The joke's on me -- I guess I should be honored.
A few weeks ago, I began to write this article intending to extol the virtues of David Letterman -- it would be a unique and intriguing profile, I thought, at a time when nobody was talking about him.
Then Hillary Clinton finally agreed to be a guest on "Late Show," and Letterman had emergency quintuple-bypass heart surgery. In the course of a week, the usually private host had generated more press for himself than he had seen in six years at CBS, making my piece look more than a bit opportunistic.
From my point of view, it was classic Letterman style. Since 1982, when NBC's "Late Night with David Letterman" debuted, established celebrities and wanna-bes alike have been brought down to earth with an unexpected jab from behind the desk.
Take the "Late Show" interview with Rush Limbaugh five years ago. When the talk-radio juggernaut launched into a tirade against Hillary Clinton's appearance in a Vogue magazine photo spread, a deadpan Letterman calmly informed Limbaugh that "you can say that because you are the finest-looking human specimen on the planet."
The grinning host had insulted the man that nobody else in show biz would dare offend. Letterman received the usual cheers from the audience, but not everybody approves of his sarcastic demeanor. Viewers (mostly Jay Leno fans) sometimes think he's unfairly mean to his guests, and it's rumored that a few celebrities are too afraid of him to appear on the show.
"Nobody ever accused David Letterman of being Santa Claus," said TV Guide in 1994 as it named Jay Leno one of the Nicest People in Hollywood. But who wants to see "Late Show with Santa Claus?" One of the most common criticisms of late-night TV is that it's "fake." The celebrity interviews seem scripted, the hosts spend all the time kissing up, etc.
Letterman isn't fake. He lets the show go where it takes him, and this results in such memorable moments as the Limbaugh interview mentioned above, along with the infamous show with Madonna, in which Letterman held his own in a verbal sparring match with the foul-mouthed singer.
It's ironic that sweet and lovable Leno established his dominance of the late-night ratings war when he interrogated Hugh Grant, who was then struggling with a prostitution scandal, in a very Letterman-esque manner. (First question: "What the hell were you thinking?")
Letterman borrows part of his pull-no-punches attitude from his idol, Johnny Carson. But Carson's charm resided in his ability to embarrass celebrities with innuendo -- Letterman skewers his guests with more cerebral remarks. When he does resort to a double entendre or spots an obvious set-up for a gag, he just turns to the audience and contorts his face in a way that's funnier than any one-liner.
The two late-night veterans diverge more drastically when it comes to comedy segments. Where Carson's sketch comedy often functioned as an extension of his monologue by mining the day's news for topical humor, Letterman's trademark absurdist segments are intentionally ignorant of current events.
A man in a studio asking people on the street, "May we press your pants, please?" probably isn't your idea of a hilarious comedy piece. Indeed, most comedians would have a hard time pursuing the humor past the initial oddity of the question at hand.
But that's what distinguishes Letterman; he works on multiple levels. In this case, the goofy topic of conversation (pants -- a subject Letterman finds eternally funny) is just a basis for the humor he'll derive from bothering innocent bystanders.
In this sense, Letterman is more of a mass-media personality than any other talk show host, for his comedy is based on his innate awareness that he's on national television. The prospects of visiting a local pizza place or an unimpressive luggage store at first seem boring to the viewer, and then add in the realization that this is being broadcast to millions of viewers. This makes an audience a bit uncomfortable, and that discomfort magnifies the laughs Letterman will generate.
Letterman milks this for all it's worth, saying "Tonight is Charts & Graphs Night!" with more fanfare than he uses to introduce the show's celebrity guests. We see a buck-toothed fool getting overly excited about mundane happenings, and we can't help but laugh.
Of course, it's never actually mundane. Andy Kaufman (whom Letterman admired) became famous for this unsettling comedy technique, but Kaufman never delivered a punchline -- Letterman does.
When he pesters the pedestrians of New York, he finds the eccentricity of the individuals that makes them audience favorites. Letterman freely admits that he's a weirdo, but he shows us that everyone else is, too.
Any talk show host can film a "Man on the Street" segment that takes the funniest quips from hours of impromptu conversations. Letterman doesn't have the luxury of editing; he conducts his roving-camera interviews on the spot. This isn't to say that he works without a safety net -- the absurd premise upon which Letterman greets people is always there for him to fall back on if he can't get into a rapport. If it's a good conversation, he goes with it. If not, he asks them if he can press their pants. Either way, it's funny.
Since Leno's Grant-fueled ratings coup, Letterman has worked relentlessly to regain the number one spot. The Emmy Awards have taken notice in recent years, with "Late Show" winning Outstanding Variety, Music or Comedy Series in 1998 and 1999.
And viewers are finally starting to turn around, too. The last week of shows before Letterman had surgery was the first time "Late Show" had received better weekly ratings than "The Tonight Show" in nearly four years. Even the special reruns that are airing during Letterman's recuperation are performing better than usual.
Letterman is poised to reclaim his crown as the King of Late Night upon his return to work. With a more intelligent hour of comedy than any other show in television, he deserves it.
"Late Show with David Letterman" airs weekdays at 11:35 p.m. on CBS.
