Ms. Griffin does not write taut jokes; she emerged from the West Coast alt-comedy scene of the 1990s, when comics were reacting against the machine-gun-joke style of comedy clubs and building acts on digressive stories and conversational riffs. Even then, Ms. Griffin relied on highly personal revelations, often shameless and sexual and sprinkled with celebrity dust. If she slept with Jack Black, she talked about it onstage, then wrote about talking about it.

She is famous for frivolity, derided by some peers for her obsession with boldface names. But it’s not fair to chalk up Ms. Griffin’s success to our culture’s lust for scandal and stardom, though that’s certainly part of it. “I will be your guilty pleasure,” she wrote in her best-selling 2009 memoir, “Official Book Club Selection.”

Ms. Griffin, who reveres Joan Rivers, belongs to a glorious show-business tradition of hard-working, mouthy survivors with ambition to burn, an instinct for self-promotion and a chip on the shoulder. If she ever cared about alienating someone famous to get a laugh — whether a network executive, a commander in chief or garden-variety actors doing their best — she doesn’t anymore. “I have a lot of female hostility,” she said Wednesday, pivoting from earnest to glib. “It’s very trendy.”

Some of that hostility is directed toward Harvey Levin, the TMZ founder, and Andy Cohen, the host of “Watch What Happens Live” and her replacement on the New Year’s Eve show. After Mr. Cohen pretended that he didn’t know who Ms. Griffin was in a video on TMZ, Ms. Griffin responded with a 17-minute video of her own in which she criticized both men for misogyny. She also revealed Mr. Levin’s phone number and claimed that Mr. Cohen offered her cocaine twice (he has denied it).

Onstage she took shots at both of them again, but the variety of insults she leveled, some more thinly supported than others, made it seem as if she were just tossing out the kitchen sink, and not to funny ends. Ms. Griffin often veered off-course, and when she referred to “being in the United Kingdom,” she was startled by the angry reaction of the Dublin audience. The packed crowd of die-hard fans turned on her, hissing and booing. She seemed thrown off-balance, and had trouble returning to her story, not for the last time.

Some forceful directorial guidance could hone this wandering series of stories into a more refined show that sticks to a theme and a through-line revolving around Mr. Trump. But this messy, indulgent production instead gives us Ms. Griffin unfiltered, which has the benefit of seeming like a backstage gossip session, albeit one that lost steam as it headed past the 60-minute mark and she dabbed sweat from her forehead.