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Bitter and blacker | page 1, 2
It was all more or less a seamy look at the inner workings of Rock's
agitated sex life and his surprisingly unenlightened relationships with
women in general, and seemed, well, (cough) beneath him. I didn't identify
with it at all, but maybe I wasn't supposed to; maybe it was a black guy
thang. But seriously, compared to Chris Rock, Richard Pryor is practically
Dr. Leo Buscaglia. What I found the most hair-raising in Rock's monologue, and which I've
encountered a bit of lately in other venues, is that there is a recent
public trend of black people, in a relaxed fashion, outspokenly and without
malice, talking about how much they hate whitey. This isn't due to weird, zealoty
white-devil rhetoric or fevered militancy, but is the honest result of a simple, profound,
multi-generational resentment, which has always existed, but is usually kept hidden under
the mild social politeness that has always kept integrated society from dissolving into
total mayhem. This hatred is well deserved and understandable, I reckon, but
it will make you just the slightest bit uncomfortable if it is being
brazenly acknowledged by a beloved comedian and you are one of 15 white
people in the entire sold-out Apollo Theatre in Harlem. We weren't
nervous, everyone was perfectly nice to us, nobody mad-dogged us at the bar,
but there was definitely a "one of these things just doesn't belong here"
vibe. It wasn't scary, but it was a real eye-opener. Harlem is a real
eye-opener. As robust and fierce-humored and vivid as the inhabitants are,
if you have any kind of sensitive, bleeding heart, Harlem will bust it right
in the chops and knock your privileged liberal worldview sideways:
It's just so goddamned poor. Even the walls of the legendary Apollo are
peeling. "There's a policy here at the Apollo," teased the warm-up comic. "If you're
white, and you've never been here before, welcome -- just remember to give all
of your money to the nearest black person upon exiting the theater. We call
it 'reparations.'" The Apollo audience erupted into the deafening white-noise blur
of claps and howls louder than any audience I've ever heard; a sound so thick and
round it feels like you can walk off the balcony onto it. We clapped too. Heh heh heh
heh heh, ho ho. Ahem. Rock, at this point, for all his expert funniness, is like a severed head on
a post: eloquent, but above all, a warning, and evoking of a marrow-deep
chill. Maybe there just isn't room for really funny material nowadays. Maybe that
would just be unforgivably irresponsible. Maybe things have just gotten way
too unfunny, at this point. It's a shame to feel denied a totally unencumbered Chris
Rock, a soaring, radiant talent that didn't have to be weighed down with all that socially
important shit. But, well, things need to change. If the world were a nicer place, Chris
Rock would be a funnier guy. Whoomp. There it is.
"Chris Rock: Bigger and Blacker" debuts July 10 on HBO. Dreamworks will
release the CD, co-produced by Rock and Prince Paul, on July 13.
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