The retirees that dish out the Emmy nominations didn’t single out Louie for best comedy, but Louis C.K. made the list multiple times. He’s up as an actor, writer and editor. They’re not all for Louie, but there’s not much of a barrier between his sitcom and his stand-up specials, so it’s all basically going to the same place. That place being Louis C.K., who is a comedian and a person and a guy who is now an Emmy darling, or at least not entirely an Emmy unknown. Or something.
“Joan” focuses squarely on comedy as a profession. It’s named after guest star Joan Rivers, who, after a couple of decades isolated on TV’s margins as a basic-cable red-carpet attack dog, is enjoying a late-career revitalization thanks to the documentary Joan Rivers: A Piece Of Work and fans like C.K. and Julie Klausner, whose podcast with Rivers from earlier this year should be required listening.
Before Joan appears, though, “Joan” begins with C.K. playing a show at a casino to a lonely, drunk, indifferent audience, including a table full of people laughing at their own private conversation. He takes his frustration out in an anti-gambling, anti-Trump rant that ends with him telling the audience to go fuck itself. Of course this violates all manner of contract stipulations, and when the casino’s talent booker complains about his act, C.K. quits. But this is Louie, so the casino boss comes off as a nice guy when he reluctantly tells C.K. he has to fire him if he doesn’t change his act. He’s presented as an understanding but no-nonsense sort, as C.K. once again focuses on the humanity of a character that would often be played as a cartoon villain in some struggle between integrity and corporate obeisance. Still, C.K. refuses to alter his act or personality, and quits. And then, after feeling disrespected at his job, C.K. disrespects a chef by stealing a shrimp off his ice sculpture display and wanders the casino floor staring sadly at the money-sucking machines that his potential audience care about more than his comedy. Searching for pathos in a casino isn’t difficult or illuminating, but C.K. keeps this segment short, briefly extending the downcast mood at the end of his troubled stand-up act.
Eventually C.K. stumbles into a Joan Rivers performance in the same casino. Her bits about aging and its effects on the body are a perfect distaff reflection of C.K.’s “48-hour diarrhea window” material that opens the episode, except her routine is probably decades older and is delivered to a large and attentive theater audience instead of C.K.’s disrespectful lounge crowd. C.K. seems perpetually disgruntled by the act of comedy on his show, but in his joyful response to Rivers’ set we see that comedy still holds power for him beyond talking to others about his own supposedly shitty life.
C.K. heads backstage after the show to pay his respects. Rivers recognizes C.K. but seems indifferent to meeting him, dispensing any formalities or introductions before asking him if he wants to hang out and drink. Obviously C.K. jumps at the chance, and embarks on a philosophical discussion about comedy, careerism and life in general.
C.K.’s chat with Rivers fixates on the integrity vs. money divide that began the episode. The final verdict: “integrity” doesn’t matter in comedy. There’s only the job. You do it, you get paid, and then you do it again. As Rivers complains, “You know what’s wrong with you guys? You don’t know when you’re lucky. Appreciate where you are, for God’s sake.”
Joan embarrasses C.K. with tales of how hard her career has been, before physically assaulting him for answering her rhetorical question about “how many blowjobs it’s taken Joan Rivers to end up in a suite with lots of flowers.” (The answer? Zero.) She reminds C.K. that comedians like “that Dane Clark… asshole” are more than happy to steal his livelihood if he’s not dedicated and vigilant. Rivers awesomely dresses C.K. down, stressing that she’s “done it all and the only thing [she’s] learned is you don’t quit. You don’t quit a job.”
Rivers’ epic rant is worth quoting at length. It represents old school comics everywhere as they rail against the younger (but now middle-aged) generation that operates under delusions of artistic pretension.“It doesn’t get better,” Rivers says. “YOU get better. I’ve gone up, I’ve gone down, I’ve been bankrupt, I’ve been broke, but you do it. And you do it because we love it more than anything else. What we do is not a job. Sounds so stupid. What we do is a calling, my dear. We make people happy. It’s a calling.”
And then C.K. tries to make out with her. And, after thinking about it, she kinda likes it, and invites him to bed.
Rivers’ impassioned defense of the comedic “calling” might sound a little idealistic and romanticized to cynical viewers, but that idea has been an undercurrent to Louie all along. That’s how C.K. can justify his extremely personal and potentially embarrassing material: he’s being honest. He has a responsibility as a comedian to be honest but funny, and in “Joan” we see what happens when that responsibility runs counter to his best interests as a working performer. That honesty, again, shines throughout Louie, as the show routinely refuses to vilify anybody, instead trying to find the justification behind every character’s actions.
Rivers is an excellent choice for this tough-talking, Burgess Meredith-in-Rocky type of role. Her comedy, as one of the first female stand-ups, has always had a more personal edge than most comics, and that confessional element and personal connection with the audience is what makes C.K.’s comedy so poignant.
“Joan” isn’t the most hilarious or insightful episode of Louie, but it deals with the job of comedy more deliberately than any other episode, and thus is one of the more significant episodes of the show. Also it reaffirms my recent decision to atone for my longstanding childhood dislike of Joan Rivers. Sure, it was cool that Husker Du played her old talk show, but until I was an adult, her schtick just annoyed the hell out of me.