Bob Odenkirk turns heart-attack lessons into slower, sharper work

Bob Odenkirk opens up about the balance he’s chasing: the rage he channels in action roles, the limits of political satire, and what changed after his on-set heart attack in 2021—when he decided not to keep pushing himself at the same pace. He also talks about

“I have a lot of rage inside me,” Bob Odenkirk says, and then he laughs—because he knows how it sounds. At 63, the actor is done pretending he’s built like a calm, reliable lead. He’s built for the kind of characters who turn pressure into performance.

The rage is what he credits for getting him through action. even as he insists it’s not a reinvention so much as an outlet. “I’m 63 years old, and there aren’t a lot of romcoms written for my generation,” he says. “I like action movies. I have a lot of rage inside me that I get to play out.” He calls it “a joke” that started as one. even if “through some massive cock-up” he ended up pulling it off.

That instinct—turning mess into momentum—runs through his work as much as it does his worldview. When asked about his earlier remark that “life is a meaningless farce. ” he pushes back like someone who still can’t stop thinking about the question. “I don’t know. You need to talk to God about that,” he says. He’s “not done asking questions and trying to figure things out. ” but he expects the answer will lead back to where Douglas Adams went.

In Normal. he’s sharing screen time with Henry Winkler—who Odenkirk describes not as a mentor or a cool co-star. but as a steady human force. “Henry himself is the sweetest guy alive,” he says. If Winkler “unleashed anything” in him. it’s “the desire to be as kind. generous and friendly” as the man seems to move through the world. That kindness, Odenkirk adds, “isn’t easy. It’s a choice.”.

Normal’s twist is that Winkler’s character isn’t kind. Odenkirk’s grateful for that contrast, calling Winkler’s role “such a jerk” who gets his comeuppance. “And that’s not easy to do,” he says of choosing patience; the film becomes a kind of mirror—where kindness is tested instead of preached.

There’s also the question of satire: how much bite it has when politics turns loud and ugly. He says he wishes satire were stronger than propaganda, but the world doesn’t cooperate. “I sure wish it was, but no,” he replies. “I do think political satire is helpful. but it is not as important as we all wished it was.” His blunt comparison lands on the scale of reality: “I’m afraid political satire pales in comparison to political hogwash. as we’re witnessing in my country.”.

Even his discussion of Saul Goodman circles back to restraint and motivation—less about style than about what drives a person to keep choosing the wrong road. “Saul’s actually a very earnest guy,” he says. Saul knows “he has an ability to talk people into things. and talk his way out of things.” But the sad part. Odenkirk says. is what Saul can’t do: “he can’t think of a better use for it than to become a conman.” Under that talent is “a resentment inside him that drives him to use his talents in a destructive way.”.

He remembers the practical details too. Asked whether he kept the Saul Goodman outfits. Odenkirk says. “A lot of Saul’s suits and ties were made for Saul only. They offered me stuff. but I don’t wear suits. so I kept the ties.” It’s a small detail. but it fits his larger point: the work has always been about making choices that suit your actual life—not the life you imagine on the page.

The stakes for those choices became immediate in 2021, after his on-set heart attack on Better Call Saul. When asked how he kept going, he doesn’t soften the effect. “That’s a very good question. because it kind of did. ” he says—meaning. it made him consider quitting and retreating. “I did keep going and chose to work, but I’m not going to keep working at the same level.”.

He links it to fragility in a way that feels less like philosophy and more like something learned in the body. “It made me think how fragile life is. and how hard it is to appreciate life when you’re over-scheduled. ” he says. He describes the rhythm that takes over when responsibilities stack up: “When you’ve got too many responsibilities and too much to do. you can’t appreciate each thing you do. You just have to move quickly to the next thing. I don’t like that.”.

Then comes the clearest turning point: “If that heart attack gave me any gift. it was the realisation that I didn’t want to carry on that way. so now I am slowing down.” He stresses that he’d already “signed up to a lot of responsibilities before” the heart attack. including “years of projects to follow through on.” But the shift is now personal and concrete. “But now, I’m just going to go to Paris with my wife and do fuck all.”.

Normal is in cinemas now, and the momentum around it hasn’t dulled his sense of what needs to change. If the earlier parts of the interview sound driven—rage, reinvention, long walks and hard trails—his heart-attack response lands like a new pace setting in the middle of all that motion.

Elsewhere, he fills out that pace with ordinary, specific ambitions. His album is “coming along great. ” he says. with “seven songs recorded.” The songs were written by Mark Nutter. known for comic musicals. which means the tracks are “comedy Broadway songs called things like Your Fake Breasts Haunt Me.”.

He also takes on challenge for fun, and he doesn’t pretend it’s easy. On the question of what was tougher—walking the “96-mile West Highland Way trail in Scotland” with his daughter in 2015 or tackling the “four-day. 27-mile Inca Trail” with fellow actor and comedian David Cross for the upcoming Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu documentary—Odenkirk doesn’t hesitate. “The Inca Trail was way harder.”.

He explains why: it goes to “13,800ft (4,200 metres),” and you’re “constantly climbing up or down.” He notes the physical danger in small, unforgiving terms: “The stairs are all different heights, so you have to pay attention to each footfall or you could twist an ankle.”

And when he looks back at past work, including 2013’s Nebraska, he stays practical. Asked if he agrees he should have won an Oscar for the film. he says. “Well. I don’t think they should give Oscars for roles that small. but I appreciate the compliment.” His favorite memory from Nebraska is not the award conversation at all. It’s sitting “with Bruce Dern in the diner attached to the hotel. ” listening to Dern tell stories about “his life as an actor.” He says many of those stories are in Dern’s autobiography. adding that if others want them. they can “pick up the book and hear them yourself.”.

He even keeps a slightly self-mocking seriousness about Shakespeare. “I have read a lot about Shakespeare,” he says. “I find him funny and fascinating.” But he’s admitted he’s “not read a lot of Shakespeare” and “not seen much Shakespeare. ” and what he wants now is simple: “But I would like to have a go. just to make myself suffer.”.

For all the talk—satire versus hogwash, action rage, Henry Winkler’s kindness, Saul’s talent for persuasion—one thing stays consistent. Odenkirk is still wrestling with life’s meaning, but after his heart attack in 2021, he’s stopped racing the clock.

He doesn’t frame it as heroism. He frames it as choice. Slowing down. Paying attention to each thing before the next responsibility arrives. And, for now, doing exactly what he said he’ll do—go to Paris with his wife and “do fuck all.”

Bob Odenkirk Normal Henry Winkler Saul Goodman Better Call Saul heart attack 2021 satire Douglas Adams album Mark Nutter Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu Inca Trail West Highland Way Nebraska