Comedy: Chappelle explains why Key & Peele hurts his feelings (no beef)
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Dave Chappelle Is Honored, With Honesty, at the Kennedy Center
By Jen Chaney@chaneyj
Dave Chappelle at the 2019 Mark Twain Prize ceremony. Photo: Tracey Salazar
When the Kennedy Center gave Dave Chappelle the Mark Twain Prize for American Humor on Sunday night, the event was, from beginning to end, completely Chappellian.
It opened like a real [spoken in Chappelle’s Rick James voice] celebration, with none other than Morgan Freeman delivering a riff on the opening to Prince’s “Let’s Go Crazy” that culminated with Freeman shouting, “Let’s go fucking crazy!” while a live band launched into the song and the members of the Duke Ellington School marching band, Chappelle’s alma mater, stormed the aisles of the Kennedy Center’s concert hall. Projected onto the large screens onstage during all this joyful mayhem: an image of Chappelle dressed as Prince on the episode of Chappelle’s Show where he famously dunked a basketball before proclaiming: “Game: blouses.” As soon as that mini-party ended, Chappelle, wearing his oversized ’70s-style glasses, walked onstage to a standing ovation, at which point he greeted the crowd and took his seat in a box next to his wife, Elaine, their children, his mother, and his mother-in-law. I’ve attended many of the Mark Twain Prize ceremonies over the years, a dozen of the 22 that have been held. I’ve never seen the honoree get announced and take the stage for a few moments at the beginning of the night.
Like that opening, the salutes to one of the most celebrated stand-ups of his generation were sometimes musical, took unexpected turns, and emphasized the degree to which Chappelle does everything his way. It’s that quality that makes him such a great comedian and also can be frustrating, perhaps especially for those who have been disappointed by the less sensitive jokes in his recent Netflix specials. Chappelle is who he is, always, and he doesn’t apologize for it. Or, as Jon Stewart put it in his remarks during the ceremony: “That’s the beauty of Dave. I don’t know anybody who cares more deeply and anyone who gives less of a fuck.”
The controversial nature of Chappelle’s comedy was not ignored throughout the nearly three-hour program, which will be edited into a two-hour special airing January 6 on PBS. Several of the montages of Chappelle’s work — which included bits from his stand-up specials, Chappelle’s Show, interviews, and film work — emphasized that. One was even titled “Crossing the Line.” The degree to which he’s done that lately, particularly when he jokes about the trans and LGBTQ community, was even slyly called out by Saturday Night Live’s Michael Che, who appeared alongside colleagues Kenan Thompson and Colin Jost to honor Chappelle. “We all know that we’re a part of the joke,” Che said of Chappelle’s humor. “He’s willing to make fun of everybody, whether you’re white or gay — end of list.”
In his speech that concluded the event, Chappelle, who lit up a cigarette and smoked as he talked, made it clear that he still feels strongly that comedy should involve crossing lines and making the audience uncomfortable. “There’s something so true about this genre, when done correctly, that I will fight anybody that gets in a true practitioner of this art form’s way,” he said. “Because I know your heart. This is the truth, and you are obstructing it. I’m not talking about the content. I’m talking about the art form. Do you understand?” A few people in the audience responded, “Yes.”
“Do we have an agreement?” he added, while the audience applauded.
Then he continued, “What I really wanted to say tonight, and I’m glad to get the platform to do it: I’m gay! I am gay, and I can’t wait to see what this does for my career, being handled like this.”
Aside from those moments, though, most of the evening was devoted to fun, occasionally even heartwarming stories about Chappelle and the crazy, unexpected, memorable things that happen when you spend even a few minutes in his orbit. Among the stars who participated in the ceremony, in addition to those already mentioned, were Tiffany Haddish, Aziz Ansari, Sarah Silverman, Lorne Michaels, Chappelle’s Show co-creator Neal Brennan, Chappelle’s A Star Is Born co-star Bradley Cooper, and, in a pretaped segment, Eddie Murphy. (Several comedians and actors — Michelle Wolf, Jeff Ross, Sasheer Zamata, Chris Tucker, George Lopez, and Chappelle’s Show regular Donnell Rawling — also showed up in the audience.) The musical talent assembled to perform was an all-star team of alumni from Chappelle’s Show, Dave Chappelle’s Block Party, and Chappelle’s live-show circuit: Common, Erykah Badhu, John Legend, Q-Tip, Frédéric Yonnet, and Yasiin Bey, a.k.a. Mos Def. The degree to which Chappelle has supported up-and-coming musicians throughout his career and is inspired by such artists was a running theme throughout the night.
Even more of a running theme? What an amusement-park ride it is to hang around with Chappelle.
Haddish, dressed in a jumpsuit with a “Haddish” name tag in the spot that would ordinarily read “Chappelle,” remembered having drinks with Chappelle and Marlon Wayans at a late hour one Christmas, at which point Chappelle announced they were going bowling. When she pointed out that no bowling alleys would be open at 1 a.m. on Christmas, he told her: “Do you realize I’m Dave Chappelle?”
“We pulled up to this huge gate, I mean huge,” Haddish recalled of what happened next. “I was like, ‘Are we gonna be bowling at Jurassic Park?’ We get out of the car, go to the door, and guess who opened the door? Eddie Murphy opened the door! I was like, ‘Oh my gosh. I can’t believe it. Axel Foley has a bowling alley!’”
Ansari recounted one of the nights earlier this year when the two performed together in Austin, Texas. Chappelle told Ansari that he had just found out the Kennedy Center would be giving him the Mark Twain Prize and asked if Ansari, who had planned to turn in early, wanted to eat some psychedelic mushrooms.
“He said, ‘What are you going to tell your kids 20 years from now, Aziz? Are you going to tell them, I was there the day Dave Chappelle found out he won the Mark Twain award and we ate mushrooms together and we had the night of our lives? Or are you gonna tell them you got some sleep?’ And I said, ‘You’ve got a point there. Let’s eat some mushrooms!’”
Yasiin Bey, in a spoken-word duet with Q-Tip, recounted the time that he and Chappelle, a native of the D.C. area, were hanging out in D.C. and walked over to the White House to see if, by some chance, George W. Bush wanted to hang. A security guard came out to speak to them, but before he could get any words out, Chappelle said, “I used to live here. I just wanted to see the place,” and walked away.
Bradley Cooper, who called the first scene he shared opposite Chappelle in A Star Is Born “the best scene I’ve ever done with another actor,” took the opportunity to clarify something Chappelle said in the monologue he delivered on SNL back in 2016. In it, he talked about being at an Obama White House party where everybody was black except for Bradley Cooper, who was “there for some reason.”
“I’m still mad about SNL,” Cooper joked at the end of his remarks. “In your monologue, you did say we were at the White House and you saw a sea of faces and there was one white guy, and you thought, Oh, Bradley Cooper’s here. We went to that together, motherfucker. What are you talking about?”
During every single one of these stories, Chappelle sat in his box and laughed, sometimes pounding on the railing in front of him or even getting up out of his chair for a second when he was really amused. He did that a few times during the 14-minute walk down Half Baked and Chappelle’s Show memory lane provided by Brennan, the honoree’s frequent writing partner, who gave the best speech of the night.
“People always say to me, ‘Man, Chappelle’s Show looked like a blast. Was it fun?’ It wasn’t!” Brennen said. “It wasn’t fun at all. It was hard. We had to stay awake for 48 hours at a time just to keep up with the schedule. We were bombed out and depleted. We were lumped up. We both had erectile dysfunction. I told Dave about mine and he said, ‘It’s because we use the laptops too much, man. Plus, we’re not as young as we used to be.’ Meanwhile, there’s no causal link between laptop use and erectile dysfunction, and also, we were 29.”
There was an honesty in these tributes that isn’t always present at events like this. And whether you agree with Chappelle all the time or not, that honesty is very clearly what he continues to value about comedy.
“Stand-up comedy is an incredibly American genre,” Chappelle told the audience during his closing speech. “I don’t think any other country could produce this many comedians. Unbeknownst to many people in this audience, I don’t think there’s an opinion in this country that is not represented in a comedy club by somebody. Each and every one of you has a champion in the room. We watch you guys fight. But when we’re together, we talk it out. I know comics that are very racist. I watch them onstage, and everyone’s laughing and I’m like, ‘Ooh, that motherfucker means that shit.’ I don’t get mad at them, don’t hate them. We go upstairs and have a beer, and sometimes I even appreciate the artistry that they paint their racism with. Man, it’s not that serious. The First Amendment is first for a reason.”
Then he added: “The Second Amendment is juuust in case the first one doesn’t work out.”
Bill Burr On Dave Chappelle And The Charged Climate Of Stand-Up Comedy
Andrew HusbandContributor
Hollywood & Entertainment
GETTY IMAGES
In the weeks that preceded and followed the release of Dave Chappelle’s fifth Netflix special, Sticks & Stones, the conversation necessarily – and predictably – hinged on the comic’s jokes pertaining to transgender people and politically correct culture. To be fair to these (and other thorny) subjects, though, such critical back-and-forths among artists and critics are nothing new. And that’s what comedian Bill Burr was counting on in Paper Tiger.
“By the way, this is going to be my last show ever,” he says about midway through the new comedy special, which is now streaming on Netflix. “By the time this f*cking thing comes out.”
Seeing as how Paper Tiger is Burr’s sixth full special in 11 years, this wry prediction likely won’t be the case. But the 51-year-old performer is perfectly aware of the charged climate that stand-up comedy–and public entertainment and political culture at large–now finds itself in. He jokes about it plenty of times throughout the new hour, especially when he thinks it’s his last.
Andrew Husband: You and Mike Binder filmed Paper Tiger at London’s Royal Albert Hall back in March as part of your European tour. Was your opening about doing comedy outside of the U.S. the result of that tour? Or was that something you’d been thinking about already?
Bill Burr: It’s just when I go over to different countries. Some stuff plays, some stuff doesn’t. You just address it, make a joke out of it and then continue on. I still do the same act that I would be doing in the States–it’s just occasionally there’s something that doesn’t play. Anytime I was doing that was to either address that or the political correctness vibe that gets into crowds, where they just feel like they can’t laugh at something. So, you just make a joke, snap them out of it and then they act like regular people.
Today In: Business
AH: That was going to be my next question, about your addressing America’s current fascination with “PC culture” in the context of comedy.
BB: That has gone global, my friend. There’s all this weird thing where everybody in public is the most caring person ever–and then they go back to the exact life they were living when they go home. And I understand it. Its heart is in the right place, but they . . . You can’t just change words and think that will change people’s attitudes.
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AH: You really think that?
BB: Well, to change as a person is a ton of work. It requires a lot of work by the individual. It’s not simply other people going, “Don’t say this word now, say that word.” And then, magically, they're going to be like, “Oh!” It’s not the case that because they don’t use that other word, they’re not going to be thinking ignorant things about whatever group that word was used negatively against before. It’s a pipe dream.
AH: Fair point, though I don’t entirely agree.
BB: As I was traveling, I was learning. At some of the places I went, they agreed with some of the things that we were doing. As for some other things, they thought it was all a bunch of hilarious overreactions and just bizarre. There’s still a lot of people in other countries whose leaders do things like have extramarital affairs. And they’re like, “Yeah, I mean that’s what they do, but who cares what you did? That’s his personal life. That’s between him and his wife, or whoever. Nobody’s perfect. Everybody’s got their problems.”
AH: In those instances, it doesn’t become a national scandal, you’re saying.
BB: Well, it would be nice if that level of inquiry went into figuring out exactly why banks and pharmaceutical companies, or the people who make our food supply, are able to do what they do so openly. I feel like Dave Chappelle got more sh*t than pharmaceutical companies for a stand-up special. It’s like, “Forget about the crap that they did!” You know?
AH: I mean, I don’t think those two things are exactly the same.
BB: It’s all money-based. That’s why it’s funny to be a comic right now, because it’s just like . . . all of these stupid people who are acting outraged about jokes. It’s literally in the news feeds that carry these stories. First of all, acting as though everybody is just paralyzed by jokes. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this comedian told this joke!” Meanwhile, I’m at the grocery store, I can’t even pick out apples now. It's so ridiculous.
I've always maintained that if comedians collectively bought advertising time on these 24-hour cable news networks, there would never be another scandal because they don’t bite the hand that feeds. Nobody does. So, the whole thing is funny to me. Sometimes you have to pivot a little bit, but as a comedian, you can usually find the humor in it and move on.
AH: There’s a lot going on here we should address, but I must admit, the idea of comedians collectively buying advertising amuses me.
BB: It’ll never happen because comedians are really independent contractors. So to try to get them all on the same page . . . I would not want to be a part of that. I wouldn’t want to be running it, at least.
AH: On the one hand, judging by previous specials, you’ve never had a problem with addressing “hot button” topics. On the other hand, considering the Chappelle response and everything else you’ve already said today, I get the feeling this has all been on your mind even more.
BB: I’m making fun of people who think that's actually a thing. That you could tell a joke, and that that joke would end your career . . . There's always something that you could say or do that isn’t a joke. You could not be joking and just say something. I don’t know, some over-the-top racist something. That would get you. Racism would get you.
That’s the other thing that's hilarious about this whole thing: what gets attention and what doesn’t. I found it hilarious how I was joking about how white women hijacked the “woke” movement, and how racist media is, since whenever a white woman complains about something, it goes to the front page. But everything else? There are people getting pulled over because of their skin color, who have done nothing wrong, and they’re dying. They’re dying in their own country. But somehow, that isn’t as big a story as when a white woman bitches about something.
AH: I mean, those stories are getting told more often than not now . . .
BB: Sure, but they weren’t before. And the white women are still getting most of the attention. It’s sad and hilarious, watching them try to divorce themselves from white men and their white male privilege. It's like, “You’re white, too. So what’s going on? You’re banging a white guy. You married a white guy.” They get to do that mob wife thing. When the feds show up, they get to act like they didn’t know that their husband was a gangster, out there killing people. “Oh, I didn’t know. I thought he was a butcher. That's why he had blood on his clothes.” They get to play dumb.
It’s really one of the funniest times, socially, to be doing this. People are trying to fix really painful, unfunny things about, I guess, human interaction, but the ways that they’re going about it are just comedic. It’s funny because it’s not something most comics would’ve done back in the day. You wouldn’t divide your audience like that. But now, because there are just so many places to go while not even knowing that somebody has a tour, dividing your audience gets attention and drives ticket sales. It’s such a f*cking weird time right now.
AH: So, you’re doing this on purpose, then? You want to divide your audience in this way because there’s so much out there?
BB: Well, not really. That’s why the special’s called Paper Tiger. If you know the definition of that . . .
AH: Right, a person or thing that appears threatening but isn’t.
BB: It's just making fun of the weight that is being put on things that don’t really have weight, all while we completely ignore very serious things. My favorite thing I just read in the newspaper was about Mexican Fentanyl. Mexican Fentanyl is coming. It’s like, “Fentanyl? You mean the sh*t we came up with? That got everybody addicted to heroin?” Heroin is a pain in the ass and apparently it's not as good a substitute as Fentanyl, so the drug dealers were like, “F*ck it, let’s start making Fentanyl.” But the story starts with Mexican Fentanyl. It doesn’t go, “Wait, where does this come from?” That’s going to be my favorite thing in 2020.
AH: You talk a lot about your home life in this special, more than I’ve ever seen before. Even in the context of your “anger” . . .
BB: I’m talking about my personal life. I’m just f*cking around and blowing a gasket on stage. It’s just me joking around. I’m not literally angry. That would be exhausting.
AH: Sure, but you’re very serious about it now. Or, it seems that way.
BB: Yeah, absolutely. Because now I have a kid and I don't want to pass this on. I want it to stop with me.
AH: You’ve amassed a treasure trove of comedy specials and albums by now. Do you think your daughter, when she’s older, will ever decide to sit down and go through it?
BB: I would have to do a hell of a job as a parent for her to actually sit down and watch her dad. You know how kids are. Kids like the cool dad down the street. Your own dad isn’t cool, I think, until you get married and have a kid. Then you’re, like, “This is what he was going through. My dad was awesome!” When you get to a certain age, your parents are just embarrassing.
Andrew HusbandContributor
Hollywood & Entertainment
GETTY IMAGES
In the weeks that preceded and followed the release of Dave Chappelle’s fifth Netflix special, Sticks & Stones, the conversation necessarily – and predictably – hinged on the comic’s jokes pertaining to transgender people and politically correct culture. To be fair to these (and other thorny) subjects, though, such critical back-and-forths among artists and critics are nothing new. And that’s what comedian Bill Burr was counting on in Paper Tiger.
“By the way, this is going to be my last show ever,” he says about midway through the new comedy special, which is now streaming on Netflix. “By the time this f*cking thing comes out.”
Seeing as how Paper Tiger is Burr’s sixth full special in 11 years, this wry prediction likely won’t be the case. But the 51-year-old performer is perfectly aware of the charged climate that stand-up comedy–and public entertainment and political culture at large–now finds itself in. He jokes about it plenty of times throughout the new hour, especially when he thinks it’s his last.
Andrew Husband: You and Mike Binder filmed Paper Tiger at London’s Royal Albert Hall back in March as part of your European tour. Was your opening about doing comedy outside of the U.S. the result of that tour? Or was that something you’d been thinking about already?
Bill Burr: It’s just when I go over to different countries. Some stuff plays, some stuff doesn’t. You just address it, make a joke out of it and then continue on. I still do the same act that I would be doing in the States–it’s just occasionally there’s something that doesn’t play. Anytime I was doing that was to either address that or the political correctness vibe that gets into crowds, where they just feel like they can’t laugh at something. So, you just make a joke, snap them out of it and then they act like regular people.
Today In: Business
AH: That was going to be my next question, about your addressing America’s current fascination with “PC culture” in the context of comedy.
BB: That has gone global, my friend. There’s all this weird thing where everybody in public is the most caring person ever–and then they go back to the exact life they were living when they go home. And I understand it. Its heart is in the right place, but they . . . You can’t just change words and think that will change people’s attitudes.
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AH: You really think that?
BB: Well, to change as a person is a ton of work. It requires a lot of work by the individual. It’s not simply other people going, “Don’t say this word now, say that word.” And then, magically, they're going to be like, “Oh!” It’s not the case that because they don’t use that other word, they’re not going to be thinking ignorant things about whatever group that word was used negatively against before. It’s a pipe dream.
AH: Fair point, though I don’t entirely agree.
BB: As I was traveling, I was learning. At some of the places I went, they agreed with some of the things that we were doing. As for some other things, they thought it was all a bunch of hilarious overreactions and just bizarre. There’s still a lot of people in other countries whose leaders do things like have extramarital affairs. And they’re like, “Yeah, I mean that’s what they do, but who cares what you did? That’s his personal life. That’s between him and his wife, or whoever. Nobody’s perfect. Everybody’s got their problems.”
AH: In those instances, it doesn’t become a national scandal, you’re saying.
BB: Well, it would be nice if that level of inquiry went into figuring out exactly why banks and pharmaceutical companies, or the people who make our food supply, are able to do what they do so openly. I feel like Dave Chappelle got more sh*t than pharmaceutical companies for a stand-up special. It’s like, “Forget about the crap that they did!” You know?
AH: I mean, I don’t think those two things are exactly the same.
BB: It’s all money-based. That’s why it’s funny to be a comic right now, because it’s just like . . . all of these stupid people who are acting outraged about jokes. It’s literally in the news feeds that carry these stories. First of all, acting as though everybody is just paralyzed by jokes. “Oh my God, I can’t believe this comedian told this joke!” Meanwhile, I’m at the grocery store, I can’t even pick out apples now. It's so ridiculous.
I've always maintained that if comedians collectively bought advertising time on these 24-hour cable news networks, there would never be another scandal because they don’t bite the hand that feeds. Nobody does. So, the whole thing is funny to me. Sometimes you have to pivot a little bit, but as a comedian, you can usually find the humor in it and move on.
AH: There’s a lot going on here we should address, but I must admit, the idea of comedians collectively buying advertising amuses me.
BB: It’ll never happen because comedians are really independent contractors. So to try to get them all on the same page . . . I would not want to be a part of that. I wouldn’t want to be running it, at least.
AH: On the one hand, judging by previous specials, you’ve never had a problem with addressing “hot button” topics. On the other hand, considering the Chappelle response and everything else you’ve already said today, I get the feeling this has all been on your mind even more.
BB: I’m making fun of people who think that's actually a thing. That you could tell a joke, and that that joke would end your career . . . There's always something that you could say or do that isn’t a joke. You could not be joking and just say something. I don’t know, some over-the-top racist something. That would get you. Racism would get you.
That’s the other thing that's hilarious about this whole thing: what gets attention and what doesn’t. I found it hilarious how I was joking about how white women hijacked the “woke” movement, and how racist media is, since whenever a white woman complains about something, it goes to the front page. But everything else? There are people getting pulled over because of their skin color, who have done nothing wrong, and they’re dying. They’re dying in their own country. But somehow, that isn’t as big a story as when a white woman bitches about something.
AH: I mean, those stories are getting told more often than not now . . .
BB: Sure, but they weren’t before. And the white women are still getting most of the attention. It’s sad and hilarious, watching them try to divorce themselves from white men and their white male privilege. It's like, “You’re white, too. So what’s going on? You’re banging a white guy. You married a white guy.” They get to do that mob wife thing. When the feds show up, they get to act like they didn’t know that their husband was a gangster, out there killing people. “Oh, I didn’t know. I thought he was a butcher. That's why he had blood on his clothes.” They get to play dumb.
It’s really one of the funniest times, socially, to be doing this. People are trying to fix really painful, unfunny things about, I guess, human interaction, but the ways that they’re going about it are just comedic. It’s funny because it’s not something most comics would’ve done back in the day. You wouldn’t divide your audience like that. But now, because there are just so many places to go while not even knowing that somebody has a tour, dividing your audience gets attention and drives ticket sales. It’s such a f*cking weird time right now.
AH: So, you’re doing this on purpose, then? You want to divide your audience in this way because there’s so much out there?
BB: Well, not really. That’s why the special’s called Paper Tiger. If you know the definition of that . . .
AH: Right, a person or thing that appears threatening but isn’t.
BB: It's just making fun of the weight that is being put on things that don’t really have weight, all while we completely ignore very serious things. My favorite thing I just read in the newspaper was about Mexican Fentanyl. Mexican Fentanyl is coming. It’s like, “Fentanyl? You mean the sh*t we came up with? That got everybody addicted to heroin?” Heroin is a pain in the ass and apparently it's not as good a substitute as Fentanyl, so the drug dealers were like, “F*ck it, let’s start making Fentanyl.” But the story starts with Mexican Fentanyl. It doesn’t go, “Wait, where does this come from?” That’s going to be my favorite thing in 2020.
AH: You talk a lot about your home life in this special, more than I’ve ever seen before. Even in the context of your “anger” . . .
BB: I’m talking about my personal life. I’m just f*cking around and blowing a gasket on stage. It’s just me joking around. I’m not literally angry. That would be exhausting.
AH: Sure, but you’re very serious about it now. Or, it seems that way.
BB: Yeah, absolutely. Because now I have a kid and I don't want to pass this on. I want it to stop with me.
AH: You’ve amassed a treasure trove of comedy specials and albums by now. Do you think your daughter, when she’s older, will ever decide to sit down and go through it?
BB: I would have to do a hell of a job as a parent for her to actually sit down and watch her dad. You know how kids are. Kids like the cool dad down the street. Your own dad isn’t cool, I think, until you get married and have a kid. Then you’re, like, “This is what he was going through. My dad was awesome!” When you get to a certain age, your parents are just embarrassing.
On Saturday Night Live, Dave Chappelle’s Brilliance and Cynicism Shone Through
The monologue hit high notes at times but was not without lazy, cheap moments too.
BY JULIAN KIMBLE
November 9, 2020
Dave Chappelle delivers his opening monologue on Saturday Night Live, November 7, 2020.Getty Images
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On November 12, 2016, Dave Chappelle hosted Saturday Night Live just days after Donald Trump was elected President of the United States. Many hoped the moment would be a salve: a legendary comedian with a penchant for social critique providing insight, humor, and temporary relief to help reckon with justifiable fear about the future. After beginning his monologue by saying he knew white people too well to be surprised by Trump’s victory, Chappelle closed by saying he’d give Trump a chance and demanded the president-elect give the “historically disenfranchised” one as well. Those words, as Chappelle admitted six months later, aged like milk. The Trump administration has taken great pride in harming marginalized people. That was the intent. Last week on the verge of arguably the most high stakes election of our lifetime, SNL announced Chappelle would return as the post-election host, setting the Studio 8H stage for another momentous postmortem.
The circumstances were, thankfully, much different last Saturday. While Chappelle's appearance in 2016 came at the onset of unease and terror at what Trump’s presidency might herald, his latest came amid joy over Joe Biden’s defeat of Trump, which was announced earlier in the day. Chappelle’s presence, particularly his opening monologue, was built up to be an exclamation point at the end of a day of worldwide celebration. Chappelle rose to the occasion with a 16-minute set—more than double the monologue time most hosts allot for themselves—that was at times brilliant but also not without jokes that fell flat, mostly because he punched down unnecessarily and to little effect.
Either way, Chappelle’s cynicism shone through. He may enlighten at points, but he’s not out to change minds. His uncompromising honesty is his greatest strength and biggest weakness at this point. However you feel about Chappelle at the moment, his Saturday Night Live monologue delivered exactly what you’d expect from him.
At the end of 8:46, Chappelle’s YouTube special from this past June, the comedian mentioned his great-grandfather, who was born a slave. Chappelle began his Saturday Night Live set by referencing him again, admitting that he wished his namesake could see him now: the same week he hosted Saturday Night Live, Chappelle’s Show was added to Netflix (it’s already available to stream on HBO Max). According to Chappelle, he wasn’t paid for these new deals and his great-grandfather would be appalled that despite being born free, his descendant has been bought and sold even more than he had. Comedy is his soapbox, because, as he put it, he can only tell the uncomfortable truth “when there’s a punchline behind it.”
Chappelle drew parallels between racists and anti-maskers, noting that they can stomach wearing masks in Walmart for everyone’s safety if they can wear hoods to Ku Klux Klan rallies. When examining how COVID-19 has impacted a state like Ohio, where he lives, Chappelle pointed out that stimulus checks are a greater source of income than work for some. He used this to cast poor whites as lazy drug addicts thriving off government assistance, reframing Ronald Reagan’s racist, anti-poor sentiment: “The rest of the country is trying to move forward, but these white niggas keep holding us back.”
When Chappelle finally addressed Trump’s defeat, he explained that a friend from London had reached out to say that the world felt safer with president Biden. Chappelle, however, was quick to acknowledge that America doesn’t feel safer. Trumpism is a set (or rather a lack) of values: a perilous worldview that will outlast his presidency. Trump energized unbridled racism, misogyny, and every “phobia” that stands to harm anyone who isn’t a straight white man. He emboldened anti-maskers, even as he contracted COVID-19 and it tore through both the White House and GOP. “That’s your leader,” Chappelle said. “What kind of man makes sure he’s okay while his friends fight for their lives and die? A white man.” And as Chappelle explained, recalling his 2016 monologue, he understands the mindset of white people across class lines—for better or worse.
That’s Chappelle at his best: going deep on society at its ugliest. It’s what stood out about 8:46, a mostly humorless reckoning with the collective grief following George Floyd’s murder at the hands of the Minneapolis Police Department in May. But what’s been unfortunate since Chappelle’s reemergence is his refusal to address ugliness without embracing it himself. His recent work has been marked by homophobia, transphobia, and sexism, and he’s defiantly refused to budge in the face of criticism.
While ridiculing one of Trump’s worst COVID-19 press conferences, Chappelle recalled a virologist whose reaction suggested she agreed with the president’s nonsense. “That’s why women make half,” Chappelle said of the gender wage gap before asking the crowd “Did I trigger you?” with a shit-eating grin. Shortly after, he said Trump’s diagnosis was as surprising as Freddie Mercury ultimately dying of AIDS. Aside from being lazy, these were among the weaker moments of Chappelle’s set because the grasps for cheap laughs added nothing to it. If Chappelle can recognize the ways Trump harms the marginalized, he should be aware of how he can do the same.
There’s no doubt Chappelle can read the room; he’s as shrewd as he is reckless. During the final moments of his opening monologue, he encouraged everyone celebrating Biden’s election to be humble about the victory—even as Trump and his supporters continued to be sore losers.
“Remember when I was here four years ago? Remember how bad that felt?” he asked with the reminder that half the country currently feels the same way, even if the circumstances aren’t the same at all. He told two factions of Trump’s base—poor whites and cops—that he understands how they may not feel acknowledged or appreciated. He explained that it’s a common feeling, but everyone doesn’t weaponize their resentment. He encouraged them to forge ahead despite that feeling, but if they couldn’t manage, to find out how Black people do so via “nigga lessons.”
It was vintage Chappelle, even during this hit-and-miss period of his career. When the jokes miss, they’re fathoms beneath him. But when they land, as his parting shot did, it’s with deadshot accuracy. And love or hate where his career has gone, you can trust him to be honest.
@4 Dimensional @ViCiouS @largebillsonlyplease @godofwine
The monologue hit high notes at times but was not without lazy, cheap moments too.
BY JULIAN KIMBLE
November 9, 2020
Dave Chappelle delivers his opening monologue on Saturday Night Live, November 7, 2020.Getty Images
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On November 12, 2016, Dave Chappelle hosted Saturday Night Live just days after Donald Trump was elected President of the United States. Many hoped the moment would be a salve: a legendary comedian with a penchant for social critique providing insight, humor, and temporary relief to help reckon with justifiable fear about the future. After beginning his monologue by saying he knew white people too well to be surprised by Trump’s victory, Chappelle closed by saying he’d give Trump a chance and demanded the president-elect give the “historically disenfranchised” one as well. Those words, as Chappelle admitted six months later, aged like milk. The Trump administration has taken great pride in harming marginalized people. That was the intent. Last week on the verge of arguably the most high stakes election of our lifetime, SNL announced Chappelle would return as the post-election host, setting the Studio 8H stage for another momentous postmortem.
The circumstances were, thankfully, much different last Saturday. While Chappelle's appearance in 2016 came at the onset of unease and terror at what Trump’s presidency might herald, his latest came amid joy over Joe Biden’s defeat of Trump, which was announced earlier in the day. Chappelle’s presence, particularly his opening monologue, was built up to be an exclamation point at the end of a day of worldwide celebration. Chappelle rose to the occasion with a 16-minute set—more than double the monologue time most hosts allot for themselves—that was at times brilliant but also not without jokes that fell flat, mostly because he punched down unnecessarily and to little effect.
Either way, Chappelle’s cynicism shone through. He may enlighten at points, but he’s not out to change minds. His uncompromising honesty is his greatest strength and biggest weakness at this point. However you feel about Chappelle at the moment, his Saturday Night Live monologue delivered exactly what you’d expect from him.
At the end of 8:46, Chappelle’s YouTube special from this past June, the comedian mentioned his great-grandfather, who was born a slave. Chappelle began his Saturday Night Live set by referencing him again, admitting that he wished his namesake could see him now: the same week he hosted Saturday Night Live, Chappelle’s Show was added to Netflix (it’s already available to stream on HBO Max). According to Chappelle, he wasn’t paid for these new deals and his great-grandfather would be appalled that despite being born free, his descendant has been bought and sold even more than he had. Comedy is his soapbox, because, as he put it, he can only tell the uncomfortable truth “when there’s a punchline behind it.”
Chappelle drew parallels between racists and anti-maskers, noting that they can stomach wearing masks in Walmart for everyone’s safety if they can wear hoods to Ku Klux Klan rallies. When examining how COVID-19 has impacted a state like Ohio, where he lives, Chappelle pointed out that stimulus checks are a greater source of income than work for some. He used this to cast poor whites as lazy drug addicts thriving off government assistance, reframing Ronald Reagan’s racist, anti-poor sentiment: “The rest of the country is trying to move forward, but these white niggas keep holding us back.”
When Chappelle finally addressed Trump’s defeat, he explained that a friend from London had reached out to say that the world felt safer with president Biden. Chappelle, however, was quick to acknowledge that America doesn’t feel safer. Trumpism is a set (or rather a lack) of values: a perilous worldview that will outlast his presidency. Trump energized unbridled racism, misogyny, and every “phobia” that stands to harm anyone who isn’t a straight white man. He emboldened anti-maskers, even as he contracted COVID-19 and it tore through both the White House and GOP. “That’s your leader,” Chappelle said. “What kind of man makes sure he’s okay while his friends fight for their lives and die? A white man.” And as Chappelle explained, recalling his 2016 monologue, he understands the mindset of white people across class lines—for better or worse.
That’s Chappelle at his best: going deep on society at its ugliest. It’s what stood out about 8:46, a mostly humorless reckoning with the collective grief following George Floyd’s murder at the hands of the Minneapolis Police Department in May. But what’s been unfortunate since Chappelle’s reemergence is his refusal to address ugliness without embracing it himself. His recent work has been marked by homophobia, transphobia, and sexism, and he’s defiantly refused to budge in the face of criticism.
While ridiculing one of Trump’s worst COVID-19 press conferences, Chappelle recalled a virologist whose reaction suggested she agreed with the president’s nonsense. “That’s why women make half,” Chappelle said of the gender wage gap before asking the crowd “Did I trigger you?” with a shit-eating grin. Shortly after, he said Trump’s diagnosis was as surprising as Freddie Mercury ultimately dying of AIDS. Aside from being lazy, these were among the weaker moments of Chappelle’s set because the grasps for cheap laughs added nothing to it. If Chappelle can recognize the ways Trump harms the marginalized, he should be aware of how he can do the same.
There’s no doubt Chappelle can read the room; he’s as shrewd as he is reckless. During the final moments of his opening monologue, he encouraged everyone celebrating Biden’s election to be humble about the victory—even as Trump and his supporters continued to be sore losers.
“Remember when I was here four years ago? Remember how bad that felt?” he asked with the reminder that half the country currently feels the same way, even if the circumstances aren’t the same at all. He told two factions of Trump’s base—poor whites and cops—that he understands how they may not feel acknowledged or appreciated. He explained that it’s a common feeling, but everyone doesn’t weaponize their resentment. He encouraged them to forge ahead despite that feeling, but if they couldn’t manage, to find out how Black people do so via “nigga lessons.”
It was vintage Chappelle, even during this hit-and-miss period of his career. When the jokes miss, they’re fathoms beneath him. But when they land, as his parting shot did, it’s with deadshot accuracy. And love or hate where his career has gone, you can trust him to be honest.
@4 Dimensional @ViCiouS @largebillsonlyplease @godofwine
It was cool some of them didn't land as hard as they could have.
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