It May Only Be July, But Jerrod Carmichael Is The Entertainer Of The Year

Shortly after its founding way back in 1990, Entertainment Weekly magazine established an annual award for the entertainer of the year. Sometimes the recipient would be a musician or filmmaker who delivered a single piece of work that captivated the world of show business, but often the winner would be someone who had done multiple projects of high artistic merit, occasionally in multiple fields. 

As I spent the long weekend recovering from jetlag, I settled into two projects featuring Jerrod Carmichael, the first being Rothaniel, a 55-minute stand-up comedy special on HBO that is neither stand-up (Carmichael is seated for the entirety of the show) or really all that comedic. That’s not to say that Rothaniel isn’t funny—I don’t know if Carmichael can help but be amusing—it’s just that the show is more of a confessional than a traditional comic routine.

Carmichael has never been a typical stand-up comedian. His delivery can be meandering and his style unconventional, so if you’re looking for straight jokes from a comedian, Carmichael’s act may not be for you. To watch Carmichael perform is a bit like listening to a pop song without a chorus—you have to settle into the odd rhythm and vibe of what he’s doing to truly “get” him. Some comics tell funny jokes, but Carmichael just tells funny. I find myself grinning throughout his shows despite (and probably because of) his lack of beat-driven comic timing. The moments of laughter just sort of arrive—but not on the two and four as you expect. 

Such is the case early on in Rothaniel (masterfully directed by fellow comedian Bo Burnham) where Carmichael opens up about the wayward fathers in his family line who produced children out of wedlock at a pace that would make Herschel Walker’s head spin. At first, you chuckle along with Carmichael’s unusual cadence and flow, but there’s a sense that this show, while delivered in the Carmichael way, is different. 

The comedian sitting before you seems to be struggling to get at something about families and their secrets. In doing so, he eventually gives up on doing comedy at all. At one point he apologizes to the audience for not having it “all worked out.” Now the audience can feel a greater level of awkwardness, and during the numerous lengthy pauses someone in the crowd will ask a question and Carmichael will answer it, creating an unusual communal experience between performer and audience. What unfolds is an unusual combination of comedy, therapy, and performance art. 

Midway through the show we find out why this set is different. Carmichael begins to speak of his own secret that he has kept from the public: “I’m gay,” he says, and it’s like the two words just fall out of his mouth with a mix of exhaustion and trepidation. 

From there on out, Carmichael candidly shares how his sexuality has affected his friendships, his self-esteem, and most heartbreakingly, his relationships with his father, mother, and older brother, none of whom are fully accepting of his truth. It’s a fascinating and intimate showcase of a man who can no longer carry the burden of being “in the closet,” and is working out the weight of his reveal right in front of you.

It’s not often that a comedy special feels like high drama (I think you have to go back to Richard Pryor for any comparison), but that’s what happens in Rothaniel. I’ve seen many an act that ran out of good jokes on stage, but I’ve never seen a comedian run out of jokes—which is what happens here and Carmichael even acknowledges it. 

Rothaniel is a one of a kind experience, and I suspect that there will be those who for many reasons won’t be able to get on its wavelength. Whether it’s because of the scarcity of jokes, the intensity of the moment, or, due to homophobia, as Carmichael suggests when he says that he’s sure some people just changed the channel after he revealed his sexuality. 

While I’m not certain if the show will expand or contract Carmichael’s audience, I know it’s the boldest thing I’ve seen anyone do from the stage in an ancient age. Carmichael is often withering in his soft-spoken way when being critical of not only his family, but also of himself. That’s one of many reasons why I haven’t been able to get Rothaniel out of my head since I viewed it. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7nmHDJN_8k

Speaking of things I can’t get out of my head, Carmichael’s second project of the year is the suicide-pact buddy dramedy On The Count Of Three. Yes, you read that description right. On The Count Of Three takes a look at two chronically depressed old friends (Carmichael and Christopher Abbott) who decide to end their lives by gunshot after one last day of tying up loose ends. 

Of course, not all goes as planned and their last day soon devolves into misadventure. An unplanned dirt bike ride ends with Val (Carmichael) injuring his leg, and when the non-attentive clerk at the convenience store won’t fork over the gauze fast enough, well, Kevin (Abbott) brandishes his gun to speed things up. 

Their next stop involves Val attempting to sort out an old debt with his father. When the father offers up burgers at Five Guys instead of the $2,300 he owes his son, a physical fracas begins that ends with Kevin hitting Val’s dad with a tire iron, which leads to my favorite line in the film: 

“Hey, Kevin? Thanks for hitting my dad over the head with a tire iron earlier. You’re a good friend, man.”

Delivered in perfect deadpan by Carmichael, those words sum up this remarkably unique film to a tee. This is the story of two old friends who have made a deal to assist each other to end the suffering known as living. Neither can any longer abide the circular nature of sadness and mediocrity that has taken over their day-to-day lives, and to get to their desired finish line, well—sometimes you have to hit a deadbeat dad over the head with a tire iron.

The friends have two additional stops to make from here. Val needs to try to make things right with his pregnant girlfriend (a no-nonsense Tiffany Haddish), and Kevin needs to make things final with the counselor who molested him (a perfect cameo by Henry Winkler). Neither confrontation goes the way Val or Kevin intends, and before long they find themselves being chased by police, which speeds them to the moment where they have to make good on their pact.

It wouldn’t be fair to say what happens next (it’s not what you might expect), but it is fair to say that On The Count Of Three is one of the most daring and original films you will see all year. Aside from its obviously stellar attributes—the tight script, the perfectly modulated performances, or Carmichael’s artful and assured direction—(that’s right, Carmichael directed the film as well as co-starred), the boldness of the theme is what stands out.

This film does not exist to make you feel better about the plight of these two men, and neither does it ask you to agree with their choices. It only asks that you understand them, and in a day and age when making sense of why a person might view the world differently is anathema to those ball-and-chained to their own views, On The Count Of Three is one hell of an accomplishment. One that doesn’t just speak to the value of the film, but also to the provocative artist behind both this full-length feature and his most recent comedy special.

Jerrod Carmichael is a singular talent. Between his previous stand-up work and his well-received sitcom The Carmichael Show, you could feel his momentum building. But in his last two monumental achievements, you can truly see his talent for astute provocation brought to full bear. 

Entertainment Weekly published its last issue in April of this year—one of the latest victims in the relentless extinction of print media. Had the magazine survived the year we would have found out who they would have chosen as entertainer of the year. While there is still a lot of year left at the halfway point of 2022, I would certainly select Jerrod Carmichael for that distinction. And I wouldn’t have to think twice.

I cannot wait to see what he does next.