Bert Kreischer had a moment, not too long ago, where he found himself questioning his ongoing commitment to performing naked from the waist up.
The arena comic has been ripping off his shirt as he delivers comedy to his ballooning fanbase for the better part of 15 years. And it was freeing and, frankly, fun when he was the only guy doing it. Then along came Jason Kelce, he tells me, and Pat McAfee and Ryan Fitzpatrick and entire stadiums full of college kids. “Now, it’s like everyone’s shirtless,” he says with a whiff of frustration in his voice. Plus, Kreischer had found he could barely decipher his past specials, as they all seemed to feature him stalking the stage in a uniform of jeans and little else.
“So I thought, ‘What if I wore a full suit in the next special?’” he shares. It was his wife and producer, LeeAnn, who pushed him to reconsider: “Only do it if you want to,” she said. But Kreischer didn’t really want to — “absolutely not,” he says — and so he’ll continue just as he has, even if he no longer feels quite so original.
Kreischer’s bare chest gets plenty of airtime in his latest project, a six-part, dark comedy titled Free Bert, which streams in its entirety on Netflix on Thursday. The serialized show opens with his character, an only slightly fictionalized version of Kreischer, performing at Rob Lowe’s birthday party, where the St. Elmo’s Fire actor is interested less in his comedy than in his shirtless gimmick. The remainder of the series centers around Kreischer and his family — which includes a wife and two daughters, who share names with his actual wife and two daughters — as they try, desperately, to fit in at a new, elite private school in Los Angeles. (There’s also a recurring storyline about a reconstructive scrotal surgery.)
Zooming in from a chilly stop on his “Permission to Party” standup tour, Kreischer, who’s outfitted in a surprising number of layers, opens up about his comedy white whale, his Hollywood aspirations and why Netflix execs were hoping his last movie, The Machine, bombed in theaters.
Let’s start from the beginning. Tell me how this project came to be?
Here’s the genesis: I was fired from the Travel Channel [where he hosted both Bert the Conqueror and Trip Flip], everything was going away for me, and I had to re-figure out who I was and I was having an identity crisis. At the same time, we were at a school [for my daughters] where it felt like everyone had money. Everyone had nice cars. Everyone had big houses. Our house was 1,100 square feet, and it was right by the Jack In the Box. We felt like we were the Beverly Hillbillies. So I was trying to encapsulate that time and the quickest way to get to the identity crisis was pulled from my life and the comments I get, which are like, “All he is is a fat guy that takes his shirt off.” I got hired for a private party one time and I tried doing material and the guy just goes, “Hey man, put the shirt on and take it off again and tell ‘The Machine.’” I was like, “What?” He goes, “We don’t want to hear the other stuff. Just do the shirt rip one more time, tell ‘The Machine’ and then let’s go party.” It was $25,000, and I did it.
But I’m guessing you didn’t feel good about it?
Laying in bed that night in Vail, Colorado, I thought to myself, “I just got paid $25,000 to take my shirt off and tell one story. $25,000.” I was like, “What if that’s my life?” So, we had that scene in the show [the fictional version takes place at Lowe’s party] and then [we infused] the identity crisis that happens when you go to a new school and you’re trying to fit in and you just aren’t. When it feels like everyone grew up together, everyone went to preschool together, and you’re like, “We were at the cheap preschool over in Koreatown.”
You have a long-standing relationship with Netflix, which has been busy developing with its top comics. Did they come to you looking for an idea?
I brought it to them. They were obviously up for hearing a pitch but my big white whale’s always been a sitcom — a TV show about my family.
In the 1980s and ’90s, the TV sitcom was the brass ring for comics; but with these arena tours and massive podcast deals, never mind the shifting media landscape, it doesn’t seem to be anymore. So, it’s interesting to hear you say the TV sitcom remained your white whale. OK, why are you laughing?
Because I developed with everyone, absolutely everyone. NBC. CBS. Fox. But they always wanted their thumbprint on it. They’d say, “You’re a beer salesman.” And you’re like, “Nope, I’m not.” They’re like, “No, no, no, you sell RVs.” And you’re like, “But I don’t.” “You’re a teacher. The fun teacher.” “But I’m not.” The great thing about Netflix is they’re like, “What do you want it to be?” And I say, “I want it to be about my family. The stuff that I’m doing on stage that you guys like, I want to make that.” And they’re like, “Cool.” “And I want to play Bert.” And they’re like, “Great.” Netflix is so hands off, but also so properly hands-on. I mean, their notes are good. I’ll tell you, we have some really aggressive jokes in this.
Including one about a school shooter…
And way worse ones on the golf course. [A foursome of bad dads is on the course, when an attractive woman drives by on a golf cart. One of the men says:] “I sent her to Dr. Shestack. [Gyno buddy of mine.]” [Then another one says,] “Last week, this one girl had cervical cancer, so we all got pics.” [The execs at Netflix] were like, “Hey man, are you sure you want this in?” And I was like, “I do.” Because here’s what I didn’t want: I didn’t want to make a show where we’re a trope of what guys are, meaning guys are gross around the cart girl. I’ve seen it happen. My friends in Florida are still that way. But I don’t want to just go, “Oh, she’s hot.” I go, “Make them really bad. Make them despicable. Make it so you go, ‘Hey guys, that’s what you look like.’”
So, you have that explanatory conversation with the folks at Netflix, and they don’t flinch?
Oh, they flinched! They flinched on that joke specifically, but then you just have to be honest, you tell them, “Hey, we’re going to shoot it and then see.” And they still push back, and we just said, “We really like it.” And they’re like, “OK.” And I know I sound like a company man, but it’s the same in every special I’ve ever done with Netflix, their insights have been spot on and they always side with the artist.
You’ve always said that your daughters vet your standup before you release a special. Did the same rules apply for the sitcom?
Yes, and they tried to kill it!
They did?
Oh yeah, and I was like, “Hold on, guys. We’re just making a sizzle, a presentation. In Hollywood, you never kill it before you have an opportunity to make it.” They’re like, “Well, then you can’t use our names.” And I was like, “Guys, they know you’re my daughters. I’ve done six specials where I’ve talked about Georgia and Ila. It’s silly to call you Sophia and Stephanie now.” So then they said, “Well, make it, but we want to see it first.” So, we made this sizzle or presentation, and we showed it to them. It’s basically the first episode, and it’s really just me screwing up with them. They loved it. They were like, “We’re in. You can use our names.”
But they do need to see what I’m talking about before it goes on stage. And they’ve been very involved, including how I talk about LeeAnn. This last special I did, I talked about my wife going through menopause, and the girls both came to The Forum and watched my set and it was a little different then than it was in the special. And Georgia’s like, “I don’t like the way you’re talking about my mom.” She was like, “Some things seem mean to me. ” And I was like, “Interesting, OK.” And it’s [the same with using conversations that I have with them.] Ila will go, “Dad, that’s something I said to you. I didn’t say that to the world. It was a private conversation.” She’ll be like, “”Don’t make it so that I can’t say things to you because I’m afraid they’re going to go on stage.” And I was like, “OK.”
There is a scene, early in the show, where a school therapist is unpacking why your character feels so compelled to be shirtless, and he suggests it’s not a “middle finger to the world” but rather a defense mechanism. Are these conversations that you’ve had with…
Therapists? Yes. LeeAnn and I are in couples therapy and not because anything’s wrong — both girls went to college and we were like, “We should probably just have a system reset and make sure we’re on the same page.” And when you go in to meet new therapists, there’s a lot you have to unpack for them to really know you. So the woman [we were seeing] is like, “What do you do?” “I’m a comedian.” And then I tell her, “I perform shirtless.” And she’s like, “Why?” And I’m like, “Oh, this is going to turn into a fucking thing. I don’t know. I just do it.” She goes, “Well, no one just does anything.” By the way, it’s happened with both of my therapists. And I stand by the fact that I made a stupid decision [to take my shirt off] 15 years ago in Dayton, Ohio to try to cheer myself up and I just kept doing it. And by the time I got to the Showtime special I did, I was uncomfortable putting a shirt on and then I went viral and it just sticks with you. But I still like it. I love being shirtless.
The last time I spoke to you, in early 2023, which was shortly before your movie, The Machine, came out, I asked you if you thought Hollywood knew what to do with you, and you said “No.” Has your answer changed?
You know what’s so funny is that I feel like they knew what to do with me more then than they do now.
How so?
Hollywood is in a weird place. Back then, they’d greenlight a $35 million movie for a guy like me. Now that will never happen. Now they’re trying to figure out what they’re doing with movies. Lately, the price point is $3 million to $7 million, which is something affordable to go to streamers. But I remember having a conversation with one of the head people at Netflix when my movie was coming out. We were in a suite at a Lakers game and I was like, “I just hope my movie does well in theaters,” and this person who will remain nameless said, “I hope it doesn’t.” I said, “Why?” And they said, “Because if it doesn’t do well in theaters, it’s going to murder on Netflix.”
And that’s what happened, no?
That’s what happened. I was like, “Goddamn, they know the fucking algorithm.” But people in Hollywood are scrambling to try to figure out what’s happening next. I mean, I’ve had so many meetings about so many different avenues of revenue in this business — people bringing things to me that are like, “Start your own website,” “Get on a streaming platform,” “Sign an overall deal.” I mean, I had someone offer me $100 million dollars to make 10 movies, like Adam Sandler meets Abbott and Costello, but it’s always a Bert adventure. So, no, I don’t think Hollywood knows what to do with me, and what sucks is that I think I have to figure it out before they do.
If I’m an executive, and I’m trying to crack comedy, I think I’d be wise to rely on folks like you, who have these big built-in fanbases and, even more importantly, a direct relationship to those fans.
You know what it feels like? Here’s an analogy, which may be bad. Five years ago, 10 years ago, making a movie was like you’re opening a Chili’s, right? Hollywood gave you the money, you knew the menu, you know what everyone loves, people love baby back ribs, we got mocktails, we got cocktails, the bar’s set up, we got the same uniforms for everyone. Right now, Hollywood feels like those mom and pop shops in East LA where they open up their house and they make great tamales and that’s all they really make is three types of tamales and you’ve got to find it and you got to hope you like tamales too. Because when I look at this project, this project is a taco truck. And I hope you like it because this is what I make, one thing. I make inappropriate, hard-R family comedy, and, in this case, with a six episode story arc. But yeah, it’s the taco truck of comedy.
Should we expect to start seeing you popping up in other people’s projects?
No. I mean, there are two or three people I would take a job with just to watch them.
Who’s on that list?
My number one is Jonah Hill. I just want to watch him act because I think it would be a masterclass. I also want to work with Vince Vaughn. I hear he does a lot of improv and it would be interesting to see how he goes at it because I’m pretty limited in my acting. I don’t give you nine different versions of a scene. I’d love to be that guy, but I don’t know how to do it.
After The Machine came out, you said, “I’m not a good actor, but I think I want to be a movie star.” I’m still trying to understand what you meant by that.
Yeah. I got offered a gig on some movie and the executive producer was like, “Hey, would you like to play this part?” And I was like, “Fuck yeah.” I go, “Wait, hold on. Can I show up at the office and stuff?” And he’s like, “No, no, no. You’re only doing four, five days.” And I go, “But when I’m on set, can I sit in video village?” He goes, “No, no, no, you’re going to be in your trailer.” He’s like, “There’s movie stars on this.” And I go, “Well, can I hang out with them? Can I go to their trailers?” He’s like, “Absolutely not.” And I go, “Then I don’t want to do it.” Because I want to hang out. I want it to be my set. On the final day of shooting this, I bought, like, 700 Krystal burgers. Brought them to set. I didn’t check with anyone. I just brought 700 burgers and everyone lost their mind. And then they had a burger eating contest and one guy threw up in the bushes. It was fun. I like that energy. I like being the ringleader.
It’s your party.
Yeah, at the hotel we were staying at, any night I went to dinner, anyone in the cast and crew could go with me. And there was a private club that I got us all memberships to, so you could go to the private club if you wanted to get away and get a coffee in the morning and not get bothered. And I love saying to everyone, “Hey, I’ll see you at the gym at 6 a.m. We got a 7 a.m. call time.” I don’t want to be some guy that shows up, goes to the gym in his hoodie, puts his headsets in, reads his script, walks over to Whole Foods, gets some cottage cheese, goes back to his room, calls his wife, FaceTimes his kids and goes to bed.
That was oddly specific.
I’m being dead serious. I had a couple of those guys on my set. Matthew Del Nigro and Chris Witaske, if you hire them, they’re going to do a great job. They’re not going to drink. They’re going to get their job done. They’re going to focus on the sides. They’re going to run them over and over again. They’re going to really get to know their character. They’re going to spend an evening thinking about their character. They’re going to get to set early for the fitting. They love a good fitting. They’re going to question their outfit. They’re going to question the motives of that outfit. That is what an actor does. That is not what I do. I showed up in my own clothes. And you can see it. On that first episode, when I walk out of that car [to drop off his daughters at school in a sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off, short shorts and flip flops], those are my clothes. And I look ridiculous. No one would ever put me in that. But hey, it’s me.
