My love for John Mulaney runs deep. It’s the sort that sees me subconsciously refer to him as a “beloved comedian” or “comedy great” in a normal conversation with friends. So, like many fans, I really felt it when the 38-year-old was off the radar for the past year or so. Selfishly, while he was enduring what must’ve been one helluva time, with a pandemic, a divorce and a stint in rehab, I was lamenting the lack of content and wishing he could make me laugh again. Somehow, I wanted more from him.
The comedian had left a huge void. It was like my most intelligent friend—you know, the one that likens Trump to a horse running loose in a hospital—was gone. So too were his acute observations about the world that made it that little bit easier to live in. I tried to fill it by rewatching his back catalog. I binged his every appearance on YouTube. From deep-dives with Colbert to Dressing Funny with Tan France, I’ve seen it all far too many times to count. I even paid $2.99 per episode to rewatch his failed sitcom Mulaney in its entirety. It helped, sure, but I longed for the real thing. So, you can only imagine how elated I was when my friend scored us tickets to see him at City Winery last Saturday.
That happiness was punctuated by a wave of apprehension. I had the same icky feeling in my stomach as I do when I hate-read a Daily Mail article. I didn’t want to be another voyeuristic vulture watching a broken man finger fresh wounds just to feast on his pain. Was he even well enough to perform? Still, I wanted to show support. Prove that I had his back no matter what. This dichotomy of wanting to give space but also bolster was omnipresent throughout the show. I laughed then felt bad then laughed again.
I’m not going to share any juicy details. I can’t believe people have the gall to see the routine and then share jokes verbatim online. It’s problematic in more ways than one. Suffice to say, Mulaney did not disappoint. His razor-sharp insights have not waned. Nor has his ability to be totally vulnerable with the audience and divulge wholly intimate moments. He has a knack for making you feel connected to him. It’s kind of like how Ricky Gervais gets on the audience’s level by ridiculing himself and his fame. The enigmatic suddenly becomes the everyday. Mulaney sharing his faults, whether that be drug addiction or bitching about friends, humanizes him. For me, it goes beyond “relatable content.” It’s like he’s peered inside my head and is also dissecting some of my truths in side-splitting fashion on stage.
It’s difficult to talk about the show without using cringe-worthy words like “dark” and “raw.” Mulaney himself laughed at the discourse surrounding the performance. Yet I have to say that I found it to be incredibly brave. Yeah, I just rolled my eyes, too. It takes such strength and self-awareness to venture so deep into your psyche and come out alive, let alone with jokes. On top of that, you know that everyone in the room has been reading about you and your supposed love affair with Olivia Munn.
As I clapped harder and harder at each joke, the buzz of the champagne well and truly kicking in, I almost felt guilty that I was cheering for an average man who had failed at life’s big things. Is it kosher to champion a drug addict? It’s the same way I felt watching Louis C.K.’s newish special. I don’t condone what he did, but I still have a love for him.
It’s by no means easy to navigate and the heavy material will be unpalatable for some. It’s not just that Mulaney is exposing his ugly bits, it’s the fact that he’s also holding up a mirror and forcing you to look at a reflection that you may not be ready to see. What constitutes a drug addict? Do I really care about the environment? Should I stop drinking? Yeah, all that tough stuff.
As a chronic oversharer, it all felt quite natural to me. What I wasn’t prepared for, though, was the way his musings would linger like a Sunday morning hangover. His words, his pain, it's stayed with me. I keep thinking about the experience and how quickly worlds can fall apart only to be rebuilt again. I guess that’s what it means to be a beloved comedian in the 21st century.
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