When Netflix decided to roast Kevin Hart, they were chasing the ghost of their Tom Brady roast success. But here’s the thing: not every roast is created equal, and not every roastee deserves the 'GOAT' treatment. Personally, I think this is where Netflix’s strategy went awry. They assumed that because Hart is a household name, the laughs would roll in effortlessly. What they didn’t account for is that Hart, while undeniably successful, lacks the universal reverence that Brady commands. Brady’s roast felt like a celebration of a legend; Hart’s felt like a cash grab.
One thing that immediately stands out is the sheer length of the event. Three hours? Really? If you take a step back and think about it, roasts thrive on precision and pacing. Every joke, every barb, needs to land with purpose. Stretching it out just because Brady’s roast was long doesn’t make sense. It’s like serving a five-course meal when all anyone wanted was a snack. The result? A bloated production that lost steam faster than Hart’s sprinting jokes.
What makes this particularly fascinating is the contrast between the two roasts. Brady’s event had surprise, tension, and genuine star power. Hart’s roast had… well, it had chaos. Manufactured chaos. The surprise appearances by Katt Williams and Dwayne ‘The Rock’ Johnson were entertaining, sure, but they felt more like desperate attempts to inject energy into a sagging show. In my opinion, chaos isn’t the same as comedy. It’s the difference between a controlled burn and a wildfire—one is art, the other is just destruction.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how the comedians themselves became the highlight. Pete Davidson and Sheryl Underwood, for instance, stole the show not because of their material but because of their delivery and timing. Davidson’s jab at Hart’s Riyadh Comedy Festival appearance was sharp and unexpected, while Underwood’s takedown of Tony Hinchcliffe was nothing short of masterful. What this really suggests is that the roast’s success wasn’t about Hart at all—it was about the roasters. And that’s a problem when the roastee is supposed to be the star.
If you ask me, the biggest misstep was choosing Hart in the first place. He’s a funny guy, no doubt, but he’s not a GOAT. He’s not even in the same league as someone like Dave Chappelle, who could’ve brought the kind of cultural weight and comedic depth that Hart simply doesn’t have. Or, if Netflix wanted spectacle, they could’ve roasted someone like Louis CK—controversial, yes, but undeniably compelling. Hart, on the other hand, feels over-roasted at this point. How many times can you make the same height jokes before they lose their punch?
What many people don’t realize is that a roast is only as good as its subject. Brady’s roast worked because there was so much material to mine—his career, his scandals, his legacy. Hart’s roast felt like comedians scraping the bottom of the barrel. Sure, they brought up his DUI and his failed fast-food franchise, but it all felt surface-level. There was no real depth, no real stakes. It was like watching a parody of a roast rather than the real thing.
From my perspective, Netflix missed the mark because they confused fame with greatness. Hart is famous, but he’s not a legend. He’s not someone whose story demands to be told through jokes and jabs. If you’re going to call something a ‘GOAT Roast,’ the person in the hot seat needs to be a GOAT. Otherwise, it’s just another comedy special—and not a particularly good one.
This raises a deeper question: What’s the future of the roast format? If Netflix keeps chasing ratings by picking subpar subjects, they risk diluting the entire concept. Roasts should be special, not just another item on the content conveyor belt. Personally, I think they need to go back to the drawing board and ask themselves: Who truly deserves to be roasted? Who has the gravitas, the controversy, the cultural impact to make it worth our time?
In the end, Hart’s roast felt like a missed opportunity. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t great either. It was just… there. And in a world where content is king, ‘just there’ isn’t enough. My advice to Netflix? Next time, pick a GOAT—or don’t bother at all.
