Netflix’s latest documentary, “Untold: The Liver King,” dives into the jaw-dropping rise and fall of Brian Johnson, the self-proclaimed “ancestral lifestyle” guru who built an empire on raw meat, steroids, and viral stunts. This gripping film unravels how health misinformation, marketing manipulation, and toxic masculinity collide in the age of social media—and why we’re all vulnerable to the next Liver King.
The Rise of a Modern-Day Caveman
“Untold: The Liver King” opens with a spectacle: Brian Johnson, shirtless and snarling, devouring a bull’s testicle like it’s a gourmet snack. This visceral imagery became the hallmark of his brand, which amassed 6 million followers and a $100M supplement empire by peddling an “ancestral lifestyle” of raw organ consumption, cold plunges, and primal workouts .
Johnson’s origin story, as told in the documentary, reads like a hyper-masculine fairy tale. A self-described “runt” who lost his father young, he idolized action heroes like Rambo and Conan the Barbarian, later channeling his insecurities into bodybuilding. His first orgasm? Allegedly mid-bench press, a claim as absurd as his persona . But his narrative resonated with millions of young men seeking purpose—and abs.
The Marketing Machine Behind the Myth
What “Untold: The Liver King” reveals most starkly is how calculated Johnson’s persona was. With help from branding agency 1DS Collective, he weaponized shock value: dragging trucks underwater, shooting vegan burgers with assault rifles, and forcing his family to gulp raw eggs on camera . John Hyland, his marketing guru, admits they prioritized “snackable content” over authenticity: “Polarizing stories win” .
The documentary dissects Johnson’s “nine ancestral tenets”—sleep, sun, and raw meat included—as a clever facade. Behind the scenes, he injected $11,000 worth of steroids monthly while denying it to everyone, including his business partners . Director Joe Pearlman notes the irony: “He’s a marketing genius… but the truth was even crazier than I imagined” .
The Steroid Scandal and Collapse
In late 2022, leaked emails exposed Johnson’s steroid use, sparking outrage. Fitness YouTubers like Derek Munro (“More Plates More Dates”) dismantled his “all-natural” claims, while Joe Rogan mocked him . Overnight, his empire crumbled. Customers sued for fraud, and Johnson retreated—only to rebrand himself as a repentant figure in the documentary, claiming he “got it all wrong” .
Yet “Untold: The Liver King” questions his sincerity. Scenes of Johnson tearfully apologizing clash with his plans to launch 302 ancestral retreats. Even his redemption feels staged, like a baptismal strawberry-eating ritual filmed in his garden . As critic Kayleigh Donaldson writes, “Scammers don’t care much for truth” .
The Human Cost: Family as Props
Perhaps the most unsettling thread in “Untold: The Liver King” is Johnson’s exploitation of his family. His sons, Rad and Stryker, were raised on 15 raw eggs daily and intense workouts, their childhoods documented for clicks. When Stryker broke his leg, he hid the pain to avoid “disappointing” his father—a moment his mother spins as “toughness” .
The boys, now teens, parrot Johnson’s slogans with dead-eyed compliance. In one scene, they devour a bull’s still-warm organs post-slaughter, a grotesque bonding exercise . The documentary hints at generational trauma, with Johnson projecting his daddy issues onto his kids—a cycle viewers are left to unpack.
Why "Untold: The Liver King" Matters Now
Beyond the shock factor, “Untold: The Liver King” is a cautionary tale about influencer culture. Johnson’s success mirrors figures like Andrew Tate, who monetize male insecurity through extreme aesthetics and conspiracy-laden rhetoric . The film underscores how algorithms reward outrage, and how easily vulnerable audiences—42% of whom get news from social media—fall for health misinformation .
Director Pearlman argues the documentary itself is a “warning sign,” but critics note it risks glamorizing Johnson by omitting recent breakdowns and deeper critiques of toxic masculinity . Still, its message lingers: in a world where “fake it till you make it” is gospel, even strawberries can’t sweeten a lie.
The Takeaway
“Untold: The Liver King” isn’t just about one man’s fraud—it’s about the systems that create and sustain him. As Johnson muses, “An extreme approach to anything probably ain’t working out.” For viewers, the real lesson is to question charismatic figures selling quick fixes, whether they’re hawking supplements, ideologies, or the next viral dream.
Stream “Untold: The Liver King” on Netflix—and remember: if a lifestyle requires eating bull testicles, it’s probably bullsht.