If you want proof that some in Hollywood and the pop culture mainstream are itching to forget the lessons of the #MeToo movement, look no further than the excellent documentary Sorry/Not Sorry.
The film, which is out on demand and in select theaters, is an incisive look at the maddening arc of the scandal involving star standup comic/actor/director/producer Louis C.K. It outlines how showbusiness institutions ignored widespread rumors he had a habit of sexual misconduct around young female comedians – including asking if he could disrobe and pleasure himself in front of them.
After five women spoke up in a 2017 New York Times story— and Louis C.K. issued a detailed statement a day later, admitting “these stories are true” — he lost his TV series, production deals and many showbusiness ties. (The film shows him claiming onstage that he dropped $35 million in a day.)
But he eventually returned to standup after less than a year away and rebuilt his career outside the industry’s traditional framework, through standup tours and products sold directly to fans on his own website.
Meanwhile, the film depicts women who helped expose his misconduct as mostly still struggling, watching as more powerful comics friendly to Louis C.K. minimize their work and what he did to them.
Produced by The New York Times, Sorry/Not Sorry centers the stories of three women who spoke up about Louis C.K.: comics Jen Kirkman, Abby Schachner and Megan Koester.
As you watch the documentary and hear their stories you realize this is what’s been missing from many of the comedy podcasts and standup routines minimizing what Louis C.K. did: The words of the women he victimized, describing just how devastating the experience was.
In one of several disturbing encounters, Kirkman talks about Louis C.K. giving her a car ride and pointing out places where he had masturbated or had sex. Later, she describes feeling abandoned by the industry: “It just seems like nobody cares.”
Schachner says she is certain he was pleasuring himself while they had a conversation she thought was going to be about her career. “He didn’t ask – he just started doing it,” Schachner says of her encounter. “I felt duped.”
In an admirable show of honesty, Mike Schur, a producer and writer who created the NBC series The Good Place and co-created Parks and Recreation and Brooklyn Nine-Nine, says on camera “I pretended I didn’t know” about the rumors when he cast Louis C.K. on Parks and Recreation well before the New York Times expose. Later, Schur admits, “The fact that I thought it wasn’t my problem – that was the problem.”
Before this film, for so long, the loudest voices talking about Louis C.K.’s scandal seemed to be people determined to excuse him for it.
And Sorry/Not Sorry uncovers a lot of those voices, with fellow comics presenting a funhouse mirror-level distortion of his actions – casting Louis C.K. as the victim of a prudish entertainment industry. “They’re trying to kill Louis C.K.,” standup Luis Gomez declares in one routine.
In a parade of clips, boldfaced names like Janeane Garofalo, Roseanne Barr, Dave Chappelle and others either defend Louis C.K. or blame the women who came forward or both. Clips of fans walking into one of his shows echo that attitude with a simple, dismissive notion: Everybody makes mistakes.
But does everyone make this kind of mistake; leveraging their power as a comedy superstar to push women into watching a sex act? And is it really courageous to defend a popular, wealthy successful comic over the much lesser known women he took advantage of?
I understand the reflex fans have to defend a performer whose work they love. They want to enjoy his comedy without worrying about what it says about them. There’s also a surprising paradox: Many comics and comedy fans want to feel like rebels, but resisting efforts to rein in sexism and racism can privilege powerful, mostly white, mostly male comics.
They want carte blanche to traffic in comedy that plays to prejudices, free from criticism or judgment. And there’s little room in that dynamic for the stories of those who have been victimized.
It’s also tough to ignore the way Louis C.K. has become an industry, creating TV shows, films and standup tours which can elevate the careers of other performers, making them more inclined to support him. Comic Andy Kindler summed up the situation bluntly: “They want to be on his side for work.”
The film suggests there is a complicated, difficult question at the heart of this story: What’s the path back for someone who has been canceled? “Normally, we forgive the people who apologize and admit they did something wrong,” says Noam Dworman, owner of the Comedy Cellar nightclub in Manhattan, who made headlines when Louis C.K. performed there less than 10 months after the scandal broke.
I don’t think the question is all that complicated. The path back to the mainstream can be simple: fully acknowledge publicly what you did and who you hurt. Make amends by apologizing directly to the people you hurt while trying to make up for your actions by helping them. And constantly provide assurances you will never, ever do it again.
Louis C.K., despite his admission, has not done all of this, particularly when it comes to making amends with the women he has victimized. The film features clips from his standup act where he jokes “I like j—ing off…I don’t like being alone.” Doesn’t sound particularly remorseful to me.
And then there’s the question of whether Louis C.K. was ever fully “canceled” in the first place.
The fact is, once a comic builds a loyal audience — especially those appealing to young, white males — they are not likely to be canceled. Even when they make the kinds of terrible admissions Louis C.K. did.
This is one of the most powerful observations in Sorry/Not Sorry: though Louis C.K. lost a lot in the immediate aftermath of his admission, since then he has rebuilt his standup comedy career, sold out arenas like Madison Square Garden, and released a movie. He even won a Grammy in 2022.
Now, there is talk of attempting to redeem some performers tainted by #MeToo scandals, with actress Gaby Hoffmann, who appeared as Louis C.K.’s love interest in his FX series, criticizing cancel culture and reaffirming her friendship with the comic in a recent interview.There is, in these kinds of statements, a sense of wanting to get back to business as usual and turn away from difficult concepts.
But an artist can be incredibly talented and also abusive. You can love their comedy, but still reject their work for the behavior and values it validates.
Sorry/Not Sorry asks viewers to consider all this again – as pop culture’s short memory threatens to erode progress made by the #MeToo movement – insisting that the stories of those hurt by misconduct remain a central part of the conversation.
Copyright 2024 NPR
