COMEDIAN
by Scott McGee

Being an admirer of Jerry Seinfeld's work, particularly his complete overhaul of the cultural institution known as the Sitcom, I was looking forward to what was sure to be a daring, instructive, honest, and funny look into the development of a stand-up's act. I mean, the trailer made me cry, it was so funny and original.

But while I got the joke, I didn't find the punch line particularly funny.

Seinfeld, who produced Comedian, had a small camera crew follow him around in his cars and jet, into bars and comedy clubs all across North America, ostensibly to watch his new material evolve into the New and Improved Seinfeld Act. Having retired all his previous jokes, observations and witticisms in the HBO special "I'm Telling You For the Last Time...," the comedian made a brave step into the unknown: was he still funny without old standbys? The verdict: yes. But the movie doesn't truly convince you that what you're witnessing is the day-to-day evolution of The New Seinfeld. Instead, it often breaks down into an entertainer lamenting how hard the business of making people laugh is. No dispute there. But is this really a new observation about comedy? How many quotes or variations thereof play off that old adage that "Comedy is hard. ____ is easy"? I don't begrudge Seinfeld traversing old material with a fresh view, i.e. the film's cinema verité structure. But it becomes annoying, really annoying, to hear the constant kvetching while the comedian happens to be driving a BMW. Or a Porsche. Or boarding a private jet. Gee, Jerry, just how hard is comedy or life, nowadays, anyway?

But seriously folks, you've gotta hand it to the guy: he has tried something new and different, a documentary that shows the slightly mysterious artist in private moments of pleasure (singing to his baby) and in public moments of pain (bombing on stage by completely forgetting his lines). For a guy who has jealously guarded his privacy, the film's frankness is surprising. And it's nice to see Jerry, despite his worldwide fame and his lasting influence on the craft, genuinely fascinated by the gods of comedy: Cosby, Klein, Pryor, and others. He makes it obvious that he thinks he still has a lot to learn from the masters before he himself can become one.

Now, if the movie thus far sounds like a humorous, engaging anecdote, that's because I haven't mentioned the project's fatal flaw, which stops the show like a Polack joke. For some inexplicable reason, the film intercuts the scenes of Jerry's evolution with the development of a young comic just making his debut on the national stage, a guy named Orny Adams. About as funny as a tack in the toe, Orny is an unbelievably narcissistic, conceited asshole. He froths at the mouth about how he carefully studies his acts (all on videotape, accompanied by stacks of journals filled with comedy gold, Jerry, comedy gold!) and determines how he can make it better. That all sounds fine, but the problem is that Adams isn't funny to begin with, and the reason is that being funny is simply not his true aim. Adams, you see, wants to be famous. Adams isn't a comedian trying to become a better comedian. Like some aggressively caustic version of Rupert Pupkin in The King of Comedy, he is a self-absorbed jerk-off who would do anything, say anything, to become a star. Comedy is simply a means to that end.

In a rare moment when he and his antithesis actually share the camera, Seinfeld is sincere when he imparts to Adams some useful wisdom about not being so concerned about the fame. For him, it's all about the act, about how to build a better comedian. But Adams dismisses him, thinking Seinfeld can ignore fame's beckoning call, since he's, well, already quite famous.

Frankly, I'm not sure the filmmakers (director Christian Charles or, I assume, Seinfeld himself) even like Adams - not that I could blame them. When the schlep finally makes his debut on Letterman, the camera lingers a hearty distance from the green room's monitor, focusing on the performing Orny as only a little smudge of color, instead of cutting to front-and-center footage of his appearance on stage.

It kind of makes you wonder if the filmmakers weren't playing a nasty little joke on ole' Orny... Comedian is an interesting exercise, and it sure beats having to watch Seinfeld in a horrid buddy/buddy action comedy (anybody see Jay Leno and Pat Morita in Collision Course?) or some underwritten, overbaked romantic comedy. But like a Foster Brooks routine, it's gut-busting at first, until you realize that drunks really aren't that funny.

©2003 Scott McGee
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