High-profile comedians including Dave Chappelle and Kevin Hart have received backlash for performing at the Riyadh Comedy Festival. In a world that increasingly cares only about money, why do we still care?
It’d take an impressive feat of mental gymnastics to view Western comedians’ performance at the Riyadh Comedy Festival as anything other than an example of the influence of money. In fact, we don’t even need to draw this conclusion ourselves; it was explained to us succinctly and unabashedly by US comic and podcaster Tim Dillon (before his invitation was withdrawn): “they’re paying me enough money to look the other way” . Comedians such as Dave Chappelle, Kevin Hart and Louis C.K. have all received backlash for agreeing to perform at the behest of the Saudi Arabian government, accepting lucrative payments in spite of the Kingdom’s oppressive censorship and litany of human rights abuses, including the brutal murder of political dissident and journalist Jamal Khashoggi. Isn’t this what we would have expected? Why else, for example, did Qatar host the 2022 World Cup despite unplayable summer temperatures and the exploitation of migrant workers who were tasked with building seven stadiums for the tournament, 6,500 of whom died in the process? I thought this was how the global market operates? People barely blink when professional footballers accept lucrative deals to play in the Saudi Pro League, or the eye-watering sums offered to professional golfers to participate in the LIV Golf tour, both clear examples of sportswashing to dress up the Kingdom’s appearance and launder its reputation. Why hold comedians to a different standard, as if it’s unreasonable to make a moral concession for a six (or seven) figure payout?
Comedy has a unique role in the world of art and culture given the intimacy of the crowd:comic dynamic along with the almost prosaic nature of many comics’ sets. Anecdotes and stories are presented as personal and sometimes vulnerable, whether true or not. Jokes aren’t told in a vacuum—rather, they are often topical and offer an insight into the performer’s views and opinions on sensitive cultural topics. The personas offered by artists – as colourful and exaggerated as they may be – provide an insight into who they are. A joke about sex, relationships, politics, work or family draws on the audience’s own experiences, subverting or affirming them, pulling us into the comedian’s narrative as we laugh along. There might not be a personal connection between performer and spectator, but audiences might feel entitled to some degree of authenticity from comedians, especially when many of the stories in comedians’ sets are presented as genuine experiences.
So it is darkly amusing watching comedians who are at their most confident, spotlight-seeking selves on stage saunter home, sweating as they try to justify a well-paid detour to pander to a government that stifles and rejects the very freedom which comedy relies on. Omid Djalili argued in The Guardian that there was something positive achieved by performing in Riyadh. Using comedy to push the envelope “subtly broadens what’s thinkable and sayable in a society” . In other words, accepting this opportunity represents some tangible progress towards Saudi Arabia loosening its grip on what people can or can’t say and do. Unfortunately, judging by the government’s leaked penal code from last year that would codify legal routes for execution for blasphemy and apostasy, this would appear to be willfully naive. I highly doubt the Saudi royal family is feeling particularly threatened now that the festival has ended.
Some of the performers made the point of emphasising how they were free to express themselves and say what they wanted. If this is surprising to you, that’s because it isn’t true, as leaked contract terms revealed that any jokes insulting the Saudi royal family, legal system or its government were forbidden. Religion was also a prohibited topic. Jokes violating these terms would, on the face of it, burn the plump paychecks on offer for the comedians here. Which is getting off lightly when you consider that Saudi comedians have been imprisoned for broaching the same topics themselves.
Now that the dust has settled, when these comedians next go on tour in the US, aren’t audiences going to feel the tension next time they watch the spotlights centre on the comics for their next performance? Will some of their charm and wit be lost, given the knowledge that this is someone who has so brazenly sold out? Probably not. Either way I don’t get the impression that they’re very concerned about the impact.
Romantic notions of comedy as some noble, truth-telling endeavour aside, the hypocrisy of many comedians’ attendance is stark in light of comedy itself becoming an increasingly personal affair for many performers. This is a wider reflection of the obsession media has with celebrity culture in the digital age, with an expectation placed on successful comics to appear in interviews, routinely post on social media, and play to the algorithm in order to maintain relevancy and pander to our insatiable desire to know every possible facet of celebrities’ lives. Invasive and voyeuristic as this is, comedians’ public appearances inevitably bleed into their performances. Intimate and personal anecdotes shared on podcasts, talk-shows and interviews that reveal a comedian’s more authentic self aren’t easily forgotten. If Jimmy Carr goes on a tangent during a podcast to talk sincerely and honestly about his life and personal philosophy, are we expected to divorce these moments from his actual stand up as if it doesn’t form part of his public image? Why else would we care about non-comedic opinions and feelings unless they form some part of how audiences view them? Much of Carr’s material involves deliberate shock value and one-liner style sets which clearly aren’t meant to be taken literally, so it’s hard to get a sense of how Carr expects his audience to regard him as a comedic entity. It’s a useful defence mechanism to put yourself in a position where your audience can’t tell if going to Riyadh was some sort of ironic gesture or just an unapologetic cash grab. Fair play.
Bill Burr made his thoughts on critics known following his performance, describing those who took issue with his decision to attend as “sanctimonious cunts … If you actually give a fuck about those people and how they’re living over there, there’s gonna have to be these types of things to pull them in. ” You don’t get the impression that Bill appreciates people imputing some level of responsibility for comics like him to uphold the same freedom of speech that comedy survives on. This is surprising coming from a comedian who has repeatedly taken stances on contentious political issues, using his platform to speak up for things he feels strongly about. Would Bill Burr accept being called a sanctimonious cunt for voicing his objections against the genocide in Gaza, or the extremities of US wealth inequality? If not, he’s going to have to accept that his participation at Riyadh undermines his moral high horse. Most of the attendees, in fairness, haven’t bothered to push back this way, probably understanding that there isn’t a need to drag out the backlash here unless they have some masochistic desire to do so.
It’s foolish to set these kinds of expectations on public figures of all sorts. There have been enough scandals across the creative industries as well as the political sphere to have rendered most of us numb to new allegations of moral transgressions. Even so, there’s a sense of loss when a certain celebrity we admire is willing to sell out just like anybody else. It might be exhausting to be repeatedly disappointed when comedians, athletes and celebrities undermine themselves like this, but I’d argue it’s far more draining to forego the belief that any of the artists we enjoy are willing to stand up for the values we’d hope they hold. Pick your poison, I suppose.
It might be a losing game to bet on people wholly refusing big payouts like this, but perhaps it’s more significant that a minority of comedians and athletes have turned down these lucrative offers. Shane Gillis “took a principled stand” and said no to what would have presumably been one of the largest offers received by comics attending Riyadh. Tiger Woods was reportedly offered in the region of $700-800 million dollars to participate in LIV Golf, and still said no. Refusing these sums clearly hasn’t done much to thwart oppression and promote freedom of expression. That being said, it’s certainly a more powerful and meaningful gesture than just accepting the cash.
