Bill Burr on the Once-in-a-Lifetime Experience of Glengarry Glen Ross: 'It’s the Most Exciting Acting I’ve Ever Done'

Bill Burr’s multilayered show-business resume ranges from stand-up comedy and stream-of-consciousness podcasting to screen acting, writing and directing. Whether he’s gunning down a stormtrooper in The Mandalorian, questioning the existence of open-casket funerals in the Hulu standup special Drop Dead Years or dropping 20 F-bombs in two minutes on his Monday Morning Podcast, Burr possesses a rare versatility that makes him difficult to pigeonhole.

One thing he hadn’t tried? Stage acting—until Nathan Lane threw out his name to the creative team of Glengarry Glen Ross. In an inspired bit of casting, Burr plays Dave Moss, the angriest, most calculating salesman of worthless Florida real estate in the hit Broadway revival of David Mamet’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play. You’d never guess Glengarry is his professional stage debut in a cast that includes Kieran Culkin, Michael McKean and Burr’s onetime Breaking Bad co-star Bob Odenkirk. Off stage, at age 56, Burr has mellowed from his early years in comedy and is the father of two young children with his wife, actress and producer Nia Renée Hill. His stand-up act and podcasts still draw laughs from assorted rants and complaints, but when it comes to his experience on Broadway, Burr is positively sunny.

You and your castmates seem to be having a blast reviving Glengarry Glen Ross. What has the experience of playing the conniving salesman Dave Moss been like so far?

From day one, Kieran, Bob and Michael—the big dogs—set the tone of “We’re all in this together.” I was already a fan of everybody, and to get to know these guys and see that they’re such passionate performers, I just feel lucky. It’s funny—I relate both to Dave Moss and to Lingk [the mild-mannered “mark” of uber-salesman Ricky Roma]. Lingk is who I was when I was younger: super gullible; could be talked into anything; didn’t know how to stick up for myself. Then Dave Moss is who I became. I had to figure all of that out, and now I’m past my Lingk/Moss stage; I’m on the other side of my anger. I thought I was going to carry it for the rest of my life, and I’ve finally gotten through it.

Being the dad of little kids will do that.

When I slip up at home, my kids go, “Dad, relax!” Or after I flip out about something and it works out, my daughter says, “See? It’s fine!” I want to tell her that I’m not really mad about the number of bags of open chips in the cabinet, it’s about stuff that happened to me 40 years ago, but a seven-year-old is not going to understand that. I just go, “You’re right. Sorry!”

You’ve mastered so many forms of performance. How does acting on stage compare?

It’s the most exciting acting I’ve ever done, and I’ve gotten to do a lot of exciting things—Chappelle’s Show, Breaking Bad, Mandalorian, King of Staten Island. The difference is that Broadway brings the excitement of stand-up to acting, where I get that instant gratification or rejection. Did that work? Did I mess this up? It’s the fun and camaraderie of being in a cast as opposed to stand-up, where it’s just you and the crowd. I’ve been getting into the mindset of the audience, that this is their night to see this play, or their matinee, and we’ve got to bring it. I joke with the guys, saying, “Glengarry Glen Ross: the strongest matinees on Broadway. Let’s bring that Saturday-night energy! We’re going to kick the sh*t out of them!”

It’s refreshing to hear you say that you love the Broadway performance schedule, including two-show days.

I feel like one show a night is a vacation, and when I do two shows, I’m actually earning my money. I also love everybody behind the scenes, bullsh*tting with the crew about sports and stuff. Julien Havard, the guy who helps me with my wardrobe, is an absolutely hysterical, big-hearted human being. Going into this, I knew that the material is never going to get better; the people doing it are not going to get better. On the first night, waiting for the curtain call, I already had this melancholy [feeling], thinking, “One of these nights, it’s going to be the last curtain call. This is the beginning, so make sure you enjoy it, because who knows if you will ever get to do something this good again.”

I love the idea that Nathan Lane—who you didn’t know—suggested you for this role.

I ended up meeting him and his husband at the SNL 50 show. He’s the greatest guy, and his husband is cool as hell. There’s a saying I heard a long time ago: "Talent doesn’t scare talent." As I started to get better as a comedian, I saw how some other comedians viewed that as a threat, but the truly funny people were excited. The first time I worked with Dana Gould, who was a god to me, I came off stage and he said, “That was fantastic. Keep doing what you’re doing.” That acknowledgment meant so much. I had years where my whole self-esteem was based on the last set I did. I could only feel good about myself if I had a great set. If it went bad, my demons would be at the surface. I didn’t know how to love myself and be proud of myself.

What turned that around?

What makes me feel good about myself now is being nice to other people, and the love I have for my wife and my family.

More than 40 years after it was written, why has Glengarry become a modern classic?

I think the movie [released in 1992] helped people discover it. That’s how I discovered it. I was fascinated by the darkness and the bleakness of it, this voyeuristic look at a cutthroat world of people selling BS. If you’re sitting on a lot selling Mercedes-Benzes, you don’t have to lie. The product sells itself. But if you’re selling swampland in Florida, you have to screw people over, and even if you’re a callous person, that does something to you. It was shocking for people to watch. Now, I think it plays more as a comedy, like gallows humor, because we’re in this crazy time of unprecedented greed. CEOs are writing themselves nine figure bonuses while their employees have no benefits. That’s the world the working man is in right now, so aside from the fact that these guys are really mean to each other, I think you’re laughing because you relate.

There are rumors that an all-female cast will step in after your run. What do you think about that idea?

You know, I met someone after the show who had done it in college. She played Dave Moss, and they didn’t change any of the words. It took on this whole new shade of comedy for me—it becomes about women making fun of the ugliness of men and how stupid the “win-at-any-cost” mentality is, rewarding people who are heartless and ruthless and chasing a dollar rather than doing the right thing. That can be lost if you’re just watching a bunch of guys telling everyone to go f*ck themselves. When my wife imitates me, I see the idiot that I am. It makes me laugh, but it also makes me think. I can see that my behavior hurts her on some level. Other than that, [I would say] let the female David Mamet write something that women would want to talk about. I don’t think you’d want to see an all-male Vagina Monologues—The Man Junk Monologues.

You were a pioneer podcaster, way back in 2007. When you sit at a mic and start talking about current events, sports and what’s happening in your life, who are you picturing as the audience?

I picture someone sitting on a tarmac hoping their flight isn’t delayed. I picture people driving to work, stuck in traffic. I picture someone on the elliptical who doesn’t want to be on the elliptical. I picture all of that because I am also that person. I just want to be entertaining and lighten up their day. The human connection is what I’m a junkie for. That’s what I learned when I first saw Eddie Murphy do stand-up in the summer of 1986 on the Raw tour. Even at 18 years old, a switch went on in my brain that he was making everybody laugh without changing who he was as a person. He was a Black dude from Brooklyn, and he was vibing with me, the whitest guy ever from Canton, Massachusetts.

Now that you’ve made your Broadway debut, could you see yourself doing theater again?

Absolutely. I would just have to figure out a way to make it work with my family next time. They come in [from California] for 10 days once a month, and that’s been the hardest. I almost didn’t say yes because of that, but my lovely wife, who is always in my corner, said, “Bill, you have to do this.” She cried when I got Broadway. She knew that this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.