“Next time you see some haters in my comments saying, ‘All he does is teamwork, it’s so easy’ – Is it so?!“Comedian Matt Rife asks his audience. The 28-year-old social media star has clearly retained the defensiveness that marked much of “Natural Selection,” Netflix’s first hour last fall that is best remembered for effectively stoking anger, if cringe-worthy, about domestic violence. But in “Lucid,” his latest, Rife’s typical hobbies—penis jokes, mostly, plus the aforementioned chip on his shoulder—are reflected in his audience, a few hundred fans gathered at the Comedy District in Charlotte, North Carolina, for what Rife proudly and repeatedly asserts is the first Netflix special to feature a full house.
Rafe isn’t the first comedian to derive his show entirely from the spontaneous reactions of his paying audience. (A decade ago, Todd Barry did an entire tour without any pre-scripted segments, summarizing the shows in a special directed by Lance Bangs.) The ghost haters who irritate Rafe are likely responding less to a traditional means of building a connection with an audience than to the impression that Rafe is more of an influencer than a master of surveillance, using TikTok as a shortcut to the top of his game. With his full lips and square jaw, Rafe certainly looks like he’s fit for the role.
To that end, Rife is careful to emphasize that he’s been performing in the comedy zone since he was a teenager, though his mainstream success is relatively recent. Whatever one thinks of his Gen Z-esque style, Lucid — directed by Eric Griffin, with whom he has collaborated extensively — shows Rife as a seasoned showman. He knows how long to think of an interesting response without overexerting himself (a woman who runs a business selling oral sex tutorials), and how to steer clear of an obvious dead end (a rambling ramble about being single). Plus, incorporating other perspectives helps ease the fatigue that comes with Rife’s high-octane sex act. He’s more acceptable as garnish than main course.
Lucid isn’t as slapdash as its premise suggests. Although Riffe begins with a predictable bit of costumed spoof—a gentleman in a ridiculous pair of bedazzled, curly-toed shoes “dressed like Santa’s favorite elf”—most of the film is a conversation about dreams. The first half is about dreams in the aspirational sense: a woman who quit marketing to become a pilot; a gay man who learns what a stripper would be called if he were a woman. (Brende Jameson. So good!) The weaker second half is about more realistic dreams. Riffe has a recurring nightmare about his teeth falling out; an audience member keeps getting stalked by a faceless witch.
Although a skilled facilitator, Rafe never generates the energy of genuine, transcendent spontaneity. The setting itself is somewhat cliched. Rafe introduces his subject by admitting that he’s lucky to be living his own dream, so he wants to know about other people’s dreams—but in the end, it just turns into a prelude to more childish sexual stories. (Naturally, the nightmarish chat is followed by a survey of sexual dreams.)
In the past few years, Netflix has taken a similar approach to comedy as scripted programming, shifting the focus from prestige or at least variety to purely popular theatrics. (Critics are certainly no longer the target audience; no preview screenings of “Lucid” were made available for review.) Now, Maria Bamford’s former home of the madcap and creative “Lady Dynamite” is teaming up with the likes of Rafe, Joe Rogan and Shane Gillis: straight men who are sometimes controversial in a culture-war-weary sort of way, but who mostly deliver low-effort laughs. “Lucid” is just the latest phase of a broader plan.
Matt Rife: Lucid is now available on Netflix.
