ABC, which is owned by Disney, yanked the show off the air, announcing that it had been “pre-empted indefinitely”, a panicked reaction that rebounded on them. Disney subscribers cancelled in droves, the company’s share price plummeted and more than 400 of Kimmel’s entertainment industry and media colleagues signed an open letter condemning the decision as “a dark moment for freedom of speech in our nation”.
Kimmel was reinstated and the ratings for his return rocketed. More than 6 million people tuned in to ABC, with millions more streaming online. Since the initial spike, the numbers have reverted to more regular levels, although in the areas where figures are accessible – for broadcast TV – they’ve increased slightly overall. On YouTube, Kimmel’s segments about Trump are routinely the most popular on the channel, boasting between 3 million and 6 million views each.
Kimmel set the tone for what has followed in his first monologue back: “Our leader celebrates Americans losing their livelihoods because he can’t take a joke. He did his best to cancel me, and instead he forces millions of people to watch the show. That backfired bigly. He might have to release the Epstein files to distract us from this now.”
Since then, arguably empowered as its corporate bosses have been cowed, the show has become a lesson about the danger of attacking comedians: they can bite back.
The ribbing has been both personal and political. Unflattering attention has been paid to Trump’s awkward dance moves at public events, his misspellings in social media posts, and his tendency to doze off during others’ speeches. There are jokes about his bloated ankles, swollen hands and weight, which has attracted nicknames like Engorge Washington and King Hungry the Eighth. His speeches have seen him dubbed Ramblestiltskin.
After Trump boasted about how well he did on his cognitive tests, Kimmel dubbed him Fat Albert Einstein. Around Halloween, he became President Pumpkinhead. A lavish, Great Gatsby-themed Halloween fundraiser at Mar-a-Lago was not only chastised as being tone-deaf when millions of Americans faced the imminent loss of food-assistance due to the government shutdown, but also saw POTUS labelled The Great Fatsby. Then Kimmel added for good measure: “It’s like a demented version of Cinderella where the pumpkin is in charge.”
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Trump’s second son, Eric, is a favoured target, portrayed as needy and desperate for his father’s approval. Looking to international relations, Kimmel joked: “Every now and then when he needs a good laugh, Putin schedules a call with Trump. Putin is Bart Simpson and Trump is his Mo.” The president has been accused of “brazenly lying” about the economy and grocery prices. “Everything he touches dies,” Kimmel quipped. “Good news, Melania: you’re going to live forever.”
As well as starting its own food bank, the show has invited people living in cities that have allegedly descended into chaos to send in clips of what’s actually going on in their neighbourhoods. The scenes of peaceful street fairs and breakfast specials boosting patronage at diners have been very funny, leaving viewers wondering about Trump’s motives in mobilising the National Guard.
Trump has pondered whether networks that give him “bad publicity or press” should have their licences revoked. Recently, Late Night With Seth Meyers aroused his ire. “Why does NBC waste its time and money on a guy like this?” he posted. “No talent, no ratings, 100 per cent anti-Trump, which is probably illegal.”
Amid this hostile environment, late-night TV stalwart Jon Stewart, host of The Daily Show, outlined his strategy in a recent interview: “You don’t compromise on what you do, and you do it ′til they tell you to leave. That’s all you can do.”
That also seems to be the approach that Kimmel has taken. With considerable gusto.
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