This month, Republican presidential candidate Donald Trump proposed “a total and complete shutdown of Muslims entering the United States,” the sort of outsize incendiary proclamation that’s typically manna for the news-mockery industry.

But sometimes, as a response, absurdity isn’t sufficient. The following night, on “The Nightly Show With Larry Wilmore,” Wilmore began one of the show’s familiar sketch conceits, speaking with a fake guest: in this case, Trump’s hair. But a few seconds in, the camera pulled back to reveal contributor Mike Yard, who shouted: “I can’t do it. It’s just not funny anymore, Larry. I mean, this man is an abomination of a human being,” adding a four-letter kiss-off for emphasis.

Wilmore maintained his poise, then went to his second fake guest, Lord Voldemort (of the Harry Potter series). But here again, Voldemort removed his mask to reveal contributor Ricky Velez, who shrieked: “My anxiety’s through the roof with this guy. I can’t even … the hilarity in this is not here. It’s gross. It’s disgusting. Trump is a cancer eating away at our national dignity.” And then the same obscenity.

On the surface, this was an exercise in fourth-wall breaking — a commentary on the extremity of Trump’s views.

But, in actuality, it just underscored the tone of exasperation that’s been clear since “The Nightly Show” began its second season on Comedy Central in September. In an ecosystem typically defined by slick jabs and arched eyebrows, Wilmore — who last week was announced as the host of the 2016 White House Correspondents’ Association dinner, the last of the Obama era — has been creating something different and promising.

The fake-news framework has lost steam: Jon Stewart’s indignant righteousness (and occasional self-righteousness) on “The Daily Show” has been replaced by Trevor Noah’s amiable plasticity. When “The Nightly Show” replaced “The Colbert Report” in January, it almost completely rejected Stephen Colbert’s model of extreme satirical immersion. Wilmore is less preoccupied with humor than anyone else who’s ever occupied a mock-news chair. Instead, he delivers earnest exhaustion, frustration and good-old finger-wagging. It’s a repudiation not just of our trying times but also of responding to trying times with a wink.

Many nights, Wilmore uses the segment just before the first commercial break for a lesson, or a scold. Speaking about the American backlash against Syrian refugees, he said, “We’re supposed to be better than this — that’s the whole point of this country,” adding: “We can help these refugees and be safe as well. Besides, it’s the Christian thing. We do it all the time.”

After the Planned Parenthood shootings in Colorado in November, he embarked on an elaborate metaphor involving Fox News and Kool-Aid: “They start by pouring a pitcher of factless accusations, add a splash of fearmongering, and then they just stir up the base!” Then, noting Republican candidate Carly Fiorina’s plaint about the left’s demonization of “the messenger,” Wilmore snapped: “The messenger is a murderer! And his message is murder! Who agrees with that message?” Stewart might have convened a national moment of eye-rolling. Noah would probably dodge the tragedy in favor of a cheap marginal jab. Wilmore is simply mad.

This has been an exceedingly grim time to be mocking the news — police killings, a national political contest that’s stoking racial fear, all-too-frequent mass shootings.

In this context, the unassuming, largely shtick-free Wilmore has become a fitting match for the moment. He’s invited various activists on the show: DeRay McKesson, a prominent Black Lives Matter figure who appeared in this season’s first episode; Jonathan Butler, whose hunger strike brought reform to the University of Missouri; and Roni Dean-Burren, who led a campaign to address misrepresentation about slavery in her son’s textbook.

And Wilmore’s exasperation is only deepening: On almost every episode since Thanksgiving, he has been bleeped for cursing, usually at, or about, a GOP candidate. (He also curses every time he mentions Bill Cosby.) He concluded one of his recent lectures by dropping his pen on his desk and sighing, “Unbelievable,” although he inserted a couple of bleeped-out syllables in the middle of the word.

“The Nightly Show” is still struggling with structure and rhythm, trying out new ideas — sending correspondents into the field, having musical guests — and seeming to abandon them almost as quickly.

But, most notably, at the same moment Wilmore’s weariness is peaking, his humor is in decline. Successful straight-ahead jokes are few and far between on “Nightly”; there are huge laughless gaps in many episodes. Often, all Wilmore is doing is repeating a piece of dark news with an exaggerated upward pitch in his voice. And sometimes, setups that begin as jokes end as lectures.

That blurred line between humor and sadness and outrage is what sets him apart. But it has consequences: The audience often sounds as if it hadn’t quite figured out Wilmore’s rhythm, and is uncertain whether to laugh. In truth, though, that’s the only appropriate response.