#65: The King of Comedy
Release Date: February 18th, 1983
Format: Streaming (YouTube TV)
Written by: Paul D. Zimmerman
Directed by: Martin Scorsese
4 Stars
This is the second Scorsese movie that I’ve formally reviewed (the first one being Killers of the Flower Moon) and I think both are masterpieces. And they’re both great examples of a master artist evolving with time and age. Scorsese was 39-years-old while making The King of Comedy, and twice as old during the production of Killers. And given a time machine, I don’t think an elderly Scorsese could have made The King of Comedy, and vice versa, I don’t think a young Scorsese could have made Killers.
That’s not a criticism, but a compliment.
The aged Scorsese of Killers shows him in total command of all aspects of the medium: The photography and composition are confident, the tone is thoughtful, and the storytelling is ambitious in scope, but never loses the heartbeat of its characters. Killers has Scorsese reckoning with history and the basic tenets of humanity. We’re watching an old man summon a lifetime of technique and experience.
But this old man couldn’t have made The King of Comedy. There is a live energy to early Scorsese, especially his New York City movies, that is captivating. And it’s not sheer violence in The King of Comedy. Unlike Taxi Driver or Raging Bull or Goodfellas, The King of Comedy is restrained. There is an implication of violence, a threat of violence, an undercurrent of violence, but it’s a violence that goes largely unrealized.
Let’s take the opening scene for example: Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis) is exiting the studio of his successful late night talk show to get into a limo, and adoring fans and autograph seekers are awaiting him outside. Amongst the crowd we see Rupert Pupkin (Robert De Niro) slicing his way through the mob like a shark. He seamlessly slides right behind Mr. Langford, unnoticed by security. His face is determined and worried. And we, the audience, are worried too. Is he about to shoot him in the back? It seems so.
But no, Rupert simply wants to help Mr. Langford into his ride. There is no gun shot, no stabbing. No violence. It appears Rupert Pupkin is just a big fan and aspiring comedian who wants to help his showbiz hero.
And then step into the limo with him and strike up a conversation.
And then beg for a spot on his show.
And then guarantee that he’s the next big thing in comedy. The next king of comedy.
Jerry Langford politely tolerates Rupert on the ride to his high-rise condo, gives him the number of his assistant, and bids adieu with a good luck farewell.
But just like Rupert, the audience is unsatisfied. We want more. And Scorsese knows this. He knows we have Taxi Driver on the brain. He knows we want to get weird. He knows we want to get violent. And he uses this preconceived notion against us.
The truly disturbing thing about Rupert Pupkin, and The King of Comedy, turns out not to be violence at all, but instead the tonal and moral ambiguity of the whole thing.
Are we supposed to laugh as Rupert runs around The Jerry Langford Show office, desperately trying to find his idol, as building security chases him around like Keystone cops? Is that funny? Watching a manic man in panic?
Are we supposed to laugh as Rupert banters with lifelike mannequins of Jerry Langford and Liza Minnelli in his mom’s basement? Or that he has recreated The Jerry Langford Show set in his bedroom?
Are we supposed to laugh when Rupert tricks an old high school acquaintance to accompany him to Jerry Langford’s country home under the pretense that Jerry and him are going to work on material and that he’s invited them both to stay for the weekend?
I laughed, but uncomfortably. And in the end I kind of liked Rupert Pupkin, and that’s a bit disturbing too. Turns out there is no violent crescendo a la Taxi Driver, but like Rupert, I’m still left wondering if something horrifically thrilling may be warranted after the end credits roll and the audience goes home.
Addendum:
Although he has great performances in the last ⅔ of his career (if sporadic), De Niro’s consensus prime consists of Mean Streets (1973), The Godfather Pt. II (1974), Taxi Driver (1976), The Deer Hunter (1978), Raging Bull (1980), and The King of Comedy (1982). They are all challenging, diverse, and dynamic roles during arguably the artistic height of American cinema.
This is only the second time I’ve watched The King of Comedy, but it might be my favorite De Niro performance. It’s hard to settle on just one, but Rupert Pupkin is tough to beat.
