Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu
Two comedy legends. One of the world's toughest hikes. A 2026 documentary that's way more honest than you'd expect.
Bob and David Climb Machu Picchu premiered at the 2026 Tribeca Festival in the Spotlight Documentary section — a slot that doesn't go to travel stunts. It goes to films with something real to say. And this one, directed by Michael LaHaie, strips away decades of performance armor from Bob Odenkirk and David Cross to find something genuinely unguarded underneath: a conversation about aging, mortality, career survival, and what it means to still be doing this at 60-something.
What actually happens in the film
Odenkirk and Cross undertake a multi-day trek up the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu — 7,970 feet of elevation, altitude sickness, coca leaves, and conversations that feel way too honest to be staged. The physical challenge is real. The weariness is real. And somewhere around the mid-section, when both men are visibly winded and the banter drops, you get what the film is actually about: two people who've known each other long enough to stop performing for the camera.
That's the whole trick. LaHaie doesn't rush past those moments to get back to the comedy. He sits with the discomfort.
Odenkirk's July 2021 heart attack — he collapsed on the set of Better Call Saul and was revived by crew members — hangs over the film without dominating it. It's not a redemption narrative or a bucket-list movie. Both men are too self-aware for that, and frankly too funny. Cross, especially, seems constitutionally incapable of letting a sincere moment go uninterrupted by something absurd (which is both a defense mechanism and, when the film's firing on all cylinders, a source of actual comedy).
The cinematography, split between Jeremy Gould and Jeremy Schneider, captures the landscape without fetishizing it — this isn't a travel doc. The Inca Trail serves as pressure, not backdrop.
The production team and music
Here's where it gets interesting: the original score is by Yo La Tengo, the indie rock band. That's not your typical doc choice. Their signature blend of drone, melody, and quiet emotional weight threads through the quieter passages in ways that give the film an emotional register it might not have found otherwise. It doesn't underscore the comedy beats — it mostly ignores them, which is exactly right.
The production pulls together Odenkirk Provissiero Entertainment and Left/Right, with both Odenkirk and Cross serving as producers alongside Naomi Odenkirk, Ken Druckerman, Banks Tarver, and Joe Beshenkovsky. A split cinematography team makes sense when you're shooting at altitude and can't exactly call for a second take.
According to Tribeca's early festival coverage, the consistent thread in advance notices is that the film works best when it's least trying to be a Mr. Show reunion and most willing to sit with the discomfort of two men asking whether the things they built together still matter.
Runtime and release details
Tribeca program materials describe an 80-minute cut, though some catalog listings note a longer version circulating. Hard to say if that's a director's cut or just metadata upstream getting confused — but it's worth confirming with whatever platform you're watching it on. Movie OTT tracks runtime variations across different streaming releases, so if that matters for your evening, check there before you start.
Following the Tribeca premiere, the film is making its way onto major OTT services. The Where-to-Watch widget at the top of this page reflects current platform availability, and since streaming rights for festival titles shift quickly in the weeks after a premiere, that widget updates in real time. Left/Right has a strong track record placing documentary content with major streamers — a digital home is likely sooner rather than later.
No wide theatrical release has been confirmed. No Metascore or Rotten Tomatoes consensus yet (Letterboxd lists the title but notes reviews aren't live). This is still a recent premiere.
Why this isn't your typical celebrity documentary
What strikes me is how little the film tries to be charming. There's no manufactured redemption arc. No "two aging comedians rekindle their spark" narrative. Instead, LaHaie captures real fatigue, real doubt — and the strange comfort that comes from sitting with someone who's known you long enough to not need explanations.
The Yo La Tengo score deserves more attention than it'll probably get. Movie OTT's advance festival tracking flagged this as the element that elevates the whole thing — you could have the exact same footage with a different score and get a completely different film. The music doesn't tell you how to feel. It just sits there, quietly.
Odenkirk and Cross have been collaborating since their Mr. Show days — decades of sketch comedy about fast-talking characters and existential dread. This film is something quieter. Not worse, just different. The thing nobody mentions about aging comedians is that the stuff that used to work as a defense mechanism — constant jokes, constant performance — starts to feel lonely. This film catches that moment.
Who should actually watch this
If you grew up on Mr. Show, you'll recognize the rhythm of how these two work together. But don't expect a reunion special. Fans of character-driven documentary work, anyone who's followed Odenkirk's post-heart attack reflections in interviews, and viewers who want comedy that earns its emotional weight rather than just asserting it will find something here.
It's not a perfect film. But it's a real one — and in 2026, that's rarer than it should be.
Keep an eye on the Where-to-Watch widget for confirmation of where it lands, and don't let this one slip past while you're waiting for a theatrical run that may not come. Movie OTT's streaming tracker updates daily, so if the film shows up somewhere new, you'll see it there first.
