When I first wrote about Jim Gaffigan, on his visit to the UK in 2017, I asked: “Is this America’s Michael McIntyre?” OK, so the Indiana man is bluer of collar, and rather less gigglesome. But he was, like the Englishman, a purveyor of fun-for-all-the-family observational comedy, inhabiting that territory where funny foodstuffs, marital scrapes and pesky kids meet, and from which politics and rude words have made themselves scarce. Here was an act – known as “the king of clean” – who opened for the pope in Philadelphia before a million-strong audience, whose albums topped the Billboard comedy chart and secured six Grammy nominations, and who reigned supreme at standup comedy without ruffling any feathers whatsoever.
Suffice to say, when Gaffigan visits again this autumn, no one will be comparing him to McIntyre. On 28 August 2020, “it finally happened”, in the words of one askance US news report at the time: “Donald Trump broke the world’s nicest man.” The lifelong noncontroversialist Gaffigan had launched an extraordinary Twitter tirade against the then president, hot on the heels of that year’s Republican National Convention. Addressing his 3 million followers, from all sides of the political spectrum, he called Trump “a traitor and a con man who doesn’t care about you. Deep down you know it.” The president was “a liar, a criminal [and] a fascist who has no belief in law.” Gaffigan-watchers couldn’t believe what they were reading. Some predicted a career implosion. Gaffigan followed up with an explanatory Facebook post three days later, sarcastically titled What I’ve Learned Since I Lost My Mind.
