Why Billy Bob Thornton Wants A Common Sense Party In Hollywood

Airing on November 7, 2025, the episode quickly went viral, not just for Thornton's promotion of Landman Season 2—set to premiere on November 16—but for his unfiltered takedown of Hollywood's obsession with turning award shows into political battlegrounds. In a moment that's already racking up millions of views on social media, Thornton declared himself a "radical moderate" and floated the idea of a "common sense party" to cut through the partisan noise.

His core message? If you're a celebrity flush with wealth and influence, stop lecturing from the stage—accept your award and get off. Drawing from decades in the industry, Thornton's rant resonates as a call for authenticity over performative activism, especially in an era where award speeches often overshadow the art they're meant to celebrate.

This isn't just a fresh gripe; it's a timely reminder of Hollywood's long, divisive history with politics on stage, from Marlon Brando's 1973 boycott to Meryl Streep's 2017 Golden Globes broadside against Donald Trump. In this deep dive, we'll unpack Thornton's perspective, revisit infamous past speeches that prove his point, and explore why a "common sense" approach might just save awards season from itself.

Thornton's frustration boiled over during a segment where he and Rogan dissected the absurdity of stars using their golden moments to preach. Lighting up a cigarette on air—a nod to his hillbilly roots and unapologetic vibe—Thornton recounted his own low-key approach to accolades. "I don't go to the awards show and talk about it when I'm getting my award," he said, his Arkansas drawl cutting through the podcast's laid-back studio haze.

He praised comedian Ricky Gervais for nailing the sentiment during his 2020 Golden Globes hosting gig, where Gervais eviscerated the room with lines like, "You're in no position to lecture the public about anything... If you do win an award tonight, don't use it as a platform to make a political speech. You're in no position to lecture the public about anything. Morality is your one remaining entertainment commodity."

Thornton echoed that with his own blunt twist: "Come up here, accept your little award, and f*** off." It's a line that's pure Thornton—folksy yet ferocious—and it landed like a gut punch amid Rogan's laughter. But beneath the humor lies a deeper critique: In a town built on escapism, why do celebrities insist on dragging real-world divisions into a night meant for celebrating stories?

This isn't Thornton sour-graping from the sidelines. The 70-year-old actor has been in the trenches since the 1990s, navigating Hollywood's coastal elitism as a self-proclaimed Southerner who once lost auditions to New York accents because producers saw his drawl as "prejudiced" fodder. Success, he noted, eventually buys you a pass, but it doesn't erase the hypocrisy he sees in award-show virtue signaling.

"If you're rich, f*** off and save the badgers yourself," he quipped, imagining a world where stars channel their passion privately rather than publicly grandstanding. Rogan, ever the provocateur, pushed back gently, but Thornton doubled down, positioning himself as a "radical moderate" who craves bipartisanship. Enter his brainstorm: a "common sense party."

It's not a fully fleshed-out platform—more a pipe dream born from exhaustion with red-vs.-blue tribalism—but Thornton envisions it as a centrist force prioritizing practical solutions over soundbites. Think universal healthcare tweaks without the culture wars, environmental fixes that don't demonize industry jobs, or education reforms that bridge urban-rural divides. In Hollywood terms, it's like remaking a blockbuster without the forced reboots: Keep the heart, ditch the preachiness.

To understand why Thornton's plea hits so hard, look back at awards history. Political speeches aren't new; they've been igniting cheers, boos, and Twitter storms since the Oscars' early days. Take Marlon Brando's iconic 1973 protest. When he won Best Actor for The Godfather, Brando sent Apache activist Sacheen Littlefeather to decline the award on his behalf, citing Hollywood's mistreatment of Native Americans and the federal siege at Wounded Knee.

The crowd's mixed reaction—boos drowned out applause—marked one of the first times the Academy became a political lightning rod. It was bold, historic, and undeniably effective in spotlighting indigenous erasure, but it also set a precedent for using the stage as a megaphone, often at the expense of the night's flow. Fast-forward to 2003, and Michael Moore's anti-Iraq War rant after winning Best Documentary for Bowling for Columbine. Mere days after the U.S. invasion, Moore thundered, "Shame on you, Mr. Bush! Shame on you!" to a hail of boos from the audience and producers desperately cutting to commercials.

The speech galvanized anti-war sentiment but alienated viewers tuning in for glamour, not geopolitics. Moore later reflected that it "changed the conversation," yet it underscored Thornton's point: When passion overrides context, the message gets muddled.

The 2010s amplified this trend, turning awards into echo chambers. At the 2015 Oscars, Patricia Arquette seized her Best Supporting Actress win for Boyhood to demand equal rights for women, shouting, "To every woman who is fighting for good in the world, you're one of us!" Meryl Streep and Jennifer Lopez leaped to their feet, but the fervor spilled into backlash over its narrow focus on cisgender, white feminism.

That same year, John Legend and Common's performance of "Glory" from Selma morphed into a speech decrying mass incarceration, with Legend invoking Martin Luther King Jr.: "We live in the most incarcerated country in the world... There are more black men under correctional control today than were under slavery in 1850." Poignant? Absolutely. But in a ceremony already criticized for #OscarsSoWhite, it felt like triage rather than triumph. Then came Streep's 2017 Golden Globes masterclass in subtlety-turned-spectacle.

Accepting the Cecil B. DeMille Award, she lambasted Trump's mockery of a disabled reporter, whispering, "When the powerful use their position to bully others, we all lose." The room erupted in ovations, but Trump fired back on Twitter, calling her "overrated." It was a cultural flashpoint, boosting donations to the ACLU, yet it exemplified Thornton's gripe: High-profile pleas often devolve into partisan fodder, hardening divides instead of healing them.

Even recent years haven't tempered the impulse. At the 2019 Oscars, Spike Lee urged voters to choose "love over hate" in the 2020 election while accepting for BlacKkKlansman, a veiled swipe at Trump that drew cheers but predictable conservative eye-rolls. Oprah Winfrey's 2018 Golden Globes address, accepting the same lifetime honor as Streep, thundered against sexual harassment and racial injustice: "A new day is on the horizon!" sparking "Oprah 2020" chants. Powerful, yes—but in Thornton's view, it's the privilege paradox. These stars, earning eight figures, could fund causes quietly through foundations or donations.

Instead, they opt for the spotlight, turning a 90-second thank-you into a TED Talk that risks overshadowing nominees and alienating half the audience. Surveys bear this out: A 2022 YouGov poll found 75% of Republicans and 35% of Democrats view political Oscar speeches as inappropriate. In a polarized 2025, post-election wounds still fresh, Thornton's "common sense party" feels like a antidote—a plea for dialogue over diatribes.

So, how might Hollywood heed Thornton's call? Start with structure: Enforce time limits more rigorously, perhaps with a pre-speech primer on keeping it celebratory. Hosts like Gervais have tried, but winners often ignore the cue. Better yet, create off-stage forums—think post-ceremony panels or streamed fundraisers—where stars can dive deep without hijacking the main event. Thornton's own career offers a blueprint: He's donated quietly to causes like music education and veterans' aid, letting his work in Landman—a gritty tale of oil rigs, family feuds, and cartel threats—speak volumes about American resilience without sermons.

His "radical moderate" ethos, blending Southern pragmatism with industry savvy, could inspire a new wave of celebs: Use your platform to unite, not divide. Imagine a "common sense party" caucus at the next Golden Globes—moderates like Thornton, Rogan allies, and surprise cross-aisle voices brainstorming real fixes, from immigration reform to climate pacts, minus the hashtags.

In the end, Thornton's Rogan appearance isn't just a rant; it's a roadmap for reclaiming awards shows as joyrides, not soapboxes. Hollywood thrives on stories that transcend politics—think the universal ache in Sling Blade or the high-stakes drama of Landman.

By ditching the lectures, stars could refocus on that magic, proving common sense isn't radical; it's revolutionary. As Thornton might say, grab your popcorn, skip the podium preach, and let the credits roll. For more on his takes, stream JRE 2407 on Spotify, and tune into Landman Season 2 this Sunday. What's your take—soapbox or shut up? Share in the comments below.