If you spent any part of the 90s watching late-night cable, you probably remember the chaotic, brain-melting brilliance of Mr. Show with Bob and David. It was the kind of show that felt like a secret club. So, when Netflix announced back in 2015 that the gang was getting back together for W/ Bob and David, the internet basically lost its collective mind. People expected a resurrection. What they got was something else entirely. It was weirder, shorter, and honestly, a bit of a reality check for everyone involved.
Sketch comedy is a young man’s game. Most of the time, anyway.
When Bob Odenkirk and David Cross reunited, they weren't the hungry, fringe-dwelling weirdos they were at HBO in 1995. Bob was fresh off the massive success of Breaking Bad and was becoming a legitimate dramatic heavyweight in Better Call Saul. David had solidified himself as a stand-up icon and the most reliably funny part of Arrested Development. They had money. They had prestige. But they also had a bunch of old friends and a very specific itch to scratch.
The Weird DNA of W/ Bob and David
The show arrived on Netflix with a title that felt like a legal loophole. W/ Bob and David wasn't technically Mr. Show, mostly because HBO owns the rights to that name, the theme song, and the specific sketches. But it was the same spirit. You had the heavy hitters back in the writers' room: Paul F. Tompkins, Jill Talley, John Ennis, Jay Johnston, and Brian Posehn.
It felt like a high school reunion where everyone actually liked each other.
The structure was familiar but tweaked. They kept the "link" style—where one sketch flows directly into the next—but they dropped the live audience framing for the most part. This made the show feel more cinematic, or maybe just more like a fever dream. If you watch the first episode, "Save Our Mountain," it hits you immediately. It starts with a bizarre bit about Bob and David emerging from a time machine (a Porta-Potty) after twenty years, and it sets the tone for the entire four-episode run.
Wait, four episodes? Yeah. That was the first big shock.
People wanted a full season. They wanted sixteen episodes of madness. Instead, we got four half-hour installments and a "making of" special that was arguably just as funny as the show itself. It was a "blink and you'll miss it" release that left fans wondering if this was a comeback or just a weekend hobby that got filmed.
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Why the 90s Nostalgia Didn't Quite Fit
The problem with being a cult legend is that the world changes while you’re gone. In the mid-90s, Bob and David were railing against the monoculture. They were making fun of televangelists, crappy local news, and corporate greed in a way that felt dangerous. By 2015, the world was already a parody of itself.
How do you satirize a world that has Twitter?
There’s a specific sketch in W/ Bob and David involving a digital assistant named "Genie" that goes horribly wrong. It’s funny, sure. It’s classic Odenkirk frustration. But it lacks that raw, "we might get canceled for this" energy of the original run. Some critics at the time, like those at The A.V. Club, noted that the show felt polished. Maybe too polished. The rough edges—the low-budget sets and the feeling that the actors were about to break character—were mostly gone.
The Sketches That Actually Landed
Despite the weight of expectation, some of the material in W/ Bob and David is genuinely top-tier comedy. You can’t put those minds in a room and not get gold at least 70% of the time.
Take the "Know Your Rights" sketch.
It features David Cross as a "constitutional auditor" trying to provoke a police officer (played by Keegan-Michael Key) into violating his rights. It’s a masterclass in escalating absurdity. David’s character is so insufferable, so desperately trying to be a martyr for a cause he doesn't understand, that you actually find yourself rooting for the cop. It’s a perfect commentary on the early days of "sovereign citizen" YouTube culture. It felt relevant. It felt sharp.
Then there’s the "Salesman" sketch. Bob Odenkirk plays a man trying to sell a very specific, very useless piece of technology to a room full of unimpressed executives. This is Bob’s wheelhouse. He does "high-status idiot" better than anyone in the history of the medium. You see the seeds of Saul Goodman in his performance—the desperation masked by a thin veneer of confidence.
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The Missing Pieces
If you're a hardcore fan, you noticed the gaps. Sarah Silverman wasn't there. Jack Plotnick was missing. The absence of certain faces from the original Mr. Show lineup made W/ Bob and David feel a little bit like a "Greatest Hits" tour where the bassist is different.
Also, the pacing was... off.
In the original series, the links were seamless. One character would walk through a door and suddenly they were in a different sketch in a different city. In the Netflix version, these transitions felt a bit more forced. It was like they were trying to prove they could still do the trick, rather than just doing it.
Honestly, the "Behind the Scenes" special might be the best part of the whole package. Seeing the writers' room—a group of now-middle-aged comedy geniuses—arguing over a joke about a "pre-taped call-in show" is pure joy. It humanizes them. It shows that even for the best in the business, comedy is hard, grueling work.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Revival
A lot of people think W/ Bob and David was a failure because it didn't spark a massive cultural moment. It didn't become I Think You Should Leave. It didn't spawn a thousand memes.
But that wasn't the point.
Bob Odenkirk has been very vocal in interviews, including his memoir Comedy Comedy Comedy Drama, about the fact that they just wanted to work together again. They weren't trying to reclaim the throne. They were just checking in. If you look at it as a "limited event" or a filmed reunion special rather than a "Season 5," it actually holds up remarkably well.
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It’s an exercise in creative freedom. Netflix gave them a pile of money and said, "Do whatever you want." And they did. They made a show that was weird, niche, and occasionally brilliant.
The Legacy of the "W/"
The impact of the show is more about what it represents for the "alt-comedy" scene. It proved that there is still an audience for sketch comedy that doesn't rely on recurring characters or catchphrases. Saturday Night Live lives on "The Guy Who Does the Thing." Bob and David live on "The Idea That Is Too Stupid to Exist."
They paved the way for the current boom of experimental comedy. Without the DNA of Mr. Show (and its brief Netflix rebirth), we probably don't get The Eric Andre Show, Portlandia, or Tim and Eric Awesome Show, Great Job!.
How to Watch It Today
If you’re going back to watch W/ Bob and David now, don't binge it all in one go. It’s too dense. Each episode is packed with so many background jokes and visual gags that you’ll miss half of them if you’re looking at your phone.
- Watch the "Making Of" first. It sets the stage and makes you appreciate the effort.
- Look for the cameos. From Jeffrey Tambor to Paget Brewster, the show is a "who's who" of comedy character actors.
- Pay attention to the background. The fake posters, the weird props, and the scrolling text on the bottom of the "news" segments are where the real writers' room jokes live.
The show isn't perfect. Some sketches go on too long (the "Heavens" bit is a bit of a slog). Some jokes feel like they belonged in 2004 rather than 2015. But as a testament to the enduring chemistry between two of the most influential minds in comedy, it’s essential viewing.
Practical Next Steps for the Uninitiated
If you've never seen any of their work, don't start here. Go back to HBO Max (or whatever it's called this week) and watch the first two seasons of Mr. Show. Understand the foundation. See them when they were broke and angry. Then, come to Netflix and watch W/ Bob and David. You’ll appreciate the evolution of their voices. You'll see how Bob's dramatic acting has informed his comedic timing. You'll see how David's cynicism has matured into something more nuanced.
In the end, W/ Bob and David wasn't a comeback. It was a victory lap. And even a slow victory lap from these two is better than most comedians' best sprints. It reminds us that comedy doesn't have to be for everyone to be important. It just has to be for someone.
Take a night, grab a drink, and dive into the four episodes. It's only two hours of your life. Even the worst sketch in the bunch is more interesting than 90% of what's on network TV right now. That's the Bob and David guarantee.
To get the most out of the experience, try to track down the DVD commentary for the original series first. It provides the context for why their specific style of "linked" comedy was so revolutionary. After that, watch the Netflix run and pay close attention to the sketch "Rooms" in Episode 4—it’s perhaps the closest they ever got to recapturing the seamless, surreal magic of their 90s peak. Once you've finished the main four episodes, search for the deleted scenes and outtakes on YouTube; there is a wealth of "Room 801" material that didn't make the final cut but is arguably more daring than what aired.