Comedy changes fast. What was hilarious in the nineties often feels like a dusty relic by the time it hits a streaming service a decade later. But then there’s Eddie Griffin. Specifically, there’s Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It.
When this special dropped in 2011, it wasn't just another stand-up set. It felt like a frantic, sweat-soaked, high-wire act. Griffin stepped onto that stage in Las Vegas with a cigarette in one hand and a glass of something strong in the other, looking less like a performer and more like a man about to perform an exorcism on the American psyche. He didn't care about being "canceled" because, honestly, the term barely existed yet, and even if it did, Eddie has always operated on a frequency that ignores the static of public opinion.
He’s a tornado.
People often forget how much technical skill goes into a set that looks this unhinged. Griffin isn't just telling jokes; he’s doing physical theater. He's morphing into his mother, then into a crack addict, then into a preacher, all within a forty-second span. It’s exhausting to watch, in the best way possible.
What Most People Get Wrong About Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It
A lot of critics at the time dismissed the special as "dated" or too "crude." They missed the point. If you go back and watch Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It today, you realize it’s actually a masterclass in rhythm. Griffin uses his voice like a percussion instrument. The pauses are just as important as the punchlines.
There is a specific segment where he discusses the difference between how different cultures react to supernatural events. On the surface, it’s a standard "Black people vs. White people" trope that has been a staple of comedy since the seventies. But Griffin elevates it. He uses his body to convey a level of visceral fear that makes the audience feel the tension before he breaks it with a laugh. It’s not just about the words; it’s about the vibration in the room.
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He’s also incredibly smart. Don't let the profanity fool you. Between the jokes about relationships and bodily functions, Griffin weaves in sharp critiques of the military-industrial complex and the pharmaceutical industry. He has this way of saying something absolutely profound and then immediately following it up with a joke so foul you feel guilty for laughing. That’s the "Griffin magic." He keeps you off-balance. You never know if you're about to get a history lesson or a story about a trip to a shady nightclub.
The Vegas Vibe and the "Old School" Energy
Recording this in Las Vegas was a deliberate choice. Vegas is the city of excess, and Eddie is the king of it. The venue, the Rio All-Suite Hotel & Casino, provided this intimate yet grand backdrop that felt like a throwback to the era of Richard Pryor or Redd Foxx.
Griffin doesn't do "tight five" sets. He does marathons. Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It feels like you’re sitting in a basement at 3:00 AM listening to your funniest, slightly dangerous uncle tell you the "real" version of world events. There is no polish. There is no "corporate" feel. Most modern specials feel like they’ve been edited by a committee of lawyers to ensure nobody gets offended. Eddie? He seems like he’s trying to see exactly how far he can push the front row before they snap.
The Physicality of the Performance
Comedy is usually about the writing. For Eddie, it’s about the embodiment.
In Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It, he moves. A lot. He’s thin, wiry, and moves with a kinetic energy that suggests he’s being shocked by an invisible wire. When he imitates Michael Jackson, it isn't just a "voice." He captures the specific, fragile twitchiness of the man. When he talks about his family, you can practically see the ghosts of his ancestors standing behind him.
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He’s a storyteller who uses his whole skeleton.
Contrast this with the "deadpan" style that became popular on Netflix a few years later. While other comedians are leaning into a dry, ironic detachedness, Griffin is leaning into the fire. He’s sweating through his suit. He’s shouting. He’s whispering. He’s making clicking noises with his tongue to simulate the sound of a gun cocking or a heart beating. It’s a sensory overload.
Why It Still Matters in the Streaming Era
We live in an age of "clapter"—that weird phenomenon where audiences clap because they agree with a comedian's political stance, rather than laughing because something was actually funny. Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It is the antidote to that. It’s aggressively, unapologetically funny. It doesn't want your agreement; it wants your visceral reaction.
If you look at the landscape of comedy specials on Comedy Central or HBO during that 2010-2012 window, most of them have faded into obscurity. They were tied too closely to specific news cycles. Griffin’s material in this special holds up because he focuses on the absurdity of the human condition. Sure, there are mentions of then-current events, but the core of the humor is based on things that don't change: family dynamics, the battle of the sexes, and the inherent weirdness of being alive.
He’s a purist.
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The Legacy of the "Tell Em I Said It" Philosophy
The title itself is a manifesto. "Tell Em I Said It." It’s an invitation for the audience to go out and spread his brand of "unfiltered truth." Griffin has always positioned himself as a truth-teller, a modern-day jester who says the things the "king" (the establishment) doesn't want to hear.
In the years following this special, Griffin continued to lean into this persona. Whether he was appearing in films like Undercover Brother or doing cameos in major blockbusters, he never lost that edge. But Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It remains perhaps the purest distillation of his stand-up persona. It captures him at a point where he had nothing left to prove to the industry, so he just played to the room.
How to Approach the Special Today
If you're watching it for the first time, or revisiting it after a decade, you have to leave your sensitivities at the door. Griffin is an equal-opportunity offender. He goes after everyone.
- Watch the eyes: Pay attention to how he uses his gaze to hold the audience's attention during the long setups.
- Listen for the "B-Side" jokes: Some of his best lines are the ones he mutters under his breath right after a big laugh.
- Observe the pacing: Notice how he slows down the energy right before a massive explosion of movement.
He isn't just a comedian; he's a jazz musician whose instrument happens to be his mouth. The improvisation—or at least the feeling of improvisation—is what makes this special feel alive even years later.
Actionable Steps for Comedy Fans
If you want to truly appreciate the depth of what Griffin is doing here, don't just watch the clips on social media. Sit down and watch the full hour.
- Study the transitions. Watch how he moves from a joke about the president to a joke about his "baby mama" without it feeling jarring. It’s a lesson in narrative flow.
- Compare it to the greats. Watch a Richard Pryor special from the late seventies and then watch Tell Em I Said It. You’ll see the DNA. You’ll see the lineage of the "raw" storyteller.
- Analyze the crowd work. Griffin is a predator on stage. If he senses a weakness in the front row, he pounces. Watching how he handles hecklers or even just silent audience members is a masterclass in stage presence.
- Research the references. Some of the social commentary he makes regarding history and religion is actually based on his own extensive reading. He’s a guy who spends a lot of time in books, and that intellectual curiosity shines through the "street" persona if you're looking for it.
Eddie Griffin didn't just make a comedy special with Eddie Griffin: Tell Em I Said It; he recorded a document of a specific kind of American energy. It’s loud, it’s proud, it’s occasionally wrong, but it’s always, 100% honest. In a world of curated personas and PR-friendly jokes, that’s something worth holding onto. If you haven't seen it, go find it. And if anyone asks why you're laughing at something so "inappropriate," just tell 'em he said it.