The Comedy Awards on Comedy Central We need irreverent comedians more than ever these days, because without them, how could we possibly sit through all those tedious award shows? No one is better at interrupting industry back-patting to deliver a smack to the head than Chris Rock, who at the Tonys ceremony last year called his announcement of the award for best musical as pointless as "taking a hooker to dinner." Opening the second-annual Comedy Awards, recorded last Saturday and being shown on Sunday night on Comedy Central, he was more blunt. Of the eligible comics for best comedy special, he said, three are funny, one used to be and another never was. Then he assured the audience he was not joking. Then he took it back. Whether you believed him didn't really matter, since Mr. Rock accomplished something remarkable: He made everyone listen closely to the roll call of nominees. They were Louis CK, Norm MacDonald, Patton Oswalt, Colin Quinn and someone who I suspect didn't like the joke, Daniel Tosh. Award shows depend on comedy to puncture their self-importance, but does comedy need an award show? In an age when golfers, pornography stars and soap opera veterans get nights to thank their agents, the question, of course, is beside the point. The Comedy Awards were inevitable, and while it secured enough raw talent to be diverting fun, it also felt like a missed opportunity. The main problem was, oddly enough, the comedy. The Comedy Central stars who appeared onstage at the Hammerstein Ballroom in New York as presenters or performers put in the most effort, with funny bits by the "Daily Show" correspondents, including Samantha Bee and John Oliver and a solid Obama sketch by Key and Peele. Jokes by two other presenters, Will Arnett (with props!) and Maya Rudolph, were more undercooked. And some gently snarky comments by Andy Richter, the show's announcer, seemed at odds with the surprisingly traditional vibe of the evening. Unlike, say, the MTV video awards, this show, which was black tie, takes itself seriously. The categories emphasized movies and television, with a smattering of new-media honors that didn't get much time. Live comedy got even shorter shrift. The winners were decided by a large group of industry peers, and their choices displayed caution and consideration (The deserving Hannibal Buress won one of the few awards for live stand-up). One of the show's executive producers, Casey Patterson, said the aim was to be "the Oscars of comedy." Of course, the Oscars is supposed to be the Oscars of comedy. But the list of film comedies shamefully ignored by the Academy is so long that the Comedy Awards does appear to have a niche to fill. The members of the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences may be the last group of cultural arbiters left who don't respect comedy. If anything, judging by podcasts, Web sites and news media attention, our culture now takes jokes more seriously than ever. The Comedy Awards are evidence of this. The most glaring difference between the Academy Awards and the Comedy Awards is that at the Oscars, people seem overwhelmingly thrilled to win. Comedians" reactions to accepting trophies range from mild amusement to outright hostility. Louis CK, wearing a black suit, stormed offstage after his fourth win. The exception to the offhanded cool was the emotional yet still cutting speech by Don Rickles, who won the Johnny Carson Award for comedic excellence. In his honed old-school style that paved the way for the searing wit of comics like Mr. Rock, he mixed tributes to comedy greats with his trademark insults before tearing up. In his pitch-perfect introduction, Jon Stewart glowingly recalled meeting Mr. Rickles, who introduced himself backstage at Carnegie Hall with - what else? - an insult. "Stewart?" his jab began. Smart. Now they'll never know you're a Jew. Tributes to masters like Mr. Rickles are the most important contributions that the Comedy Awards can offer, as they make clear the essential link today's comedians have to the past. What the Comedy Awards needs to do is refine how it treats the present. The focus on television and movies is ill advised. "30 Rock" doesn't need another award. But there is a vital, fragmented sphere of comedy that does deserve more attention. Amy Poehler, accepting an award for her work on "Parks and Recreation," said she was proudest of working with the Upright Citizens Brigade, which raises the question why the sketch, improv and storytelling artists who regularly work there are not eligible for the Comedy Awards. If including more nonfamous artists sounds altogether too worthy, and doomed for low ratings, then Comedy Central should put more energy into producing entertaining material, mixing in more scripted comedy to break up the assembly line of introductions and speeches. Why not feature a few minutes of actual stand-up? Or show a video that puts the performers onstage together in something new? The Comedy Awards, still very young, is more entertaining than most other shows of its kind, but its tastefulness prevents it from being an exciting mess. Even when it is, as in a rambling tribute to Weekend Update on "Saturday Night Live" that featured three past anchors (including an aimlessly voluble Chevy Chase), the segment won't be on the televised version. If it's to find surer footing, the Comedy Awards need to figure out what it wants to be. The current vision behind it is muddled, which, come to think of it, really does make it like the Oscars of comedy.