From left: Bert Kreischer as Bert Kreischer and Lilou Lang as Ila Kreischer in Netflix's 'Free Bert.' Tom Griscom/Netflix Share on Facebook Share on X Google Preferred Share to Flipboard Show additional share options Share on LinkedIn Share on Pinterest Share on Reddit Share on Tumblr Share on Whats App Send an Email Print the Article Post a Comment Logo text 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. Related Stories TV Prue Leith Steps Down as 'Great British Baking Show' Judge After Nine Seasons TV Alix Earle Lands Netflix Reality Show "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 salesm