Louis C.K. Re-Enters the Mainstream With Caustic Netflix Special ‘Ridiculous’: TV Review - Variety

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As Louis C.K was publicly accused of sexual misconduct, subsequently confirmed that “these stories are true,” partially retreated from public life and gradually returned — a trajectory that began with comedy club appearances just nine months after the story broke in the fall of 2017, then continued through sold-out tours, self-distributed specials, a Grammy, and finally "Ridiculous," a new hour now streaming on Netflix — one thing was never in doubt: his talent.

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C.K. is one of the most gifted and influential performers of his generation, and would remain so even if he never took the stage again. His FX series "Louie" set the template for an entire slate of auteurist sitcoms like “Ramy” and “Dave”; his pioneering method of selling specials and self-funded projects like the drama "Horace and Pete" through his website presaged the so-called creator economy, built on direct connection between performers and fans. (This same infrastructure would also allow him to weather the coming storm.) All this was built on a self-deprecating stand-up persona that made hay of middle-aged masculinity. C.K. had already been working for decades, but his career really popped off only when he was a divorced, pot-bellied dad mocking his own abjection. This was not a coincidence.

So when I say "Ridiculous" is a strong hour of material performed with practiced expertise, it shouldn't come as a surprise. Throughout his time outside the mainstream, though never really out of the spotlight, C.K.'s output has remained consistent; "Ridiculous," which C.K. also directed, is in fact the comic's fifth special since the New York Times story that prompted his temporary hiatus. (Only the first, "Sincerely Louis C.K.," addressed his behavior head-on: "You need to check in often...It's not always clear how people feel," he said of repeatedly masturbating in front of women who felt pressured into saying yes or staying silent, before giving his next hour the apparently tongue-in-cheek title "Sorry.") C.K.'s presentation, too, has stayed largely the same — a schlubby guy in a black T-shirt holding forth on the foibles of modern life.

As a basis for the institutional approval that C.K. evidently still craves despite doing just fine on his own, "Ridiculous" fits the brief. Some of the absurdism of his early style has crept back into the act, coupled with an evident joy in playing around with taboo topics and landing the plane to the audience's approval. The opening joke — a one-liner proclaiming "I took an AIDS test today. I haven't had sex in years, I just wanted some good news" — escalates into the faux-confession that "I fucked a gay rat and I got AIDS." Later, he reassures the crowd that "Of course I don't breastfeed from my mother now" — and then, after a pause, adds, "Because we had her cremated." Pedophilia, diarrhea and the Holocaust are each addressed in turn. The only topic truly off-limits, it seems, is why C.K. took a nine-year break from Netflix after "2017."

C.K. has the skill to make all these provocations pay off in context, and gives the sense he delights in walking a tightrope in full public view. (He has this in common with Shane Gillis, another comedian who lost access to mainstream platforms after a scandal, then regained it through grassroots appeal. Beyond both their work airing on Netflix, C.K. and Gillis are friends and once made a four-part podcast together.) The fact remains that the reason C.K. was able to behave as he did for so long that it became an open secret even before the Times investigation, and the reason he's been able to continue selling tickets and attracting crowds, is that he really does have a rare and exceptional ability to make people laugh.