Gulman, Gary

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    Forget the Punchline. It’s the Setup to These Jokes That’s Tricky.

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    Ronny Chieng, Gary Gulman and other comics are experimenting with long buildups that can be audacious … when they work.A joke can be broken down into two sections: The setup, which isn’t necessarily funny, and the punchline, which better be.Facing a crowd that’s looking to laugh, comics tend to want to get to the payoff as quickly as possible. But there is a rich tradition of jokes that move in the opposite direction, where part of what’s funny is that the setup keeps going and going, long past what you expect.The most famous example might be the Aristocrats, the rare joke that inspired its own documentary. An old bit, it begins with a setup about family members trying to get an agent to book their act and its humor tends to be fundamentally dirty and gratuitous. But in the last year, some of the most ambitious new hours have used the long setup to develop more rarefied kinds of jokes, formally inventive, experimental and very funny.Witness the magnificently unusual joke midway through Ronny Chieng’s recent special, “Love to Hate It” (Netflix), which begins with him trying to find common ground with the MAGA movement, saying its supporters have a point that the country has problems. Slowing his aggressive rat-a-tat delivery, he lists evidence of decline — bad health-care outcomes, wealth inequality — and just when you expect a punchline to lighten the mood, he gets even more serious.Ronny Chieng kills with the long form in “Love to Hate It.”NetflixAdopting the tone of a politician, he says that we did not fulfill the implicit promise that if you worked hard and played by the rules, you could make it. At this point, the comedy seems to have ground to a halt. It’s also when Chieng’s pace shifts, from slow and deliberate to pointedly sped up as he rapidly unspools a grand unified theory. The tempo of his hard-to-follow chatter, which covers tax and trade policy, among other economic minutiae, indicates a departure from logical argument and a venture into the ridiculous. It recalls how everyone from Stanley Kubrick to Benny Hill has used fast forward to create comedy.We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      Dave Chappelle Releases a New Netflix Special, ‘The Dreamer’

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      “The Dreamer” predictably includes trans and disabled jokes but punches down in other ways, too. Chappelle is part of a comedy elite that Gary Gulman pokes at.The wildest moment in the new Dave Chappelle special, “The Dreamer” (Netflix), arrives about two-thirds of the way through when the comic says he’s about to tell a long story. That’s not the unusual part.Some 36 years into a storied comedy career, Chappelle, 50, is better known for controversial yarns than carefully considered punchlines. At this point in the special, he tells the crowd in his hometown, Washington, D.C., that he is going to get a cigarette backstage, asks them to act as if he were finished and says he would prefer a standing ovation. He then does something I have never seen in a Netflix special: He walks off for a smoke and costume change, leaving the stage empty. He strolls back as everyone waits, politely clapping. No one stands. He sits down and even mentions that he didn’t get the standing ovation, grumpily.He could have cut that out but didn’t. Why? Was it to reveal that his crowd refused to be told what to do, how he doesn’t mind, as he said at another point, if most people didn’t laugh at some jokes? Was it to include a momentary reprieve from the self-aggrandizing tone of the hour, which begins with rock-star images of Chappelle walking to the stage in slow motion and ends with a montage of him with everyone from Bono and Mike Tyson to the Netflix C.E.O. Ted Sarandos? I have no idea, but what sticks with you in Chappelle’s sets these days is less the jokes than the other stuff, the discourse-courting jabs, the celebrity gossip, the oddball flourishes.Later, Chappelle says, “Sometimes, I feel regular.” As an example, he describes being shy at a club where a rich Persian guy surrounded by women recognizes him and the comedian imagines him telling the story of seeing Dave Chappelle the next day. The idea that this is Chappelle’s idea of regular is funny.The last time he released a Netflix special on New Year’s Eve was in 2017, which now appears to be a turning point in his career. After vanishing from popular culture for a decade, Chappelle came out with four specials that year, a radically productive run that was the start of a stand-up phase that would grow to overwhelm the memory of his great sketch show, which then dominated his legacy.“Chappelle’s Show,” now two decades ago, began with a brilliant sketch about a blind Black white supremacist named Clayton Bigsby. It was inspired in part by Chappelle’s grandfather, a blind man named George Raymond Reed, who had served on the D.C. mayor’s commission for the disabled. Reed was funny. His Washington Post obituary reported that in describing how to spell his name, he would joke: “Reed with no eyes.”Back in 2017, Chappelle began making jokes about transgender people — and he hasn’t stopped, in special after special, show after show. How you feel about this fixation is baked in, at this point. He begins his new hour with a labored trans joke, before saying he’s finished making them. (Fat chance: They are as much a part of his brand as his name on his jacket.) Then he says he has a new angle: disabled jokes. “They’re not as organized as the gays,” he says. “And I love punching down.”He covers other topics. There’s a big set piece about Chris Rock getting slapped at the Oscars, the most popular subject of 2023 in comedy, and he does some cheap racial jokes, like an elaborate bit merely meant to set up his doing an Asian voice.At one point, he tells the audience that people in comedy think he’s lazy because he’ll tell a joke for a crowd of 20,000 that makes only two or three people laugh, but they will laugh hard. He goes on to tell that joke, an impression of the dead people on the Titanic seeing the doomed OceanGate submersible coming toward them, and it’s silly and fun, a throwback to earlier days. The truth is the more common criticism you hear these days is not that Chappelle aims for a niche but that he seems to prefer making points to getting laughs.This happens to some star comics. This month, Ricky Gervais released a dutifully predictable collection of jokes about supposedly taboo subjects. That special, “Armageddon” on Netflix, makes Chappelle look fascinating and unexpected by comparison.Gervais trots out complaints about people being easily offended, before setting up bits that lean so hard on the assumption of that response that there isn’t much more to them. His fans eat it up. But what’s striking about his hour is the justifications, the defensive explanations, the spelling out of themes. Fine, make your Holocaust and pedophile jokes. But how about: Show, don’t tell.Comedy is a crowded field, but for most audiences, it’s still defined by its biggest stars. Chappelle and Gervais are part of that elite, and the distance between them and the rest of the stand-up world feels greater than ever. That growing inequity is one of the subjects of Gary Gulman’s new special, “Born on 3rd Base” (Max), a meticulously funny hour that digs into the gap between the haves and have-nots.He attacks this subject in a variety of ways, in jokes dissecting the comedy world, an inspired bit about how people order at Chipotle and a rebuttal to the argument that welfare payments destroy initiative. As different as Gulman is from Chappelle in the choice of targets, style and level of fame, they share some qualities. Gulman, 53, also likes jokes that only some will get, and he has a distinct sense of timing that insists on the crowd adjusting to him. He begins his special with the word, “Anyhow.” Is he in the middle of a thought or the end? Either way, we’re disoriented. He likes us there. He plays at his own off-kilter pace.One tactic is the stop-and-go move of slowing down to let his viewers get ahead of him. He announces he has a one-man show called “Mommy, Look,” and the title, he explains, stems from his theory of “just about every one-person show.” Then he pauses and holds, and the crowd laughter grows as they anticipate his point about the origin of the artistic impulse. “You show me a 4-year-old on a diving board to an unreceptive audience,” he says, “I will show you a theater major.”But Gulman also likes to get ahead of his audience, with language-drunk sentences, references intended to be over some heads (“bandicoot,” “paramecium”) and others that wallow in wordplay. One gets the sense that he has whole jokes that are, among other things, an excuse to say words like “burglar” or “guillotine.”This is the only special that dares to engage in this debate: What is the most pretentious suffix in the English language?You’ll have to watch to find out. But the second most pretentious, he argues, is “-esque,” before qualifying the point in the most pretentious way possible: “Unless you’re talking about something French.”“I pander to my base,” Gulman confesses, “which is librarians.” More

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      Best Comedy of 2023: Jim Gaffigan, Beth Stelling and More

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      It’s time to stop taking Jim Gaffigan for granted, and more surprising takeaways from specials, stand-up sets and other funny moments this year.Comedy didn’t boom or bust this year. It sprawled. There seemed to be many more specials than ever, most self-released. Yet Netflix still reigned, dominating the conversation with event specials from John Mulaney and Chris Rock. Twitter (now X) became old news for jokes, while TikTok and Instagram bustled with young performers. Here are a few highlights.Best SpecialIt’s easy to take Jim Gaffigan for granted. His consistency can become boring, and his interests (food, religion) tend not to draw headlines. Over the years, he’s been pigeonholed as the clean comic or the Hot Pockets one (because of a signature bit). But while he’s not flashy, each year he gets a little better, figuring out new challenges that fit his everyman aesthetic. With his 10th special, “Dark Pale” on Prime Video, his comedy has become so skillful, varied and pleasingly prickly that it demands closer attention. Leveraging his benign dad persona, he paints a scathing portrait of our culture post-pandemic that makes you laugh at our cruelty, haplessness and delusions.Best BreakthroughBeth Stelling is a meticulous professional in “If You Didn’t Want Me Then.”Netflix“You have to be careful with pedophilia,” Beth Stelling says in her wry new hour, “If You Didn’t Want Me Then” on Netflix, pausing for a precise beat, “because you catch it just by touching a kid.” After this risky joke, she picks up a cup of tea and sips, daintily. Then she sticks her pinkie out, as if she’s a member of the royal family. It’s one of many small perfect moments in her comedy, which can be as warm and loving as it is crass and ruthless, that reveals her as a meticulous professional in her prime.Best StorytellerIt’s exciting to come across a comic who resists comparisons. In his fascinating special “The Domino Effect Part 2: Loss,” on YouTube, Ali Siddiq tells childhood stories with a jaunty delivery that has a different pace than anyone else’s. Is he even a comic? He’s telling high-stakes, dramatic tales of heartbreak and run-ins with the police, but with the lightness and ease of someone just filling you in about their day. Sad and thrilling, odd and straightforward, rambling and intentional, these are yarns that grab your attention, then toy with it.Best BitJohn Early (with Will Lawrence) mixes satire and cover songs in “Now More Than Ever.”HBOJohn Early is a forerunner of, and the gold standard for, the fashionable genre of musical comedians (Catherine Cohen, Caitlin Cook, Sophie Zucker, Leo Reich) parodying millennial and Gen Z vanity. His long-awaited special, “Now More Than Ever” (on Max), is a mix of stylish satire, soulful cover songs and occasional observational humor. At its high point, he takes a conventional premise, about how Apple manipulates users to collect their data, and transforms the idea into a comic tour de force centered on the ugly phrase “Ask app not to track.” He repeats it so memorably that it’s been lodged in my brain ever since.Best New Double ActLike many funny duos, April Clark and Grace Freud of Girl God look and sound nothing alike — one a lanky slacker, the other a more fiery baritone — but they riff so effortlessly that they seem to merge. In videos announcing themselves as joke writers for Dave Chappelle or in shows raging sarcastically about their Uber driver asking how they are (“Google: The news”), they favor fabrication and transgression, accumulating momentum out of pingpong conversation more than conventional jokes.Best Closer Even an act-out is haunted by death in Marc Maron’s special “From Bleak to Dark.”Oluwaseye Olusa/HBOWhat would suicide by bat look like? Only a comedian would think long and hard on the subject. In “From Bleak to Dark” (Max), Marc Maron imagines it as pitiful, anguished and riotously comic. This act-out, coming at the end of a special haunted by death, operates like the scene in Hunter S. Thompson’s book on the Hells Angels in which Thompson, after spending months hanging out with the biker gang, describes getting beat up by them. It’s a perverse catharsis.Best Online RoasterThe arch-elitist Dan Rosen has created his own critical beat on Instagram, doing stylish and ruthless insult comedy on tasteless interior design, hack décor and shallow architecture. Projecting his face over photos of celebrity homes, he displays an acute eye for overdone trends (anyone with a green kitchen should be ashamed) and a knack for the perfect put-down (“the granny couch”). He compares Chris Brown’s floors to a bowling ball, then says: “I would say it’s the worst crime he ever committed” before a pause.Best Canadian Newcomer“I moved to America this year,” Sophie Buddle said at the start of her “Tonight Show” set in April. “I wanted to see it before it ends.” Then she sucked in her bottom lip and giggled. This chirpy, comic maintains a steady nervous chuckle while joking about masturbation and annoying Los Angeles types. But she knows what she’s doing, finding fresh spins on familiar subjects. She is part of a long line of cheerfully raunchy young comics, and her sneaky jokes are full of sharp elbows. When talking about the United States, there’s pity in her voice that feels like revenge for so many years of American comic condescension toward our northern neighbor.Best Take on Crowd WorkIn a short Netflix set commemorating the 60th anniversary of the Improv club, Deon Cole lays into how comics repeatedly ask audiences to do things like “give it up for the ladies.” Looking besieged, he says, “Got me wasting my claps.”Best Response to a Beeping CellphoneUpon hearing that familiar sound during his recent hour, Joe Pera responded in a deadpan, “You just ruined my life,” then kept it moving.Best ImpressionThat the John Mulaney special “Baby J” (on Netflix) manages to live up to expectations is a feat, considering he addresses his much-publicized stint in rehab and, less so, his equally talked-about divorce. His re-creation of his star-studded intervention shows off a multitude of niche accents. And yet, he gets the biggest laughs going broad and traditional with his Al Pacino take. One distinctive voice nails another.Best BuffoonDiana Morgan as Philomena Cunk in “Cunk on Earth.”Jonathan Browning/NetflixIn the grand British tradition of Alan Partridge and Borat, Diane Morgan’s long-running character, Philomena Cunk, finds laughs through the bloviating of a self-assured idiot. Her comic documentary series, “Cunk on Earth” (on Netflix), finds her in tasteful clothes, inside museums and outside ruins, asking intellectuals questions like, “Is there a great roof of China?”Best YouTube SpecialA highly competitive category. Never have there been more funny people putting out specials on this platform. Django Gold’s folksy screwball jokes, Chase O’Donnell’s deliriously ditsy act, Seaton Smith’s sneaky Madison Square Garden show and Joe List’s hilariously straining efforts to prove that he is fun are highlights. But Nathan Macintosh’s “Money Never Wakes” stands out for its exasperated comic laments about the cocooned lives of the 1 percent. His jokes are tightly constructed, and what makes them sing is his nervy voice, which starts to squeak when he gets worked up, almost as if the sound is coming from a record speeding up.Best Comic-on-Comic ComedyGary Gulman’s new special, “Born on Third Base” (due Dec. 21), is filled with the intricate, language-drunk jokes that have built him into a critical darling. This is his most political and pointed work, focusing on the inequities of class. He uses many subjects to illustrate his point (his take on dentistry is very funny) including the disparity in comedy, with Jerry Seinfeld as an example of the elite. Gulman’s consideration of Seinfeld’s wealth will get attention, but what stands out more is his strong series of jokes on Pop-Tarts, a subject Seinfeld has owned for years and is making a movie about for Netflix.Best Gen Z SurrealistIf the next David Lynch comes from TikTok, where a Dada aesthetic reigns in many of the short comic videos, keep an eye on Savannah Moss, a cheerful young Arizona absurdist who is just getting started. She produces, edits and stars in cartoonishly bizarre videos featuring milk spilling from the sky, goofy puns, jump scares and prop humor, along with Moss herself leaping and spinning in the air for no reason. She calls these quick hits of nonsense fever dreams, and they resist logic, though they have circular narratives that work well on repeat. And while these bits remain raw, watching her slowly but prolifically develop a distinctive handmade visual vocabulary gives me hope for this digital medium. More