The King of Comedy
Crazy people, crazy rulers
Closing out a November to remember should be done with a film that was a giant flop upon its release and is now recognized as one of the greats from a living master. The King of Comedy (1982), directed by Martin Scorsese and starring Robert De Niro and Jerry Lewis, shows us the collision of ambition, celebrity culture, and delusion with a level of prescience that’s both unnerving and captivating. While working through Scorsese’s catalog, and it may sound silly to say, one of the most striking traits is how easy his films are to watch. He’s a director who never loses track of holding the interest of the audience. (Surely, much credit also belongs to his long-time editor, Thelma Schoonmaker.) The King of Comedy is no different. It’s a movie about the absurdity of what we’ll do for validation—and how far we’ll go to achieve our 15 minutes of fame. You’ll be watching a movie set in the 80s that is clearly about today.
De Niro’s Rupert Pupkin is a man with a name as awkward and clunky as himself. Rupert is a wannabe comedian living in his mother’s basement, dreaming of making it big. He sits in the guest chair between two cardboard cutouts as they “ask” him questions about his fame. He laughs them off, he’s polite, he self-deprecates. He’s not just any dreamer; he’s convinced his success is inevitable. Interestingly, his belief in himself is the kind of outlandish self-belief you often read about being required to make it in an industry that doesn’t reward dipping a toe in the pool. Tragically, we can see that Pupkin lacks the talent to be successful as a stand-up comedian. Horribly, he will take steps beyond the standard hustle to achieve his goals. De Niro’s performance is as cringe-worthy as it is magnetic. Rupert is both pitiable and despicable, a character whose obsessive pursuit of fame resonates like the world’s largest bell, well struck, in the age of social media.
At the heart of Rupert’s delusion is his idol, Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis), a famous late-night talk show host who represents everything Rupert aspires to be. When an “accidental” encounter gives Rupert a chance to meet Jerry, his obsession deepens. Pupkin sees Langford as his foot in the door of showbiz. It’s through Langford that Pupkin can get his big on-air break. Scorsese and screenwriter Paul D. Zimmerman craft the interactions between the two characters with an uncomfortable authenticity; every conversation between Rupert and Jerry feels like a tightrope walk between comedy and horror, each word from Pupkin infused with need, each response from Langford laced with tension and hope to end the conversation..
The film blends fantasy and reality to give us a view into Rupert’s mind. His elaborate daydreams, where he imagines himself as Jerry’s best friend and a beloved comedy star, are indistinguishable from the “real” world. Besides the obvious break with reality, Scorsese never gives a visual cue for what’s real and what isn’t, forcing us to live in Rupert’s fractured reality.
Scorsese and Zimmerman took a risk with The King of Comedy. At the time, it didn’t pay off. Marketing this movie must’ve been a pain, though Blade Runner (1982) also flopped this year, so maybe folks didn’t feel like going to the non-E.T. (1982) movies.
The King of Comedy isn’t a critique of fame; it’s a dissection of the systems that create and perpetuate it. Systems that have evolved in their capabilities since the film was made, but not in their effect on people. The media, the audience, and the cult of celebrity are all complicit in Rupert’s rise, making it clear that his story isn’t an anomaly but a symptom of a larger cultural obsession. The film’s final moments, in which we see what Rupert Pupkin would do with 15 minutes of fame, are nothing short of a masterstroke. We expect, as the movie has been slowly building up for 90 minutes, to be horrified by Rupert. Instead, it’s the audience's reaction to Rupert that horrifies us. Rupert might be insane, but we made him the king.
The King of Comedy
Written by Paul D. Zimmerman; Directed by Martin Scorsese
1982
109 minutes
English
Recommended way to watch (at time of publication): Streaming on the Criterion Channel and Amazon Prime
You’ll like this if you like: Network (1976), After Hours (1985)