“This is not the truth; it’s a narrative,” an anonymous, masked friend warns Jerrod Carmichael about his HBO series in the premiere, calling it “exhibitionist.” And it’s true because Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show is an irrefutable vanity project. The show, which airs its finale on May 17, is equally awkward and transfixing. It unravels the comedian’s relationship with his parents, friends, boyfriend, peers, and even himself. The most important one, though, is his love affair with the masses, for better and worse.
Everything in JCRS is filtered through the lens of how Carmichael thinks his audience will perceive him, except it’s packaged as the unfiltered truth, at least according to his warped view of what that is. The show is sometimes genuinely illuminating and moving, especially during Carmichael’s interactions with his mother, Cynthia, who was a major talking point in his Emmy-winning special, Rothaniel. But after a while, the motions here become so performative that it threatens to—and does—blemish the supposed ingenuity of his endeavor.
These eight episodes feel like a self-indulgent, perplexing, infrequently heartbreaking case study of Carmichael’s dependency on having cameras around. It makes for enjoyable reality TV in the sense that it comes across as manufactured to awe and shock, whether it’s him sucking on someone’s toe, beseeching his father to open up about his infidelity, or morphing a fellow comedian’s act to mirror his own. He emotionally and audaciously confronts his worst impulses and narcissism. Yet there’s a lingering feeling of emptiness while watching because it raises questions like: Are the hard conversations he’s having for his benefit or ours? Who is he without putting on a show for the public?
JCRS is meant to be a natural continuation of the gutting, poignant Rothaniel, in which he comes out as gay. Carmichael’s 2022 special is indeed excellent. It’s more nuanced than his past projects, including his three-season NBC sitcom The Carmichael Show, which ended in 2017. Since it’s his most successful act yet, the desire to stretch it into multiple half-hour installments does make sense. But part of Rothaniel’s beauty came from how succinctly impactful it was.
That said, JRCS does excel with expanding on one key Rothaniel element: Carmichael’s agony over his mother being unable to accept his sexuality. They’re both rigid, feeling the distance between them, yet can’t grasp the right words to say to each other. This vulnerable thread strings the episodes, and the reality show is most interesting—and most real—whenever Cynthia is on the screen with her son as they both struggle with their post-Rothaniel dynamic. I wish we’d have gotten more of that because it’s easily what would’ve resonated with his fans the most.
Instead, the show’s attempts to be subversive often end up as formulaic and cringeworthy. Carmichael coaxes, with semi-self-awareness if not total planning, his loved ones into tough moments and circumstances for the sake of drama. (Yeah, so it’s like any other reality show, huh?) Take, for example Jess, a friend who moves to New York City to be an actor. He helps her by letting her move in, only to get her an apartment that she cries and gushes about, thanking Carmichael and god in the same sentence. A final twist to this act of kindness is then used onstage as he ponders, “Am I a good friend?”
It’s also something he does often regarding his boyfriend, Michael, whom he cheats on repeatedly, often confessing to the audience first as they groan. At times, JCRS examines how coming out finally allows Carmichael to explore his sexual desires and commitment issues as he reckons with his flaws as a partner and it’s infinitely better for it. Too bad there’s not enough to make it feel authentic. Perhaps the assumption is the show wouldn’t be as entertaining otherwise, but brutal honesty is what makes this series tick.
The conversations he’s having throughout JRCS are vital, to be sure, especially with his parents. But even those feel a little too executed on Carmichael’s end, like when he pushes his dad, Joe, to talk about cheating on his mom for several years and having another family. It’s a significant development, right? But then Joe calls him out on wanting to hash it out now, with cameras all around, instead of doing it any other time in the past.
An invisible audience clearly gives Carmichael a certain amount of confidence; it’s the essence of his show. He’s driven to create and elicit myriad reactions. And he says so himself in response to his anonymous pal (who is probably Rothaniel director Bo Burnham, as fans have deduced) when told that JCRS is exhibitionist: “I’m trying to self-Truman Show myself.” It’s a cool experiment on the surface, but it doesn’t make the series as cathartic or deep as Jerrod Carmichael Reality Show clearly wants to be.