Sorry/Not Sorry (2023) and the Cancel Comeback

Louis C.K. made us believe he was sorry.

“There is no greater threat to women than men.” - Louis C.K.

The documentary Sorry/Not Sorry has made a subtle entrance into the zeitgeist since its debut at the 2023 Toronto Film Festival. It was officially released a couple of weeks ago and is currently available to stream online. Told in eight parts, it tells the story of comedian Louis C.K. and his journey from cult comedy star to full-blown icon to pariah to cult comedy star again. The story is no less bizarre than it was seven years ago and sadly no less topical. 

After the 2017 New York Times article made famous what had before been an open secret, that he harassed and abused women, often by masturbating in front of them, his future in entertainment seemed bleak. But what started out as a clear-cut case of consequences for male misbehavior has now morphed into a twisted career resurgence. The documentary examines his re-entrance into the public eye through the eyes of his victims, his friends, and the journalists who broke the story that broke him. 

The documentary is challenging, controversial, aggravating, and compelling in equal measure. The years following the perceived “canceling” of Louis C.K. and many others have been plagued by the naggingly persistent question: What now? What do we do with these men who have transgressed? Do they get to return to their former glory? Do they get a fresh start? Can we love their art and still do right by the people they’ve harmed? It’s a can of worms, an endless maze, a Pandora’s box that holds no answers, only more questions. No winners, only losers. 

Sorry/Not Sorry is the only film I’ve seen in recent years that tries to thread the needle between giving space and credence to the victims of egregious sexual misconduct, while dealing with the reality that these men and their work do not simply go away. And neither do the often conflicting feelings we have about them. In interviews with former collaborators, fans, and victims, the film manages to express the deeply unsettling contradictions of the place we are currently in as a culture, and deftly gets to the heart of the most disturbing truth of all: that we are all, in some way, complicit in the story of people like Louis C.K. 

In an interview with comedian Jen Kirkman, who tells in detail the instances in which Louis harassed her throughout her career, she also admits to excusing his behavior, even as it destabilized her and hampered her career. He did these things to her and she still defended him. Comics like Michael Ian Black and creators like Mike Schur attempt to square their admiration for C.K.’s talent with their disgust with his behavior. In the case of Schur, he admits to hearing the rumors (they were pervasive but unsubstantiated) about C.K.’s behavior and thinking, “That’s not my problem.” 

Back in the present, in one of the film’s more poignant moments, the filmmakers interview fans outside of Louis’ sold-out show at Madison Square Garden. Louis C.K. is now embarking on what some are calling a comeback. The film follows his carefully calculated return with a removed fascination and an honorable desire to examine the feelings his presence stirs in his fans and in the women he victimized. His show, which became the special that won him a Grammy, is sarcastically and defiantly entitled, Sorry. One fan manages to sum up this conflict quite simply (and to his credit, honestly) when he says, “I think everyone lives with a certain amount of hypocrisy, and this is the amount that I’ve allocated for myself.”

It’s an understandable and deeply human instinct. We don’t want Louis or these women to suffer, to still be suffering, so it’s easier to diminish his actions and decide instead that it’s the victims who are exaggerating. And it doesn’t stop there.

Many of the men whose abusive behavior towards women was exposed have never faced more than a rough couple of years online. They’ve lost jobs, friends, and opportunities to be sure. C.K. says in his special that his fall from grace cost him $35 million. But by and large, they have been able to bounce back and remain in the public eye. Sorry/Not Sorry questions why that is and wonders why the same doesn’t seem to hold true for his victims. They also lost jobs and credibility in the industry, but their careers have not recovered. 

“Cancel culture” - that thing we fear but cannot comfortably define supposedly censors and confines us into an impossibly narrow range of acceptable behavior, creating a standard that no one can live up to. There’s some truth to this, but it is largely an illusion. As several subjects point out in the film, Louis C.K. is doing just fine. He waited about nine months after his public and seemingly quite contrite apology before getting back on stage. And shortly thereafter, his material started to reflect that he wasn’t really that sorry at all. We were so excited to laugh at his jokes again that we maybe missed the fact that he was the one laughing at us. He made us believe he was sorry, then made us the punchline.  

In 2017, the Me Too movement felt like a long overdue reckoning, one that clearly staked our ability to tell right from wrong, to fight for the dignity of the victims of harassment, abuse, and assault. For many, it felt like a new era was beginning, where women and other marginalized people were not just listened to, but supported. It was a victory, albeit a bitter one. 

But with time, this period in our culture has become as much about the secrets we’ve kept as the ones that were revealed. It’s hard to escape the feeling that not enough has changed and that many people are more comfortable forgiving people like Louis than they are sitting with the reality of how much pain the women in his orbit still feel. 

Our insistence as a culture to enshrine the likeability and charisma of men who have allegedly or actually harmed women goes hand in hand with our delight in vehemently castigating the women they’ve harmed. The truths they tell are uncomfortable and unpleasant and that makes us uncomfortable, so we view them as unpleasant and therefore unlikeable and therefore unbelievable. 

What I admire most about Sorry/Not Sorry is how fastidiously it commits to not pulling punches. It doesn’t demonize Louis and it doesn’t lionize the women who spoke out. And it doesn’t attempt to shame or begrudge his fans for continuing to enjoy his work. It lives in the space we all live in now, one where our morals and our desires do not always intersect. But, most importantly, it’s a film that understands that though there are many sides to a story, there are not many truths. What Louis C.K. did in his career as a comedian was remarkable and what he did to women was inexcusable. Like the filmmakers, his victims, and likely Louis C.K. himself, I don’t have a clear answer for where we go from here. Maybe instead of looking for answers, we should ask ourselves better questions.