Louis C.K.'s downfall and surprising return to the standup stage
The comedian has been selling out shows after admitting to repeated sexual misconduct
WARNING: This story contains details some readers may find distressing.
He was once America's "king of comedy," with a growing media empire that included tours, TV shows and movies. For years, Louis C.K. was at the top of his game, with faithful fans who appreciated his edgy, confessional-style comedy routines.
But in the fall of 2017, that all changed. Or did it?
In the documentary Sorry/Not Sorry, comedy insiders and C.K.'s accusers speak out about the open secret that eventually brought him down. That is, until he worked his way back to the stage, selling out comedy shows and incorporating his sexual misconduct into routines.
More than a decade's worth of allegations
In November 2017, a front-page article in the New York Times spelled everything out: multiple women had accused Louis C.K. of sexual misconduct over a 15-year period.
In 2002, Chicago comedians Dana Min Goodman and Julia Wolov were invited to C.K.'s hotel room for a nightcap. Once they were in his room, the comedian asked if he could take out his penis, then proceeded to strip naked and masturbate.
Comedian Abby Schachner described how, in 2003, she could hear C.K. masturbating while she was on a phone call with him. In 2005, Rebecca Corry was in a TV pilot with C.K. when he asked if he could masturbate in front of her. Another woman says he masturbated in front of her in his office during a work day.
In his routines, C.K. was known for calling out male hypocrisy.
"He became this kind of unlikely moral conscience of the comedy world," says Melena Ryzik, a reporter with the New York Times who co-authored the article with journalists Jodi Kantor and Cara Buckley.
In the documentary, many point out how ironic that was, given his actions off-stage.
"Every comedian has their skeletons," says comedian and writer Michael Ian Black. "But I felt like … there's just a lot of hypocrisy around it because so many of us spend our careers trying to sort of hold the light up and be like, 'Hey, I'm telling the truth here. I'm the truth teller.'"
'These stories are true'
The day the article was set to be published, the New York premiere of C.K.'s new movie, I Love You, Daddy, was abruptly cancelled due to "unexpected circumstances." That night, once the Times had broken the story, Late Show host Stephen Colbert said the comedian had pulled out of his appearance on the program.
The following day, C.K. released a statement confirming the allegations. "These stories are true," he said. "The power I had over these women is that they admired me. And I wielded that power irresponsibly."
"What's nearly unique about the Louis C.K. story is that there is no factual dispute at the heart of this story," Kantor says in the film.
"He didn't use the word 'sorry,'" says Noam Dworman, owner of the famed Comedy Cellar, "but he wrote a whole essay explaining that he knew he did something wrong."
C.K. concluded his statement by saying he would "step back and take a long time to listen."
But soon, actors, comedians and fans began downplaying the severity of C.K.'s conduct. Dave Chappelle even made light of the accusations in a Netflix comedy special.
"I became the joke," says Schachner, referring to Chappelle's jokes involving Schachner's phone call with C.K. "It does bother me that, like, I'm not gonna live this down."
"Making fun of the victims is still good for business," says comedy journalist Sean L. McCarthy in the documentary.
And about nine months later, C.K. was back onstage telling jokes.
A self-financed comeback
When C.K. returned to comedy, he had new jokes about his sexual misconduct.
"If you ever ask somebody, 'May I jerk off in front of you?' and they say yes, just say, 'Are you sure?' … and then if they say yes, just don't f--king do it," he quips in performance footage featured in the film.
"You all have your 'thing' … you're so f--king lucky that I don't know what your thing is. Because everybody knows my thing."
It was a marked shift from the tone of his public statement, notes comedian Jen Kirkman, who says C.K. also asked her about masturbating in front of her. "He framed it as a kink," she says.
C.K. also included jokes about all the money he'd lost due to his misconduct — but he still had the ability to self-finance his own comeback in the industry.
Many fans were happy to see the comedian back onstage and bought up tickets to his shows. C.K. then went on to self-release four comedy specials and win the Grammy for best comedy album in 2020.
"You know, Louis is not on The Tonight Show, he's not on TV and Netflix," says comedian Aida Rodriguez. "He created his own thing outside of the business. The people who love Louis C.K. are still there."
But there was never an apology, and Ryzik says that he only talked about the repercussions for himself and never for the women involved.
'It just seems like nobody cares'
"When you see women that are hurting and feel like they're crazy, because everyone's letting all these predators back while some never had a chance," says Kirkman in the documentary, "it really hurts, especially in this culture, where it just seems like nobody cares."
In Sorry/Not Sorry, C.K.'s accusers share their experiences, including the professional and personal consequences of speaking out.
"If something horrible has happened to you, why should it continue to hurt you when you bring it to light?" says Buckley. "That, to me, is kind of the more interesting question."
The documentary also examines so-called cancel culture in the context of C.K.'s career.
"Cancel culture, for me, was all a ruse, you know? Like, homophobia, transphobia, racism, misogyny — none of it went away … people are making money, money, money, right now doing it," says Rodriguez. "So what's the 'cancel culture'? Tell me what happened."
Watch Sorry/Not Sorry on CBC Television, CBC Gem and the CBC Docs YouTube channel
