FX – Bitch Flicks

The Honest Sexcapades in ‘You’re The Worst’

Gretchen leaves Jimmy and states, “Well as my grandma used to say, ‘It’s only a walk of shame if you’re capable of feeling shame.’ See you later, thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.”

This guest post by Giselle Defares appears as part of our theme week on Sex Positivity.

Sex is one of the strange wonders in our life. Many of us barely flinch when it comes to the sexual intrusiveness in our contemporary media. Oh, how the times have changed. Twenty years ago it would be Roseanne and Dan winking at each other. In recent years the boundaries have slowly been pushed back in our TV-landscape when it comes to the act of swapping bodily fluids– see Californication, True Blood, or The Americans. Sexual freedom is not only shown on cable shows such as HBO or FX, but also on network TV (see Scandal’s “Olitz” scenes on ABC). Everything is shown: same-sex scenes, masturbation, sex scenes from a woman’s perspective, you name it. In our modern society, it can sometimes be hard to navigate the complexity of sex, or get an accurate media portrayal of the gray messiness that sex, love, and relationships entail. Fear not, there’s the dark comedy gem of FX, You’re the Worst, which had its 10-episode debut season in 2014.

The romantic single-cam comedy is created by first-time showrunner Stephen Falk. He started out writing and producing for dark comedies such as Weeds and Orange is the New Black. Falk and his creative team specifically focused on detailed world-building in the show. He chose to divide the post-pilot episodes into three acts , each with their own director. In this way each episode can work individually (within its group) or as one part of the major arc.

It’s a surprising choice for Falk to mold his vision in the form of a modern sitcom – perhaps the redundant comparison comes as a result of the 30-minute format. After all, the format of the American sitcom, well, seems a bit dated, yet somehow it works for the show. The romantic influences in the show vary from the 1950s John Osborne play Look Back in Anger, ultimate rom-com When Harry met Sally, to the sitcom Mad About You. Falk created flawed characters, who in essence are just lovable dickheads. He commented on the beating heart of the show: “No matter how damaged we are, we all are deserving of love.”

You’re the Worst centers around Jimmy Shive- Overly (Chris Geere), a narcissistic, mediocre, English writer living in Los Angeles whose day job consists of insulting anyone he doesn’t think is as smart as him. After going to his ex’s wedding he ends up having a one night stand with the laissez-faire publicist, Gretchen Cutler (Aya Cash). Despite their differences the two decide that they don’t want to stop seeing each other. The supporting cast consists of Gretchen’s best friend Lindsay Jillian (Kether Donohue), whose marriage to nerdy husband Paul is crumbling (Allan McLeod). Jimmy’s roommate Edgar (Desmin Borges), a sweet military veteran who suffers from PTSD and dabbles in selling drugs. Gretchen’s boisterous client, the rapper Sam Dresden (Brandon Mychal Smith) and his faux Tyler The Creator gang that consists of Shitstain (Darrell Britt Gibson) and Honey Nutz (Allen Maldonado).

You’re the Worst’s honest take on modern sexuality starts right in the pilot. During a well-deserved break in their one-night stand, while they munch on pasta, Jimmy quips to Gretchen, “I’m glad that this is a one night thing so we can reveal all this awful shit about ourselves.” They high five and Jimmy drops pasta from his fork on his crotch and Gretchen quickly says, “I’ll get that.” Aha, a woman who’s not afraid to get what she wants. We see various clips in their hilarious graphic sex montage. Gretchen straddles Jimmy whilst she’s chewing gum and she pensively states, “ I don’t even know what I’m doing here. I’m not attracted to you.” Jimmy just looks at her and says “ What has that got to do with anything?!”

Yet, the most graphic and funny (sex) scene in the pilot is when Jimmy performs an oral act and spits on Gretchen’s vagina:

Gretchen: “Did you spit on it?!”

Jimmy: “It’s saliva. It’s going to get there anyway.”

Gretchen shrugs.

Well, there’s certainly a nice amount of sexual activity in the show. Girl goes down on boy, boy goes down on girl, even attempts at threesomes. It’s sad that it seems revolutionary that the characters on the show have a healthy relationship and enjoyment with sex.

Jimmy and Gretchen are commitment-phobes who are running away from responsibility in every aspect of their lives. They have absolutely no qualms with physical intimacy but they run when they develop some level of emotional intimacy. They’re self-absorbed, often engage in destructive and self-destructive activities, and struggle with the concept of adulthood and the inevitable romantic relationships that will follow. Their obnoxious behavior can be awful but Falk ensured that the moments aren’t gratuitous.

Gretchen is portrayed as a capable but laid-back publicist. She’s snarky, loud, magnetic, and complex. She’s also selfish, self-aware, and caring. Gretchen is definitely not the bumbling goody two-shoes that’s normally shown in the romantic genre. She hates that she cares about her intimate circle and tries to hide her feelings but can’t. Her quips are what make her endearing – especially her conversations with Sam and his crew. In episode 3, “Keys Open Doors,” Gretchen leaves Jimmy and states, “Well as my grandma used to say, ‘It’s only a walk of shame if you’re capable of feeling shame.’ See you later, thanks for doing all the sex stuff on me.”

Jimmy could have been one of the more one-dimensional characters. He’s sarcastic and almost shows no signs of humanity. It’s slowly revealed in defining moments that he does have feelings or even a soul. One of the top moments is when Falk toyed with one of the more cliché rom-com tropes. In episode 8, “Finish Your Milk,” Jimmy and Gretchen have a big fight when he finds out that she presents a Wasp version of herself to her parents. He tracks her down at their country club lunch (as you do) and delivers a big speech how they don’t know the real version of their daughter. In a nice twist, it turns out that “whiteknighting” isn’t what Gretchen needs and she breaks up with him for it. Well, that’s definitely a feminist silver lining in a romantic situation.

The quips and honesty surrounding sex is what sets the tone for the show. It’s not only seen in the budding relationship between Gretchen and Jimmy but also in Gretchen’s relationship with her bestie Lindsay. Falk took the stock characters from romantic comedies and flipped them upside down. Lindsay is the self-absorbed and annoying best friend. She easily could have been one-note but the writing and the comedy chops of Kether Donohue really make it work. Lindsay has heart, a lot of personality and a high sex drive. In the pilot, Gretchen is picked up after her romp with Jimmy and she spills the beans to a disapproving Lindsay. Gretchen quips, “You’re being shitty and judgmental to me. How many guys did you blow at our five-year reunion?” Ah, who doesn’t love the frankness between two good friends?

Jimmy and Edgar’s relationship isn’t as tight, but whether he knows it or not, Jimmy really needs Edgar. In the first episodes it seems that Edgar is only there to lent an ear to Jimmy and cook him the most fabulous cuisine. Edgar fulfils the role of the kooky roommate but throughout the season we’re shown an heartwarming arc. He’s realistically messed up, struggles with daily social situations and is Jimmy and Gretchen’s number one fan. During the episodes we’ll see that he (well, actually both Edgar and Lindsay) becomes a fully developed character who stands on his own and doesn’t necessarily exist to serve Jimmy and Gretchen’s arc.

Why is the relationship between Jimmy and Gretchen believable? The emphasis lies on two people being present in their relationship whilst they navigate a society that has become less conversational and more self-indulgent. In their own unique way, both Gretchen and Jimmy listen, and see each other for who they really are – they don’t judge and accept the other one’s choices. This is a refreshing take on romantic relationships on TV.

You’re The Worst is a romantic comedy/mirror on our society about romantic dating. Love is exhilarating, hard, and quite often people struggle between loneliness, vulnerability, and the satisfying experience when you meet another person who just gets you. It’s not the representation for millennial dating – since there are so many different points of view when it comes to love and sex- but it certainly comes close for many of us. Jimmy, Gretchen and their squad are all messed up people. They can be snarky, manipulative and mean. You really shouldn’t, yet you care about them, even root for them and want them to do well.

You’re the Worst is an underrated show about romantic dysfunction. It’s one of the better comedy shows on TV right now; quite frankly, if you’re not watching it you’re doing yourself a disservice.

[youtube_sc url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_sxdO7M69Q”]

Giselle Defares comments on film, fashion (law) and American pop culture. See her blog here.

Rape as Narrative Device in ‘American Horror Story’

I recently began watching ‘American Horror Story’ on Netflix to see what all the hullaballoo was about, and I quickly became a die-hard fan of the series. I’ve heard some feminist criticism that popular television’s rape trope is abused and unnecessary. Many viewers find rape scenes more difficult to endure than the goriest and bloodiest of murder scenes in film and on TV. ‘AHS’ depicts rape in each of its three seasons (season four: “Freak Show” begins in October of this year), and I’ve been trying to make some sense of these scenes: all very different, yet centered around the idea that rape is its own horror, worse than murder. Sexual violence in film has always been controversial, in part because it works as an acknowledgment of something so many victims are afraid to share or discuss, even with other victims. ‘AHS’s handful of rape scenes reference gender roles, mental illness, and identity politics, and do in fact have a place in the storylines in which we find ourselves so invested.

Written by Jenny Lapekas.

SPOILERS GALORE, PEOPLE!

I recently began watching American Horror Story on Netflix to see what all the hullaballoo was about, and I quickly became a die-hard fan of the series. I’ve heard some feminist criticism that popular television’s rape trope is abused and unnecessary. Many viewers find rape scenes more difficult to endure than the goriest and bloodiest of murder scenes in film and on TV. AHS depicts rape in each of its three seasons (season four: “Freak Show” begins in October of this year), and I’ve been trying to make some sense of these scenes: all very different, yet centered around the idea that rape is its own horror, worse than murder. Sexual violence in film has always been controversial, in part because it works as an acknowledgment of something so many victims are afraid to share or discuss, even with other victims. AHS’s handful of rape scenes reference gender roles, mental illness, and identity politics, and do in fact have a place in the storylines in which we find ourselves so invested.

We frequently discover rape in the horror genre for obvious reasons, and the well-known rape-revenge narrative (I Spit on Your Grave, Last House on the Left) is present on AHS, as well. While this marker of feminist feedback surfaces in the series, the show also works to introduce the rare female-on-male rape scene (a game-changer, for sure–see Descent) along with some very disturbing mommy issues.

AHS addresses all of our darkest fears, but the good news is that horror actually helps us to deal with our personal fears because it gives them shape and helps us to rationalize our feelings, thus unshackling us from the unknown and destroying our dread in the process. The moment something mysterious is given a name, its spell over us is broken, and we’re free to discover something else that goes bump in the night. Girls and women are told that rape is the worst thing that can happen to us (“He could have killed you…or worse”), and it’s no surprise that we find it in every season of AHS thus far, so I think it’s worthwhile to consider how the show constructs these unnerving scenes and to assess our response to them.

AHS offers the recurring theme of characters’ pasts catching up to them, reminding us that we can’t outrun the tragic mistakes we’ve made; Ben impregnates his young mistress in “Murder House,” Anne Frank recognizes Dr. Arden as an ex-Nazi in “Asylum,” and Fiona spends eternity in a farmhouse with the Axe Man for being such a wicked bitch in “Coven.” It would only make sense that the show’s rapists pay for their crimes, and this is our reward for watching some very problematic and complex rapes for three seasons.

In season one, “Murder House,” Vivien (Connie Britton) is raped by “the Rubber Man,” who is a stranger to us for a few episodes, until we discover that he’s actually Tate. The well-intentioned Ben finally forces him to admit that he raped his wife and fathered one of Vivien’s twin boys. Obviously, Tate is troubled; he shoots up his school, killing several students, and also sets his stepfather on fire, which permanently disfigures him, but we root for him anyway–not simply because female fans are in love with Evan Peters’ charm and good looks, but because we want to believe that deep down Tate is a good guy who loves Violet. It’s also significant that Tate dons the creepy rubber suit when he kills and rapes; in this way, Tate forfeits any identity associated with the costume, as if an idea were assaulting and impregnating Vivien, rather than a teenage boy.

We see Tate's potential to become a good person when he's with Violet. — We see Tate’s potential to become a good person when he’s with Violet.

Plenty of innocent people are injured and killed throughout the series: the eerie yet lovable Addy is hit and killed by a car in “Murder House,” Grace is savagely killed with an axe by Alma in “Asylum,” and Nan is drowned in a bathtub by Fiona (cinematic goddess Jessica Lange) and Marie Laveau (Angela Bassett) in “Coven” precisely because she is “innocent,” and the guilty parties always seem to pay for their crimes, in one form or another. For example, the mentally disabled Nan (the lovely and talented Jamie Brewer has Down Syndrome in real life) is sacrificed to Papa Legba (a sort of voodoo Boogie Man) as an innocent, but Fiona explains, “She killed the neighbor, but the bitch had it coming,” an example of the show’s signature black humor and also our willingness as viewers to play judge, jury, and executioner as we watch the addictive carnage of AHS. After all, the oh-so-devout neighbor did kill her husband and son both, magnifying the hypocrisy we often encounter in seemingly the most pious of individuals. Whether we’ll admit that we gain some joy and satisfaction from watching this horrid lady drink bleach and die determines what kind of viewers and people we happen to be.

I think one of the themes AHS wishes to convey is that none of us are entirely innocent…or evil for that matter. “Original sin” runs rampant throughout season two, “Asylum,” where many scenes are structured around religion and humanity’s treatment of God as deity, concept, and man’s invention. In this season, Lana is chained to a bed and raped by Dr. Thredson, a man she trusted and confided in before he abducts her. Because of his deep-seated abandonment issues with his mother, he declares, “Baby needs colostrum” and begins “nursing” from the helpless Lana. Since colostrum is the first milk produced during pregnancy, this sentiment is deeply symbolic, as the nourishment ensures bonding between mom and baby. Lana’s rape serves as a catalyst for her journalistic career and bestselling memoir, and she ultimately kills the product and evidence of the crime: her estranged son, who’s just as whacked out as his father.

At times, Lana tries to appeal to the doctor's obsession with his mother in order to escape. — At times, Lana tries to appeal to the doctor’s obsession with his mother, in order to escape.

After an exorcism is performed on a patient, of course Satan chooses the most innocent and pious resident at Briarcliff Manor: Sister Mary Eunice; yet, we’re not prepared to watch her rape the good-hearted Monsignor. An important current discussion surrounding rape culture is how any woman can overpower a man, and this scene utilizes the binary of good and evil to build on that reality. This scene also works well because the Monsignor seems to be fighting biology, trying desperately to resist what he really wants–sex with a beautiful woman, the very thing God tells him he must resist at all cost. Fittingly, the Monsignor is the one to finally rid Briarcliff of the evil spirit by throwing the sister down to the ground level, killing her (symbolism, much?!). This rape, then, is the climax of the devil’s reign at Briarcliff before he’s sent back to hell. When a strange little girl is abandoned at Briarcliff, Sister explains, “All I ever wanted was for people to like me.” Her possession story can be seen as the Sister gaining some control and self-confidence in both her personal life and her duties at the mental hospital, but sacrificing her virtue in the process. Sister Jude (Jessica Lange) tells her, “I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, Sister, but it’s a decided improvement,” alerting us to the idea that we can find evil more appealing than righteousness.

Sister Mary Eunice tells the Monsignor, “Your body disagrees with you.” When he tries to explain, “I gave my body to Christ,” she (Satan) responds, “What has he given to you?” — Sister Mary Eunice tells the Monsignor, “Your body disagrees with you.” When he tries to explain, “I gave my body to Christ,” she counters, “What has he given to you?”

In season three, “Coven,” we find the rape-revenge narrative when Madison is gang-raped at a frat party in New Orleans. There’s some obvious foreshadowing when she tells a boy to get her a drink and asks him if he wants to be her slave. Within rape culture, Madison’s assault can be seen as “putting her in her place.” When the boys flee the party, she uses her powers to flip their bus and not only kill everyone onboard but break their bodies into pieces. Probably the only kind thing she does throughout season three, Madison helps Zoe to put Kyle (Evan Peters) back together using the body parts of his frat brothers. Madison says, “We take the best boy parts, attach them to Kyle’s head, and build the perfect boyfriend.” The grotesque objectification of the male body (in death, no less) is oddly refreshing. Kyle’s heart, soul, and mind are still intact after he regains his senses, and he eventually falls in love with Zoe.

Madison tells Zoe that Kyle is still "kind of cute," even when he's in a thousand pieces in a morgue. — Madison tells Zoe that Kyle is still “kind of cute,” even when he’s in a thousand pieces in a morgue.

Madison’s tight dress, celeb status, and rude treatment of a random frat guy all point to the possibility of victim blaming, but the witch doesn’t let the young men live long enough to point the finger at her. Their quick exit and attack on the innocent Kyle, however, are enough to confirm their guilt, or rather the acknowledgement that a crime had in fact been committed that night. Madison’s magical powers and ability to turn over the huge bus with a swipe of her hand are reflections of a feminist fantasy: an eye for an eye. This rape takes place early on in the series both to convey Madison’s metaphysical powers and to remind us that despite this alliance with the occult, she can still be the target of a sexual assault. We likely find ourselves joyful that these young boys die in a gruesome way after what they do to Madison. Here, the witch archetype is presented as a source of feminine power and feminist vengeance. The moral of “Coven”: Don’t piss off a witch.

A reflection of real-life headlines, the boys film the attack using their cell phones.

Another female-on-male rape takes place when Zoe visits one of Madison’s rapists in the hospital. We may be hesitant to view this as a rape scene since Zoe is a woman raping an unconscious man. Some critics may even say that the crime couldn’t possibly be rape because of course he would “want it” if he were conscious, but we should be careful not to default to that logic, because it’s the same logic used by rapists in victim blaming. Although this doesn’t seem an act of violence, Zoe rapes the boy because she has discovered that any man she sleeps with soon dies (vagina dentata, anyone?). I suppose this rule doesn’t apply to Kyle since, in a sense, he’s already dead.

Zoe tells us, “Since I’ll never be able to experience real love, I might as well put this curse to some use.”

Indeed, retribution is at work on AHS. We discover that the college-aged Kyle is chronically molested by his mother, and we’re surely cheering when he bludgeons her to death with a lamp. Evan Peters gives a stellar performance in every season of AHS thus far, and acts as an ally when he attempts to stop his frat brothers from raping Madison. While AHS clearly depicts the rape-revenge storyline in “Asylum” and “Coven,” “Murder House” offers a slightly different representation of rape. When Vivien is raped by a ghost, she’s unable to completely make sense of the situation until she becomes a ghost herself after dying in childbirth. And even after Ben forces Tate to admit all the wrongs he’s committed in both life and death, Tate is not granted any forgiveness or reprieve; rather, he’s banished by Violet, who he claims is “everything he wants.” Funny enough, what Vivien wants most–a functional family and a new baby–is partially achieved via several acts of violence: her rape, Violet’s suicide, and Ben’s scorned mistress hanging him above the stairs. In fact, the family’s last name “Harmon” sounds a lot like the word “harmony.”

Vivien thinks it's her husband Ben (Dylan McDermott) inside the rubber suit. — Vivien thinks it’s her husband Ben (Dylan McDermott) inside the rubber suit.

Biology dictates that we avoid the grotesque, the disturbing, and the bizarre, while AHS pleads with us to confront the demons and monsters around and within us, unveiling the reality that we are capable of the same evils we meet throughout the series. We can learn something from the unbelieving nun, the bible-thumping murderer next door, the ironically retarded clairvoyant: not only are appearances deceiving, but if we continue to construct our own realities from them, it will inevitably bite us in the ass.

Rape sequences are supposed to be horrifying and unsettling, and it’s important to examine how we watch rape and why its inclusion in film and television is not meant to demoralize us or assault our senses, but rather to make us think. Other than the obvious crimes of rape and murder, the show investigates adultery, the gross abuse of power, heresy in its many forms, and betrayal; in fact, there are so many knives sticking out of characters’ backs throughout each season, we’re uncertain who is going to be next. The rapists we meet on AHS inevitably pay for what they’ve done, rendering the series a feminist work and a platform for further discussion of what scares us the most and how we navigate that fear.

5 Ways ‘American Horror Story: Coven’ Both Conforms to and Challenges Misogynistic Tropes, ‘American Horror Story: Coven’ Exposes Rape Culture: Is this Social Commentary Effective?, ‘American Horror Story: Freak Show’ to be less campy than ‘Coven,’ FX chief says

_______________________________________________

Jenny has a Master of Arts degree in English, and she is a part-time instructor at Alvernia University. Her areas of scholarship include women’s literature, menstrual literacy, and rape-revenge cinema. You can find her on WordPress and Pinterest.

Listening and the Art of Good Storytelling in Louis C.K.’s ‘Louie’

Louis C.K.’s Louie

“I remember thinking in fifth grade, ‘I have to get inside that box and make this shit better’… It made me mad that the shows were so bad. People have a right to relax and watch theater about themselves that makes them reflect and feel and have a good time doing it.” – Louis C.K.

The subversive feminism of a show is most striking when it is underneath, not necessarily a part of, the writing. From season 1 of FX’s critically acclaimed Louie, it has been clear that Louis C.K. isn’t trying to make some grand commentary on gender or social norms. He’s simply weaving stories out of life.

Louie–starring C.K. as Louie–is one of those shows that doesn’t leave a feminist audience balking at stereotypes or scrambling to celebrate its female empowerment (although C.K. is, in general, a feminist darling). In fact, its power lies in its ability to allow us to not think too much about gender; instead, we are focused on the stories and the sheer humanity of the characters.

Louie is a single father co-parenting two daughters in New York City and working as a comedian. The obviously semi-autobiographical sitcom is wrapping up its third season next week. A TV auteur, C.K. produces, writes, directs, edits, and stars in each episode. He has been nominated for three Emmy awards for the series (for acting, directing, and writing).

Early on, audiences felt there was something different about Louie. The best way to describe the ebb and flow of comedy and dramatic genius would be intensely human. Everyone is flawed (not just Louie, and not just his love interests and friends), and his relationship with his on-screen daughters is particularly moving in its stark honesty. We worry, panic, yearn, laugh, and cry along with our protagonist.

Parenting–a subject most often reserved for the action and commentary of mothers–is central to C.K.’s stand-up and to Louie. In the show, Louie is consistently shown as a capable father who loves and is loved by his daughters. He’s no heroic single father, but we see him as a parent, nothing less. On the subject of gender roles in parenting, C.K. has said, “Roles have all changed. There’s a lot of fathers who take care of their kids, there’s a lot of mothers who have careers. But in culture, those roles are still the same. When I take my kids out for dinner or lunch, people smile at us. A waitress said to my kids the other day, ‘Isn’t that nice that you’re getting to have a little lunch with your daddy?’ And I was insulted by it, because I’m like, I’m f**king taking them to lunch, and then I’m taking them home, and then I’m feeding them and doing their homework with them and putting them to bed. She’s like, Oh, this is special time with daddy. Well, no, this is boring time with daddy, the same as everything.” This philosophy is clear in Louie.

Louie eats dinner with his two on-screen daughters.

C.K.’s stand-up acts frame the plot(s) of each episode, which are usually independent to what has happened in previous episodes. This season alone, Louie has dealt with being sexually assaulted on a date (although some bloggers problematically downplayed the assault in semi-celebration of the challenged double standard), wrestling with a friendly attachment to a young handsome man on a trip to Miami, and experiencing awkward encounters with women as flawed as he is. He is frequently depicted as having the more stereotypically feminine role in relationships (emotional, needy, and looking for serious companionship). Previous seasons have featured him having sex with (and being inspired by) Joan Rivers, dealing with childhood issues surrounding religion and sexual awakening, and being an adequate son and brother. His daughters are continually portrayed as empowered and fully realized (including one episode in season 2 in which his youngest daughter helps scare off some teenage thugs on Halloween). As the girls grow up, their character traits become more pronounced and realistic.

Parker Posey plays one of Louie’s love interests in season 3.

Season 2’s critically acclaimed “Duckling” was an hour-long episode that followed Louie on a fictional USO tour to the Middle East. According to C.K., it was an accurate depiction of his real experiences on a USO tour to Afghanistan, and the idea for the episode came from his daughter, who was four at the time.

And for his show in general, C.K. says, “I just like listening. I try to take people who are way far away from what I think or understand and put a representative of them on my show.”

Indeed, one of the aspects of C.K. as a comedian, producer/director/writer/actor, and person that makes him who he is and Louie what it has been is that he listens. He listened to a four-year-old little girl and created a television show that is up for an Emmy. It’s also clear that he spent his original trip doing a great deal of listening to his fellow USO performers and the soldiers he met. That is what leads to great storytelling.

C.K. used his own experiences and inspiration from his daughter to create “Duckling” in season 2.

Outside of the television show, C.K. has also made it clear that listening is key to everything he does. After Daniel Tosh’s rape joke went viral earlier this summer, C.K. was brought into the spotlight after tweeting a complimentary tweet to Tosh (which he said he sent not knowing about the rape joke or the backlash). In an interview with Jon Stewart, C.K. addressed the fact that he listened to the bloggers–feminists, comedians, feminist-comedians–and altered his thoughts about the situation. He said, “I think you should listen when you read – If somebody has an opposite feeling from me, I wanna hear it so I can add to mine. I don’t wanna obliterate theirs with mine; that’s how I feel.” He went on to say that in being enlightened to the true ramifications of rape culture: “Now that’s part of me that wasn’t there before.”

In an interview with NPR last winter, C.K. was asked about his thoughts on those who identify as “right-wing” (after a discussion about Christians often stumbling across his stand-up after seeing a mild clip and asking him to “clean up” his comedy): “There’s been a lot of simple vilification of right-wing people. It’s really easy to say, ‘Well, you’re Christian, you’re anti-this and that, and I hate you.’ But to me, it’s more interesting to say, ‘What is this person like and how do they really think?’ Do I have any common ground with people like that who find me really, really offensive? Do I have common ground with them? It’s worth exploring.” C.K. clearly explores every piece of life he encounters, and that seeking, that analysis, makes all of the difference.

It’s no secret that listening to others’ stories leads to better storytelling (listening well pretty much leads to better everything). However, it’s rare that we witness that kind of storytelling on half-hour TV sitcoms. On the surface, a show produced, written, directed, and edited by one man (who also stars as the protagonist and is a comedian) doesn’t sound like it would be the panacea for three-dimensional storytelling. But as C.K. continually shows his audiences, episode after episode, listening to others and thinking about life critically has led him to accurately tell stories in a fully human way.

In an interview with the New York Times last summer, C.K. said, “An uphill battle is just more interesting to me.” Choosing to not rely on tropes and recycled story lines and stock characters is an uphill battle, but as Louie demonstrates, what’s on top of that hill is well worth the climb.

—

Leigh Kolb is a composition, literature and journalism instructor at a community college in rural Missouri.