Love Him or Not, Bill Maher Fits the Twain Prize Mold

When news leaked earlier thus month that the committee—or whatever it is—that selects the annual Mark Twain Prize for contributions to American humor (and society) had chosen Bill Maher as this year’s honoree, Donald Trump was stunned.

And not in a good way.

But it really is happening—with Trump’s apparent blessing, though he’s not expected to attend. That kind of contradiction is par for the course with Maher, who remains a somewhat surprising choice.

That’s not because Maher lacks the credentials. He’s been delivering topical, politically pointed comedy on television for more than 30 years, across multiple networks. Those are legitimate qualifications.

Still, Maher is a more hot-button choice than many past recipients—the Carol Burnetts, Bob Newharts, Steve Martins, and Lily Tomlins of the world.

That status extends well beyond Trump’s very public disdain. Maher has drawn blood in plenty of directions over the years. Trump is just his most prominent—and perhaps most persistent—adversary.

Their history goes back a ways. Trump, who does not suffer comedians gladly, has hurled a steady stream of insults at Maher—so many that Maher himself has catalogued them. At one point, Trump even sued him. It involved an orangutan and $5 million. (Trump eventually dropped the suit.)

For his part, Maher predicted on his show that Trump would refuse to accept a loss in the 2020 election, and that violence from his supporters could follow. He got that right.

The two later shared a meal at the White House, after which Maher said he found Trump more appealing in person.

But if Trump thought Maher would stop treating him as a comedy target after their meeting, he was wrong.

As recently as Friday, Maher was still at it: “Whenever Trump names stuff after himself, it never really works out. I mean, you think about the Atlantic City casinos, Trump University, Don Jr.”

Even with those zingers, Maher has at times been more tempered about Trump since that dinner, occasionally even sounding like a defender—most notably in backing Trump’s efforts to obliterate Iran.

That has not slowed Trump’s attacks, which have ranged from the generic—“lightweight, totally shot, a crazy maniac”—to the more vivid: “a pathetic, bloated sleazebag.”

Maher, for his part, seems to relish the exchange. Responding to Trump’s opposition to his Twain selection, he said Friday: “Keep the game going, baby. Get it off your chest, Big Man.”

All of which reflects the kind of “engagement”—Maher’s word—that has long defined his public persona.

And that persona is central to why he’s an unusual—but not inexplicable—choice for the Twain Prize.

Maher clearly wants the honor. “I think I’m finally getting one,” he said, referencing his long history of Emmy nominations without a win. (Though he did win once as a producer.)

The Twain Prize is something else. It’s one of the most prestigious honors in comedy, and the accompanying Kennedy Center special—featuring peers celebrating the honoree—can be exceptional television. Last year’s ceremony for Conan O’Brien was a prime example.

What makes this year potentially different is what has always made Maher distinctive: he is not a conventional, mainstream comic.

He is a contrarian.

He takes strong, often unbending stands on issues many comedians avoid—religion, cancel culture, even children.

On this past weekend’s Real Time, that included a line about baby pictures: “I don’t have kids; I don’t like kids; I don’t wanna see kids. So, to me, this is the equivalent of sending me an unsolicited dick pic.”

It got a big laugh—along with a dose of “clapter,” a staple of Maher’s show. His audiences can sound especially enthusiastic. Not necessarily fake—just emphatic. And jokes that provoke outrage still have their place, if they’re funny.

Comic style is a matter of taste. Maher pushes boundaries—in subject matter and, at times, in taste.

That has alienated some and gotten him into trouble. But he remains on the air—and still thriving.

And while he often delivers opinions in absolutist terms, dismissing opposing views as affronts, Maher has shown a willingness to evolve on certain issues.

Just not on kids. Or religion.

Mark Twain, it’s worth noting, also took aim at organized religion, even as he maintained personal belief. He once said his greatest work was Joan of Arc—a claim few would make today, or even remember.

There is nothing in the Twain Prize criteria that requires honorees to resemble Twain in style or sensibility. Is there much of Twain in Bill Murray or Kevin Hart—beyond the fact that they’re funny?

It’s the same with Bill Maher. He stands in front of audiences and elicits laughs. Mark
Twain did that. It’s fair to claim Twain was the first real stand-up comic. Of course, he
did a bit more than that.

But honoring a veteran stand-up and television host makes sense on a basic level.

And honoring one who has built a career skewering politicians, frauds, and public figures—much as Twain did—may make even more sense.

That has been Bill Maher’s path.

Now it leads him to Washington—to be celebrated, and perhaps to take a few more shots from the house up the street.

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