Louie Doesn't Depend On The Kindness Of Strangers...But He'll Take It

As someone who found the third season of Louie admirable without being exactly enjoyable, the fourth-season premiere was a relief. I know some people were upset that Louis C.K. was going to take a whole calendar year off from all the work he does on the show (which, as its star/writer/director/editor, is basically all the work there IS to do on the show), but I appreciate that he took the time to re-refine the formula to make episodes melancholy and true but also, like, funny? Which this episode is.

There's a lot of funny to appreciate in the episode, from the great, surreal cold open (which is so much fun that I don't even want to describe it because you should watch it) to Louie's visit to what seems to be a female-targeted sex shop staffed by unflappably non-judgmental women who treat his request for a vibrator with respect and dignity to the "help" of a doctor (Charles Grodin!) who's less interested in Louie's muscular tension than in something cool like a blood disease. But in the middle of all that was the most memorable moment for me, and it was one that wasn't supposed to make me laugh at all.

At the sex shop, Louie reaches up the wrong way and throws out his shoulder, or back, or, really probably all of it: Louie is forty-six, after all. He doesn't think it's bad enough to require an ambulance or anything, but he also kind of can't move. We see him stagger along the sidewalk, kind of, leaning on whatever's handy, until he finally sinks down to the curb to rest for a second. A group of mean teens roll up and mock him:

Louie tries to hail a cab, but drivers can't see him when he's down that low. So, fortunately for him, along comes an old lady.

This lady is a complete stranger, obviously, and not in much of a position to help Louie given that she is tiny and frail. But still, she stops to see what's up with him. Does he need help? Did he fall? Louie sheepishly says he just needs a cab, and she springs into action as much as an old lady can, flagging one down and offering her arm to Louie so he can pull himself up and get in it.

It's the sort of New York moment that could only have been written by a quintessential New York guy like Louis C.K. -- seconds apart, strangers being jerks and a stranger being solicitous. It goes to my esteemed colleague Sarah D. Bunting's belief about New York that what outsiders see as rudeness is just focused efficiency -- people getting about their days in a very crowded city without slowing down themselves or others. And that, even in the midst of all this humming activity and busyness, New Yorkers can stop long enough to allow a moment of grace.