When I teach courses on media theory, I like to point out that whenever a new technology appears, there are some that hail it as the thing that will finally spark an information revolution that will lead us to Utopia. Others hail it as the end of civilization itself. The article by Elahe Izadi for the Washington Post (7/13/2017), discusses both sides, so we’ll start from the top:
The wonders of technology
Open and democratic
Michael Che expressed that he felt like nowadays everybody is a comedian, but Ilana Glazer notes, “Anybody could be a comedian and everybody could be a comedian.” Izadi adds, that this is because the internet is free and open to all.
Stand-up comics once vied for limited TV airtime. Now they vie to be noticed on the limitless Internet, where they can tell jokes and upload videos instantly.
“The democratization of the Internet has kind of sped things up,” says [Comedy Central executive, Steve] Raizes. “That’s kind of a whole new path in. . . . It used to take people 10 years to kind of go through this.
Control of voice
Abbi Jacobson of Broad City, which started as a Web series, says that the internet, “gives content creators control to make exactly what they want to do with their voice.”
This has to some extent always been true of stand-up:
“There’s no editor between me and the audience. I direct, produce, writing — I’m everything in that medium,” [T.J.] Miller says. “So if I f— up and tonight doesn’t go well, or if people don’t like how I’ve decided to talk about it, that is wholly and completely on me.”
Less layers of red-tape, corporate lawyers, financial backers and censors will always free up an artist – and that’s always been the benefit of stand-up. Just look at what happens to a comic’s act when they get their own sitcom: Tim Allen, Roseanne Barr and company were watered down and reduced to caricatures and catchphrases. It wasn’t until Seinfeld that we started to see something more three-dimensional, and he had to break the model to do it.
True, there’s some censoring that happens in stand-up (especially before your set is televised). But while some clubs don’t want you to “work blue,” and if the audience revolts, you might not get an invite back, if you’re killing, there aren’t a lot of limits on what you can do. However, in the internet model, as Izadi notes,
Social media “cut out the middleman” and let comedians reach audiences directly — which is especially important when you first start in comedy and bookers control whether you can play their clubs, says [Ron] Funches.
“A lot of times they’re basing it off of comedy that they liked in the past, friends that they liked,” says Funches. “So if you’re anything different or unique, they’re like, ‘Oh, I don’t know what this is. This isn’t what I think comedy is.’”
[Phoebe] Robinson, who co-hosts WNYC’s “2 Dope Queens” podcast, says, “You can be more in charge of your destiny, rather than, ‘I hope someone will cast me as something.’ ”
Yes, this sounds like a good thing, but it hints at a darker side, which I’ll come to momentarily.
Broadening the scope
This democratization has opened the field up beyond comics who are stereotypical: usually white or Jewish, middle class men, in dinner jackets doing one-liners. Ok, that was prior to the 1950’s, but even with the storytelling and therapy sets of the 1970’s and 80’s, we still see a lot of white or Jewish, middle class men, and the scope of what was considered “stand-up proper” was pretty limited. Now, however,
“The glacier of comedy is moving much faster now and bringing a lot of what would have been viewed as experimental,” [Brian Volk-Weiss, president of Comedy Dynamics] says. “I’ll see some weird thing at the back of a laundromat and it has its own show two years later.”
The examples here abound: Maria Bamford, Ron Fuches, Aziz Ansari, Hasan Minhaj. I’ve written about how Minhaj’s Ted-talk like format has created quite a bit of buzz lately.
Breaking stereotypes
Izadi makes another great point:
More platforms also means less boxing-in of comics based on their race, gender or sexual orientation. They can be known more as individuals than as types.
“We’re in a place now where just even as a black comedian you don’t have to be thought to be ‘urban.’ You can just be a comedian,” says Roy Wood Jr. “You could be as unique as Tig Notaro or a Jerrod Carmichael and still have an audience and still have a place in the comedy zeitgeist.”
Yes, when it’s left to bookers and producers, we get stereotypical humor from people who fit the mold, and I, for one, am really tired of seeing comics conform to their type. It’s easy to be who the audience wants us to be. It’s much harder – but much more rewarding – to get them to accept us for who we want to be. But, as I argue, creating a persona is always a negotiation.
Can lead to bigger things
Yes, there is a lot of possibility and a lot of good things can happen for people who otherwise wouldn’t get a shot. Izadi notes,
Web series and podcasts can help outlets such as Comedy Central and HBO “get more invested into talent if they can see that you can create your own thing,” says [Phoebe] Robinson
Increasingly, those comics are getting discovered on — and paid by — Netflix.
A comic can go from struggling to sell 50 tickets to, within months of a Netflix special, selling 4,000, says Volk-Weiss, the comedy producer.
So this is where internet buzz translates into actual capital, dollars in the comic’s pocket.
Other benefits
Increased audience access equals lasting relevance
Specials remain on Netflix forever, and that “is awesome for a comedy fan and a comedian,” says Che. “It stays relevant. It doesn’t just go away.”
Having specials that are always just a few clicks away makes it easier to watch, encouraging more people to enjoy it. See that a comic is coming to town? Watch their special and decide if you want to buy a ticket.
Zipping and zapping change the format
The on-demand, commercial-free nature of Netflix also gives comedy more flexibility, says Lisa Nishimura, the company’s vice president of original documentary and comedy programming. Special lengths can vary. Viewers can start, stop and re-watch them whenever they want.
Media theorists refer to this ability to move freely through the content as zipping and zapping – usually we do it to avoid commercials, but we also jump to a scene, or change the show entirely.
It’s also a well-worn theory in media studies that when new media emerge, they tend to conform to the norms of previous media – radio programs resembled concerts, books and theater, television programs resembled, theater and visual representations of radio, etc. Our current model of the 30 minute program or the 60 minute program (with commercial breaks) is a product of television. However, when the new media truly come into their own, they break free of previous models, and with the DVR’s, internet, zipping and zapping, the idea of the 20 minute or 45 minute (plus commercials) set can go the way of the dodo.
Niche audiences
Comics are also able to find a niche, a marketing strategy that only becomes more and more important as platforms go global. Izadi notes,
And Netflix’s algorithm gives customized suggestions at ideal times, based on past viewing habits.
“You’re going to be constantly introduced to new audiences and potential new fans,” says Nishimura. “I think that’s the thing comics are looking for the most, is to sort of find their people.”
Whereas I’ve talked about how Jay Leno and others of the Late Night stand-up crowd came up trying to appeal to as broad an audience as possible, Comics are already relying on this, like Rory Scovel with what I’ve called his “Lenny Bruce Opening.”
But is this necessarily a good thing? Shouldn’t comics be trying to please a lot of people, to be thought to be funny by as many people as possible? What’s the danger of doing something smaller. Well, let’s list them.
The death of stand-up society
As I said, for every pro that will lead us to Utopia, there’s a con that will lead to Dystopia.
Lost in the clutter
While the field seems open and democratic, it is perhaps too much so; a person can get lost in the sea of possibilities. Izadi notes,
How can you be noticed in such a crowded field? If so many people have a special, is it special anymore?
While Jacobson touted the benefits to authorial control offered by the internet, she also cautions, “You still have to do a lot of work to get it seen and heard and exposure.” If there are so many specials to watch, and the audience has limited time, wouldn’t they gravitate to a comic they know they like? How does a new comic break in?
Popularity is a double-edged sword
Izadi also notes,
The size of your social media following can help get you, or cost you, a gig — and is being good at Twitter the same as being good on stage, anyway?
So if you’re lost in a sea of people similarly trying to “make it,” it gets harder and harder to distinguish yourself.
Less time to develop
Izadi notes that stand-up is “a craft that requires failing in public to get good.” And in the era of the internet, we don’t necessarily get the chance.
Anyone can film and upload a comic’s set, which makes established performers wary. Rock walked out of a New York open mic because audience members were recording. Hart required seated Clusterfest audience members to lock up their phones in magnetic pouches.
This is true even of open mic’ers; we can have our routines made public and potentially stolen – if only to boost someone else’s internet following – before we see dollar one. That brings up the next point:
Loss of control
Joanne Gilbert and others have argued that stand-up comedy is an organic, living thing when performed in front of a live audience. However, once a bit goes through mass media, it becomes fixed, static, and can be pulled out of context and misused. Izadi mentions this effect too:
And a bit can take on a life of its own — such as a 2014 Buress joke about Bill Cosby filmed by someone in the crowd, or a 2012 Daniel Tosh rape joke aimed at a female audience member who then blogged about the experience.
While Buress’ joke provoked social and legal action against Cosby, Tosh’s joke provoked outrage and action against him, which has lead to critical reinterpretation, like the one by David Misch that I wrote about recently.
No filter often leads to worse comedy
I watched a set by a couple of internet sensations who recently sold out our local Improv to re-enact their online show: a bunch of dick jokes and pantomimed sex acts that would never sell at an open mic, let alone get booked [without the lure of a guaranteed crowd]. This points out the benefit of having bookers, critics and some level of control over content: it weeds out the bad comics.
Birbiglia talks about how, “There’s even a comic in Brazil who found “My Girlfriend’s Boyfriend” [his 2013 special] on Netflix and now pays a license fee to perform it.” Performing someone else’s act? That’s the epitome of hack. Patton Oswalt has called out at least one comedian for stealing one of his bits whole cloth.
We had a guy like this in Kansas City who stole Sam Kinison’s name and persona, and some of his jokes as well. Yes, I miss the man’s comic genius, but I respect that genius from Kinison because I know how much time and effort it takes to develop that, both the persona and the jokes. Stealing either is sacrilege. Paying to do it may make it legal, but it doesn’t make it ok.
Niches create stagnant backwaters
The idea that comics don’t have to please everyone, that they can “find their people,” can lead to stagnation on two fronts: the comic and the audience.
Stagnant comics
First off, if comics are just telling jokes to a group of audience members that enjoys a particular type, it creates an echo chamber. The audience has selected the comic based on what they want, and the comic is urged to continue to give them exactly that and nothing else. This is the heart of Michael Che’s comments that:
It just feels like audiences want somebody who will get up there and say what they’ve already been thinking, as opposed to saying something they’ve never thought of before.
While Che mentions being on “the right side of history,” he also is implying that the people judging may not know what that is. Further, if the audiences don’t want it, then the comic doesn’t have to provide it, so trying to think of something novel is no longer even a goal of the niche comic.
Stagnant audiences
I don’t believe that all audiences only want to be re-served what they’ve enjoyed in the past, but this is what some Media theorists argue that the automation of Netflix and other digital systems are pushing us toward: that in creating a customized profile in order to better market to you, companies limit you as an audience member. You aren’t encouraged to encounter new things that you might enjoy more. You can still find it, if you take the initiative and do an independent search, but it’s not popping up in your feed on its own.
Eventually, people get tired of the same thing, and unless they’re offered something new, they may just decide to stop watching stand-up, and then comes the bust.
Bad comedy
Bad comedy was what Birbiglia said happened in the 80’s that brought about a bust, and he’s prepared for it to happen again.
It’s not clear whether this boom will by followed by a bust — “there’s more talented comedians than there are slots, still,” says Funches.
But plenty of performers are preparing for worst-case scenarios.
“I’m a pessimistic person, so I’m already thinking about when it’ll end,” says Birbiglia. “But it won’t end for me because I’ve always been doing the same thing. I’ve been doing the same thing since 1997. I was in the recession, I’m in the boom, I’ll be in the next recession. I just love doing comedy.”
Questions? Comments? Thoughts? Additions?
It seems like one of the reasons comedy is doing so well has to do with the nature of the genre. We engage the audience, and in this digital world, it always works best live. It feels good to just sit in a room and talk to people and be spoken to and laugh, and validate or invalidate each other’s feelings.
Comedy Central partnered with Live Nation for its first national tour featuring Lewis Black, [Dave] Attell and Mitch Hedberg. It was such a hit that all three comedians became theater acts on their own, Birbiglia says.
Gabriel Iglesias, Bill Burr and Aziz Ansari [and we can add Louis C.K., Dane Cook and Amy Schumer] have sold out Madison Square Garden. 
Gervais says that his jokes do well internationally because,
Gervais also addresses Seth Meyers’ idea of “clapter,” responses that indicate agreement with the comic, but not necessarily humor. He says that’s not the response he’s going for:
I remember Jerry Seinfeld saying to me years ago, “Why are you doing films? Why are you doing TV? You’re a stand-up.” He didn’t understand that I like to do everything. Jerry thought stand-up, was the Holy Grail. I never saw that because it wasn’t in vogue, but now I do think he was right. There’s nothing more enjoyable than saying exactly what you think to 10,000 strangers every night. You do what you want. No one interferes. It’s the purest art form. It took me this long to appreciate it, and it took me this long to be good.
Q: So you’re willing to sacrifice a laugh or two to make a point?
Bill Cosby (…) became famous telling stories about his childhood…. [I]n the 1960s no one wondered – no one cared – whether his stories were true, because they felt true. People knew (or were) Fat Alberts in school and could relate.
It is in this vein that Misch differentiates between “character” comics (Andrew Dice Clay and Gilbert Gottfried) who are acting out a role, and “slippery” personas (Amy Schumer) that are merely exaggerated versions of the “real” person. I would argue that all comics are “slippery,” some are just more slippery than others – so yes, authenticity is to some extent “bullshit.”
…Stephen Colbert, now freed from his Comedy Central mock-conservative character, revels in what seems to be personal political judgments. His routines get at least some of their impact from our belief that he’s talking to us (and Trump) from the heart as well as the writers’ room. If we learned that wasn’t true, Colbert would lose a lot of his comic force.
Further, I’m not sure I agree that this impact only applies to cultural, social or “political” comics – where does this line lie? Is Louis C.K.’s rape joke more personal observation or does it transcend into cultural critique? Misch seems to read it as the latter, when a more friendly reading is that it was just a limited incident that helps C.K. make a (different) larger point – he doesn’t want to rape (or at least, doesn’t want to be accused of rape).
Similarly, Larry the Cable Guy plays a rube, but in real life he’s anything but – he’s Daniel Lawrence Whitney from Nebraska, and is a college graduate. Carlos Mencia is Ned Holness and he’s only half-Mexican; he was born in Honduras. Does knowing this change the impact of their comedy? Do we feel betrayed? Or does the material stand on its own, independent of the person behind the curtain?
Misch used the example (
Sarah Silverman talked about an ex-boyfriend who was half-black, then chided herself for “being such a pessimist. He’s half-white.” Then, when the audience reacted, the capper: “I don’t care if you think I’m racist. I just want you to think I’m thin.”
I would similarly argue that Misch’s initial take – that when C.K. tells the second joke, he makes a point about a type of person: women who expect men to play out a rape fantasy – is true only if we take the joke as containing one truth: about factuality of the scenario. Instead there are at least three truths here:
In his episode Cole walks on stage with a piece of paper in hand, as if he’s a beginner trying to work out material for a later act. But he’s anything but a beginner, and that persona he puts out there is all intentional.
[I’ve added this to 
It’s this idea of “making fun of oneself” or “poking fun at his condition” that I have a problem with, wondering if it does more harm than good. This is what I’m getting at with 
Stamato argues that late night comedy since Jon Stewart’s The Daily Show has come to be more and more about providing “news and valuable information,” whereas in the past “it was overtly trivial.”
I’ve addressed this issue of a lack of deep critique while discussing Russell Peterson’s take on Jay Leno.
Jon Stewart offered Americans the opportunity to take in the news without it leading to mini panic attacks, and in the atmosphere that immediately followed 9/11, it was comforting to be able to laugh at news. As