In the summer of 2006 Jimmy Kimmel grilled burgers for a bunch of surly reporters, myself included, as part of an industry gathering hosted by ABC. Back then, Kimmel was barely three years into hosting "Jimmy Kimmel Live!" and showed up in a faux "free-range" lunch appearance to answer questions while sweating profusely over charred meat.
Don't ask me how the burger tasted. I honestly don't recall. What I do remember is something he said to someone who asked him why on earth he'd agree to broil himself in the heat of an L.A. summer for a publicity stunt. His answer was simple.
"If you meet someone and have a pleasant encounter with them," he said, "you might be less likely to attack them."
The political version of this is the "beer test," gauging a candidate's ability to connect with everyday people. It's a measure of likability, such a nebulous phrase, but also of empathy. Kimmel could have slung some pithy bull about how his employers forced him to barbecue for us, which was true, but instead he pulled a classic getting-to-know-the-neighbors move: "Hi there. I live just down the street. I am not so different from you. Please be nice."
This goes a long way toward explaining why Kimmel successfully connected with viewers when he railed against the Graham-Cassidy proposal to roll back provisions of the Affordable Care Act. He spoke with vulnerability in simple terms, night after night, about the bill's shortcomings and took on the politicians and Fox News pundits who blasted him for getting involved. That's a laugh in itself, since Louisiana Senator Bill Cassidy attached his name to the issue by previously saying he'd only vote for a bill that passed "The Jimmy Kimmel Test" — that pre-existing conditions would be covered and life-saving provisions of the ACA would be maintained.
Kimmel pointed out that he didn't ask Cassidy to throw his name into the mix, but since he did, he admitted that the Graham-Cassidy bill actually does pass the test, in that "your child with a pre-existing condition will get the care he needs if, and only if, his father is Jimmy Kimmel. Otherwise, you might be screwed."
Throughout this widely reported battle Kimmel never pretended that he is not wealthy, even admitting that he might not have jumped into this fray if his son Billy hadn't been born with a heart defect requiring a series of costly surgeries. But he was, putting Kimmel in contact with other parents less fortunate that he and his wife.
Long before Billy existed, his father's success has been rooted in a "man of the people" persona. It's part schtick, sure, but that doesn't mean he wouldn't make a fine guest at a backyard barbecue.
Kimmel is the perpetual third-place finisher in the late-night ratings, but perhaps his handling of these recent skirmishes will inspire more viewers to appreciate his mastery of the common touch. That's a rare and precious commodity in Hollywood, especially a time when even Stephen Colbert can fail to read the room. Jimmy Fallon may never live down tousling Donald Trump's harvest-gold pouf, but after Colbert used Sean Spicer as a comedy pawn at the Emmys, even he has a hand in the normalizing game.
It's unwise to declare Kimmel would never commit an act so foolish. He's a star, after all. Give him time. But former Fox News host Megyn Kelly could learn a thing or two about finding common ground with others, famous and average, from Kimmel — especially with regard to empathy. In her first week as the host of "Megyn Kelly Today" she managed to piss off Jane Fonda, Debra Messing and "Will & Grace" fans while boring and entertaining critics in equal measure. Different incidents begat these blunders but they all come from the same gnarled place rooted in Kelly that makes her combative, petty and flirtatious with bigotry in order to boost ratings.
Few talk shows roar out of the starting blocks flawlessly. Kimmel himself had a number of misfires in his first week of broadcasts in 2003: An audience member took too ample advantage of the free alcohol made available to the "Jimmy Kimmel Live!" audience and painted a section of the studio with her vomit. More famously, Kimmel had problems booking guests. On the third night he would have killed to have landed Jane Fonda and the cast of "Will & Grace."
For Kelly, guests of that caliber were a foregone conclusion. NBC and the reach of "Today" ensured they'd lend their star power to her virgin voyage with the show. And of course she immediately offended Fonda, there to talk about her new movie with Robert Redford, "Our Souls at Night," by asking her about her plastic surgery.
"You've been an example to everyone in how to age beautifully and with strength and unapologetically. You admit you've had work done, which I think is to your credit. But you look amazing!" Kelly said to Fonda, whose jaw dropped in disbelief at the slow-motion car crash she suddenly found herself in the midst of. "I read that you said you're not proud to admit you've had work done. Why not?"
Kelly only posed the question to Fonda, mind you, not her male co-star.
"We really want to talk about that right now?" Fonda replied, elegantly pivoting back to talking about the movie.
If Kelly had some humility and self-awareness she might consider that one day she'll be sitting where Fonda is, perhaps sooner than she thinks, with people weighing her worth by her looks as opposed to her accomplishments. Then again, her accomplishments are Kelly's problem.
"In a world, in a country that is incredibly divided right now, my hope is that this show can be a unifying force," she purred in ads running prior to its debut. Which is stunning given the sheer volume of racist, sexist and homophobic bias she injected into her "journalism" during her tenure at Fox News. And in case you've forgotten, check out this outstanding compilation of her greatest hits that aired on a recent episode of "Last Week Tonight with John Oliver."
Generally a person tells you who they are by what they say when they're not careful, and if the Fonda screw-up didn't provide enough of a clue, her encounter with a "Will & Grace" fan began with, "Is it true you became a lawyer — and became gay — because of Will?"
"And became gay." Really.
Kimmel has found success by styling himself as late night's avuncular, even-keeled regular Joe, a Brooklyn boy who made good. And if he's not really that person — the guy who brings his mother to the Emmys, employs his family and made a star out of a security guard he works with — then he deserves an Emmy for faking it so well.
Kelly cannot be "a unifying force" if that power isn't within her, and it's increasingly doubtful that it is. Maybe it was at one point, long before the late Roger Ailes' poisonous prejudice calcified within her. Her credibility as a journalist is questionable as well, if her flailing performance on "Sunday Night with Megyn Kelly" is any indicator. That show will return in the spring of 2018 — many, many moons and blunders from now.
And perhaps by then Kelly will have learned a few things. After all, she summed up her first week with a fancy wave of her hand, saying, "It's been educational."
It really has. Kelly showed us her unpolished, genuine self and critics didn't love what they saw. I remain unconvinced that she's able to reach out and meet Americans where they are. But I'm also very curious to find out what she has to say to upcoming guest Morgan Freeman, an African American actor whose main claim to fame is portraying God.
Kelly famously declared on Fox News that Jesus is white.
Should be quite the encounter.
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