I’m just gonna come right out and say it: I don’t like Sarah Silverman.
Sure, as a comedian, she’s fine. She’s moderately funny. She’s a tad raunchy. Her personality borders on borderline. Overall, a C-plus player, sometimes B-minus. She could hold her own in the Catskills or at the Jersey shore.
Her show on Comedy Central, though…I mean, is she paying royalties to Amy Sedaris and Stephen Colbert? ‘Cause with its canned outrageousness, its mildly off-kilter worldview, its cast of characters who are always and forever out to lunch, the whole thing is pretty much Strangers With Candy Goes to LA. And somehow, far less interesting.
What bugs me most? Bitch is always smiling at her own jokes–not laughing, which I suppose would be worse, just smiling. You know who else does that? The token non-white fat guy on Saturday Night Live. And you know who’s the least funny asshole on Saturday Night Live? That’s what I’m sayin’.
(Coincidentally, that other non-white fat guy also used to laugh at himself. So jolly they are, those non-white, overweight people. Not like some tragic, walking-heart-attack, cracked-out, fatass crackers I could name. John Goodman, you’re next.)
And on top of it all, Silverman’s a wimp. She’s afraid to really, truly offend; she wants to come out looking nice. Case in point: the AIDS episode where she gets pelted with tomatoes by the “good guys”, the sensible, sensitive folks (i.e. us). Silverman wants viewers to laugh at her character but to understand that she doesn’t really feel that way herself. She gives herself an out. Pussy.
sturtle [dot] com 