Louis C.K.’s Misery Is Infectious in His ‘Ridiculous’ Return to Netflix

Louis C.K. kicks off his new Netflix special — the first since a 2017 New York Times exposé forced the comedian and TV creator to admit to multiple sexual misconduct accusations — by listing a semi-comical series of failures. “So I took an AIDS test today,” C.K. says from New York City’s Beacon Theatre stage. “I haven’t had sex in years, I just wanted some good news.”

“Anyway,” he says, pretending to switch topics before pressing on: “Turns out I have AIDS.”

From there, C.K. keeps pulling back the curtain on the agony of his daily existence — the truth and what just feels true. He talks about hating the shock of reality that comes with waking up (“It’s OK, you’re just a guy who’s kinda fat — it’s almost over”) as well as the dreams he has when he’s still asleep. (“I’m not a good guy in my dreams,” he says, before demonstrating a dream where he peed on a baby.) C.K. riffs on how much he dislikes living in New York City (“But it’s too late [to move]”), how often people talk to him on the street when he’s walking his dog (“I don’t walk up to your family and say, ‘Is that your daughter? Has she had her period yet?'”), and that he only lives in the present “out of fear, because there’s too much of the past and not enough of the future.”

Calling C.K. a downer is nothing new. He’s long delved into the dark corners of his lived and theoretical experience, pushing toward sticky, disquieting ideas that sent ripples of nervous laughter through a crowd unable to reject his reasoning. Some points were harsh but honest. Others were beyond the pale and purposefully so.

Key to those dark thought experiments were the nuggets of insight that accompanied them. Many crude laughs were bolstered by the attached contemplation. The punchlines popped the bleak bubbles he’d create, but his push to marry uncomfortable comparisons and reach compelling conclusions also worked to alleviate any distress through rewarding intellectual rigor.

Even before C.K.’s public disgrace, the groans threatened to overwhelm the gains. His previous Netflix special, “2017” (an accidentally prophetic title given it hit the same year C.K. was “canceled”), was widely lauded yet also criticized for “running the gamut between melancholy and grim,” with Vulture critic Matt Zoller Seitz calling the set “very cynical, even for [Louis C.K.]” That was before he “lost $35 million in an hour” from the consequences of his own actions — does anyone checking back in with him now think he’ll be more upbeat?

Even more paramount, you need to trust your guide on such a tormented tour, and C.K. doesn’t have it. The framework for his material shifted as soon as he was exposed as a liar, a manipulator, and a predator. That’s reason enough to never spend time with him again, in person or through a screen, end of thought.

Louis C.K. in ‘Louis CK: Ridiculous’Courtesy of Troy Conrad / Netflix

For those who press on — out of morbid curiosity, misplaced nostalgia, or steadfast optimism — the hope has to be that, after taking “a long time to listen,” C.K. would come out the other side with a fresh perspective. But his four self-released specials since 2017 haven’t offered any. They’ve even signaled the opposite: an entrenchment or regression, like when he disingenuously addressed his sexual misconduct or edged into right-wing rebukes toward accountability.

In “Ridiculous,” the remnants of his former inquisitive, committed self are all but gone. His set doesn’t build enough to be rewarding in the aggregate, and his individual riffs keep stopping short of real wisdom. When he complains about waking up in public, he identifies part of the unpleasantness as going from “a deep part of yourself that’s only known to you” to coming face to face with a stranger. It’s easy to see why that particular interpretation of a rude awakening would rankle C.K., after having his own deep secrets abruptly exposed to the world, but he doesn’t get into that. He moves on.

The same half-developed impressions accompany his “not a good guy” dream scenarios, explanations for why lying is an important part of life, and his closing joke about “Barely Legal” magazine: “What the magazine is saying to you is, ‘If you read this, you’re not a pedophile. You’re not. You’re literally not a pedophile. But you’re so fucking close. … You’re almost the worst thing you could ever be, you’re almost a tortured monster — but you’re not. You’re not.”

“Tortured Monster” would’ve been a provocative name for the Netflix special, if also a misleading one. For as often as it sounds like C.K. is about to unpack his demons, the ones we’re all too familiar with, he never does. (Nor has he, really, in his preceding sets.) He says the horrible-sounding thing without doing the work to dig into how he got there, why he needs to talk about it, or what they’re all doing together in this special.

Without the perspicacity and wit, that just leaves the misery — which, frankly, you already kind of feel as soon as you see the face forever associated with betrayal, abuse, and false apologies appear in awkward close-up. If the point of “Ridiculous” is for C.K. to drag his audience down with him, mission accomplished. It’s not a long trip.

It’s already terribly sad that Netflix is platforming Louis C.K. again, just as it’s terribly sad that there are enough people attending his shows to make a return to mainstream media possible. It’s also sad to see C.K. so trapped, creatively and emotionally, but nowhere near as sad as knowing he physically and emotionally trapped others. Then he lied about it, got caught, and now carries on as if nothing happened.

The comeback may be ongoing, but the material gives him away. Even if the tone and topics sound similar to his past routines, what’s said and unsaid speaks to what’s changed. That could explain the actual title — or, it could if there were any signs hinting at a deeper meaning: This whole thing is just ridiculous, and not in a fun way.

Grade: C-

“Louis C.K. Ridiculous” is now streaming on Netflix.