Gallagher Had a Dark Downfall, According to New Documentary

Gallagher, the comic who reached incredible comic heights with his Sledge-O-Matic watermelon antics and clever wordplay, sunk to equally remarkable lows during the final years of his life, according to the new documentary, Gallagher, premiering this week at DOC NYC. 

An impressive array of comics, including Bill Burr, Howie Mandel, Bobcat Goldthwait and Carrot Top, tell the tale of a comedian who innovated like few others. In the 1970s and 1980s, he was one of the first comedians to headline a cable TV special, creating 13 visually inventive hours for Showtime. He turned those shows into videotapes rented constantly in Blockbusters and sold directly to consumers for nearly $40 a pop. Finally, he was a tireless live performer, playing 200 shows a year in large theaters. His comedy was far more clever than the Sledge-O-Matic bits suggest, with out-of-left-field insights and nimble wordplay rivaling George Carlin. He estimates that he pulled in $30 million during the 1980s — and then lost it all.

What happened? 

It’s the classic showbiz tale of flying close to the sun and then crashing and burning. 

In the last decades of his life, in particular, he faced several challenges that proved insurmountable. The most bizarre? Gallagher introduced his brother Ron into his act as a second Gallagher. The two resembled each other enough that Ron decided to strike out on his own, employing a duplicate sledgehammer and eventually billing himself as, of course, Gallagher. When Ron refused to give up the act — or go by another name — Gallagher sued him for copyright infringement and won. But in many ways, the comedian lost. His family inexplicably sided with his brother, alienating Gallagher from his relatives.

It’s hard to know what’s the chicken and what’s the egg — did Gallagher’s comedy became less popular because his jokes became darker and more angry? Or did Gallagher’s comedy become angrier as his popularity waned? Either way, his later appearances featured jokes targeting Mexicans, Asians and gay people, among others. He was unapologetic, even running for California governor on a platform based on his hatred for NAFTA. When Marc Maron called him out on the bigoted tone of his later jokes, Gallagher walked out.

The comic we see in Gallagher is an angry man who left several failed romantic relationships in his wake. He’s a difficult interview, berating the filmmakers when he’s not bragging about spending the holidays away from his estranged family. It’s not hard to see the sad man underneath it all, confused by a world that turns its back on entertainers they once loved. 

“You know what bothers me is everybody is so sad when somebody dies, and they haven’t cared about them for 20 years. It tortures famous people to be ignored,” he explained in a recorded phone call with his daughter Aimee. “You throw them away for 20 years and then you’re sorry and shed a tear when they die. Why? You wanted to ignore them another year?”  

Gallagher, who once suffered a heart attack while pummeling a watermelon on stage, was in poor health in his later years, “done with doctors and their silly ideas.” Silly ideas are the reason other comics dismissed Gallagher’s comedy and influence, but Gallagher makes a compelling case for reexamination.