What is Good Comedy, Really?

It’s a question I keep coming back to.

What is good comedy?

Not just funny comedy. Not just crowd-pleasing, brand-safe comedy. But good comedy — the kind that lingers, that stays with people for the right reasons. The kind that respects the room without playing it safe. The kind that hits you in the gut, but still makes you want to come back for more.

A few months ago, I brought a friend to an open mic — someone I care about deeply. She’s a tenured professor, not easily shocked, but thoughtful and emotionally attuned. One comic that night told a joke about eating aborted babies. And that was it. We left. She still talks about that night — not because it was funny, but because it was memorable in a deeply disturbing way.

And I get it — comedy isn’t church. It’s messy and provocative and thrives on risk. But when a comic clears a room of paying audience members — people who came out for a laugh and left feeling sick — is that a win? Is that the kind of “memorable” we’re striving for?

There’s an old saying in comedy: “You can say anything as long as it’s funny.” But more and more, I see comics interpreting that as “I can say anything, as long as I find it funny.” And maybe that’s the problem.

Great comedians get away with a lot — they bend reality, push discomfort, walk a tightrope of offense. But they also know where the line is. They understand the job isn’t to traumatize the audience or alienate them — it’s to bring them with you, even into dark places. Especially into dark places.

A lot of my material is heavy. I talk about sexuality, mental illness, violence, disillusionment. But it comes from a place of survival, not spectacle. I try to make people laugh through the things I’ve survived — not just shock them into silence or laughter through discomfort.

I’ve come to believe that good comedy resonates. It doesn’t just land — it connects. It can be sharp, raw, and risky, but there’s a craft to it. Shock for shock’s sake is cheap. Comedy that alienates everyone in the room isn’t brave — it’s lazy.

When someone clears a room and says “I crushed,” I wonder — what was crushed? The vibe? The trust? The reason those people showed up in the first place?

If we say “comedy is what makes people laugh,” then we also have to ask: what kind of laughter are we after? Nervous? Guilty? Defensive? Or joyful, uncomfortable, earned?

I’m still figuring it out. Maybe we always are.

But I do know this: if someone remembers your set and never wants to go to a comedy show again, that’s not comedy. That’s failure dressed in provocation.
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And maybe what makes good comedy good isn’t just how hard it hits — but how well it holds people while doing it.