In ‘Ready to Sell Out,’ Mike Epps Moves Past the Beefs

Mike Epps may be the only stand-up comic alive who’s upset that Katt Williams didn’t insult him.

In a now notorious, wildly viral three-hour interview with Shannon Sharpe (59 million views and counting) last month, the comic Katt Williams fired salvos at a festival’s worth of comics including Kevin Hart, Steve Harvey and Cedric the Entertainer. Then came the response videos, the counterattacks, the commentary. Epps, unmentioned by Williams, said he was jealous. “Say something bad about me,” he pleaded in a video. “I need the press.”

Of all the gifted stand-ups to emerge from the “Def Comedy Jam” scene of the 1990s, Epps is the one most likely to find humor in failure, minor humiliation, missing the boat. He understands that comedy is more about losing than winning. “I know you guys see me in the movies, but the money’s gone,” he tells an Arizona crowd in his new Netflix special, “Ready to Sell Out,” released Tuesday. Then he jokes: Why else would he be in Phoenix?

Pacing the stage in a brown leather jacket and new sneakers, Epps is unquestionably a star, with credits in film (“Next Friday”) and television (“The Upshaws”), not to mention three previous specials on Netflix. But part of his persona is that he makes poor decisions. “I tried to be Muslim but got caught with a ham sandwich three days in,” he once joked.

Hailing from Indianapolis, Epps is quick to tell you that he dropped out of high school and spent time in jail. He explains to the crowd in his new hour that he made all his movies on cocaine, and while he is not boasting, the way he relates his drug stories make a mockery of righteousness about addiction. “When I be doing coke,” he says, then slightly stammers and starts again: “When I used to do coke.” Then his eyebrows dance.

Onstage, Epps convincingly plays that rascal who has charmed his way out of trouble. Sometimes, his charisma is a crutch. His writing can coast, especially early in this hour when he seems to be at his most generic, doing pandering or familiar jokes about prison rape, fat girls and code-switching. His most surprising moments are not punchlines, but when he says something that could in different hands come off as serious, like when he mentions he’s been pretending to dislike white people for 40 years. There’s also a moodier side to him that you get peeks of in his stand-up but that probably deserves fuller expression.

His personal material is where this is most evident, especially in his commitment to digging into his own flaws, to celebrating the screw-ups in life. He pulls this off with an unexpected, even religious conviction. How is this for a comically counterintuitive defense of doing the wrong thing: “Give God a chance to keep working with you.”