The Business of Show
It’s foolish to expect the truth from someone whose livelihood depends on satisfying the desires of advertisers and yet comedians, with their wildly inflated senses of self worth, relish in describing themselves as truth telling, modern day philosophers — the problem with this analogy, however, is that no philosopher has ever made so much money from the dissemination of existential thought they were able to purchase a house in the hills and a Tesla.
And anyway, as Anthony says, do actual philosophers travel the country, reading their theories to drunks in dark rooms and only publishing the ideas that “hit”? Standup is a solitary profession, yes, but one which also requires human beings to act as soundboards. Satisfying the lowest common denominator is what sells the most, but does the highest price tag dictate the highest quality? Is the most popular idea the best? Is the loudest voice the most veracious? I’ve seen the best comedic minds of my generation deliver Postmates.
People oft ponder how hacks who revel in hate speech, propagate destructive misinformation and commit acts of assault are still able to work; the answer is obvious. The tenants of capitalism dictate that it is impossible to cancel someone who is still commercially viable — as a result, we now live in a world in which there is endless hemming and hawing about how free speech is being infringed upon by those with the largest platforms. The idea that social media somehow gives the commoner as much power, as much of a voice, as a millionaire is a myth — Twitter, Facebook, et al are all privately owned corporations, not social services, and have no qualms against silencing some trans kid in Des Moines and amplifying the opinion of some alt-right grifter because big business is not in the business of morality. Why does Spotify side with Rogan? Because he makes them money, which is the entire reason for their existence (why can’t we make the whole indignancy out of the shameless exploitation of artists?).
The continuing, harrowing, consolidation of media has made it even harder to tell the truth to an audience held by gatekeepers. What is financed by the powers that be is micromanaged and focus grouped to the shithouse, distilled down to appeal to the widest number of the biggest mouthbreathers.
In this climate, how the fuck do you expect someone to speak truth to the power that employs them? Letterman did it, but that was eight million years ago and his comedic persona was that of an asshole, which he’s had to backtrack against in his old age, his whole second act an apology tour.
Much of my comedic sensibility was informed and inspired by Spy Magazine, a short-lived, breathtakingly snarky publication that rallied against the rich, famously describing Donald Trump as a “Short-Fingered Vulgarian.” To Spy, there were no sacred cows; to Spy, ethicality trumped marketability. Did Graydon Carter, who co-founded Spy, lead Vanity Fair to acerbic heights once he became its editor, and therefore part of the ethicless high society he once criticized? Sadly, no – worse, he used his power to protect Jeffrey Epstein.
Because the higher you climb, the more you become compromised. It’s almost as if there is darkness that lies in the heart of man, which becomes illuminated by filthy lucre. Employable social critics profess to be brave, but at the end of the day they all operate from a place of fear and desire for self preservation — their pools, after all, do not clean themselves.
As a result, the industry is woke only when it is politically convenient, when humanizing the marginalized has been signed off on by enough upwardly mobile consumers that their hand is forced. At the same time, though, they have a vested interest in maintaining the status quo, as it is what made their fathers, and as a result, them, rich. In practice, it’s all pandering — they’re merely waiting for ethicality to cease trending, for this whole “nonbinary thing” to go the way of the Dodo, for black lives to no longer matter.
When they do clumsily attempt to give stage time to “the other,” it’s almost always in the context of their interpretation of said other (Case in point: the shambolic mess that is the Sex and the City reboot attempting to navigate modernity). It never rings true because it isn’t; it only would if it were the product of someone with direct experience. Rather, it’s the idea of the other, written by someone who Postmates every fucking meal.
You can’t expect relevancy from someone speaking about something out of their direct experience; from a tourist with a typewriter judging a place they’re paid to visit but would never live. They can treat the help remarkably, so much so tears well in their eyes when they reflect upon the benevolence of their ruler, who could pay them $15 an hour but, in their infinite kindness, pay $17.50, but employing a poor is not the same as understanding one. Therein lies the disconnect.