Sorry/Not Sorry Is a Great Documentary That I Wish Didn’t Exist

I wish I didn’t have to write this article. I wish this documentary didn’t have to exist. But it’s 2024, and shitty men are still getting away with their shitty behavior, so Sorry/Not Sorry is unfortunately still necessary. 

Sorry/Not Sorry is directed by Caroline Suh and Cara Mones  and produced by The New York Times, the outlet that broke the official story about Louis C.K. masturbating in front of other comics and generally sexually harassing women (though for years his behavior was mentioned in blind items in Gawker and on other sites). In 90 minutes of talking heads and archived footage, Suh and Mones take us through C.K.’s years of being regarded as a prestige artist, his incidents of sexual misconduct, the way his behavior was treated as an open secret in the industry at the expense of the women he victimized, his eventual admission of wrongdoing (n.b.: NOT an apology), and his comeback, in which any of his contriteness fell by the wayside. Hell, he won a Grammy framing his misconduct as a kink. There is not much new information in the very tightly, well-constructed documentary, but the various subjects—none of them C.K. himself—are the most compelling part of Sorry/Not Sorry.

First let’s talk about Abby Schachner. She’s an artist and comedian who gives off lovably kooky vibes. The documentary crew follow her around her cluttered home, which is brimming with bright colors and cartoonish paintings. She’s clearly got an artistic eye. On her website, you can find the dolls she makes out of tampons—unicorns, a woman from The Handmaid’s Tale—or her large, plushy cigarettes. Schachner writes children’s books like The Spot, which helps kids find their own mental happy place. She’s also the woman who C.K. was on the phone with while he masturbated, a moment that left her feeling “vulnerable” and “duped.” 

One of Sorry/Not Sorry’s seven parts is devoted to Schachner, documenting her early comedy career (she always considered herself more of a writer and a creator than a performer). Following the phone call and her father’s death, she retreated from the world of stand-up, but in 2018, after Dave Chappelle said she had a “brittle ass spirit,” she started doing comedy again.

Comedian Jen Kirkman, like Schachner, has a part of the doc dedicated to her. She’s a talented stand-up, and her record OK, Gen-X topped our list of the best comedy albums of 2022. In 2015, Kirkman spoke on her podcast about C.K. asking if he could masturbate in front of her, though she didn’t reveal his name. Since then, people were hounding her to confirm if it was C.K. Her regret about how she handled the inundation of questions after the podcast (at one point she said it wasn’t C.K. just so people would leave her alone) is a gut-wrenching reminder that there is no rule book for someone in her position, and that trying to find justice in our fucked-up system often means sacrificing your own personal peace. 

When The New York Times approached Kirkman in 2017 about the article outing C.K.’s misconduct, she went on the record about him. Women know we’re less likely to be believed by the public, so having an institution like the NYT behind you legitimizing your words is important. C.K., on the other hand, didn’t respond to the NYT’s request for comment back in 2017, or when this documentary was being made. He knows that men are usually trusted, their word is not questioned. He can say what he likes, whether in a statement or on Joe Rogan’s podcast or in his reactionary new specials, and a good number of people will get on board. Enough people that he can sell out Madison Square Garden because, as we’ve said before, cancel culture is not real. It is a marketing tool for shitheads like him. Near the end of Sorry/Not Sorry, Kirkman says, “I’d literally be happy if I never thought about [Louis C.K. harassing me] again.”