After three months of anxiety, Conan O'Brien finally debuted as the host of the "Tonight Show." Expectations were high, and the ratings have been solid if not extraordinary. But the question remains: How did he do?
In a word: great.
While he clearly suffered from some jitters on Monday, June 1, and when Pearl Jam took the stage I wondered if NBC had even bothered to hire an audio engineer, he hit big with his hijacking of the Universal Tour.
Though slightly overlong, Conan threw down the gauntlet to all those who wondered if he'd "grow up" for the 11:30 slot.
What started off slow evolved into Conan at his finest when he got tourists to chant as he forced the bus driver to go in circles.
And it got better from there. Apart from some great interviews, Conan essentially ruined an episode of "Law & Order" by creating childish sound effects and sneakily getting the guide to spoil its plot. He peeled back the glitzy image of L.A. with his shopping spree down Rodeo Road.
Later, he took a broad swipe at Twitter and his college audience who uses it.
He took NBC's lagging ratings to task more than once. He resurrected and updated classic "Late Night" bits such as "In the Year 2000" and introduced a potentially rewarding new segment in which he fabricates his own tabloid-ready photos to beat the paparazzi to the punch.
Conan was manic, unpredictable, heartfelt, self-deprecating and raw. In other words: he was the anti-Leno.
I am not trying to start a Conan vs. Leno debate. But their styles are so different that their impact on the "Tonight Show" must be addressed. Leno, whether you like him or not, operates with a very safe form of comedy.
His monologues don't push any boundaries, and his interviews border on obsequiousness.
Conan, on the other hand, operates by the seat of his pants and is perfectly willing to fall flat on his face.
As an interviewer, he lacks Craig Ferguson's constant enthusiasm and Letterman's ability to turn the tables on any guest he doesn't like, but he also can engage in a conversation outside of simply setting up pre-told stories and product hocking.
Conan brings with him a personal touch.
Even though he's 46, he feels like your college buddy who somehow landed the biggest talk show in American history. As much as a lot of people might love Leno - ratings don't lie - no one seems to have a connection to him, unlike Conan's legions of devotees.
Conan's ascension is a validation, living proof that the geek can inherit the Earth. When he was being paid show business minimum wage and under weekly threat of cancellation back in 1993, no one could have guessed that he would one day make it to the big leagues.
The shift stands not only to bring Conan's eccentric tastes to 11:30 p.m. but to impact all of late night television.
Now people don't have to choose between him and Craig Ferguson, who shares Conan's enthusiasm but is unencumbered by 16 years of used material.
He could also encourage Letterman, from whom Conan clearly draws inspiration, to snap out of the autopilot he's been on for years and bring on his A-game again.
But whatever happens, Conan is in it for the long haul, and older generations are going to be exposed to this sort of comedy perhaps for the first time.
I, for one, couldn't be happier.
Do you like this story? The Plainsman doesn't accept money from tuition or student fees, and we don't charge a subscription fee. But you can donate to support The Plainsman.
