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King of Pain

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You look around. There are no cameras rolling.

Curb Your Enthusiasm is one of the least-watched shows in television history to be nominated for the Outstanding Comedy Series Emmy (its 2.3 million viewers represent less than a tenth of Friends' audience). It is vinegary, abusive, polarizing, and up to five times more humanly uncomfortable than the answering-machine scene in Swingers. Its low-budget title credits are set to demented carnival music. Its protagonist hates people almost as much as he hates himself. Plus, the show doesn't even have a script.

And that's why Curb--now entering its third season--is emerging as an unlikely cult hit, a neurotic thriller of epic proportions, the ultimate feel-bad story for our times. "Curb Your Enthusiasm is about a guy named Larry David who gets up every morning with the intention of surviving the day with some shred of dignity intact," sums up coexec producer/director Robert Weide, "and by the end of the day, we see that dignity instead being torn to shreds."

That's no easy process: Larry has the good life in L.A., kickin' it with his unflappable wife, Cheryl (Cheryl Hines), his food-loving manager, Jeff (Jeff Garlin), and enough Seinfeld syndication money to buy a midsize South American nation. Yet he always makes one seemingly harmless move (say, breezing by an acquaintance on the street) that triggers an intricate chain reaction of coincidences that culminate in mucky meltdown (say, the blown-off acquaintance having Larry arrested for stealing a fork from his restaurant). It's almost as if Rube Goldberg had invented a perpetual comeuppance machine. This year, the agita continues as Larry invests in a restaurant with Ted Danson, anguishes over firing his black AV technician, and gets cast as a "tough Jew" in a film by Martin Scorsese (who'll appear in two episodes).

The true joy of Curb for the offscreen David doesn't lie in constructing complex arrangements of plot points, but rather in using the show as a magical escapist device. "On the show, I can say the things I think about, which I can't say in life," he explains. "I can get into arguments that I wouldn't get into. You can't do anything in life. Other than golf, it's very restrictive. The social barriers in life are so intense and horrific that every encounter is just fraught with so many problems and dread. Every social situation is a potential nightmare."

A guy saddled with such a gloomy outlook would seem destined to dream up a show like this, but actually, it happened by accident. In 1998, coming off a seven-season run on Seinfeld (which caused him so much stress, he prayed for its cancellation every year before finally quitting in 1996--though he did return to write the finale) and a disappointing big-screen writing debut with Sour Grapes, David began plotting his next move. The Brooklyn-raised comedian had an edgy stand-up act during the '70s and '80s that intrigued comedians and often alienated audiences. (That can happen when you slam the mike down, leave the stage in a huff, and challenge patrons to fights.) Now the idea of returning to his first love(/hate) sounded appealing. Fellow comedian Garlin suggested David film his stage revival: The resulting 1999 HBO special, Larry David: Curb Your Enthusiasm, was part stand-up, part fictitious behind-the-scenes action. The mockumentary elements worked so well, HBO commissioned Curb as a series without the stand-up stuff--or even a script. (David pens a detailed outline for every episode and the actors improv the dialogue.)

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