Don't Worry About Conan
He's going to be great as the Tonight Show host.
Tomorrow night will mark Conan O'Brien's final show as host of NBC's Late Night. He's moving to Los Angeles, where on June 1 he will take over as host of The Tonight Show. Many observers think he could be a failure in that new role—most notable among them the guys in charge of The Tonight Show. Months ago, NBC was reportedly faced with the possibility that Jay Leno might hand the reins to Conan only to launch a competitive program on another network at the same hour. NBC decided that wasn't a battle they were confident that Conan would win. So the network offered Leno a 10 p.m. show, Leno accepted, and the crisis was averted—at the cost of indicating to advertisers, potential guests, and Conan himself that NBC executives kind of regret their decision to give him the big job. They aren't the only ones who think that way. NBC's most prominent critic is probably David Letterman, no friend of Leno's, of course. "I'm not quite sure why NBC would do that after the job Jay has done for them," he told Rolling Stone after it was announced that Conan would replace Leno. Even Conan's biggest fans are worried that he'll fail or, worse, dumb down his act in an attempt to imitate Leno's lucrative inanity. In this scenario, success is a more horrifying possibility than failure.
I know about that last part because I'm one of those fans, a member of the demographic most likely to view Conan with love and affection: people who reached late-night-TV-watching age at around the same time Conan's show started getting good, around 1995 or so. If you're like me, you started watching Conan regularly at around age 13 or 14, and continued as a highly regular viewer for the next eight or nine years, your loyal fandom enabled by the fact that, as a teenager and then a college student, you had no problem staying up until 12:40 every night. (Fortunately, my turn toward marginally more responsible sleep/lifestyle choices has coincided with the rise of DVR.)
As a longtime fan of the Conester, I had reservations about whether his style would "translate" to the earlier time slot; I was also disturbed to see that someone who had achieved essentially complete freedom to showcase whatever kind of comedy and music that he saw fit—and made a lot of money doing so—would move to Los Angeles and presumably make all manner of horrible artistic compromises, filling the hour with vapid teen musicians and Chuckle Hut-level Viagra jokes. But I think I was wrong. After watching Conan's last week of shows with a careful eye, I've become convinced: He should have no problem replacing Jay Leno and maintaining NBC's record of late-night dominance. And he's going to do it without abandoning the style that made him a success in the first place.
How do I know this? Well, I don't, really. But I know that the reasons people think Conan will fail are erroneous. The prevailing theory is that his comedy—and indeed his personality—are simply too weird for the kind of mass audience NBC wants to draw to The Tonight Show. "As Conan Goes West, Where Will the Humor Go?" asks an indicative piece in Sunday's BostonGlobe arguing that Conan will have to "graduate" from perpetual immaturity—from characters like the "Masturbating Bear," a frequent guest—to succeed. But while it's true that Conan's brand of comedy is not exactly like Leno's, I think this attitude both misses the point of what makes The Tonight Show successful and under-rates Conan's ability to connect with a broad audience.
It's worth remembering that The Tonight Show has sustained its dominance across many years, with many hosts who weren't all necessarily alike. What's remained the same is a generalized vibe—of familiarity and fun and all those things that Joe American is looking for after a long, stressful day working in the steel mill or providing steel-mill-management-consulting services. As my colleague Sam Anderson has noted, Leno's greatest skill is his ability to maintain that enjoyable atmosphere in spite of material that could easily kill the mood—his schlocky, news-story-about-Arkansas, punch-line-about-someone-boning-their-cousin material.
Ben Mathis-Lilley is a senior editor at Buzzfeed.
Photograph of Conan O'Brien by Frederick M. Brown/Getty Images.