It is not often that I randomly watch a TV show because of commercials. There is usually a built-in reason why I’m eager to check out something. Sometimes it’s an actor or writer that I like, curious to see what their new projects produce. Other times it’s just the result of general acclaim that makes you feel the need to be on the cutting edge of modern entertainment. Even then, sometimes my tastes steer more towards the esoteric. My sensibility doesn’t always match the biggest trends, so the end of year lists often intimidate me because they rarely match up. Sometimes I’ll even dislike a Top 5 show.
One of the biggest surprises for me during Summer 2021 so far has been The Choe Show. I know next to nothing about its creator and star David Choe. For all I know you can take to the comments and give me a barrage of reasons that I shouldn’t feel sympathy for him, that he has had a problematic past or that I’m being duped. Those are all feelings that I have myself coming out of the four episodes that I watched as part of FX on Hulu. The show is so ingrained with these ugly, abstract emotions that he perfectly conveys in discarded collages and monologues from his guests that explore how their childhoods inform their adult lives, themselves often guarding something tragic and vulnerable.
I honestly don’t know why it intrigued me as much as it did. I was watching Pose and The Simpsons on various nights and suddenly these trailers full of scratched images and shoestring budget-looking special effects popped up. I didn’t know who Choe was but seeing him talk to Steve-O from Jackass piqued my interest. Everything reminded me of FX’s version of [adult swim]: something so chaotic and nonsensical that it only appealed to lonely people up at 1 AM, feeling those deeply conflicted emotions that clash with an absurd, maybe even embarrassing sense of humor. I think FX has a show called Cake that perfectly defines this aesthetic.
While I would say that The Choe Show isn’t as aggressively strange as Cake, it definitely fits a very specific tone that I find downright admirable. I think of it as if [adult swim] produced In Treatment. Choe is by no means qualified to give mental health advice, and yet he is our voice of reason, pulling from his own past to determine some deeper, more complicated emotions. Every episode centers on him trying to create a portrait of his celebrity friends. The catch is that he hates art and needs to make the process as frustrating and confusing as possible. He needs to make something that stimulates the audience, usually by turning the profile shot into Choe’s personal interpretation of their soul.
That in itself is an interesting hook, but I think it would be more interesting to explore it from the perspective of Choe. Anyone who has reviewed the show will admit that it’s unconventional, not striking a consistent tone, or at times really making sense. I’m sure general audiences will find Choe to be annoying no matter how much they want to see Denzel Curry just talk about his music. This is first and foremost Choe’s story and in some ways is as much a therapy session between him and his guests, but also a chance to create one of the most artful autobiographies imaginable. By the end, the viewer comes away as much with a surreal catharsis as they do a deeper understanding of why Choe is this way. It’s very clear that he’s a troubled, conflicted man with some decent outsider artist skills.
From what I gather on the show, Choe is one of those great success stories. By investing in stocks at the right time, he was able to accumulate hundreds of millions, earning partnerships that have only helped him build a reputation. He’s also someone with a very dark and impulsive past, who has a history both in petty theft and dating porn stars like Asa Akira. He’s an outgoing man and someone who definitely caters to grandeur in his stories. From the outset, the worst that can be said is that he’s a memorable nuisance. Even his art has a confrontational tone that may not appeal to those wanting more Norman Rockwell. In fact, it becomes a deconstruction of The American Family by the end.
The most sensible place to start is the first episode where he talks to Akira and Kat von D. For those going in blind, this may just be another wild take on a talk show. The art could just be a crazy twist. Given that this was all self-financed by Choe, every creative detail is held to his whim and it’s one of those fascinating looks into the mind of an artist, a frustrated man who clearly is working through something. Even the visuals that make the least sense come across as these scratched-up feverish nightmares, pulling footage from his past as he tries to add greater context to it. Sometimes it ends with him just scribbling over it, as if trying to alter the past.
What is all of this about? Why is a show that sold itself as an interview program drawing into the host? The further in that one gets into this series, the clearer it is that each episode lacks a cohesive and unique thesis. It’s all part of one blobby sense of meditation that ties host to subject, finding this deep connection over familiar themes. Choe in particular feels like a man with a lot of regrets, and that includes a lot of child abuse and neglect, eagerly trying to find some moment of zen.
This may be why he starts with these two particular women. For Akira, there is a history there that ties to his youth. He openly talks about sex addiction and needing to consistently gamble in order to feel alive. Akira shares similar feelings regarding her fans, eventually coming to terms with the idea that she enjoys sex because of deep insecurities. For something that veers into the juvenile at times, it captures the imbalance that follows. There are embarrassing stories alongside heartbreak, deflecting humor, and these grand art pieces that illustrate what Choe is thinking at any given moment. Similar to Kat von D, there is the expectation of how they will mature and make things better for the next generation.
The remainder of the episodes are very much in line with this aesthetic. It’s a story of parents and children, doing everything to figure out a way to make things less chaotic. This includes moments like Curry discussing how he uses music as a form of expression, needing it as an escape. At other points, Rainn Wilson or Will Arnett play into his whims by reenacting therapy sessions with him playing their parents and asking for some very personal and vulnerable emotions. Again, it looks absurd given that it feels pulled out of an arts and craft box, but those willing to just go for it will maybe find something more powerful. These are damaged adults, bonding over a feeling that they both long to feel.
My only caveat for the show is that it very much feels like a vibe you only experience after hours. It comes in the pit of darkness when you’re the loneliest, thinking about every mistake in your life with too critical of an eye. It’s when Choe can put on a Pen15-style wig when interviewing Maya Erskine and discover her own insecurities about being called ugly as a child, revealing her conflicted feelings towards masturbation. Some of this may be shocking and taboo, but Choe is eager to find catharsis in shame, finding something that he can use to make his art better. As far as I can tell, none of it is intrusive or damaging to those involved, willingly being offered. Even then, it plays well if watched with a nonjudgmental eye, allowing yourself to reflect on your own anguish.
I’m honestly surprised that The Choe Show (at least based on available information) has come to an end. The four episodes were quite a trip. It isn’t just one based on hallucinatory imagery or gross-out stories. There are deep emotions buried somewhere in the muck, and Choe has enough of this willingness to go along with every twist and turn, pushing himself to cope with his own past. If judged solely as a piece of entertainment, I think it transcends the interview structure and becomes as much about therapy through art as it is entertainment. It’s a messy tone, but I think it still finds catharsis.
I still don’t know if Choe is this avant-garde genius. I like to believe that I will see some more and find something in his approach that speaks to me. For now, I think that he has reinvented the confessional in a fulfilling and memorable way. It could only exist on a channel that finds humor in transgressions despite being much more nuanced and heartfelt than the average nihilistic animated comedy. It’s a weird little show that is somehow comforting in its uniqueness. To be completely honest, I’ve grown distant from [adult swim]-style humor over the years, but every now and then I find a show like this that makes me eager to know if anyone else feels the humanity of its execution as much as I do. I don’t think it’s perfect, but its flaws ultimately make me love it more. All it does is make me wonder how he’d do a portrait of me, hoping that it would do me justice.
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