Hollywood vs. Joe Rogan: Maher, Carvey, and Spade Light Up Podcast Wars

Max Sterling, 1/20/2026Bill Maher, Dana Carvey, and David Spade critique Hollywood's insularity during a lively podcast episode, spotlighting the Golden Globes' snub of Joe Rogan. They discuss the evolving media landscape and the implications of gatekeeping in entertainment, questioning if Hollywood can open up to diverse voices.

Maher, ever the grizzled satirist, couldn’t let it slide. “Did you see there’s a podcast category at the Globes? Oh really?” he tossed out, like someone hearing the word “sourdough” for the first time mid-pandemic. Without missing a beat, Spade deadpanned, “Did we get nominated?” Carvey, sharpened by decades in the comedy trenches, delivered the punch: “We won the comedy podcast.” The room (or rather, soundstage) filled with the sense that a barbarian wasn’t merely at the gate, but hadn’t even been invited to peek over the hedge.

The debate quickly sharpened: The Globes had bypassed Rogan—arguably the genre’s heavyweight champ, or at the very least its most persistent sparring partner. Instead, Maher grumbled, “They only nominated like the super woke stuff,” as though he’d just discovered the Oscars were handing out statuettes for carbon neutrality. Carvey chimed in, “He’s absolutely brilliant at what he does.” Statistically speaking, Rogan’s numbers dwarf most television audiences nowadays—Spotify’s dashboard likely lights up brighter for him than for the entire late-night slate combined, which, come to think of it, probably stings a bit for network execs.

Of course, beneath the jabs and rye-fueled ribbing, the trio’s main complaint isn’t strictly about Rogan. It’s about Hollywood’s fabled insularity—what Maher dubbed the “blue sky bubble.” In their telling, it’s not just merit—or sheer cultural impact—that counts any longer. It’s alignment. To be conventional wisdom’s darling, you’d best play by a new set of rules, and sometimes those have less to do with who’s actually listening than with who’s safely inside the velvet rope. Maher’s tone flipped from sardonic to plaintive: “Get out of your f**king bubble, you know. I want to be one of you. I am one of you. But you’re just so hard to defend. Because you’re such f**king smug a**holes. And this town is the epicenter of the problem.”

The funny thing (or maybe not so funny, depending on which side of the glass you’re on) is that Maher knows this bubble well. Few have been both insider and gadfly for so long. He skewered his own political kin: “As I always say to my woke friends, we voted for the same person; you’re just why [Kamala Harris] lost.” The self-awareness is either a badge of honor or a scar, depending on the day. Every time Hollywood pats itself on the back for being “democracy’s defenders,” someone else wonders who exactly is left on the outside of that group hug.

Carvey added his own twist: “You can’t have movie stars and politicians that have hundreds of millions of dollars lecturing you. It’s just the elitist thing that came out of all that.” This is no longer material for late-night monologues—it’s what’s murmured backstage, in the green rooms, and whispered by veteran comics who don’t worry about burning bridges because, frankly, they already built their own elsewhere.

Sometimes it’s easy to imagine this moment as just another flare-up in the endless culture wars—another chapter in the “what does ‘best’ really mean?” saga. When Poehler’s “Good Hang” snagged the Golden Globe (the very first for a podcast, as it happens—history books, register that detail), the applause felt more like the soundstage loving the sound of its own virtue. “I have great respect for this form,” Poehler said. Respect is nice, but the unspoken question—was the form celebrated or merely sanitized?—lingered longer than any acceptance speech.

Something larger unspools beneath all this. The media landscape—at least as of spring 2025—has become wildly unrecognizable from five or ten years ago. Albums drop overnight, television shows are dissected at lunch and forgotten by dinner, and podcasts? These days, they’re less radio’s awkward stepchild and more the people’s pulpit. Rogan’s snub, in this context, looks less like a simple oversight and more like a hopeful act of stage management. The old guard grasping at the reins just as the stampede barrels in from Spotify, YouTube, or wherever listeners actually are.

Maybe it’s wishful thinking to believe that Hollywood’s grip is truly slipping, or maybe that’s just late-night cynicism talking. Either way, there’s little doubt the Globes did more than hand out a trophy—they also marked where the sand shifts now. Gatekeeping, as a sport, is in fine form (there’s irony in watching Maher, a master provocateur himself, bemoan the flavor of the month’s exclusion).

Is this simply a punchline for 2025’s fractured, attention-addled audiences? Perhaps. But listen closely to Maher’s frustration, the comedians’ banter turning earnest, and the industry’s frantic attempts to stay relevant. Hollywood stands at one of those all-too-familiar forks: It can huddle tighter beneath that blue-sky bubble, or kick open the doors to the unruly crowd camped out just beyond its spotlight—the Rogans, the amateurs, the outliers. In the end, the show goes on, but the audience may soon care less about who hands out the awards than who’s willing to talk without a script.

Popcorn’s ready either way.

Eavesdropping on an episode of “Club Random” with Bill Maher, Dana Carvey, and David Spade feels less like tuning into a podcast and more like cracking open the Hollywood psyche, flaws and all. The trio gathered not long ago—glasses clinking, banter tumbling over itself—and promptly locked their sights on the latest tremor in Tinseltown: the Golden Globes’ entrance into podcast territory, notably without so much as a nod for Joe Rogan. If the Globes wanted to draw a fresh line in the sand, mission accomplished.Maher, ever the grizzled satirist, couldn’t let it slide. “Did you see there’s a podcast category at the Globes? Oh really?” he tossed out, like someone hearing the word “sourdough” for the first time mid-pandemic. Without missing a beat, Spade deadpanned, “Did we get nominated?” Carvey, sharpened by decades in the comedy trenches, delivered the punch: “We won the comedy podcast.” The room (or rather, soundstage) filled with the sense that a barbarian wasn’t merely at the gate, but hadn’t even been invited to peek over the hedge.The debate quickly sharpened: The Globes had bypassed Rogan—arguably the genre’s heavyweight champ, or at the very least its most persistent sparring partner. Instead, Maher grumbled, “They only nominated like the super woke stuff,” as though he’d just discovered the Oscars were handing out statuettes for carbon neutrality. Carvey chimed in, “He’s absolutely brilliant at what he does.” Statistically speaking, Rogan’s numbers dwarf most television audiences nowadays—Spotify’s dashboard likely lights up brighter for him than for the entire late-night slate combined, which, come to think of it, probably stings a bit for network execs.Of course, beneath the jabs and rye-fueled ribbing, the trio’s main complaint isn’t strictly about Rogan. It’s about Hollywood’s fabled insularity—what Maher dubbed the “blue sky bubble.” In their telling, it’s not just merit—or sheer cultural impact—that counts any longer. It’s alignment. To be conventional wisdom’s darling, you’d best play by a new set of rules, and sometimes those have less to do with who’s actually listening than with who’s safely inside the velvet rope. Maher’s tone flipped from sardonic to plaintive: “Get out of your f**king bubble, you know. I want to be one of you. I am one of you. But you’re just so hard to defend. Because you’re such f**king smug a**holes. And this town is the epicenter of the problem.”The funny thing (or maybe not so funny, depending on which side of the glass you’re on) is that Maher knows this bubble well. Few have been both insider and gadfly for so long. He skewered his own political kin: “As I always say to my woke friends, we voted for the same person; you’re just why [Kamala Harris] lost.” The self-awareness is either a badge of honor or a scar, depending on the day. Every time Hollywood pats itself on the back for being “democracy’s defenders,” someone else wonders who exactly is left on the outside of that group hug.Carvey added his own twist: “You can’t have movie stars and politicians that have hundreds of millions of dollars lecturing you. It’s just the elitist thing that came out of all that.” This is no longer material for late-night monologues—it’s what’s murmured backstage, in the green rooms, and whispered by veteran comics who don’t worry about burning bridges because, frankly, they already built their own elsewhere.Sometimes it’s easy to imagine this moment as just another flare-up in the endless culture wars—another chapter in the “what does ‘best’ really mean?” saga. When Poehler’s “Good Hang” snagged the Golden Globe (the very first for a podcast, as it happens—history books, register that detail), the applause felt more like the soundstage loving the sound of its own virtue. “I have great respect for this form,” Poehler said. Respect is nice, but the unspoken question—was the form celebrated or merely sanitized?—lingered longer than any acceptance speech.Something larger unspools beneath all this. The media landscape—at least as of spring 2025—has become wildly unrecognizable from five or ten years ago. Albums drop overnight, television shows are dissected at lunch and forgotten by dinner, and podcasts? These days, they’re less radio’s awkward stepchild and more the people’s pulpit. Rogan’s snub, in this context, looks less like a simple oversight and more like a hopeful act of stage management. The old guard grasping at the reins just as the stampede barrels in from Spotify, YouTube, or wherever listeners actually are.Maybe it’s wishful thinking to believe that Hollywood’s grip is truly slipping, or maybe that’s just late-night cynicism talking. Either way, there’s little doubt the Globes did more than hand out a trophy—they also marked where the sand shifts now. Gatekeeping, as a sport, is in fine form (there’s irony in watching Maher, a master provocateur himself, bemoan the flavor of the month’s exclusion).Is this simply a punchline for 2025’s fractured, attention-addled audiences? Perhaps. But listen closely to Maher’s frustration, the comedians’ banter turning earnest, and the industry’s frantic attempts to stay relevant. Hollywood stands at one of those all-too-familiar forks: It can huddle tighter beneath that blue-sky bubble, or kick open the doors to the unruly crowd camped out just beyond its spotlight—the Rogans, the amateurs, the outliers. In the end, the show goes on, but the audience may soon care less about who hands out the awards than who’s willing to talk without a script.Popcorn’s ready either way.