Copyright The New York Times
On Tuesday night, Larry David told an Upper West Side crowd at the Beacon Theater that he was a popular dinner party guest because he never stayed too long, always leaving seven minutes after dessert was served. It might be why he started to get a little concise in the last stage of an evening billed as “A Conversation With Larry David,” after inviting audience questions in a tone of distinct ambivalence. He waved off a query about artificial intelligence and pleaded ignorance to another about comic ideas he never used. To a question about the origin of a “Seinfeld” episode he worked on, he shrugged: “It was 1992.” Then a young man, who looked like he might not have been alive when “Seinfeld,” the sitcom David helped create, ended its run in 1998, took a different tack, telling David that his neighbors put up Halloween decorations in September. Leaning forward in his white swivel chair, David shouted back, “You should egg their house!” Suddenly, David perked up, excitably, gesticulating with Three Stooges physicality about the transgression of getting ready for a holiday too early. “Unacceptable,” he said, then added that they should take down the decorations the day after Halloween. The Beacon Theater crowd roared in delight. This was the irascible, unreasonable comic irritation they had come for (and, in some cases, paid more than $800 for on the ticket resale market). It’s been more than a year and a half since the final episode of “Curb Your Enthusiasm,” the follow-up sitcom he created and starred in, and if the reaction to this minor eruption is any indication, it is badly missed. David has kept a mostly low profile, appearing on talk shows and podcasts and writing a few comic essays, like his satirical “My Dinner With Adolf,” which skewered the naïveté and self-involvement of Bill Maher reporting back on the charm of President Trump after a private meeting. When David mentioned Cheryl Hines — the actress whom he cast as his wife on “Curb” and who is now married to Robert F Kennedy Jr., the controversial secretary of health and human services — he smiled and looked as if he wanted to say something irreverent. He didn’t. The evening had the buzz of anticipation because, for nearly four decades, comedy fans could count on the prospect of some refined comic kvetching from David on television. No longer. Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times. Thank you for your patience while we verify access. Already a subscriber? Log in. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
