"Director's cuts," versions of a film that have been re-edited by the director, are common. But the reissue of Chris Rock's 2018 TV special "Tamborine" offers a new wrinkle on the concept: a star's cut.
"Total Blackout: The Tamborine Extended Cut," released on Netflix, adds almost 40 minutes of extra material. But more than that, it represents a key turning point in the balance of power between the comic and director Bo Burnham, with Rock reclaiming control.
It's not that Burnham's effort was panned. On the contrary, his innovative style was largely praised. His auteur vision didn't just showcase Rock in concert. It engaged and interpreted his work, and sharpened its focus while applying distinctive aesthetic flourishes.
But Rock effectively erases the stamp of the director, even replacing Burnham in the credits with his own name, and produces a new special with most of the same shots, whose differences are subtle but significant. Burnham's slick cinematic flourishes have been taken out. Gone is the repetition, along with quick-cutting camera angles.
But the most important contrast is in the comic's discussion of his infidelity. In addressing his divorce and his responsibility for the failure of his marriage, Rock made the most vulnerable, introspective comedy of his career. Burnham clearly was drawn to this aspect of the set and focused on it.
When Rock confessed his mistakes, Burnham moved into a close-up. And he stayed on the star's face, with no cutaway shots, as Rock talked about cheating on his wife. When the crowd chuckled, Rock looked grave, emphasizing that he wasn't proud.
A different approach
A year later, Kevin Hart released a special, "Irresponsible," in which he also discussed cheating on his wife. The camera cut away from him after a joke to show the crowd laughing. Rock's extended version remains tougher-minded but moves closer to this posture. He removes the extreme close-up and adds a new shot, a mouse-eye view of the star from the front of the stage partly obscured by what appears to be a member of the audience. This new angle looks up at the performer in awe.
What sticks with you in the original is the setup — the admission of cheating with three women and the specificity of the confession. In the extended cut, it's the punchline, as Rock anticipates the audience response and contrasts the shock from women with the more blasé response of men. ("Three? That's it? Just three?") It's the same line, but the direction changes the effect.
The new version is a more conventional, if unvarnished, stand-up production, but it also may be truer to the experience of the concert. In a departure from the swaggering, pacing Rock on stage, Burnham emphasized intimacy. The extended cut dispenses with this image of the solitary Rock and adds celebratory scenes hanging out with other comics. We see Eric Andre, Dave Chappelle and Arsenio Hall.
This new version does not erase the old one, which remains on Netflix, but it will supplant it for many fans. Critics might not agree, however. Sometimes you need other voices to help you be the best version of yourself.
