And the star of Dirty Grandpa, Robert Dairo, getting censored by The View after [music] raging like a bull who saw a red MAGA hat. And they [music] might think that it's going to make their life better. They just want to excuse my French.
I literally It's almost like he wants to do the worst that he could possibly do to show this country. [music] There was a time when Robert Dairo could walk into a room and the air itself would tighten. One stare, one silence, one tilt of the head.
That was the whole performance. He didn't need volume. He didn't need fury.
He was the storm before the storm. But somewhere between the awards, the applause, and the standing ovation, something cracked. The legend started leaking.
The mystique started melting. And the man who once whispered his way into cinema history began screaming his way out of it. Then one night under the cool studio lights, a man named Greg Gutfeld leaned back in his chair, smirked, and said almost nothing at all.
And that almost nothing became the loudest sound in the room. Dairo graced the knitting circle in hell known as a view where he tried to link random thoughts into a sentence. Joy was there to wind him up since he's played some of the most unredeemable characters.
[music] You have played some of the most really unredeemable characters. Travis Pickle. Travis Pickle was a psychopathic taxi driver.
Jake Lamada who used to beat his wife and he was in the raging bull. Uh, is Trump worse than they are? To me, he is.
[laughter] He has no understanding that I can see of the outside world. Here's the part nobody wants to say out loud. Dairo didn't lose his talent.
He lost his temperature. The cold, controlled, terrifying calm that made him untouchable for 40 years has been replaced by something hotter, messier, and infinitely more embarrassing. He used to be the guy who could make you sweat by saying one word.
Now he's the guy yelling six paragraphs at a microphone that never asked. And the internet noticed, oh, the internet definitely noticed. Clip after clip, rant after rant, the comments stopped saying legend and started saying uncle at Thanksgiving.
That's not aging. That's a brand collapse in real time. Um, Dairo kind represents Hollywood in the sense that they realize that they're losing influence with the public and that's what's generating the emotional response.
They've never felt less [music] important. It just doesn't it feel like 2016 again? Like we lived through that.
Did they forget? Yeah. It also feels like they forgot that.
And remember just this week we had Kla Harris dropping the fbomb at a group. [music] Um, and then came Gutfeld. No grand entrance, no theatrical music, no raised voice, just a man with a smirk and a folder full of receipts.
While Dairo was busy lighting himself on fire across every cable channel in America, Gutfeld walked in holding a tiny glass of water and a very big mirror. He didn't attack. He didn't insult.
He just described. And somehow describing Dairo out loud turned out to be the most brutal weapon ever invented. Because when the joke writes itself, you don't need punchlines, you just need timing.
And Gutfeld's timing surgical. Robert Dairo's 29-year-old child, Aaron, has come out as transgender. When the press asked her for comment, she said, "You talking to they them?
" And last night, an elderly, confused man went missing in New York. Luckily, a band of self-satisfied elitist found him babbling on the street, threw some pants on him, gave him a stage. But here's where it gets weird.
Because Gutfeld didn't go for the obvious shots. He didn't mock the movies. He didn't drag the politics.
He went somewhere stranger. He started pointing out the body language, the hand tremor of rage, the lean-in that used to mean menace and now just means I forgot what I was saying. The pause that used to scream danger and now screams, "Where are my notes?
" And once you see it, you can't unsee it. That's the trap. Gutfeld didn't roast Dairo.
[music] He re-edited him. And the new cut was devastating. You worry that if he were to win again, and I'm not saying this like it's such a far-fetched notion, if he were to win again that he would not give up power after, you know, he won't.
You know, he won't. [music] He even said it. He's never going to give it up.
And anybody who deludes themselves in thinking that he is. And then Gutfeld did the unthinkable. He brought up Dirty Grandpa.
Yes, that movie. The one even Dairo's lawyers probably pretend doesn't exist. The same man who carried raging bull on his back, who became Veto Corleone, who turned Travis Bickl into a religion, spent a chunk of his later career thrusting around a beach in a Hawaiian shirt for a paycheck.
And Gutfeld didn't even have to mock it. He just said the title out loud and the silence that followed did more damage than any insult could. Because once that title is in the air, every serious rant Dairo gives afterwards sounds like a man yelling philosophy and flip-flops.
Trump [cheering] talk about persuasive. Really, I was on the fence about Trump, but then then I decided to really listen to one of the great generational leaders of American pop culture. And the clenched fists at the end that really drove it home.
It looked like he was pressing a 2-lb weight in a Jenny Craig commercial. Oh my god, look at it again. It's so cute.
It's like he found out the restaurant serves Jell-O or that he won a $10 scratch off. That's when things completely spiraled because somewhere along the way, anger stopped being something Dairo played and became something he is. The character ate the actor.
The mask became the face. And now every appearance feels less like an interview and more like a hostage video where the hostage is reality. He doesn't show up to events.
He erupts into them. He doesn't answer questions. He detonates near them.
And Gutfeld watches all of it with the calm of a man who knows he doesn't need to swing because the other guy is already swinging at the air. Trump's rise coincides with Dairo's decline. And the person who knows it most is Dairo.
He's a fine example of how not to turn loss into bitterness. There are plenty of people who don't like Trump, [music] but don't let it warp their minds or their ability to speak aloud among grown-ups or the view. But the shifts and dairos of the world are emotionally damaged by politics to a point where they can't even assess their own emotions.
Being an actor is tough. For how does one handle real life without a script? Not equipped to think analytically, you're left powerless when observing your own predictions about life turn out [music] wrong.
It's not supposed to be this way. Dairo thinks only the cool guys get to win. [music] Sorry, Bob.
That's only in the movies, but at least you'll always have. But that wasn't even the weirdest part. The weirdest part is that Dairo has somehow appointed himself America's emotional supervisor.
The unelected referee of public morality, a penthouse philosopher who built his entire career playing gangsters, cheaters, killers, and conmen. Now lecturing the country on virtue from a balcony most people can't afford to look at. And Gutfeld, he didn't even need to call out the hypocrisy.
He just let the contrast breathe. Old clip, Dairo robbing a casino. New clip, Dairo scolding the audience.
Same guy, same finger wag. Completely different planet. understanding that I can see of the outside world other than anything around him.
He has no idea of what his purpose in life is as the president should be and that is to pull the country together to be for the people to heal wounds not to open them up and and pour salt on them. Dino clearly has thought about this more so [music] than his career. His choice of roles is now down to cinnamon and lobster.
[music] He was then asked about the Trump kids. Hm. At least he doesn't want my kids to take this [music] the wrong way.
And then the internet noticed something else. The comment sections weren't angry anymore. They were sad.
[music] That's the dangerous turn. When fans stop arguing and start grieving, "You're not in a controversy. You're in a eulogy.
" People weren't typing, "I hate him. " They were typing, [music] "I miss him. " That hit different because hate keeps you relevant.
Pity ends you. And Gutfeld picked up on that shift immediately. He stopped joking and started narrating like a nature documentary watching a once great predator pace in circles inside a cage he built himself and they don't like most of the Trump voters because they are Americans and Dairo how stupid is he without a script.
Isn't that amazing? One of I used to think, wow, that guy's brilliant. But once you take the words away from him, he is so stupid that then when he goes impeachment will make America great again and everybody's h how I mean how intellectually deprived he is.
He's he's a coke adult simple. But the next clip changed everything because in one segment Gutfeld did something almost cruel in its kindness. He didn't laugh.
He didn't smirk. He just looked into the camera and said the quiet thing out loud that maybe the rage isn't politics at all. Maybe it's fear.
Fear of irrelevance. Fear of silence. Fear of being a legend in a world that already moved on to the next legend.
And suddenly the joke wasn't funny anymore. It was uncomfortable because Gutfeld didn't roast a Hollywood star. He diagnosed a human being.
And nobody was ready for that pivot. Diro. [music] Thanks.
Only the cool guys get to win. Sorry, Bob. That's only in the movies, but at least you'll always have joy, you know.
Um, when dislike is so emotional, Katie, I always think it means something else. Like he's [music] like, you thought about this like ah, you know, he's like it's in his head. And I wonder, I can't help but think it's because they're of similar age and they're both New Yorkers.
And what happened after that was even more bizarre because instead of stepping back, Dairo stepped harder into the spotlight. More rants, more finger wagging, more speeches that started with passion and ended somewhere near the serial aisle. Producers started bracing.
Co-stars started ducking. Interviewers started praying for commercial breaks. And every time someone tried to redirect him, he doubled down like a man convinced the world is paying attention while the world is quietly checking its phone.
That's not a meltdown. That's a broadcast of a meltdown. Live, unedited, sponsored by Ego.
Take this the wrong way, but if my kids did what these kids did, I wouldn't want to be related to them. I would disown them. Whoa, this is sad.
Here you have someone pretending to be a tough guy turn out to be just a second banana for Joy Behar, the [music] poster child for Trump's derangement. Sadly, Bob is now just another gibbering feebled ninny surrounded by inept relatives as he frets about how Trump's in power. And here's the line that's going to sting.
He could have walked away. He could have left the building untouched. untouchable, immortal, the icon who exited at his peak, the myth that never had to defend itself.
Instead, he chose the microphone. He chose the rant. He chose the rage.
And every time he chooses it again, he chips one more piece off the statue he spent 50 years building. Gutfeld didn't break that statue. Dairo is breaking it himself slowly, loudly, and on camera.
And the saddest part, he thinks the chipping sound is applause. Richard, I you know when the other team, let's say your team [music] grabs clips of say from the five or Sean Hannity or Jesse's show, [music] they could say we're wrong, but they can't say they're acting crazy like we have fun. But why is it on the other side, let's say the MSNBC, the CNN, the View side, when [music] they they actually appear like they have psychological issues that this stuff is so ingrained, this Trump derangement that they are mentally ill, that's Dairo clearly is having problems.
His therapist is getting paid a lot. So here's where we land. Gutfeld didn't win this fight because he was louder.
He won because he refused to be. While Dairo burned every bridge with a flamethrower made of feelings, Gutfeld stood across the river with a smirk and a stopwatch, knowing exactly how long it takes a man to talk himself out of his own legacy. This wasn't a takedown.
It was a time lapse of a legend dissolving in public frame by frame, rant by rant, while a quieter man simply pointed the camera and let the tape roll. And maybe that's the real lesson buried under all of this noise. In a world addicted to volume, the loudest voice almost never wins.
The calmst one does.
