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ill Arnett wants to tell a joke. It’s more of a bit, he admits, that he and his friend of 20 years, Bradley Cooper, used to do in Santa Monica back in the day. The basic premise is this: A man walks down the street and runs into a buddy of his. They haven’t seen each other in years. “How are you doing?” the first guy asks. His buddy replies, “Are you kidding? I’m having the time of my life. It’s the best. I’ve never been better!”
Arnett widens his eyes and smiles as he talks, expertly mimicking a guy who’s reached a state of bliss. His famously raspy baritone, the one that’s graced everything from truck ads to kids’ movies, becomes buoyant. For a second, the air around him in the Chelsea recording studio becomes filled with the sound of the happiest man in the world.
Suddenly, Arnett drops the smile. He adopts a deadpan look. His head tilts down, as if he’s staring into an imaginary camera, about to conspiratorially break the fourth wall. He delivers the punch line: “And then he steps off the curb and gets hit by a bus.” He cracks up.
The Toronto native, 55, gives the distinct feeling of a guy who, even when having the time of his life, might constantly have one eye out for an oncoming bus. Arnett had originally come to New York to be a serious actor, the kind who studied at Lee Strasberg’s studio and radiated gravitas in tragic dramas. Instead, after years of booking small one-off TV gigs, he landed a role on Arrested Development, Mitch Hurwitz’s cult-favorite family-dysfunction sitcom. The show deservedly turned Arnett into a star (and an Emmy nominee) for his role as the emotionally desperate failed magician Gob Bluth. Soon, Arnett became an in-demand boob-for-hire, playing a variety of roles that he characterizes as “a potent elixir” of arrogant and incompetent.
But if you heard the way Arnett spun gold out of the dark matter that made up BoJack Horseman’s portrait of a washed-up actor in existential crisis, or saw how he lent a sense of woundedness to the struggling alcoholic in the dramedy Flaked, which he co-created with writing partner Mark Chappell, it was clear there was a depth in him just waiting to be fully tapped. On a barge in Amsterdam, of all places, in 2022, he found his chance. At a group lunch on the vessel, Arnett was seated next to a man named John Bishop and became intrigued by his real-life story. The Londoner described how he’d been in the middle of a messy divorce and rapidly approaching rock bottom when he decided on a whim to try stand-up comedy at an open-mic night. The experience helped Bishop get his groove back, and he’s now a well-known comic in the U.K.
Arnett began working with Chappell on a script about Bishop’s transformation; Cooper signed on to direct. The result, Is This Thing On? (out now), pushes Arnett outside of his usual comedic comfort zone — and pays off in a big way. Tracing a variation of Bishop’s story, with the emphasis on the failing marriage between Arnett’s character, Alex Novak, and his wife, Tess (Laura Dern), the movie leans heavily into the unexpected sense of rebirth Alex gets from turning his pain into comedy routines. (Any resemblance to Arnett’s relationship with Amy Poehler, to whom he was married for 13 years, until 2016, and with whom he shares two kids, is entirely coincidental; the exes are on extremely friendly terms.)
Sacha Lecca
Coming at the end of a year in which he is getting some of the best reviews of his career, and with his podcast SmartLess, which he co-hosts with pals Jason Bateman and Sean Hayes, lodged at the top of the charts, Arnett recognizes that, like the movie’s amateur comic, he’s experiencing a major second wind of his own. “By being vulnerable in this way, I shed a certain degree of my cynicism about a lot of stuff,” Arnett says. “It reconnected me with the feeling that I had when I first moved to New York 35 years ago. It made me feel like a kid again.”
Is This Thing On is the story of a man going through a midlife crisis. He stumbles into a bar one night, and ends up doing an open-mic stand-up set. What appealed to you about John Bishop’s story?
John was going through divorce and didn’t want to pay a cover charge at a bar, where they were doing an open-mic night. He ended up going up and, for the first time, kind of spoke his truth about where he was at and what he was going through. I found that really compelling. And what really got me was that he went back the next week and did it again. Didn’t tell a soul. A few months into it, he’s getting good at it, figuring out his voice. People are saying to him, like, “What’s changed in you? You seem better, lighter, more comfortable.”
The power of the tight 10.
This is the power of the tight 10. And all the unbelievable parts about the story [that you see in the movie] are true. Like, his wife comes in with some friends from work and, “Please welcome to the stage, John Bishop.” She’s like, “What?” He starts telling jokes and hears her laugh. Afterwards, they meet at the bar. She’s like, “That’s the guy I married. You’re so much happier.” And they start talking again. So that really got me.
This movie feels like a real departure for you — it’s basically an entirely dramatic role. Had you been looking for a story that was going to challenge you or take you out of your comfort zone?
At no point in my life was I looking to get challenged. [Laughs.] There was no part of me that was like, “I want to do something that’s different. I want to show the world.” But when I heard this story, I thought: Why not me?
When you brought the script to Bradley, was there something besides the fact that you guys had been friends for 20 years that you made you think that he, specifically, needed to look at it?
Apart from just trusting him and loving the guy, he’s such a formidable filmmaker and really good at understanding people, relationships. I thought, “Not a bad idea to get free notes from a filmmaker of his stature.”
I didn’t know what he was going to say when he called back after reading it. And he said, “If you’re OK with it, I’d like to direct it and rewrite it with you guys.” And I was like, “Are you for real?” Bradley understood that: “Look, we really need to focus on the marriage and what’s going on with these people, the thing that they’re disconnecting on.” He was the one who brought Laura Dern in. It changed everything. From there, everything just opened up and blossomed.
“At no point was I looking to get challenged. But when I heard this story, I thought: Why not me?”
You had never done any stand-up prior to prepping for this film?
Never. Not once. For this, I did it every night for about six weeks, three times a night at the Comedy Cellar [in New York City]. I was living around the corner, and Bradley and I would text each other: “All right, meet you over there.” I’d work out the various sets that we have in the film — longer sets than we actually use, but different material. At the time it wasn’t like, “Let’s go and prep.” I was just trying to understand what it’s like for somebody who has no connection as a performer to get onstage.
You did these sets using your character’s name, Alex Novak. But did people recognize you?
The audience would often know who I was. I’d come up and they’d be laughing, and then confused. But I had to just plow through that and keep doing this set.
You’re a famous person who had been married to another famous person, and then went through a divorce that played out in the public eye. Suddenly, you’re onstage under another name, talking about going through a painful divorce. Did you ever wonder if people were thinking, “Is he doing some sort of Andy Kaufman bit?” Or, at worst, “So, Will Arnett is talking about the dissolution of his marriage, having a nervous breakdown onstage at 10:30 p.m. on a Tuesday at the Comedy Cellar…”
Not only that, but, “If he thinks he’s getting a divorce, he’s like 14 years too late. It’s just occurring to him now?” [Laughs.] Or they’re Googling me going, like, “Did he get married again?” in real time. I remember one night standing outside the Cellar after having gone up, and this woman comes up and asks, “So, are you two still talking?” That was after I told [Alex’s] story about missing his wife. And this woman is like, “But you guys are talking again and things are good?” I was like, This is fantastic. “Yes, it’s all good.” I’m accomplishing something if they believe me. But yeah, on a lot of levels, it was very odd.
Sacha Lecca
Your instinct as a performer is to go up there and get the laugh, and instead you’ve got to sit onstage in those uncomfortable silences because Alex doesn’t know what he’s doing. What was that like?
Bradley knew that left to my own devices, I probably would try to figure out a way to bail myself out and make a joke or be funny in some cheap-ass way. I’d done two sets in Austin at the Mothership, and then we came back [to New York] and started doing every night at the Cellar. And he stopped me that first night back in New York and he put his hand on me as I was about to go on, and said, “We’re doing something different.”
Different than?
Than what you think you’re supposed to do in a comedy club. “Don’t worry about trying to make them laugh, don’t worry about going up there and being you and trying to honor whatever you think that they think about you, or that you need to be a funny dude. We’re here to work on this. We’re doing something different.” That’s all he said to me, and I totally got it in that moment. It gave me the license to just not worry about all that shit and not have to go out there and be funny. It was, go out, absorb the silence, have it be awkward, and know that was OK. Because it’s scary to go out there and to just be dry and say, “I don’t have any jokes. I think I’m getting a divorce.” People don’t know how to react.
It’s just you, that audience, and that microphone.
Yeah. I bombed a few times where it wasn’t great. One night spectacularly.
What happened?
Every once in a while, we’d do stuff that we had written that’s not in the movie. It was me and Bradley and our buddy Bob who’s a former stand-up — he writes for a lot of stand-ups and he’s a hilarious comedy writer. So Bob and I were writing a bunch of jokes just for me to try out. I go one Saturday night to the main room downstairs, and I just kill. It’s like, “After this, are you kidding? I’m going to do a stand-up special. It’s going to be amazing. We’re going to write more material. We’re going to kill it.” We go around the corner five minutes later to a different bar. Same material. Dead silence. I mean, I would’ve paid handsomely for crickets. The only laughter I can hear in the back is Bradley and my friend. They’re just dying.
“I felt impervious to criticism. I just had 50 people not laugh at everything I said. Go ahead. Say your worst, man. I’m good.”
Because they know that you’re falling flat in your face.
It’s so scary. I mean, I’ve been not good at stuff before. I’m familiar with failure. But it’s so solitary when you’re up there in front of them. You can’t hide behind the mic stand. It’s not wide enough to hide your carcass. There was a moment where I thought, “I’ll just put the mic on the stand and just leave,” but now I can’t. It was like, “OK, trying another joke. Nothing? OK, great…” The flip is, once you get through that, it’s kind of absurdly funny — to you, not to them. You’d think after that you’d go home and kind of feel crappy about yourself. I actually felt pretty good.
Really?
Yeah, because at that point, I felt impervious to criticism. I just had 50 people not laugh at everything I said — and the objective was to make them laugh. And I didn’t curry a snicker. Go ahead. Say your worst, man. I’m good.
Let’s talk about SmartLess. It was originally going to be called The Journey, right? And it was going to be—
Was it going to be called The Journey? I think I had even a more aspirational title. Something so stupid. It was going to be deep. I was going to do something that was really going to connect with people, man! And then I just did this podcast where we talk about just nothing. That’s the best part. I wanted to do this thing that would really meet people where they are, and then I ended up doing this thing where it’s just me and my buddies goofing around, which is way better. It’s way more fun.
It’s become the cornerstone of what seems like this podcast empire for the three of you right now.
For whatever reason, it has resonated, which is great, obviously. You don’t want to just do it in a vacuum. But yeah, it’s been gratifying how many people have enjoyed it. I’m still sometimes bewildered that people enjoy it. But I have so much fun. I did one today at my house this afternoon, right before I came up here to do this.
Sacha Lecca
None of it is planned out beforehand. As soon as we log on, we start rolling, and then we just start digging around. Like, Sean gets on, he’s eating a cookie. It’s not a bit. He’s trying to jam in his pre-lunch snack: “Well, I’ve got a lunch, but it’s later.” “What time?” “2:00.” “Well, it’s 11:30 now.” “Yeah, so I just had a chicken wrap and a snickerdoodle cookie.” And then Jason immediately starts giving him shit. Now, it’s absurd. It’s not that funny, but to us, it’s great because we’re on him.
Has the podcast changed the friendship at all? Because this was originally born out of an idea that, because it was during the pandemic, you guys weren’t really able to see each other and you wanted to hang out. Then it turned into this million-dollar thing.
Has it changed our friendship? No. I mean, we’re closer than ever. People ask that about Bradley and me and about working on the film. We’re closer because we’re doing something that we love, and we really enjoy it. It’s fun on different levels for different reasons with people you love. Generally, that brings you closer together. If you and I were to work together even more, it would bring us closer together, David.
You think?
We would get very close.
I like how optimistic you are about that.
I’m optimistic about everything. It’s not a glass-half-full attitude. It’s full. Completely brimming.
What do you think it is about podcasts that are scratching an itch with people?
I don’t know. I used to be kind of cynical about podcasts: “Yeah, I loved it when it was called radio.” Certainly people listened to radio for a long time, but [podcasts are] much more free-flowing. Radio felt like it was just filling the airwaves between songs or the news. It was always on a timeline. Podcasts, they’re like, “Hey, there’s no restrictions here. We’re just here to do this.”
I think when people listen specifically to ours, they still have that intimate relationship, because we don’t have a video component. We’re one of the only [shows] that does not. I think that people are more inclined to really listen to it. Once you add video — watch, I say this now, and by the time this comes on the air, we will have signed a deal to do a video or something….
Are you?
I’m not saying that’s imminent. I’m just joking. But there is something about that experience of listening to it in your headphones. And so many people who come up to me and talk about SmartLess, they talk about how they listen in the car while they’re driving, they listen while they’re at the gym, on a walk, whatever it is, and they do feel that intimate connection. Once you start watching it, now you’re just observing it. You’re not part of it. Then it’s much more presentational. Our show isn’t presentational in that way.
“Everybody’s flawed. I like the simplicity of playing these people who are just trying to get better.”
Who came up with the idea of bringing on a guest but not telling the other two who it would be?
Well, that’s controversial. I did. And it’s controversial because [Jason and Sean are] like, “Well, I don’t know who came up with it.” And I’m like, “Are we going to trust the guy with a good memory or not? This is the one time you’re not going to trust my memory. My memory is rock solid.” So yes, that’s true.
You came up with it not knowing that they would eventually bring your ex-wife on, which is still one of my favorite episodes. It was really wonderful hearing the good vibes between you two.
Yeah, that was a great one. I mean, Amy texted Sean and me this morning saying, “We all got nominated for Golden Globes, let’s party.” And then she said, “I don’t have Bateman’s number, that’s probably for the best.” That was the text. [Laughs.]
That episode probably cleared up a lot of speculation about your relationship.
People think that they know. Over the years, I’ve read so many opinions people have. It’s fucking hilarious to me how much shit is just made up and they have zero idea. It’s like, “Oh, you think you know what my life is?”
Look, yes, it’s part of celebrity culture that we all participate in. And by the way, [celebrity] has been good to me. So I don’t want to shit on it. But yes. One of the more alarming parts about her coming on our podcast was that my sons lied to me. That’s the part that unnerved me.
Well, they kept a secret. That’s different than lying.
They omitted the truth. My 15-year-old was like, “Dad, I’m so sorry. I knew and I just didn’t want to…” I was like, “It’s OK, dude.”
What’s your relationship like with fame today?
I still struggle with it. And you gotta be careful. The universe will be like, “Great, you don’t want it? We’ll take it away.” Fame is just a weird thing. And I’m not the most famous dude in the world by any stretch. So it’s not like people really care that much what’s going on in my life, for the most part. But it is a funny thing.
It was never about being famous. I liked the idea of being an actor. What I wanted to do was come to New York and be an actor, which was my intention when I landed here in August of 1990. I was coming here to be an actor, and not a comedic actor. I’m going to study at Strasberg. People are going to take me seriously, and I want to do some heavy, deep shit. That spoke to me. And somewhere along the line, I started reading for sitcoms, even though I initially didn’t want to because I thought they were beneath me.
Sacha Lecca
And then after not getting work for a while…
Then I was desperate to get a sitcom. After two weeks, I was like, “Oh, my God, I’ll read for anything.” So you go in with these lofty ambitions as a young person, and then I’m like, “Fuck, man, I got to pay the rent.” That’s how I started backing my way into comedy, reading for sitcoms. I didn’t have the luxury of doing Second City, any kind of sketch comedy or improv or stand-up. I kind of learned it all backwards.
You ended up with a good sitcom.
I remember when we were making Arrested Development — and to say it changed everything in my life is an understatement — we were making it in a vacuum. We started shooting in August of 2003, and I don’t think it began airing until November 2003. We had no reaction. The scripts were outlandish and bizarre and the scenes were insane. It was, “Hey, we might be making the worst thing of all time. There’s a chance we’re making the world’s worst television program.” But we were all enjoying it and having a lot of fun.
There was an editing room near the stages where we shot. And I ran into one of the editors, who told me, “Man, I’m putting these shows together — they’re really good.” And I was like, “Oh, really?” I had no concept of what it was like to do something really good. And I remember David Cross, who I love — he’d done Mr. Show, so he had comedic cachet, and he came up one day, and said, “People are really liking the show. They’re liking what you are doing on the show.” Bob Odenkirk, who was on the show a bit the first season, said the same thing. I would give anything now to do something and to have that sort of breakthrough.
When the series was at its height, did you have people coming up to you all day singing Europe’s “The Final Countdown”?
Oh, people do everything. They’d do the chicken dance to me. They’d yell “Michael!” from across the street. I mean, countless times, people have told me that they’ve made a huge mistake. But to go back to your question about fame. It was never about becoming famous. The idea was to go and do something like Arrested. That was the goal.
How was BoJack Horseman pitched to you? Because I can see how, not having read a script, but just given the elevator pitch, you might go, “I think I know what this is.” The story is centered on an actor who wants to be taken seriously, who struggles with addiction… things you’ve dealt with in your past, too.
Raphael Bob-Waksberg, who created BoJack and wrote it and who’s a brilliant guy, said, “I’m going to create this show. How would you like to come be part of a show that for the rest of your life, people will try to retrofit your life to make it seem like you’re like BoJack Horseman?”
You’ve just answered my next seven questions.
I love BoJack. I loved doing it. Raph is an incredible writer. We made a 13-minute short first with a bunch of people — Aaron Paul, Amy Sedaris. It was already a crazy cast in the pilot. Everybody in Hollywood passed on it. Every channel. Everyone except for [Netflix boss] Ted Sarandos. They were the last shop on the block. And he called me and said, “I think I’m going to do this Horseback BoJack.” I don’t even know if he got the name right. I hope he got it wrong. And this seemed like a controversial thing to say, but he said, “I’m going to pick it up because it’s really funny.” In my business, that is not always the reason that they pick stuff up.
Sacha Lecca
It’s usually, “We love it. It’s great. It’s really smart. We can’t wait to watch it, but we’d never make it.”
Right. He wanted to do it because he thought it was funny. Not because it’s commercial, not because “We think that it has mass appeal and is going to bring viewers in.” Simply because it’s funny. I love Ted and we’ve had a long relationship. When we were doing Arrested Development: The Re-Up on Netflix, we were one of their first streaming shows. This is before they really blew up and became the Netflix that we know today, the company that just bought the U.S. government. I don’t know how to read Bloomberg, but I think that’s what happened.
It’s amazing how with BoJack, under the cover of this really wonderful strain of absurdism, is so much pain and depression and real dark shit that you guys are getting into — and it’s one of those things where it’s not an either-or. It’s the spoonful of sugar that you’re going to put some serious anti-depression meds in.
There were so many moments where there’d be some really heavy rough shit, and then we’d finish the take and Raphael would be like [in overjoyed voice], “We got it!” And I’d be like, “Raph, this is not fun. This is a bummer, dude.” It ruined a lot of Wednesdays for me. I’d record from 10 till 11 or 11:30 or something, and then I’d have to spend the rest of the day trying to shake off the BoJack.
But yeah, it was really impactful and super, super funny. So many profoundly funny moments and funny bits and funny jokes. And it was also like an essay on mental health and depression and all that kind of stuff.
When you hear people say, “Will Arnett is great at playing assholes,” you usually counter with something like, “They’re not assholes, they’re just arrogant and incompetent in equal measure.”
I used to love playing those types of characters, yeah. Arrogant and incompetent — it’s a potent elixir.
It was your sweet spot. But if you look at BoJack and the show you did right after, Flaked, it seems you’re also attracted to characters who are trying to claw their way back out of some hole that they’ve found themselves in and find, if not peace of mind, then at least a point of stability. There’s a straight line between those characters and the guy in Is This Thing On?
Everybody’s flawed. These are heightened versions of the people that are in our lives, but these are people who have fucked up and done it in different ways. But also, what’s the alternative? I’ll do characters who are doing what? I guess I could do movies where my daughter’s been apprehended by some terrorists or… [Pauses.] By the way, I’d love to do that!
I just like the simplicity of these people who are just trying to get better. This character in Is This Thing On?, his rock bottom is much different from those other guys. He’s much closer to somebody we all know. And also: This is inspired by a true story. So it’s not like I’m like, “Hey, I need to figure out how to grapple with stuff that’s going on in my life.” That wasn’t the impetus for this. I love the story of these two people who figure out a way to reunite and reconnect. I love that part of it. But this is truly me playing a character and trying to figure out this character. He wouldn’t live my life, nor would I live his.
Someone recently mentioned that this has been a crazy year for you, and you responded that “It’s been one of the most intense, transformative years of my life, but not just as an actor. It’s just been transformative for me as a person, period.”
Yeah.
How so?
In every way. I learned a lot, doing something that was challenging as an artist and acting in this piece in a really vulnerable way, forcing myself to be really vulnerable in a way that I haven’t. You could say Flaked was a precursor in that sense, but this helped open me up as a performer. I wanted to give a really naturalistic and genuine performance, and really, really try to access what was going on with this guy. And the process of doing that helped me shed a lot of stuff that I’d done for years as a person, too. What Alex ended up going through in the film by doing stand-up and how that opened him up, I realized at one point that I was having a similar experience as an actor. I came back to my apartment and I was like, “Holy fuck, I’m on a parallel track.”
It reconnected me with the feeling that I had when I first moved here 35 years ago. It made me feel like a kid again. I was doing it for the love of it. I certainly didn’t do this for the money. I didn’t make any. It was a small-budget film, we shot for 33 days, and it was an incredible experience on every level. I went into it with the intention of just wanting to make it, and then I got to make it with two of my closest friends. Everything else is just kind of noise. The creating of it has totally reinvigorated me. It’s been pretty awesome.
