Andrew Dice Clay doesn’t do anything halfway. Even his diner breakfast order is taken to the limits of edibility.
“Three scrambled eggs, kind of well done. The hash browns, just burn ’em. Wheat toast, annihilate it,” he instructs the waiter at Madison Restaurant in Manhattan’s Midtown East while dangling an unlit Marlboro Light — the comedian quit smoking in 2017 — from his hand.
It’s a cheat meal for Dice, who’s getting in shape for his stand-up show at Carnegie Hall on Feb. 15 — a triumphant return for the comic, who, back in 1990, famously sold out Madison Square Garden two nights in a row.
“I shrink and shred,” Dice, who grew up Jewish in Sheepshead Bay, informed me of his physique. “I shred like a Jewish guy, not as an Italian. Jewish people don’t get ripped.”
As a foul-mouthed Mother Goose in a black leather jacket — “Hickory dickory dock” goes a signature routine; we can’t print the rest — Dice (né Andrew Silverstein) reinvented stand-up in the late 1980s and early ’90s.
Today, at 66, he is still a committed performer.
“I still have this burning desire to really do great shows,” he said. “I don’t just phone it in.”
That devotion to his craft has led to a unique resurgence on social media, of all places.
In video after video, Dice approaches distracted strangers on the street or at airports, asking, in his unmistakable Brooklynese, if they’re the “ones who wanted da picture” with him.
His targets tend to be befuddled, not recognizing this world-famous man they dismiss as a run-of-the-mill lunatic.
“It’s the character of a moron. I call him Dobey,” Dice said. “He’s the stupid brother of Dice. I love it.”
People may not recognize him — to be fair, he’s older, grayer and tends to be bundled up— but they love the videos. He has 1.7 million likes on TikTok and gained 100,000 new Instagram followers in the past month. Even the New York Times recently called his performance art “Norma Desmond” unleashed on the streets of New York.
While his new character may be doddering and dumb, Dice finally feels understood as a performer. Vindicated.
“What nobody grasped, my whole career, is that it was never about comedy. It was about acting. I went on a comedy stage to develop my own method of acting. And Dice developed,” he said. “Now they get it. Now they’re picking up on what I do. Better late than never.”
In the 1990s, an unapologetic Dice was a walking parental-warning label, boycotted by women’s groups and gay groups. MTV banned him after he had a run-in with producer Dick Clark at the 1989 VMAs. He went on to have an unremarkable television career and faded to raise his sons, Dillon and Max, with ex-wife Kathleen Monica.
But in 2011, the Diceman was resurrected by an arc on “Entourage.” Two years later, he gave a powerful performance in Woody Allen’s “Blue Jasmine.” And things took off: He scored a role in Scorsese’s HBO show “Vinyl,” starred in the Showtime series “Dice” and won rave reviews playing Lady Gaga’s dad in “A Star is Born.”
Dice has just been cast in “The Pickup” alongside Pete Davidson and Eddie Murphy.
“I love Eddie Murphy. He’s a real star … He’s the only one who had my back when the press got on me,” Dice said, recalling Murphy telling him during his early career when he was blasted for his vulgarity, “Don’t let them f–k with you.”
Now, it’s comic Bill Burr providing the assist.
In 2021, Dice was struck with Bell’s palsy, a temporary condition that led his right cheek to droop — and his confidence on larger stages to wane.
That all changed in June, when a recovered Dice went to see Burr at the Prudential Center and the comedian coaxed him onstage. A star was reborn.
Recalled Dice: “That night I proved something.” He could still light an arena on fire.
“[Burr] didn’t know about my physical problems. He didn’t know what I’m facing. I give him that credit for turning that switch on again. Next thing I know, I’m advertising Carnegie Hall.”
Though he’s retained his electric swagger, Dice’s material has evolved. He’s more self-deprecating —riffing on aging, pill commercials and retirement, but with his signature edge.
“I don’t rely on 1990. That was a different time in America. It was a different attitude. Everything’s changed.”
Even his attitude toward love.
After swearing off relationships, he’s found the one.
“I call her Sugahplum,” he said, dropping the “r” because she’s Southern. “Greatest girl I’ve ever been with. I’ve been married three times, each was more toxic than the last. I’m with this girl four and a half years and we’ve never had an argument.”
Sometimes “Sugahplum,” whom he met through opening act Eleanor Kerrigan, films his street encounters from a distance, like a wildlife photographer.
After more than three decades in the business, Dice is like a celebrity jukebox. Drop a boldface name and he’s got a great story. Sinatra gave him advice on weathering the industry. Bradley Cooper’s mom is a fan. Guns N’ Roses, well, he is responsible for them reuniting. Wayne Newton introduced him to Ol’ Blue Eyes, and Billy Joel was the first celebrity to call him when he got famous.
However, he grows wistful and soft when the subject shifts to his late parents, Jackie and Fred Silverstein.
When his father was dying, he made a prediction for Dice. “He told me, ‘You’re going to climb up there again. And they’re never going to knock you down.'”
Fred’s prophecy was based on the belief that the industry would see his son’s full arsenal of talent — not just in comedy.
“My parents would have loved this,” Dice said of his upcoming Carnegie Hall gig.
Then he asked me if I “wanted da picture.” A lifelong admirer, I climbed into the booth with him and obliged.
