Congratulations, Mr. Rupert Pupkin. You are definitely one of the creepiest movie antiheroes in the history of cinema, but you and your little “comedy” movie, Martin Scorsese’s “The King of Comedy,” have somehow persisted for more than 40 years, despite being weirdly not “funny” on the surface.
Pupkin is played by Robert De Niro, a hopelessly isolated character rather chillingly incapable of having any kind of meaningful communication with anyone unfortunate enought to be around him, and we usually wince a lot whenever he attempts to be funny or social. Pupkin’s target of obsession is popular late-night TV talk show host Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis), who is quite accustomed to being pursued by fans not so different from Pupkin, at least at first. As a matter of fact, we see him caught off guard by the sudden ambush of one of his more deranged fans, and that is how Pupkin comes to have a little private conversation with Langford as he is returning to his apartment.
Mainly for getting rid of Pupkin, Langford makes a little inconsequential promise in the end. Alas, this leads to more delusion in Pupkin’s troubled mind, and then the movie begins to blur the line between reality and delusion. As his delusion is getting bloated more and more, Pupkin’s pathetic reality is much more obvious to us, and we get a small bitter laugh whenever Pupkin’s self-absorbed state is disrupted by the voice of his annoyed mother from upstairs. (It is actually the voice of Scorsese’s mother, by the way).
At least, Pupkin gets a likely chance for admiration via Rita Keene (Diahnne Abbott), a young Black female bartender who was one of Pupkin’s schoolmates during his high school years. Probably because of their old time’s sake, she lets him have a dinner date with her, and he gladly boosts himself a lot in front of her, but she is just mildly amused while noticing more of what is going on right behind his back. Scorsese makes an interesting visual choice here; as the camera keeps focusing on Pupkin and Keene, a sense of embarrassment slowly dawns upon us, and we cringe more and more.
Meanwhile, Pupkin is getting rejected again and again by Langford and his associates. This eventually results in one of the most painfully embarrassing moments in the film, but, curiously, Scorsese presents this supposedly big comic moment as dryly as possible. The camera of his cinematographer Fred Schuler often sticks to static positions, and it usually maintains the distance from the main characters while mostly avoiding close-ups throughout the movie. In addition, the spaces occupied by the main characters frequently feel empty and barren without much sense of life. Langford’s apartment and country house look more like under-furnished art galleries than real human places to live, and New York City in the film is presented as a bland and uncaring urban environment where its main characters are isolated in one way or another.
The screenplay by Paul D. Zimmerman seems to go for a cathartic punchline when Pupkin and a fellow fanatic fan kidnap Langford later in the story, but, again, Scorsese adamantly restrains himself and the movie. When Pupkin finally gets the chance to present himself on TV, Scorsese and his longtime editor Thelma Schoonmaker simply cut to the aftermath. We do see Pupkin appearing on TV later, but we are never sure about the audience reactions, and the same thing can be said about the ending, which may be as delusional as the final scene in “Taxi Driver” (1976).
It is well known that Scorsese was not exactly in a good place during this film’s production. His third marriage was over, and he was also quite physically exhausted after making “Raging Bull” (1980). He was not recovered when the production of “The King of Comedy” began. This probably explains why the movie is less visually lively and kinetic compared to many of his works, in addition to often feeling dry and distant.
I wonder whether the movie can be read as a sort of apology for “Taxi Driver” just like Brian De Palma’s “Carlito’s Way” (1993) is to “Scarface” (1983). As many of you know, “Taxi Driver” was controversial especially when it got associated with the assassination attempt of President Ronald Reagan in 1981, and Scorsese might have intended to present “The King of Comedy” as the comically straight-jacketed version of “Taxi Driver”.
Although De Niro’s performance is the main show, I must mention that the three other main cast members in the film show considerable commitment. While he is usually remembered for wacky comedy films such as “The Nutty Professor” (1963), Jerry Lewis ably dials down his comic persona here for playing an aloof counterpart to De Niro. As Pupkin’s possible love interest, Diahnne Abbott holds her own during her several key scenes, and Sandra Bernhard is simply unforgettable as a woman who may be a lot more toxic and dangerous than Pupkin.
As we get more accustomed to comedy of embarrassment thanks to many other comedy films and TV series such as “The Office,” “The King of Comedy” becomes more, uh, accessible to us, and it also garnered much more attention as being a major influence on “Joker” (2019). (Whether that movie can be regarded as the 21st century heir to both this and “Taxi Driver” is another matter to discuss). By the way, I heard from one of my online acquaintances that there have actually been many people who identified themselves a lot with Pupkin, and I was both horrified and amused by that. I understand to some degree why some people can identify themselves too much with Travis Bickle or Arthur Fleck in “Joker,” but Rupert Pupkin? Are you serious? Now I am seriously wondering whether this is another sign of the ongoing human devolution in our time.
