For the first time that I
can remember, there is no late night talk show on CBS. With the cancellation of
The Late Show with Stephen Colbert,
an era has come to an end –not just the existence of the Late Show brand, which began in 1993 with David Letterman, but the
era of competing talk shows itself. For a couple decades there, the talk show
format was strong enough that it could support several variations with
distinctions based on the character and personality of its host and their
writers. But a few years back James Corden’s incarnation of The Late Late Show ended and CBS chose
not to continue the franchise (leaving Late
Night with Seth Meyers unopposed in its timeslot). And now that they’ve forced the end of The Late Show –the most popular of the
recent talk show iterations- with Jimmy
Kimmel Live also likely to wrap up in the near future, NBC’s pair of shows
will be the only ones standing –as they had been in the 1980s though without
anywhere near the cultural footprint.
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Amidst this, there is a
reasonable discussion to be had on whether this is a bad or merely bittersweet
thing. As someone who did watch talk shows casually as a teenager and was
fascinated by the various options then, a part of me does miss it. But a part
of me also realizes the format is kind of stale, especially in the rigidity
with which it has been adhered to on most of these American shows for the last
thirty years –all just variations on what Johnny Carson did successfully on his
long-running groundbreaking Tonight Show.
The political jokes and commentary these shows have provided isn’t particularly
special in an age of editorials on social media and other broad-reaching
platforms, any specialty gimmick can be found in as sophisticated a fashion on
YouTube or TikTok, and the online sphere has likewise usurped celebrity interviews
through podcasts, profiles, retrospectives, and novelties such as Hot Ones. And that’s to say nothing of
musical performances so ubiquitous that you wonder why talk shows even continue
to book them beyond mere marketing obligation. The traditional talk show is
obsolete.
Yet not all of those talk
shows were traditional. While choosing between Jay Leno and Letterman was
really a matter of comedic taste more than anything substantial –same for
Colbert and Kimmel and the dreaded Jimmy Fallon, there was one American talk
show during the 2000s and 2010s that was quite starkly different from the rest,
while still fitting within its broad contours.
In 1995, CBS commissioned a
show that would follow Letterman’s time slot competing with NBC’s Late Night with Conan O’Brien. Called The Late Late Show, it was initially
hosted by news anchor Tom Snyder and functioned as a more intimate and serious
contrast to Conan’s silliness on its rival network. After four years it was
retooled to be more mainstream and given to comedian Craig Kilborn, who had
just been replaced at the more politically-oriented Daily Show by Jon Stewart. Once again, Kilborn would be eclipsed by
his successor when he decided to leave after his contract expired in 2004.
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Perhaps it was a reflection of this that explained
the aesthetic of his show, or his own sense of Scottish humility. Where other
talk shows made a point of showcasing big open sets and spaces with inviting
designs and often a cool, evening backdrop behind the desk, Craig Ferguson’s
venue once it was remodeled about a year and a half in felt small and cramped,
a bit dimly lit even, decked out in wood-brown and with a darker backdrop
mirroring the later hour of its time slot. Some of this was inherited from
Kilborn’s show, but Ferguson and his people really emphasized it. It never
appeared like a space that had a lot of room for its studio audience, more like
a den than a luxury stage. Over the years, Ferguson would lean into that look,
adding a cozy fireplace and eventually stable for one of his recurring
features. Even the title card itself initially looked a little cheap, featuring
an analogue T.V. with rabbit-ears in the logo. This was a far-cry from
Ferguson’s competitors at NBC, Conan’s aesthetic being Gen-X hip and relaxed,
while Jimmy Fallon’s follow-up beginning in 2009 was egregiously slick and
polished.
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The appearance of scrappiness was
intentional -this wasn’t a show that was hard-by, produced by Letterman’s
Worldwide Pants company. That it chose this kind of a look and style is very
interesting, and likely it had a lot to do with the sensibilities of its new
host. Though Ferguson would come to stress a lot during the show and in the
years since his enthusiastic adoption of his new home -becoming a citizen while
on the show and even getting a tattoo of Benjamin Franklin’s famous “Join or
Die” snake cartoon- he brought with him a distinct, somewhat underdog comic
tone of wit and sarcasm characteristic of the British alternative comedy wave
of the 1980s. His humour struck a starkly different tone to his talk show
contemporaries, each of whom employed a little bit of that American cultural
bravado -where Ferguson might mimic this, it wasn’t convincing. His
extracurricular antics -meaning elements beyond the monologue and interviews-
tended in the early years towards simple, often one-person sketches that
resembled more something from A Bit of Fry & Laurie than say Conan’s
more surreal versions of SNL skits over on his show (not to make any inference
of quality there -Conan’s sketches could be pretty wild and funny). Later they
became a very informal “Tweets and Emails” segment of just Ferguson reading feedback
that only occasionally resulted in an actual response rather than taking the
mick out of the question itself or where it was coming from. No sheen in this
-apart from a goofy opening graphic, no band playing a drum sting or some other
riff to instruct the audience how to react -it was very pared back, relying
simply and singularly on the charismatic presentation of the host.
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That host’s personality could carry a lot
and he grafted a distinct identity onto the show. Opening every episode by
declaring “it’s a great day for America” and introducing himself as “T.V.’s
Craig Ferguson”, he would break into his monologue with a deft sense of fun and
improvisation. Eventually eschewing the typical centre-stage, medium-lens
positioning for the monologue, favouring instead a close-up to the
main camera, talking directly to it while acknowledging the folks in the room
and taking up more of the frame. The bottom is unseen territory, which allowed
for the occasional usage of gags like puppets interfering with the monologue.
Ferguson was seemingly a one-man-show, without the sidekick or band leader so
many other talk shows had, but he liked to fill up his space with characters -a
rabbit, a crocodile, a shark- each with their own accents and personalities
more organic than anything Jeff Dunham could come up with. He even let them run
the show in 2009 when it hit its milestone 1000th episode! And of course there
was the in-house pantomime horse Secretariat, who would periodically come on
stage and dance with Ferguson. These elements would feature in the cold open as
would occasionally guests or audience members or backup dancers for musical
bits (Ferguson having been a musician, he’s got good charisma for it) -sometimes finding their way into parts in the
monologue too, which marginalized some level of the topicality other shows were
known for, Ferguson never being entirely at home with political humour. But his
commentary often felt fresher for this. In this section of the show were borne
too inventive running gags such as Ferguson’s cutting to a picture of Angela
Lansbury whenever Paul McCartney came up, and replacing the usual bleep over
curse words with a rotating collection of exclamations in other languages.
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Especially in the latter years, Ferguson's unique identity was unavoidable through his collection of
knick-knacks, such as a snake-shaped mug matching his tattoo, a harmonica that
he sometimes let his guests play, and a TARDIS -Ferguson being an avid DoctorWho fan- which he often worked into the show (he was in fact an old friend
and band-mate of Peter Capaldi who eventually became that titular character).
Further, he set the show apart in other very vivid ways -his was the only talk
show with a full theme song, written by Ferguson himself and it is easily the
catchiest in the late night genre. He did a couple weeks of shows on location
in Paris and Scotland years before Conan popularized that idea. And probably
most well-remembered was the introduction in 2010 of a robot skeleton sidekick
called Geoff Peterson, who eventually became one of the show’s most popular
features. With glowing blue eyes, a mohawk, and an oversized suit with ‘GEOFF’
on a name-tag, he was designed by Grant Imahara of Mythbusters and only
spoke a series of catchphrases at first before eventually getting a permanent
live interactive voice courtesy of actor Josh Robert Thompson. His banter with
Ferguson became one of the show’s staples. The only other human occasionally seen as
part of Ferguson’s crew was the producer Michael Naidus -cut to occasionally
just off-camera as a gag when Ferguson would swear or do something risque.
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The show overall had a bit of a goofy vibe,
and it was probably most apparent in the interviews themselves. One of
Ferguson’s most telling traditions was how he would rip up his note cards the
moment he and his guest were seated to show he would not be sticking to any
kind of script -by the last years of the show those cards had to have been
purely symbolic. Though there were still certain obvious guardrails, Ferguson’s
conversations with his guests were often real and spontaneous in a way other
talk show interviews weren’t. They could veer off on tangents, come to jokes in
a natural manner, and even avoid the subject the guest is there to promote
entirely. Talking to Ferguson had an
effect of distinctly humanizing celebrities, especially in the safe environment
he would set that nonetheless invited his guests to be in on jokes and
routines. Something he was a little infamous for was the flirtatious tenor a
lot of his interviews with women took (though on a few occasions it was there
with men as well). But it was never overt or crass or in any way serious, there
was always an understanding of humour underlying it -and also it was typically
reciprocated. Ferguson has a big, flamboyant personality and his guests had no
issue matching his cheekiness. More importantly, he knew how to read a room or
situation. And he would liven the interviews up through call-backs and finding
points of mutual interest -and ending every interview with a little gimmick
such as an awkward pause or playing a mouth organ which occasionally the guest
would win.
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He could interview just about anybody in
this fashion, but the best ones I found were when he had some previous chemistry, relationship, or interest to his subject. Drew Carey, Peter Capaldi,
the late Anthony Head, and Hugh Laurie were all figures he had a dynamic with
before interviewing, he had his sister Lynn -an actress- on a couple times; and
then there were folks like Robin Williams or Mila Kunis or one of Ferguson’s
comedy idols Billy Connolly, who he vibed with very easily. But of course his
most frequent and enjoyable guest was Kristen Bell, with whom he established a
very entertaining double-act of sorts. Bell accompanied him when he took the
show to Paris for a week, and had a brilliant running gag with Geoff over her
purported desire to have been Ferguson’s sidekick. It is one of the
greatest dynamics between a talk show host and their guest.
Perhaps a reason for this style was
Ferguson's feelings of illegitimacy -he didn't know how to host a talk show or
interview people and he would tell you he still doesn't. One gets the sense
from all of these curiosities unique to his show that he wasn't a fan of
formula. Hence why, once in a while he would even shift his interview format.
In February 2010, he did an episode that dispensed with a monologue, gag
segments, and even a studio audience, consisting entirely of a long in-depth
conversation with his guest, Stephen Fry. It hearkened back to Snyder's version
of the show and, whether intentional or not, was a demonstration of Ferguson's
range as an interviewer -the discussion very seamlessly weaving between funny
moments and sincere musings on topics of politics, media, technology, and
religion. It was a My Dinner with Andre
style affair and Fry -who hadn't done any other American talk shows- was of
course the perfect subject for it.
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But the show's most standout interview came
the year before on March 4th 2009 when Ferguson sat down with Archbishop
Desmond Tutu. The show itself featured a monologue and lead-in discussing the
history of South Africa and Apartheid, and the subsequent interview, which was
also largely serious and thoughtful in tone, took up two thirds of the
broadcast. It wound up being the most highly acclaimed episode of the show,
even winning Ferguson and his crew a Peabody Award. And he clearly understood
it was something different at the time, speaking from the heart in his closing
segment.
It wasn’t something that was all that
isolated for the show -he didn’t mind steering clear of everything else to be
open and honest, especially when it came to something personal. Both his father
and mother passed away during his time hosting the show -in 2006 and 2008
respectively, and he devoted his monologue to heartfelt eulogies for both. He
was also not afraid to share the enthusiasm of his immigration story with his
audience, taking them along the journey of his citizenship, which he obtained
in 2008.
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The most profound moment though of his personal life and convictions
coming through was when he shared the story of his addiction and rehab
journey on February 19th 2007.
Though he coloured it with humour, he didn’t skimp on the harrowing
details, including one moment of very devastating suicidal ideation. He made a
point emphasizing the process of sobriety (which he had been for fifteen years)
rather than the ‘achievement’ of it, and spoke directly to alcoholics. It was
and still is a searingly beautiful moment. Bearing in mind, the impetus for it was Britney Spears’s continued
dominance of the news cycle through her public substance abuse issues -Ferguson
declared on the show, with seriousness, though to some disbelief from his
audience, that he would stop making Britney Spears jokes. He saw enough of
himself in her struggle and could recognize how mean-spirited the sensation
around her was becoming. “Comedy should be about attacking the powerful people,
not attacking the vulnerable people” he said during this segment. And it is
worth noting that this was about the same time Jay Leno was ramping up his
jokes about Spears -it was unconventional and daresay brave to take an
alternative attitude at that time.
Leno, for what it’s worth, was the last
guest on Ferguson’s show when he ended his run on December 19th,
2014. Looking back it is a little controversial, not only because of the sour
taste Leno left with a lot of comedians after the Tonight Show debacle
of 2010, but because he had been the rival host to Ferguson’s boss and lead-in
David Letterman -who himself would leave The Late Show just six months
later. Aside from that however, Ferguson went out with a bang -literally. He
opened the show with a rousing performance of a song called “Bang Your Drum” by
Dead Man Fall over a montage of various guests from the last year of the show
banging on various kinds of drums that culminated in the studio with many of
his recurring gags and features present, and the curtain hiding his fictitious
in-house band Alfredo Sauce and the Shy Fellas, opening up to reveal a dancing
church choir. It was a lot of fun and fitting for a show that liked to skirt
the norms. That theme was reflected also in his last monologue, in which he
commented, “I think what we managed to do here is make something that wasn't
here before” -and that really was kind of the heart of his show. It all ended, naturally, with a cornucopia of famous series finale parodies, wherein Secretariat
is revealed to have been Bob Newhart all along, Ferguson wakes up in bed with
Drey Carey as his character from The Drew Carey Show ...and there’s a
snowglobe and “Don’t Stop Believing”.
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For ten years, almost every night The
Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson ended on a little segment called “What
Did We Learn on the Show Tonight, Craig?” (with a little jingle and a crude
animation of a kitten). It was an excuse for a final joke or observation or bit
of improv between Ferguson and Geoff. A nice little end tag that, like with so
much else, was unique to this show. It may be a bit indebted to a show that, if
Ferguson wasn’t directly influenced by he did at least compare it to - PeeWee’s
Playhouse. Jokingly, it implied something of an instructional purpose for
the show, but that might not have been so far off as Ferguson intended. His was
a show that was very entertaining, but at its best it taught its audience if
inadvertently a thing or two about worldliness, compassion, curiosity, and even
positive masculinity in the model of Ferguson’s peculiar sense of charisma. It
demonstrated a versatility and unique personal ownership of the talk show
format, had a very spontaneous spirit that was infectious -the concept for
Geoff for instance began as a joke that Ferguson and his producers just
embraced when the opportunity to make him real was realized. Every running joke
felt natural and organic, there wasn’t a mark of anything disingenuous or
polished. It was a show that subtly taught its audience to run with their
creativity and their weird senses of humour. You couldn’t get much weirder than
Craig Ferguson.
When Ferguson left, he was replaced by
another U.K. personality, the far less charming James Corden -who apart from
bringing over the couch-style joint interview format popular in the U.K. (and
especially on The Graham Norton Show) mostly stuck to the familiar
contours of the talk show formula, jumping on the Jimmy Fallon bandwagon of
trying anything to go viral. Corden cared deeply about his popularity where Ferguson
couldn’t care less. And no other show in these intervening years has come close
to Ferguson’s in terms of carving out its own identity, and while there are so
many other factors for why the format is dying this I have to imagine is one of
them. Ferguson himself has kept busy by hosting various basic cable game shows,
occasionally acting (most notably in the How to Train Your Dragon
series), and going on stand-up tours. And of course he also ran a podcast.
This year he’s hosting a somewhat patriotic (though he stresses not jingoistic)
miniseries about America for its 250th, exploring a series of
disparate corners of the country and its culture. And on each video promoting
it, there are dozens of comments asking him to come back to late night. More
than ten years since he stopped doing it he still commands an ardent base of
fans and admirers, many still watching bits and pieces of his old show where
they can.
The talk show is not going to be around
much longer except perhaps as a zombie of what it used to represent. But when
the dust is settled, The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson will have
left its mark more distinctly than most. The best talk show of its era and a
validation of the form itself.
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