An ode to ‘Gilbert Gottfried’s Amazing Colossal Podcast’

By Raj Tawney

In the middle of last week, I was driving somewhere (I can’t even remember where), listening to an episode of “Gilbert Gottfried’s Amazing Colossal Podcast,” when my brother Ravi texted me: “Gilbert Gottfried died.” Unable to take my eyes off of my phone (which shouldn’t have been in my hand to begin with), I nearly drove right off the road. I couldn’t believe what I was reading. An integral light had gone out.

Gottfried—born in Coney Island and forged in Greenwich Village—leaves behind a body of work comprising movie roles, animated voiceovers, guest appearances on sitcoms and reality shows, and of course, footage from his brilliant roasts and live stand-up performances. But if you want to understand the man behind the squinty eyes, listen to the 600-plus episodes of “Gilbert Gottfried’s Amazing Colossal Podcast,” one of the great love letters to twentieth century Hollywood.

Launched in 2014 by Gottfried, along with his friend and co-host, comedy writer Frank Santopadre, the podcast was intended to serve as an archive, a latter day “This Is Your Life,” conversationally deep-diving into the legacies of long-gone or forgotten entertainers—from ‘60s Children’s show host Charles Fox to pioneering Black ventriloquist Willie Tyler (and Lester)—as well as interviewing a murderer’s row of legends, including Norman Lear, Marilyn Michaels, Carl Reiner, Lee Grant, Dick Van Dyke, Tippi Hedren, Bruce Dern, Al Roker, Susie Essman, Neil Sedaka, Joel Grey, Mario Cantone, and many more. The appreciation for guests was evident: Carefully-composed introductions lasted between three to seven minutes. “This also doubles as an obituary,” Gottfried often joked affectionately.

For myself and millions of comedy fans, Gottfried’s chaotic humor was an escape. Leaning into nostalgia, he would teleport listeners to bygone eras where the deceased breathed again, and those past their prime were still celebrated for their contributions. By turns enlightening and obscene, it was all good fun.

Within those and hilarious interviews, each meticulously researched by Santopadre, Gottfried’s passion for yesteryear provided a glimpse at the comedian’s own psyche. He had an incredible recall for classic content, the stuff that must have shaped his Brooklyn boyhood and would later be incorporated into his stand-up routines—like his classic bit (at the 3 minute mark) about imagining “The Honeymooners: The Motion Picture,” starring James Mason as Ralph Kramden, Richard Burton as Ed Norton, and Jack Nicholson as Alice Kramden.

The long format allowed for intimate stories. About bygone Hollywood, yes, but also Gottfried himself. For example, he would talk about one of his first jobs selling candy in the lobby of a Broadway theater where Katharine Hepburn had a show, which led to him being invited to her apartment for a party. He never forgot her kindness. He’d recount how he was only 15 when he first tried stand-up, at an open mic night in Greenwich Village. Or how embarrassed he was by his one season as a cast member of “Saturday Night Live,” but developed a bond with Eddie Murphy who subsequently cast him in Beverly Hills Cop 2 (1987), a pivotal turn in his career. Or how his disappointed father died before he could see his son’s success.

On any given episode, listeners would also be treated to a cornucopia of masterful impersonations, including Rodney Dangerfield, Paul Williams, Peter Lorre, Vincent Price, Buddy Hackett, Gary Shandling, Jerry Lewis (a hero whom Gottfried insisted was always nice to him throughout the years, contrary to other accounts), and dozens of other actors that most people today wouldn’t remember. Within the same episode he’d veer into absurd and infamous rumors—usually to Gottfried’s devilish delight—regarding departed icons like Danny Thomas, Caesar Romero, Paul Lynde, Marlon Brando, Richard Pryor, Danny Kaye, Joey Bishop, Billy Wilder and whoever else came up in conversation.

Although ambivalent about his own Judaism, he never failed to express his adoration for the Jewish comedians who paved the way for him, including The Marx Brothers, George Burns, Sid Caesar, Milton Berle, Jack Benny, George Jessel, Jackie Mason, and Mel Brooks. In a moment’s notice, he’d launch into his “Old Groucho” impression or remind listeners of the failed TV pilot called “Norman’s Corner” that co-starred Henny Youngman, Arnold Stang, and Joe Franklin, and was written by Larry David—a project that almost tanked “Seinfeld.”

For younger generations who’d never heard of these entertainers, whether deceased or outdated, the podcast served as an educational tool, reintroducing antique content and analyzed through a contemporary lens, even if oftentimes crude and comical. (Google “Pink Lady and Jeff” or “Bob Hope as Jack Frost”)

Keeping in line with his stand-up material, which sometimes famously landed him in trouble, Gottfried made no apologies for his crass sense of humor. Perhaps he was among the last of a now-disappearing group of performers who pushed the limits of what was deemed acceptable. Times change; tastes change. However, fans of all persuasions and backgrounds gravitated toward the comedian because he was one of very few who stood by his convictions—and had a blast while doing it.

There will be no new episodes of “Gilbert Gottfried’s Amazing Colossal Podcast” though I had planned to grow old along with Gilbert and Frank each week. “We’ve barely scratched the surface,” one of them would say, with a promise to continue for years to come. But it stands as a trove of stories worth hearing again. If you haven’t listened yet, find it on Spotify or Apple Music, or wherever you stream podcasts. And be ready to laugh.

Listening back, I’ll know I’ll tear up a little each time Gottfried sings his Old Groucho rendition of “Hello, I Must Being Going” from Animal Crackers (1930). But I’ll be thankful for having tuned in.