The Riyadh Comedy Festival, which wrapped up on October 9, 2025, has become a lightning rod for controversy, igniting fierce debate over the ethics of Western entertainers performing in Saudi Arabia. The event, organized by the kingdom’s General Entertainment Authority (GEA), drew some of comedy’s biggest names—including Aziz Ansari, Louis C.K., Dave Chappelle, Pete Davidson, Kevin Hart, Whitney Cummings, Jessica Kirson, Jimmy Carr, and Jack Whitehall. While the festival was billed as a sign of Saudi Arabia’s cultural opening, critics and human rights advocates have argued it serves as little more than a state-sponsored attempt to whitewash the country’s record on free speech and human rights.
According to The Guardian, the festival was part of a broader push by the Saudi regime to diversify its oil-dependent economy and improve its international image through investments in sports, arts, and entertainment. The GEA, led by chairman Turki Al-Sheikh—who has himself courted controversy by reposting a song celebrating the lead suspect in journalist Jamal Khashoggi’s murder—sought to "amplify Riyadh’s status as a leading destination for major cultural and artistic events." Yet, as the festival headliners took the stage, the shadow of Saudi Arabia’s well-documented repression of dissent and harsh penalties for satire and LGBTQ expression loomed large.
Comedians who participated faced immediate backlash. Aziz Ansari, speaking on "Jimmy Kimmel Live!" on October 9, addressed the controversy head-on, calling it a "complicated issue." He explained that his Muslim background and family conversations influenced his decision to participate. Quoting his aunt, Ansari said, "There’s people over there that don’t agree with the stuff that the government’s doing, and to ascribe the worst behavior of the government onto those people, that’s not fair. Just like there’s people in America that don’t agree with the things the government is doing." He described the festival as an opportunity to "push things to be more open and to push a dialogue," particularly in a country where "half the population is under the age of 25." Ansari acknowledged the validity of critics’ concerns and pledged to donate part of his fee to organizations supporting free press and human rights.
Louis C.K., whose career is already marked by controversy following a 2017 sexual misconduct scandal, also defended his participation, albeit with reservations. Speaking on HBO’s "Real Time With Bill Maher" on October 3, he admitted, "I struggled about going once I heard what everybody was saying. There’s some good in it, maybe some bad in it. But for me, I think it cuts toward going. I love standup comedy, and I love comedians. So the fact that that’s opening up and starting to bud, I wanna see it. I think that’s a positive thing." Despite the uproar, C.K.'s Ridiculous world tour, including a sold-out show in San Francisco, has demonstrated his enduring popularity, suggesting that for many fans, the controversy is secondary to the comedy.
Other comedians offered a range of justifications—or apologies. Bill Burr, speaking on Conan O’Brien’s podcast, was blunt: "If you actually give a [expletive] about those people and how they’re living over there, there’s going to have to be these types of things to pull them in. And I will tell you, the Cheesecake Factory in Riyadh, it’s incredible." Burr’s comments, reported by Cracked.com, were met with derision, with critics arguing that oppressed Saudis need government reform, not Western restaurants or comedy festivals. Jessica Kirson, a lesbian Jewish comic who received a standing ovation at the festival, later expressed "sincere regret" for performing, saying the decision "has weighed heavily on my heart ever since."
Some participants, such as Omid Djalili, argued that their presence could help broaden what is "thinkable and sayable" in Saudi society. Djalili, who had previously refused invitations to perform in the kingdom for 15 years due to human rights concerns, told The Guardian that "every laugh at a taboo subject shifts norms, albeit slightly. Bear in mind ‘slightly’ is a seismic movement in the Middle East." Yet, as Cracked.com and The Guardian both pointed out, the festival was organized and controlled by the Saudi government, with strict content restrictions barring any criticism of the royal family, Islam, or the legal system. Comedians like Atsuko Okatsuka publicly declined invitations after seeing contracts that explicitly forbade such topics, exposing the limits of supposed openness.
Human Rights Watch urged festival performers to use their platforms to call for the release of detained Saudi activists and to acknowledge the anniversary of Jamal Khashoggi’s murder, warning that entertainers risk helping "launder" the government’s reputation. The organization’s concerns were echoed by fellow comics Marc Maron and David Cross, who lambasted participants as hypocrites. Cross, in a particularly scathing rebuke, wrote, "I am disgusted, and deeply disappointed in this whole gross thing. That people I admire, with unarguable talent, would condone this totalitarian fiefdom for…what, a fourth house? A boat? More sneakers?"
The festival’s critics have not only highlighted the hypocrisy of comedians who claim to champion free speech while performing under a regime known for jailing and even executing dissidents, but also questioned the sincerity of those who now express regret. As The Guardian detailed, Saudi Arabia’s crackdown on satire is severe: Abdulaziz Almuzaini, creator of a popular Netflix satire show, was sentenced to 13 years in prison and a 30-year travel ban for "terrorism and promoting homosexuality." Fahad Albutairi, considered "Saudi Arabia’s Jerry Seinfeld," was allegedly detained and forcibly returned to the kingdom, while others have faced jail time for parody Twitter accounts or jokes deemed offensive.
For some, the decision to perform was candidly financial. Pete Davidson reportedly said, "I see the number and go: ‘I’ll go’", while Chris Distefano admitted his fiancée told him to "take that [expletive] money." Comedian Tim Dillon had his set canceled after admitting on his podcast that he was only participating for a large sum. Others, such as Nimesh Patel, turned down offers after considering the ethical implications, with Patel noting, "They offered a lot of money. I’m not in a position to say no to life-changing money. But it wasn’t life-changing."
Meanwhile, the Saudi regime’s intolerance for dissent remains unchanged. As The Guardian recounted, satire and even mild criticism can result in long prison sentences, travel bans, or worse. The festival’s critics argue that no amount of cultural exchange can offset the reality of a government that, in 2018, introduced laws punishing satire with jail time and fines. The GEA’s efforts to position Riyadh as a global cultural hub, they say, are undermined by the continued persecution of artists, activists, and ordinary citizens who dare to speak out.
Ultimately, the Riyadh Comedy Festival has become a microcosm of a larger debate: can art—and the presence of international entertainers—spark meaningful change in repressive societies, or does participation merely lend legitimacy to regimes seeking to burnish their image? The comedians who took the stage in Riyadh may have hoped to open minds and foster dialogue, but for many observers, the festival’s legacy is one of deep ambivalence, marked by both hope and profound ethical unease.
