Eric Andre: Legalize Everything
By Max Cohen
Graphic by Jas Calcitas
Eric Andre wants people to think he’s insane. And for the most part, his audience is in on it. He runs a disturbing talk show on which he routinely asks offensive questions, destroys his own set and defecates everywhere to push his C-list guests to their breaking point. Andre lives to draw reactions from anyone stupid enough to look, and maybe that’s deep! But when he’s not fronting The Eric Andre Show, he loses control of the narrative. Legalize Everything, Andre’s debut standup special, dulls his image by boiling his TV performance down into a fusion of stories with sub-standard debauchery—even with his hand-waving and vulgar magic words, the wires of his performance show.
The special opens with a hidden camera prank: Andre spills out of a cop car looking for a partner to help him get high. He’s wearing a bodycam, playing an officer abusing his power via sidewalk bong rips. If you haven’t caught on, this is a political show. Cut to Andre in the center of a thousand or so screaming 20-somethings who’ve seen a version of this act before. He’s already sweating. “Where my weed smokers at?” he asks, and everyone screams again. “‘Cause I’m a narc. Book ‘em!” Amidst laughs, I, a teenager in his target demo, remember Bo Burnham made this joke four years ago on another Netflix special. Legalize stealing intros?
Like Burnham, Andre’s humor is absurd. His jokes are modern meme culture; the #relatable posts of the 2010s meeting an ironic detachment. Who hasn’t slipped a kindergartner cocaine? Or had sex with genetically altered chickens? Lol. The rest of Andre’s laughs come from his physicality. He contorts himself, jutting out his neck to elicit a gravelly scream, stomping, spinning and flinging his arms. His movements ground us in the ridiculousness of his reality; when explaining how he tried to pull trig after eating too much MDMA, he claims gagging while high was like “hitting a hidden g spot in the back of my throat” before violently shaking and moan-yelling. These moments are almost fun enough to save him from his slower bits. What stops them from landing is his audience can’t be shocked. The young, jaded crowd knows he’s outrageous, so he can’t reach them with something as tangible as throwing up or a trippy orgasm.
The political bits somewhat balance the absurdity. Andre squats and pumps his fist when declaring, “Abolish the DEA” and “I should run for president!”—a line that would have landed better before the threat of a Kanye candidacy and somehow still feels uncomfortable after a Joe Biden victory. The climax of the special comes when he’s discussing the reggae theme song for the show Cops. Mashing police brutality imagery with island jams, Andre ramps up his criticisms of the police, shrieking, “For I am your judge, jury and executioner!” before swinging his arm in circles, imitating gunfire to uproarious cheers. At this point, you realize the audience hasn’t been laughing as much as encouraging Andre to go further with his madness. They’re not there for his comedy per se; this is his peak because in an idealized sense, Andre speaks to the youthful desire for something totally different. Performers should be different. Our government, the world, should be different. These moments distract from his somewhat stale standup, but only briefly. As he collapses in exhaustion, I wonder, Didn’t Loiter Squad do this already? And in the heavy aftermath that would define the routine, he mentions Epstein’s death and loses me again.
In contrast to Netflix’s typical auditorium stocked with responsible adults, Andre’s juvenile crowd pulls viewers into the counterculture. Get loaded, express yourself. Nothing outside of this room matters. If the irony and cynicism doesn’t wear you down, his “real” standup will. His anecdotes lack polish; when he stutters or promises what he’s about to say is “absolutely true,” what follows feels forced. He can’t get candid reactions this way because he keeps showing his age. Andre is closer to 40 than most of his fans are to high school, and talking about his life, no matter how drugged up, makes him seem out of touch. There’s an awkward disconnect between him declaring, “I know my base,” and then referencing 80s stars and yesterday’s celebrity scandals. His crowd knows the performers he’s lifting from, and they don't care about Gallagher or Louis C.K. anymore. The quiet of the audience stops his magic.
The special ends with Andre stripping in front of his crowd. As he nakedly salutes the youth goodnight, it’s time to reflect on the past hour. It's messy, loud, a fun but half-formed piece of performance art. Legalize Everything isn’t a step forward for the performer or for standup, and much like the quick shot of his dick between his legs, shows more of Andre than the average fan wants to see.