It was a bittersweet moment on HBO last Sunday when, after 24 years and 12 seasons, the curtain was finally drawn on Larry David’s sitcom Curb Your Enthusiasm.
Initially envisioned as a one-time project in 1999, the series started as an HBO mockumentary, documenting David’s return to stand-up following the end of Seinfeld. What ensued was among the most poignant and hilarious shows on television, a new sitcom centered on David and his pessimistic alter ego. Few writers can claim to have presided over such vast cultural influence as Seinfeld. Fewer still have achieved this twice over.
Every minute social vagary from the salience of using coasters out of respect (reverence, as David would say) for wood, to the “chat and cut” maneuver of cutting into a line, to abusing sampling privileges at the ice cream parlor, to taking too long to order a latte, and much more, was covered and satirized through the lens of David’s alter ego.
In Curb’s final season, David continues his trademark style of storytelling in which seemingly minor events from early episodes intertwine and build up to a comedic payoff by the season’s end. The season begins in Atlanta, where David, reluctantly attending a party, finds himself at the focal point of a court case after inadvertently violating Georgia’s Election Integrity Act.
David has never been demure about his Democratic leanings throughout the series, but his politics have always been used as setups for comedy, not the main event. In a prior season, for example, realizing his socialite circle of insufferable liberals balked at the sight of a Make America Great Again hat, he began wearing one everywhere as a social repellent.
Whereas Seinfeld gently flirted with such controversial topics, Curb lampooned them head-on: once erecting a Palestinian chicken restaurant across the street from the kosher deli as a sardonic microcosm of the conflict in the Middle East. For David, antisemitism was a small price to pay for a chance at a romantic encounter with the restaurant’s hostess. He explained, “You’re always attracted to someone who doesn’t want you, right? Well, here you have somebody who doesn’t even acknowledge your right to exist, wants your destruction! That’s a turn-on.”
In one scene from the season 12 finale, amid deliberations on where to dine, David mentions that his ex-wife, Cheryl, doesn’t like Mexican food. Erupting with embarrassment, she whispers, “You can’t tell people that, Larry.” To which Ted Danson chimes in, “That’s not your story to tell.”
Such digs at progressivism have been ample in latter seasons. In another such scene from season 11, David meets with the Hulu and Netflix executive teams, resembling a DEI Avengers, and is quickly addled when one of them is presented in plural pronouns.
A significant part of Curb’s appeal is its spontaneous and genuine dialogue. The magic lies in the show’s improvisational approach. David sets the scene with a basic plot outline, but the actual lines are created on the spot by the actors. This format has led to some of the show’s most memorable and authentic moments. J.B. Smoove’s character, Leon, is a prime example of this. Initially introduced as a supporting character, Leon found his role expanded due to his unique and entertaining dynamic with David — like an exaggerated Kramer. He serves as a comedic counterpoint to Susie Greene’s acerbic belligerence.
Throughout the final season, this improvisational brilliance is especially evident. Actors often struggle to contain their laughter, visibly chuckling between exchanges. The on-screen interactions feel like a comedic contest, with each actor attempting to outdo the others in wit, like tenors vying to sustain the longest note.
In contrast to Seinfeld, which centered on a group of middle-class friends in Manhattan, Curb was set in the affluent neighborhoods of Los Angeles, mirroring David’s real-life, post-Seinfeld success. The genius of Curb lies in its relatability despite the superficial differences in setting and lifestyle. David addresses the unwritten rules of social etiquette, posing such dilemmas as how many days after Jan. 1 is it too late to say, “Happy New Year”? Or how many years after someone’s passing is it too late to offer condolences with an “I’m sorry”?
If there’s one lesson we can take away from David, it’s that money and class don’t divide us as much as some would like to think. Rich or poor, we can all relate to the same social idiosyncrasies, and we all forsake phony friendships. For someone who played a misanthrope for most of his career, David understood the nuances of human interaction better than most psychologists.
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Having been on the air for so long, Curb has introduced many to memorable characters who have since died, such as the captivating and endearingly awkward Marty Funkhouser, portrayed by the late Bob Einstein. There was also David’s lifelong friend Richard Lewis, whose prominent role in the final season was a testament to their enduring friendship. Lewis died last month, just as the final season aired. If you happen to stumble into David, it may be too late for an “I’m sorry.”
In the pantheon of artistic partnerships, among Mozart and Lorenzo Da Ponte, Rodgers and Hammerstein, and Lennon and McCartney, comfortably sit Jerry Seinfeld and Larry David. Together, they redefined the TV sitcom, turning the minutiae of life into universal comedy. As David would say, it was pretty, pretty, pretty good.
Harry Khachatrian (@Harry1T6) is a film critic for the Washington Examiner’s Beltway Confidential blog and a computer engineer in Toronto pursuing his MBA.