How David Letterman defined late night television (at least for me)

The Late Show with David Letterman is — and will always be — the definition of late night television in my mind. As cheesy as the jokes may be, lazy as the show could seem and repetitive as it sometimes became, in Letterman I formed what and who a proper talk show host should be. With class, he carried the worst of jokes, and with dry brilliance could he carry through the worst of interviews. Through good and bad, he had a stride merely mimicked by many of his peers today, and that he always the most tranquil, most naturally subdued yet genuinely humorous of the late night bunch proved how perfect a comic he was for this job.

I’ve always regretted never experiencing Johnny Carson the way many of my older peers did. From what little I’ve seen it’s easy to see the appeal, and while he certainly is a product of his time, he was also a graceful, richly sly performer who was made for the business he was in. Often I heard people callously compare Letterman as a second-rate Carson, and while I can’t define how wrong I feel this is in definitive detail, I can say this.

Letterman, as the best talk show hosts do, abided by his own conditions. He formed his program(s) by what he found funny in his wry, random little ways. It could be seeing if a ham sinks, or endless jokes about rats in New York City, but he was always a performer who knew where he wanted to go, and did so with just the right level of class and pose. He could be crude, but rarely was he ever viciously crass. And in turn he was respectful enough to his peers to let them enjoy their moments on the show and not let his ego or vanity overshadow their jokes or achievements. This is not to count a feud or two with Oprah, or some tabloid nonsense here and there, of course.

Unlike Jay Leno and Jimmy Fallon, in my opinion of course, he cared just as much about the character of his show as he did the puns. If anything, those lounge singer gags he did were just a stitch formation there to put together enough of a show to please the network. While he and his writers could clearly go keep with their gags, they always seemed more a front to get to what Letterman enjoyed most: interaction.

The moments he shared with Paul Schaffer always had a genuine charm. It’s clear they care about each other beyond the stage, and there’s always a clear line of love which comes from their cheeky little jokes and jabs. It’s the best kind of buddy relationship, in that they knew how to bounce off each other and yet could still sell their individual talents.

Wherever Letterman came onto my TV, there’s always a sense of comfort. There’s something so reflectively easeful about the entire Late Show this host ran. Many nights in my formative years I remember drifting into the night with the Late Show close by, as though it were a comforting guardian there to keep me warm and snug, or just kill some un-slumbered hours. For all the corniness and tired gags, Letterman ran his time like the pro he was, experienced and heartfelt in every effort and genuine in ways these talk shows rarely are these days — beside the other after hours slot under Letterman’s Worldwide Pants banner, The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson. He was continuously agreeable, while never totally stale, and comically graceful in ways only few could achieve.

This is why Letterman means so much to me, and it is also why it will feel so jarring for me to see him go. I’m certain Stephen Colbert will take over the new Late Show to great results, but to me The Late Show is always Letterman’s home. To know he won’t be a mere click away at night fills me with great sadness and unease, but I wish him all the best in his retirement. Thanks for all the laughs and 30 + years of service, Letterman. They were greatly appreciated, and while there were some bumps and duds, you never had to ask if your show could float.

Image courtesy of Roger Wong/INFphoto.com