By skyforbes 
At first glance, Leave Them Wanting Less could have been another entry in the modern comedy-documentary canon, a behind-the-scenes look at a veteran comic chasing the elusive “perfect set.” But under the direction of Michael Malone, the film becomes something deeper, lonelier, and far more cinematic: a study of process as pilgrimage, of the artist as both performer and penitent.
Where most comedy docs build toward applause, Malone’s builds toward understanding.
The film follows veteran comedian Tom Simmons as he attempts to capture not just one comedy special, but three across five shows. The result is less about the jokes themselves and more about the bruised psyche of a road comic trying to make sense of a world, and an industry, that seems to have outgrown him.
From the first few minutes, Simmons opens with a shrug toward despair: “I find when I open with I’m worried about the future of the world…it’s a little too gloomy to be like, hey, we’re all gonna die. Welcome to my show.” It’s a line that feels half-joke, half-journal entry. Malone doesn’t cut away. He lets the silence breathe, and in that space, we see a man who can’t decide if comedy should comfort or confront.
That’s Malone’s gift as a director: he knows when to stop watching for the joke and start listening for the truth.
Malone’s eye is less interested in the jokes than in the man trying to hold them together. He shoots Simmons like a boxer in the eleventh round — sweaty, reflective, haunted by muscle memory and the creeping suspicion that the world has moved on.
Through candid backstage moments and post-show reflections, Simmons talks openly about self-doubt, about the futility of doing comedy “the old way,” and about the ghosts of Carlin, Hicks, and Stanhope that haunt him every time he takes the mic. He laments that modern comics “should have their finger up to power, not embracing shittiness and greed,” while quietly wrestling with his own fear of alienating an audience that might walk out the moment politics enter the room.
The film becomes a love letter to the unseen grind of stand-up comedy: the misfires, the small victories, the endless recalibration between authenticity and likability. When Simmons declares, “The road leads to the road. The road leads to nowhere,” it lands not as cynicism but as gospel, rather an anthem for every artist still clinging to the craft when the dream has long stopped paying the bills.
What makes Leave Them Wanting Less so affecting is its refusal to romanticize resilience. Simmons doesn’t posture as a tragic hero; he’s a man trying to stay sane in a job that rewards detachment and punishes sincerity. And Malone resists every temptation to stylize. There’s no rapid-fire editing, no flashy transitions, no talking-head nostalgia. His camera lingers on a pause, on a sigh, on Simmons’ hands fumbling with his notes. The pacing mimics the rhythm of stand-up itself: set-up, tension, release.
Even the way Malone frames the stage feels deliberate. He keeps the audience partially obscured, their laughter heard but rarely seen, reminding us that this isn’t their story. The result is intimate but never invasive, like peeking into a confession booth instead of a green room.
The highest compliment you can give a documentarian is that you forget they’re there. Malone’s presence is felt only in the gentleness of the framing and the emotional intelligence of the cut. His camera becomes a silent collaborator, coaxing honesty out of a man conditioned to deflect with laughter.
By the time Simmons admits, “Comedy is the only thing that brings me joy…and maybe that means I need therapy,” Malone’s restraint allows the moment to hit with devastating clarity. No music, no commentary, just a wide shot of a man who’s finally said something too real to follow with a punchline.
In a cultural moment obsessed with virality, Leave Them Wanting Less feels almost radical in its sincerity. It’s not about clicks or crowd work or cancel culture. It’s about the lonely, necessary ritual of saying something honest into a microphone and hoping it still matters.
This isn’t a documentary about stand-up comedy; it’s a meditation on what it means to keep showing up when the spotlight feels more like interrogation than illumination.
Through his quiet, compassionate lens, Malone reveals Tom Simmons not as a man chasing laughs but as one searching for connection, in a country, an industry, and an audience that often forgets how to listen.
Grade: A
A haunting, soulful portrait of a comedian stripped of ego and armor, guided by a director who knows that sometimes, the most radical act is simply to watch.
- Written By Tom Dundy