Dave Chappelle released his latest Netflix special, The Dreamer, on New Year’s Eve. It should have been billed as a magic show because what else do you call it when a man disappears up his own ass?
Like a lot of not-cis people, I tuned for the same reason I watch Kill Count videos of horror movies when I’m depressed. I wanted to see what the Clown Prince of Transphobia was vomiting into the cultural milieu. Thankfully, he seems to have mostly run out of steam in that regard, but what was left over in the set was still not good.
Chappelle has never been a great joke writer. If you read the transcripts of his work, thy do not sing off the page. You could never compare him in terms of pure humorist mechanical construction to Michael Harriot, Mark Twain or Terry Pratchett.
What Chappelle has going for him is incredible delivery. He can say terrible and unfunny things, and still seem likable. In terms of comedic timing and overall presentation, Chappelle’s talent can’t be denied.
The problem with that is how easily it leads to a guru mindset. When how you say something is more important than what you’re saying, you start thinking every word is wisdom. The Dreamer was Chappelle desperately trying to prove to the world he had achieved some kind of chucklefuck nirvana that he just had to share with the world lest we miss it. It has a Message with a capital M.
It’s appropriate that The Dreamer opens with a quote by Henry David Thoreau, a writer most famous for writing a book about the brilliance of independence and self-reliance that was made possible by his mom bringing him sandwiches to his house every day. Chappelle clearly thinks he’s in a similar company, and in terms of obliviousness I agree. Has anyone ever quoted Thoreau and not needed the Slurpee knocked out of their hand?
The last 15 minutes of The Dreamer is not comedy, but it’s not meaningful spoken word either. For a man that came hard for Hannah Gadsby over Nanette, Chappelle sure did rush to steal her style. The difference is that Gadsby turned in a tender and brilliant exploration of her trauma and what it’s like to live in a hostile world.
Chappelle’s version boils down to “ain’t it cool I got rich?” His loooooong diatribe about being a dreamer is little more than a recitation of his endless good luck. Even moments that should be heartfelt, such as his wife’s fear when he was attacked on stage, center on how clever he is to have prepared for his family in case of tragedy.
Really go back and look at that bit. At no point is Chappelle anything but the constant hero. He rises above everything. He wins every fight. He is a conservative film protagonist who prevails because he was right all along, not because he changed or grew over the journey. Chappelle at this stage of his career reads like a character Ben Shapiro would write to prove he wasn’t racist.
When Chappelle’s bigoted nonsense against the LGBT community ramped up, there arose in his defense a piece of bullshit so choice you could bedazzle it and sell it in a roadside museum giftshop. Chappelle wasn’t indulging in hate. He was “speaking truth to power.” Comedians, I was assured, were the anointed ones destined to challenge the status quo. Without them, we would all descend into groupthink and sheepish subjugation.
Comedians are not soothsayers, truth-tellers, or the last wall defending free speech. They’re just people who can make awkward things sound funny. Sometimes there is wisdom in that, and sometimes it’s just a bit about moths flying in a straight line when they fart. When comedians start telling you how important they are to a functioning society, you can be sure they have forgotten how to write jokes and people are starting to notice.
I’m not saying that comedians are worthless. I carry a lot of bits in my heart for tough times. That said, just because someone can make you laugh over going to a strip club with friends doesn’t make them a sage. Lots of cult leaders and dictators were funny guys, too. Chappelle is the worst kind of comedian, a guy who is so secure in his own charisma that he has left his craft to rot. The Dreamer is a what happens when a man dedicates his talent to reminding himself he is important and has just enough of a fanbase to get people to pay to clap for it.
That’s just narcissism. There’s no truth to power in that, and no worth to society either. His only struggle is how to get the spotlight in a world where he just isn’t that important anymore, which is one of the reasons his fanbase is people who pretend trans people and Jews secretly run the world.
This article appears in Jan 1 – Dec 31, 2024.
