The Wise Guy

Amid all the joke-cracking, stand-up comedian Chris Rock has something serious to say about everything from parenting to the state of black cinema.

There are essentially two types of stand-up comedians: those who work really hard at being funny (see: Janeane Garofalo, known for taking notes onstage during her stand-up sets) and those who are just naturally hilarious. Chris Rock, who was once named the “Funniest Man in America” by Entertainment Weekly and ranked No. 5 on Comedy Central’s list of the “100 Greatest Stand-Ups of All Time,” belongs in the latter group. Whether he’s riffing in front of an audience or sitting down for an interview, Rock constantly surprises with the cutting quickness of his improv skills, fearlessly tackling any subject that crosses his mind.

Raised in the Brooklyn neighborhood of Bedford-Stuyvesant, Rock has always been one of comedy’s best—and brashest—storytellers, following in the foul-mouthed footsteps of legends like Redd Foxx and Richard Pryor. But from his voice-over work in family-friendly films such as Madagascar and Bee Movie to his semi-autobiographical prime-time sitcom, Everybody Hates Chris (which ended a four-year run in 2009), the comedian seems to have found a way to balance his edgy stage work with surprisingly accessible material his two young daughters can enjoy.

With the recent DVD release of his critically acclaimed documentary, Good Hair, and his latest film, Death at a Funeral, in theaters this month, the 45-year-old certainly has a lot to talk about.

Many comedians claim they were shy as children. Were you funny even as a kid? “It was weird, because people would laugh when I got really mad and serious. But I always had a way with words. To this day, 40% of my stand-up act consists of things I’ve said in heated discussions or arguments that people laughed at. I’ll think, ‘I’ll use that one day,’ but I was dead serious when I said it!”

You grew up in a primarily black neighborhood, but your parents had you bused to an all-white high school in Bensonhurst. How did that experience impact you? “It was horrible being a black kid in a white school, but it gave me a totally realistic view of the world that people from better places never have. You’ll never be let down, and people will never surprise you because the bar of expectations is set very low.”

Do you think you’d be as funny as you are today if you’d grown up in, say, Beverly Hills? “No, I’d suck! There’s nothing funny about growing up in Beverly Hills. But when you can’t afford to go to the movies or leave your neighborhood, making each other laugh is your only form of entertainment.”

Did being a smart aleck ever get you into trouble? “Nah, I always knew when to keep my mouth shut just from being smaller than everybody else. The physical dictates the mental, you know? Martin Luther King Jr. was non-violent, and he was 5-feet-4-inches tall. Malcolm X was talking about ‘by any means necessary,’ but he was over six feet tall and could whip your butt. Coincidence? I don’t think so!”

In recent years, you’ve done more family-friendly films and even had a prime-time TV show. Did having two children change your approach to comedy? “Not really. Some people have kids and they become born-again parents: ‘Everything’s got to be different. I’ve got kids now. We’re not going to talk like that around here anymore.’ All their behavior changes because they hate themselves and who they were. I didn’t really hate myself before I had kids, so I just had to make a few adjustments.”

You’ve talked frequently about how strict your parents were when you were young. How do you think parenting is different for your generation? “I think there’s more that parents have to do these days. When I was a kid, there were 12 television channels, and maybe there was one you had to make sure the kids weren’t watching. Now there are 300 different channels, and 250 of them are not appropriate for children. You’ve also got the internet, so you have these images constantly coming at you. Other than that, raising kids is the same as it was 100 years ago.”

It’s been 23 years since you made your debut in Beverly Hills Cop II. Do you think comedy on the whole is in better or worse shape now? “It’s in much better shape. When I started, there was no Comedy Central. And you could forget about being a black comic. It was superstar or bust. There was Richard Pryor, Eddie Murphy and Bill Cosby; there was no room to be like the black Paul Reiser. Now there are all sorts of levels of comedians, which is great.”

You seem to be at the apex of comedy yourself—your Kill The Messenger Tour sold out 15,000-seat arenas all over the world. Is performing stand-up still rewarding? “I still get a thrill from it and get paid handsomely for it. I’m fortunate because the road is bigger now than it was back in the day. Guys like Richard Pryor couldn’t play the whole world. Musicians could play the whole world and they could make all this money, but that wasn’t the case for comedians. Part of it was just awareness and recognition, and part of it was that the jokes just didn’t translate. But in the age of the internet [and viral videos], the world is so small that I can play anywhere they speak English. Playing South Africa was weird because it was just like playing Atlanta! They laughed at everything and got all the big jokes. Same in New Zealand and Australia. It was crazy!”

Do you think you’ll ever stop touring? “I don’t see that happening. If you see me not touring, I’ve got a lot of money! [Laughs] It’s nice to be funny without all the accoutrements of film—the cameramen, the actors, the directors. It’s an instant connection with the audience. It’s as close as I’ll ever come to being an athlete, because it’s a live event where anything could happen. I have to think constantly while I’m on stage. The show could actually go bad, you know what I mean? I could lose. It’s hard to lose that big with a movie.”

You took a pretty big gamble with your last movie, Good Hair. A documentary about African-American hair issues doesn’t exactly scream blockbuster profit-making potential. “Yeah, that was a hard movie to get through the system because nobody wanted to give me money to do it.

My agents and managers always changed the subject whenever the idea was brought up, because at this point in my career, they want me to make money. They want me to take gigs that are going to earn me millions of dollars. There wasn’t a big commission on Good Hair, so it was a true passion project. But I got these two daughters and they’ve got hair issues, so it seemed like the right move.”

Your new movie, Death At A Funeral, also seems like an odd choice. The original British indie it’s based on was very quirky and didn’t exactly do well at the box office. What was the attraction? “The fact that it’s quirky is exactly why I’m doing it. It’s a remake starring Martin Lawrence and me as fighting brothers. We hate each other. Our dad dies and we find out [his secret] at the funeral, where his lover tries to shake us down for money—and jokes happen. It’s gonna be huge.”

It’s been more than two decades since the debut of Do the Right Thing, which ushered in a groundbreaking era of black films. What do you think of the state of black cinema today? “They don’t make as many movies directed squarely toward a black audience as they used to. When Spike Lee came out, we had all these wannabe Spikes—John Singleton, Matty Rich, the Hughes brothers—and it appears that has dried up. There’s a line in the movie I’m Gonna Git You Sucka: Keenen Ivory Wayans is trying to get a posse together to hunt down Mr. Big and he says, ‘Where’s all the Revolutionaries?’ Clarence Williams III looks him in the eye and goes, ‘They got government jobs.’ That’s kind of what happened to black films. Black actors are getting a lot of work on mainstream films now, so you have less [black-oriented] stuff out there. But then there’s Tyler Perry. I like what he’s doing, how he’s established a distinctive brand. Tyler Perry has a certain movie he makes, and it’s great because it serves an underserved audience.”

And you’ve got your own distinctive brand of comedy—one that many would argue is among the best of all time. “Really? I’ll take it, but I don’t give it that much thought. It’s not good for you, you know what I mean? Derek Jeter can’t be thinking about how he’s an iconic Yankee every time he’s stepping up to bat. I’m happy more for my parents than for me; my family can really enjoy stuff like that. Me, I have to work. But at the same time, I’ve been doing it a long time, so it’s nice to have made some mark.”