By Robert Scucci
| Published
Bill Hicks has always been considered a comedian’s comedian because he never shied away from speaking the truth as he saw it, and with such an edge that you’d think that he was yelling at you (he was). In 1989, a newly sober Hicks was ripe and run down from working on the road, armed with a pack of smokes, and absolutely primed to deliver the powerhouse performance that has been immortalized in the form of 1989’s Sane Man – an 80-minute special that’s equal parts caustic and insightful, but never not on the cutting edge of hilarity.
I don’t know where Hicks got the energy before hitting the stage to film Sane Man, but considering that he had always been brutally honest, I have to believe him when he mentions ordering a large coffee from a truckstop (not the 32 oz p*ssy size) before being chased by police aircraft while driving 300 miles per hour to get to the Laff Stop in Austin, Texas.
Serious Pockets Of Humanity
Sane Man opens with a pre-recorded monologue over B-reel showing Hicks getting ready for his legendary performance. As cars fill the Laff Stop parking lot, Hicks’ voice states that, like a flying saucer, he’s been “appearing in small Southern towns in front of handfuls of hillbillies,” before starting his set. When the monologue fades out and the show begins, Hicks walks on stage wearing all black, and wastes no time railing on his audience for being intellectually dim, but in a way that’s actually met with laughter (unlike some of the bootlegs tapings I’ve heard from his Flying Saucer Tour that didn’t go so well).
Clearly born to perform stand-up, Hicks is seen at his most energetic in Sane Man, and his physical comedy is in peak form. From his flamboyant prancing on stage while railing on George Michael and Rick Astley – the new rock stars who drink Diet Coke and shop at your mall – to his impersonation of Jimmy Hendrix sawing Debbie Gibson in half with a burning guitar while she screams for her mom, Hicks is in total command of the crowd that’s laughing as much as they’re gasping in disbelief.
While Hick’s criticism of the whitewashing of America in the form of anti-intellectualism is a common through line for most of his work, Sane Man sees Hicks spending a considerable amount of time extolling the virtues of psychoactive drugs for the sake of enlightenment. Known to be an all-or-nothing kind of personality, Hicks points out that he had to quit drinking and drugging because when he’d get pulled over for a sobriety check, he would think the flashing police car lights were the next club he arrived at to party.
Hicks is also quick to point out that you shouldn’t demonize the mind-opening power of hallucinogens because of that one guy who jumped to his death thinking he could fly, because he should have taken off from the ground to test it out first.
There’s No Cure For Cancer
Despite Hicks’ popularity among his contemporaries, he never saw the fame and recognition he deserved in the United States after filming Sane Man, which was considered by his peers to be a huge turning point in his career. Always the cynical patriot who was disgusted by modern machinations of a Reaganized America, his material never gained traction with his stateside audience, leading him to perform overseas – where his brand of humor was not only better understood, but fully embraced – toward the end of his life and career.
Ironically enough, Denis Leary, a fellow up-and-coming comedian and friend of Hicks at the time, released his No Cure For Cancer album in 1993, which, according to Hicks and a healthy amount of his creative cohorts, downright steals his entire act and persona. Most notably, Hicks’ smoking bit, which is a fan-favorite, is copied almost word for word by Leary, who has always denied the plagiarism allegations.
Getting the last laugh, those comedians who celebrate Hicks, who died of pancreatic cancer in 1994, have the perfect pithy answer as to why he never saw mainstream popularity while Leary did: “there’s no cure for cancer.” I’m not here to make you think one way or another, but Sane Man came out in 1989, and There’s No Cure for Cancer saw a 1993 release, so it’s not exactly a timeline that works in Leary’s favor.
Streaming Sane Man
Bill Hicks’ Sane Man plays out like a stand-up comedy special, but is shot like a documentary. While the legend himself is tearing up the stage and screaming to make sure the people in the back hear him loud and clear, black and white B-reel of Hicks acting out his bits are superimposed over his performance, giving Sane Man a psychedelic edge that you don’t normally see in a stand-up comedy special. Further enhancing the effect, the sound design is chock-full of intentionally placed distortion and ambient room noise that fully immerses you in the conversation.
As of this writing, you can stream Sane Man in all of its perverse and bombastic glory for free on Tubi if you want to see a master of his craft at the top of his game.
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