Sometime in the middle of his 33-year late-night run, David Letterman coined the phrase, “There’s no off position on the genius switch.”
Here’s another: Genius is impervious to age and retirement.
He didn’t say that. He proved it Thursday night.
Letterman visited Stephen Colbert one last time inside the Ed Sullivan Theater as Colbert winds down his run on the show Dave created.
And he was clearly feeling both nostalgic and inspired. More the latter.
The result was one of the best shows Colbert has had during his CBS run—maybe so good he won’t be able to top it next week on his finale. It may be remembered as his Bette Midler show.
That is now widely remembered as Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show finale, even though it wasn’t. It was the penultimate show, but it should have been the finale because it was great, unforgettable television.
And that’s what Letterman made this five-from-the-finale edition of Colbert’s Late Show Thursday. It was literally a throwback to Letterman at the height of his comedy powers, a kind of “Best of Dave” episode, full of the energy and creativity that made his version of late-night TV so great.
Maybe there was an electric charge in the air in the theater and Colbert knew what was coming, because he threw down a monologue at the top of his own game, with great bits making fun of CBS’s laughable failure to get anchor Tony Dokoupil into Beijing because he filed for his visa too late—“CBS News, when events happen, we’re at most one country away!”—and a Fox News visit to a Chinese robot factory featuring a robot who lies down: “Hey, that robot took the job I’m starting on May 22.”
But then Letterman walked out—to a tumultuous greeting—and the show immediately fell into his hands. Other late-night hosts have reported that Letterman is a great guest because a) he always comes to play and b) he is just as fast and witty nearing 80 as he was nearing 40.
He looked good, fit and fuzzy in his Gabby Hayes beard. (Maybe a little too thin.)
He’s got a new dog, and any Dave fan knows how he loves his puppies. He said hello to Paul over at the band (really Louis Cato); he complained about how cold it was in the studio (an all-star supercut could be compiled of guests who complained about how frigid Dave kept the place); he said a CBS exec stopped him backstage and “then he fired me.”
When he said he was pissed off a little bit, you knew he meant it—and that CBS was going to take a hit.
But first he noted that Stephen would not be in the place except for him. True, of course.
Then he got down to business. Burly guys came in and, for a few tips in cash, cleared out the CBS-owned furniture from Colbert’s set. So where would Stephen and Dave go to finish their interview? Into the audience. Classic Letterman stuff: paying off a couple for their seats with instructions to go buy a hot dog.
They then sat in the audience for a second interview segment. What did this perspective looking at the stage remind Letterman of? For some reason, his mother, who became a bit of a star with her occasional appearances, and her consistent style: “Miss America Taciturn, 90 years in a row.”
Then a revelation from Colbert: when they took over the theater from Letterman, they decided they had to expand the width of the seats because in the two decades Dave spent there, American asses had gotten far bigger.
At this point, it’s undeniable: this is tremendous television.
But Letterman was just getting warmed up. Of course he had to lead the show out of the studio. (Why on earth aren’t other shows doing stuff like this?)
As soon as he and Colbert stepped outside onto the wrought-iron stairs, of course they were headed for the roof.
How many bits did Letterman do dropping stuff off the roof? Was there ever a better one than this? Don’t think so.
OK, dropping office furniture would not normally be “explosive” enough. But this was special furniture. It was CBS furniture, totally ripe for some Letterman puncturing, reminiscent of tweaking GE with a fruit basket.
“We’re up here for wanton destruction of CBS property!” Letterman said, emphasis on the wanton.
And the execution? Like choreography by Bob Fosse. The same moving-crew-size guys were around for the initial drops. But the big, clunky guest chairs from the set weren’t going to bust up to anyone’s satisfaction. Of course, there was a plan for this.
Letterman said the guys needed to hit the bullseye—which opened into a CBS eye. Again, busting the suits. The guy doing the zinging was the same, only the address was different, from 30 Rock to 53rd Street, right off Broadway.
The highly accurate drop landed in an explosion of plastic balls out of a kid’s-party ball pit. Just so dead-on perfect. Then some blasts from the past, fabulously obliterating watermelons with a sweet chaser: a tiered cake commemorating the Late Show’s 33-year run, about to be obliterated itself.
And of course, slo-mo replay for the full effect.
Funny? Yes, very, very funny. Was Letterman worked up to his A-level of performance? Oh yes, he was.
Ticked-off Dave was always great Dave. His farewell to Colbert got to the heart of things:
“Thank you for everything you’ve done for the country.”
And as for CBS, an homage to Ed Murrow:
“Good night and good luck, motherf*ckers.”
Like a long-retired athlete coming back and hitting a grand slam.
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