Staffer's Note

I decided to take a break on Tuesday night and see Aziz Ansari’s sold out performance in Page Auditorium. It would be a welcome relief, I told myself, from the mounting pressures of homework and applying fruitlessly for jobs and taking on real-world responsibilities and searching for direction and meaning in my life and realizing with horror that I’m too old for section parties.

His opener, Joe Mande, was wonderfully unexpected. An unassuming Jewish guy with a boyish demeanor and a long-term girlfriend, Mande spent most of his bit skewering himself with the aplomb characteristic of someone completely at ease with his imperfections. He invited us to join him in tales of personal humiliation—a genital mishap involving a wok and jalapeño peppers, getting robbed at Domino’s—but he embraced the stories as the comic foibles they were. There was no trace of anger or regret, just good old-fashioned self-deprecation. Even as he mocked Judaism’s shortcomings in the face of decadent Christian holidays (Christmas, he said, is a birthday party where everyone gets presents just for showing up), it was always clear that he bore his own no ill will.

Aziz’s performance was markedly different. His entrance met with roaring applause, of course, as his stand-up routines are veritable internet sensations and his character on Parks & Recreation, Tom Haverford, is arguably the best on TV. Yet when he launched into his segment it became clear that the pint-sized comedian fosters a serious set of insecurities.

At one point he singled out a couple on the balcony who made the mistake of telling him they were engaged at 22. This could provide any comic with ample material for jabs at commitment and inexperience. But Ansari beat the horse, and beat it, and beat it, and then dropped the bat and emptied a .38 chamber into it. Now, there is nothing wrong with audience interaction; good comedians can deliver great work off the cuff. Nor is marriage by any means off-limits. What Ansari did, though, bordered on harassment, deriding the couple for their decision long after the audience stopped laughing. You can rag on someone who paid to see you; you shouldn’t do it until they and the rest of the audience think you’re a dick. Just ask Michael Richards.

He also spoke at length about his friends who were having kids and settling down. Again, this is totally fair play by most standards. It’s reasonable for a 28-year-old to be miffed by a constant barrage of baby videos. The problem is that Ansari harped on the notion to such an extent, and with such vitriol, that it reflected more personal animosity than subversive observation. There’s a thin line between humorous ire and genuine disgust. The former is usually funny; the latter, unless you’re a great satirist like Swift or Twain, is pretty unflattering. Aziz, you’re good, but you’re not that good.

The problem isn’t that Ansari chose to talk about these things; I’m up for a joke about lions eating babies any time. The issue was in his callous delivery and his persistence, both of which did more to betray his own anxieties than to make light of the themes. He’d do well to take a cue from his opener and come to terms with his flaws instead of directing them toward others for the sake of his act.