February 08, 2024 | ARTS & ENTERTAINMENT | By Charlotte Maley
There are some performances and shows where there is such a diverse range of audience members in the crowd that it is impossible to get a sense of any distinctive fanbase. Standup comedy shows are rarely one of those events, for sense-of-humor is a particular thing which is likely rendered through particularities of upbringing and geographical, political or cultural positionality. At comedian Bert Kreischer’s “Tops Off” show, which I attended last weekend, I got a sense of his fans and what they loved about him, like all great art, I was taught about what a certain kind of American is yearning for. Namely, Bert Kreischer scratched a deep itch for the forgotten and undervalued masculine class of this country, and it moved me to tears.
Bert Kreischer is an American standup comedian who is famous for performing without a shirt on, and is best known for a story he told on the Joe Rogan podcast in 2013 when he described an experience he had as a student in Russia during the 90’s. The bizarre story, in which Kreischer became known by a group of Russian mafia members as ‘The Machine,’ debuted as a movie in 2023. Kreischer has three podcasts, one of which he shares with fellow comedian Tom Segura, and is also the star of a popular program entitled “The Cabin with Bert Kreischer,” which follows him on a self-care journey in the woods. Although Kreischer participates in many mediums of performance art, he is primarily known as the writer and performer of five comedy specials, four of which are streaming on Netflix. His style is goofy, upbeat and fun.
Upon entering the arena, I was quickly struck by the demographic of people attending. For the most part, it was young or middle-aged white men, where groups ranged everywhere from teenaged boys in uniform Vans, bearded men right off the construction site and even marine members in ceremonial dress. I was the only young woman for miles that wasn’t seemingly dragged to the show by a boyfriend or husband. I asked two men sitting next to me who they thought Kreischer’s typical fan was. The larger of the two, David, said that his stereotypical fan is “a guy that likes a drink, to be positive… and probably also loves Joe Rogan.” The other guy, Tanner, said that he loved Kreischer because he’s down to earth, upbeat and doesn’t take things so seriously. Tanner said, “He just is a really good man and I look up to him.” Tanner looked about my age and works as an electrician’s apprentice in Pueblo.
The Broadmoor World Arena on Feb. 2, 2024 was packed to the rafters with Air Force personnel, veterans and a shocking amount of construction workers. One man I talked to, whose name I didn’t catch, told me that he did “man’s work,” referring to his landscaping job, and thought everybody now-a-days is “too soft.” He loved one of the opener’s jokes about the country needing more “steel-mill workers and (fewer) baristas.” He didn’t feel like most people understood that America was built on the backs of hardworking men like him. He pointed to his friend, “My buddy’s been in the Marines for six years. Nobody thanks him. All anyone cares about is people in college and nothing else.” His friends nodded in agreement.
Although I am all too familiar with Kreischer’s comedy as a fan myself, I was surprised that such a niche demographic could be so starkly apparent in his fan base. That was until he started the show.
Seeing as Kreischer is iconic for taking his shirt off while he performs, the arena began the show with a top off cam, where men stood up all around the stadium and danced with their shirts off for a shot of making it on screen. The wives were embarrassed, and I was uncomfortable, until I realized the pure joy on these men’s faces. It wasn’t menacing or intimidating, only a childlike delight. Male bodies ranged in size, yet everyone celebrated. Once Kreischer came out on stage, he immediately stripped off his blue shirt to reveal a perfectly bulbous, hairy and pale belly, and the crowd went wild.
It was clear that this mass of men saw themselves in Kreischer in a way that they never did for the openers — even though the proceeding comedians were like Kreischer in stature, topic of jokes and even lived in Colorado. However, what Kreischer had that these other comedians didn’t was an inexplicable air of aliveness, positivity, and dare I say, all-American masculine Patriotism. From here, the show commenced effortlessly.
There isn’t much to say about the show’s material, other than that it was hilarious, lighthearted and brilliant. He told jokes about his aging wife, growing daughters and family life in general. What he spoke most about, above everything, was how stupid he was. The best stories came from him being relatable and portraying himself as dumb, such as ordering 2,400 dollars’ worth of traffic cones off Amazon or having sex with his wife with a toilet seat cover stuck to his butt from an airport dump taken two days earlier. He put a certain satisfaction, a particular pride, into being an everyday guy that makes mistakes, but ultimately finds purpose through taking care of family and contributing to the greater good.
The crowd of men came alive with inspiration through his demeanor and stories alike, and towards the end of his show, when he got the whole crowd to sing both the “National Anthem” and “America the Beautiful,” men threw their military patches on stage, and most everyone erupted in tears. Even Kreischer began crying, “Thank you for your service,” he gulped into the microphone. As an educated progressive, I tend to scoff at such allegiance signaling acts to a country which has done so much harm to so many that are not like the demographic apparent in that night’s arena. However, I still got chills all over my body from just thinking about it. I finally understood what made Kreischer such an inspiration in these men’s eyes.
Kreischer saw, respected and showed them what they could do and be if they only stayed true to their values. There was yearning in their hearts for what Kreischer presented, and I left the arena so sure of the arts necessity to fulfill a happy, healthy human soul. What he did last Saturday night was proof of how healing art can be, even when it is for old ideals I don’t necessarily love or value. For better or for worse, he spoke to this subset of traditional men in the Springs, and for that he presented a masterpiece on an otherwise regular Saturday night.