Louis C.K. Changes Gears, Exploring Heavy Drama and Tragedy with his Web Series Horace and Pete

Release Date: January 30th—April 2nd, 2016
Number of Episodes: 10 (from 30-67 minutes long)
Written & Directed by: Louis C.K.
Starring: Louis C.K., Steve Buscemi, Edie Falco, Alan Alda, Jessica Lange, Steven Wright, Aidy Bryant, Nick DiPaolo, Maria Dizzia, Tom Noonan

Horace and Pete is essentially a filmed play, like a situation comedy without the live studio audience and laugh track. But it's not a comedy. Written, directed by, and starring Louis C.K., it's the accomplished comedian's first real foray into heavy dramatic material. There are moments of C.K.'s typically provocative brand of comedy, but really this story is a tragedy.

Horace and Pete was created as a limited web series, released online through C.K.'s website for prices ranging from $2 to $5 per episode. Producing and distributing the series himself gave C.K. a level of creative freedom that might not have been afforded him by a major TV network, enabling him to explore theatre-based approaches to storytelling and to be as extreme in content as he could imagine. And he wanted the arrival of his new show to be a surprise, which would be impossible within a traditional television show model. So, with no prior announcement or promotion, no language restrictions or commercial ad breaks, Horace and Pete debuted in January 2016 and completed its 10-episode run in April. 

The setting is a 100-year-old dive bar in Brooklyn, New York, named Horace and Pete's after the original owners. As the story goes, each generation of the family had sons also named Horace and Pete, who took over operation of the bar when the previous generation passed. When the series opens, the bar employees are brothers Horace (Louis C.K.) and Pete Wittel (Steve Buscemi), and their Uncle Pete (Alan Alda)—the former owner until handing the reins to his nephews following his brother Horace's death a year earlier. A few regulars populate the bar, mostly played by stand-up comedians the likes of Steven Wright (as Leon), Kurt Metzger (as Kurt), and Nick DiPaolo (as Nick). Another regular is Marsha (Jessica Lange), the previous Horace's girlfriend who Uncle Pete lets drink for free out of loyalty to his brother. Rounding out the main cast is Horace and Pete's estranged sister Sylvia (Edie Falco). Numerous other stars make appearances including Saturday Night Live cast member Aidy Bryant as Horace's daughter Alice, Laurie Metcalf as Horace's ex-wife Sarah, New York mayor Bill de Blasio in a cameo as himself, and Paul Simon in one episode as a bar patron. Simon also wrote and performs the theme song; a slow, acoustic number with sparse lyrics and a somber melody.

Nearly every character is inflicted with the inability to use social filters when they speak, and no subject is off limits. They all display varying degrees of cynicism, prejudice, and generally nihilistic attitudes in their day-to-day lives. The most miserable of the lot is Uncle Pete, who frequently uses words like "fag", "cunt", and "nigger"—a thoroughly mean, vulgar, grumpy, racist, mysoginistic old dude who constantly insults Horace, and everyone else for that matter. What results from this ensemble of despondent characters interacting in the drab, run-down bar setting is a compelling if thoroughly gloomy brand of theatrical realism. But it doesn't just portray realistic people and situations, but rather exaggerated depictions of reality at its most tragic, resulting in a sometimes poignant and often disturbing kind of hyperrealism.

Dramatic turbulence is thrust upon us immediately as sordid details are revealed, ranging through disease, mental illness, adultery, wife-beating, child abuse, and various other grave family secrets. The tone is bleak, striving for emotional and intellectual impact by way of examining the everyday lives of the folk who frequent the bar. Sometimes this is a bit heavy-handed, feeling like forced, obvious attempts at high drama, sentimentality, and edginess, while other times it successfully captures some profoundly ineffable qualities of human behaviour. It's abrasive and relentless in its ongoing drama between sad sack characters—but people like this surely exist, and so the show is challenging in its honesty. Like a train wreck, its hard to look away as the intimate dysfunction of these people is revealed in harrowing detail time and again. 

The narrative focuses around the relationships between the three siblings, as Sylvia pressures Horace and Pete to sell the bar and rid the family of generations of trauma ghosts that inhabit it. She even threatens legal action, but Horace and Pete continue to resist her attempts to make them sell. As much as the bar symbolizes a sad past for the family of operators, as well as for current and past patrons, it also represents a lot of history and nostalgia. Its undetermined fate continuously looms, as the bar's sale would likely mean its destruction and replacement by a Starbucks or some such gentrified venue.

There are many standalone scenes, unrelated vignettes featuring bar visitors engaged in heated debates, painfully awkward social situations, and absurdist dialogue about peculiar subjects. These philosophical musings sometimes achieve a kind of quiet profundity, often through characters who are never seen again. Uncomfortable moments abound between these people who continually say the wrong thing at the wrong time. They're all quite insensitive and accustomed to insults, having been beaten down so many times themselves that they now occupy a perpetual state of obliviousness to the effect that their words have on one another. Such is the reality for the people who inhabit the harsh world of Horace and Pete. Comedy does occasionally seep in, however, in C.K.'s usual cringe-worthy style and often about taboo subject matter. It's an extension of his unique brand of self-deprecating, edgy humour that he's established so well through his stand-up comedy and TV show Louie—although here it's more likely to make one cringe rather than laugh.

Political commentary and witty social observation emerge as frequently inseparable from the black comedy. One bit of dialogue compares crying watching Bambi to crying about the holocaust. In another debate the barflies and staff argue about whether or not abortion is a sin, and wonder if aborted fetuses go to heaven, hell, or purgatory. The conversation ends with one character proclaiming, "You think God was the first rape baby?" to which another replies, "No, that would be Jesus."

Another scene shows a young customer confronting Horace about charging him more for a beer than someone else.  
Horace: "If he looks like him he pays $3, if he looks like you he pays $4.50."
Patron: "So it's just out and out discrimination? Are you aware how totally unfair that is?"
Horace: "Here's the thing—you're getting more for your money than he is. You come in here and you make fun of the place 'cause it's an old Brooklyn dive bar, so you and your friends get to enjoy that part, and you also get to have a beer. But he just gets the beer. See, you're here ironically, but he's here because he just lives on the corner."
The patron pauses, then concedes to paying the $4.50.
This is a lighter moment in the show, and illustrates one of its biggest charms; despite the characters' chronic depressed and angry states, they're self-effacing and ultimately accepting of one another at the end of the day.

One episode involves Horace picking up a woman from his bar and sleeping with her, only to have her intimate over breakfast the next morning that she had a sex change, and was formerly a man. A discussion about transgender people and sexual identity ensues, with Horace trying to figure out if she was actually born male or if she's just pulling his leg. She challenges his discomfort by saying that if he really believes in equal rights for everyone as he claims, then it shouldn't matter. No clear conclusions are drawn through these debates, but questions are provoked and left to contemplate.

Since there were short time frames between the production and release of each episode, the dialogue is topical, allowing C.K. to address current news issues. In one scene, a character comments on a fictional comedian who said Trump is Hitler. "Fuck this comedian celebrity asshole guy telling me how to vote—'cause everyone's Hitler, right?" Horace steps in, saying, "Well I don't think he was telling you how to vote, he was just trying to get you to think". It's metafictional, referring to C.K. himself who in real life publicized a letter he wrote that equated Trump to Hitler.

Another episode features 43 minutes of two people just sitting at a table talking, the first half of which is a long monologue by a middle-aged woman describing her sexual affair with an 85-year-old man. This kind of drama might be easier to receive in a live theatre setting, but will likely test the patience of typical TV audiences and all except C.K.'s most loyal fans. As such, Horace and Pete is more so for Louis C.K.'s diehard followers who are interested in his creative trajectory. It's hard to imagine this show winning him many new supporters as it's so grim and overall rather slow-paced. But it's an earnest look at the mundanity of regular American life, and alternately touching and bizarre moments do emerge throughout.

The last few years have seen Louis C.K. achieve comedy icon status, regarded by many as the best stand-up comic of his generation. He kind of took over for the likes of George Carlin in his ability to tell the truth, pushing comedy across the edge into the darkest corners of human consciousness. Nothing's sacred with C.K., but as vulgar as he can be, he also has a strong sense of compassion—sensitivity to human suffering. This is a big part of his charm, and what makes the darkness palatable; he's not mean-spirited so much as honest. Numerous HBO stand-up comedy specials and appearances in hit movies like Blue Jasmine (2013), American Hustle (2013), and Trumbo (2015) have expanded C.K.'s success, but he really reached a creative high with his eponymous television show Louie, which—like Horace and Pete—he writes, directs, and stars in. Louie is like C.K.'s version of Larry David's Curb Your Enthusiasm in that both shows feature the stars as fictionalized, parallel dimension incarnations of their real life selves. But while Curb established a consistent formula in the way the episodes are structured, Louie employs an often experimental format. At its height Louie was, in my opinion, the best show on television (particular the 2nd and 3rd seasons). Alternately hilarious, dramatic, touching, surreal, thought-provoking, and imaginative, it's an unparalleled work of art that stretches the boundaries of what a television show can be, and unlike any TV that's come before or since. As C.K. does in his stand-up, Louie likewise examines the margins of human behaviour, showcasing a deeper dimension to his artistry beyond stand-up comedy, as a writer unafraid to explore unorthodox storytelling. There are times when it's not just funny or satirical, but emotionally resonant or unsettling. With Horace and Pete, the darker stuff that Louie explored is amped up while the humourous elements are dialed down, resulting in a unique blend of dramatic theater and television.

Having reached a point in his career where he can traverse whatever creative avenue he wants, it's curious to see that C.K.'s chosen to do a show like this—something so serious. And it's fascinating to see him continue to evolve and explore new directions, even if his projects don't always resound as strongly as his previous best work. I speculated that his next move following Louie might be to write/direct/star in his own movies, that he might become kind of a Woody Allen in this respect—and word is that one is indeed in the works (entitled I'm a Cop). But for now he serves as cowriter and coproducer on Zach Galifianakis's show Baskets, and a writer/director for the series Better Things starring his longtime collaborator Pamela Adlon. As for Louie, FX (the premium cable network that produces the series) announced that it will return for a 6th season, but not wanting to put any pressure on C.K. while he works on other projects, there's no immediate timeline for its production.

While Horace and Pete generally displays a lot of people being mean to each other, the occasional moment of kindness is shown, usually by C.K.'s Horace, who is another version of his Louie character as a dowdy, ambivalent, self-hating everyman. But even he's inexplicably cruel to others at times. Despite the misery, rays of optimism surface with moments of forgiveness and genuine tenderness, particularly in the last half of the series. Initially we don't really know why everyone is so dejected, but as the story progresses it begins to make more sense if also still hard to watch at times. With all its trangressions past boundaries of social normalcy, the show is ultimately anchored by a moral heart centered in compassionate, truthful exploration of human behaviour. Through the narrative swirls of despair, moments of hope occur and then are dashed just as quickly as they arose by turns of further dire circumstances, only to re-emerge from the muck before being extinguished time and again. But somehow, despite all the darkness, the series feels fundamentally positive as a sincere attempt to understand suffering, from the first scene to the last. And it ends on an unexpected and wholly disturbing sequence of events that stuck with me for days after.
• Nik Dobrinsky / Boy Drinks Ink
May 2nd, 2016