery that comes from experience. During his time away from the commercial circuit—though never truly out of the media spotlight—C.K.’s output has remained steady; in fact, *Ridiculous* (which he also directed) is the comedian's fifth special since the *New York Times* article prompted his temporary hiatus. (Only the first one, *Sincerely Louis C.K.*, addressed his behavior head-on: "You have to check in on things often... It’s not always clear how people feel," he said, referring to repeatedly masturbating in front of women who felt pressured to say yes or remain silent, before titling his next hour-long special with the—apparently ironic—name *Sorry*). C.K.’s stage persona has also remained virtually unchanged: a disheveled-looking guy in a black T-shirt holding forth on the foibles of modern life.
The difference now is that *Ridiculous* is available on a major streaming platform that paid C.K. for the privilege of hosting it. When Robbie Praw, the company’s head of live comedy, told a colleague of mine at *Variety* that "it’s simply about offering a choice [to subscribers]" and that viewers "have to make a decision" regarding their own consumption habits, he was downplaying the decision Netflix itself made to resume a business relationship with C.K. (The comedian also headlined the Hollywood Bowl earlier this year as part of the company’s *Netflix Is a Joke* festival). The release of *Ridiculous* also caps off a tour during which C.K. managed to break through in progressive-leaning publications that had once covered the nadir of his reputation, garnering favorable reviews in both the *Times* and *The New Yorker*.
As a vehicle for gaining the institutional approval C.K. evidently still craves—even though he is doing very well on his own—*Ridiculous* does the job. Some of the absurdity of his early days has resurfaced in his act, alongside an evident relish for playing with taboo subjects and successfully landing the punchline to audience approval. The opening joke—a brief line proclaiming: "I got tested for AIDS today. I haven’t had sex in years; "I just wanted to get some good news"—escalates into a false confession: "I fucked a gay rat and caught AIDS." Later, he assures the audience: "Of course I don't suckle at my mother's breast anymore," and, after a pause, adds: "Because we cremated her." Pedophilia, diarrhea, and the Holocaust are topics addressed in succession. Apparently, the only truly off-limits subject is the reason why C.K. took a nine-year hiatus from Netflix following *2017*.
C.K. has the knack for making all these provocations work within their context, and he conveys the sense that he enjoys walking the tightrope in plain view. (He shares this trait with Shane Gillis, another comic who lost access to mainstream platforms following a scandal and later regained it thanks to direct audience support. Beyond the fact that both have released work on Netflix, C.K. and Gillis are friends and even recorded a four-episode podcast together.) The fact is, the reason C.K. was able to compoWhen Louis C.K. was publicly accused of sexual misconduct—and subsequently confirmed that "these stories are true"—he partially withdrew from public life before gradually making a comeback. This trajectory began with performances at comedy clubs just nine months after the news broke in the fall of 2017 and continued with sold-out tours, self-distributed specials, a Grammy, and, finally, *Ridiculous* (a new hour-long special available on Netflix); yet, one thing was never in doubt: his talent.
C.K. is one of the most gifted and influential artists of his generation, and he would remain so even if he never stepped onto a stage again. His FX series *Louie* paved the way for a wave of auteur-driven comedies like *Ramy* and *Dave*; his pioneering method of selling specials and self-funded projects—such as the drama *Horace and Pete*—directly through his website anticipated the so-called "creator economy," built on a direct connection between artists and fans. (This same infrastructure would also allow him to weather the storm that lay ahead.) All of this was grounded in a self-deprecating stage persona that mined middle-aged masculinity for comedic effect. C.K. had been working for decades, but his career truly took off when he transformed into a potbellied, divorced dad who poked fun at his own decline. It was no coincidence.
Thus, it should come as no surprise that *Ridiculous* delivers an hour of solid material, performed with the mastery that comes from experience. During his time away from the commercial circuit—though never truly out of the media spotlight—C.K.’s output has remained steady; in fact, *Ridiculous* (which he also directed) is the comedian's fifth special since the *New York Times* article prompted his temporary hiatus. (Only the first one, *Sincerely Louis C.K.*, addressed his behavior head-on: "You have to check in on things often... It’s not always clear how people feel," he said, referring to repeatedly masturbating in front of women who felt pressured to say yes or remain silent, before titling his next hour-long special with the—apparently ironic—name *Sorry*). C.K.’s stage persona has also remained virtually unchanged: a disheveled-looking guy in a black T-shirt holding forth on the foibles of modern life.
The difference now is that *Ridiculous* is available on a major streaming platform that paid C.K. for the privilege of hosting it. When Robbie Praw, the company’s head of live comedy, told a colleague of mine at *Variety* that "it’s simply about offering a choice [to subscribers]" and that viewers "have to make a decision" regarding their own consumption habits, he was downplaying the decision Netflix itself made to resume a business relationship with C.K. (The comedian also headlined the Hollywood Bowl earlier this year as part of the company’s *Netflix Is a Joke* festival). The release of *Ridiculous* also caps off a tour during which C.K. managed to break through in progressive-leaning publications that had once covered the nadir of his reputation, garnering favorable reviews in both the *Times* and *The New Yorker*.
As a vehicle for gaining the institutional approval C.K. evidently still craves—even though he is doing very well on his own—*Ridiculous* does the job. Some of the absurdity of his early days has resurfaced in his act, alongside an evident relish for playing with taboo subjects and successfully landing the punchline to audience approval. The opening joke—a brief line proclaiming: "I got tested for AIDS today. I haven’t had sex in years; "I just wanted to get some good news"—escalates into a false confession: "I fucked a gay rat and caught AIDS." Later, he assures the audience: "Of course I don't suckle at my mother's breast anymore," and, after a pause, adds: "Because we cremated her." Pedophilia, diarrhea, and the Holocaust are topics addressed in succession. Apparently, the only truly off-limits subject is the reason why C.K. took a nine-year hiatus from Netflix following *2017*.
C.K. has the knack for making all these provocations work within their context, and he conveys the sense that he enjoys walking the tightrope in plain view. (He shares this trait with Shane Gillis, another comic who lost access to mainstream platforms following a scandal and later regained it thanks to direct audience support. Beyond the fact that both have released work on Netflix, C.K. and Gillis are friends and even recorded a four-episode podcast together.)
He also possesses a genuine insight into the human condition that begins to take center stage as *Ridiculous* unfolds. It starts with that grumpy misanthropy that has remained his trademark despite his successive, massive successes. "I hate waking up," he laments; it is not the first time he has mined comedy from the virtues of the oblivion sleep provides. "I live in New York and I don't like it," begins another segment. Many of these pessimistic complaints start to focus on the aging body—specifically his own. His daily mantra is: "You're just a guy. You're kind of fat. This is about to end." After analyzing the new bags under his eyes and the shadows they cast, C.K. states: "You never see a woman looking like that before she kills herself." This line evokes the kind of commentary on gender double standards that once earned C.K. praise, but later took on a more sinister undertone. Now, it is simply one joke among many.
The special’s longest sequence—and the one likely to garner the most attention outside of it—deals with how C.K. and his sisters place their father in a nursing home, a place whose depressing atmosphere he describes with evocative detail: "There’s a pink plastic water pitcher in the room; you know the kind?" C.K. openly admits that his motives for committing his father were not exactly noble, giving voice to the thoughts of middle-aged adults going through this all-too-common situation. ("He was too old to stop us from putting him in there!") This routine fits the same mold as his anecdotes about child-rearing—a staple of C.K.’s past work, though largely abandoned now that his children are grown. There is honesty and a touch of cruelty—"My father is in that place right now while we laugh at him"—in the way C.K. It addresses an experience shared by many, tempered by the humble certainty that we are all heading toward the same destination on the one-way conveyor belt of time.
Our culture undoubtedly made the mistake of portraying comedians as philosopher-kings endowed with special wisdom—a holdover from the 2010s that elevated figures like C.K. ...granting them an extra measure of power that they subsequently abused. Yet, days after watching *Ridiculous*, some of his sharpest lines stayed with me: observations like "People don't realize where they are until later. Life teaches you how you should have lived it." The same held true for more comedic moments, such as when C.K. acted out the obstacle course involved in getting up to use the restroom in the middle of a movie, driven by an age-shrunken bladder. (The very next day, I attended a screening and saw life imitating art.) The contrast between juvenile quips about urinating and profound reflections on death—delivered in slow motion—proves effective, as it amplifies the impact of each element.
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