This week:
- Why I’ll mourn The Late Show.
- My favorite performance on TV.
- The hottest ticket right now.
- Never say sorry, Jessica Simpson.
- My long-held blind item.
The End of an Era
The final episode of The Late Show With Stephen Colbert was pretty snoozy. But, when you sit with it, beautifully so. Profoundly so, even.
The overwhelming—which is to say, underwhelming—mundanity of most of the episode was a pointed choice.
The episode did not, in fact, have Stephen Colbert standing center stage holding a flamethrower and metaphorically torching the Trump administration, which would’ve appeased outraged fans salivating for something like that. It was also not a grand symphony of emotion and endless tears, which arguably would have been earned, but instead some occasional sentimentality played in pianissimo.
Some might have anticipated a parade of stars to rival the Met Gala, but the episode didn’t live up to that expectation. That might sound like a silly observation given the fact that the last guest was Paul McCartney and there were a slew of celebrity cameos, but those appearances would barely rival just one dressing room of other meaningful tribute events, like SNL50—or even Wednesday’s penultimate episode of Colbert’s show.
Instead, Colbert delivered a normal, not particularly funny monologue, touching on sinkholes and the hantavirus. His interview with McCartney, who was also promoting a new project, was par for the course. Everything was business as usual, up to a strained wormhole bit that led to a concluding singalong. A strained bit and a singalong? A typical outing in late-night.
In going out this way instead of with something more bombastic, Colbert is reminding us of what we’re really losing if we lose hosts like him, if we lose this late-night format, and if we lose these shows’ ability to engage with the news and our feelings about it.
I was happy to be reminded of that, because Colbert’s program had become somewhat unrecognizable. That’s understandable, in the wake of the cancellation news and the uproar over its seeming gag order on free speech and the ushering in of a dystopian era in which broadcasters kowtow to the interests of the powerful.
Colbert was transformed into a folk hero. As the countdown to Thursday’s finale escalated into a “no f---s given” ballet of middle fingers towards CBS, there were viewers and critics staging daily ticker-tape parades to celebrate the brashness and ballsiness—particularly since it was incendiary comments that got the show canned in the first place. (Excuse me, it was a “purely financial decision.”)
There were also viewers and critics who grew weary of the swan song that seemed to never end. For them, the series became increasingly less recognizable as The Late Show and more resembled a series of episodes of “This Is Your Life, Stephen Colbert.” A slew of self-congratulatory episodes featured a carousel of celebrity tributes to Colbert’s courage and importance. I’ve read lots of reactions on social media from people exhausted by what they ruled as nightly tantrums, rather than the stick-it-to-the-man boldness that others celebrated.
In light of those polarized reactions, the more muted final episode was an example of the genre’s value in its purest form.
Colbert was there to entertain, monologue about the news, interview a fascinating guest, and deliver some sort of viral moment, in this case, a raucous Paul McCartney singalong.
He also did that without dismissing the significant role of a late-night host, at least how it’s evolved in the modern age. They are there to help make sense of the incessant chaos of the world, to distill it through comedy and sharp observation and, in doing so, speak truth to power, translate bulls--t to the language of reality, and make us feel more sane.
At the top of the episode, Colbert talked about how his mission has evolved in a nuanced way since his days on The Colbert Report. Then, he told the audience, “Anyone can read the news to you. I promise to read the news at you.” With The Late Show, “We were here to feel the news with you.”
It’s a service, really. And a decades-long tradition. We need the groan-worthy punchlines about the wackiest local news stories of the day, just as we need comedic poking at politicians. Sometimes we need more than the other. Colbert’s last opening monologue pointedly didn’t include any of the latter. I sometimes think the only reason people complain that late-night has gotten too political is simply that the stakes are higher and the people in charge are sensitive ninnies who can’t take a joke.
Late-night truly hasn’t changed that much. These hosts are the arbiters of all things silly and nonsensical; it just so happens that, often, and especially now, the most egregious culprits of that operate from the White House and the halls of Congress.
The simplicity of the final The Late Show was, I think, an ode to its form. Even if, sorry to say, the episode was a bit boring, it’s a form we’ll be less for losing.
My Favorite Performance on TV
It seems preposterous to call a piece of acting from Michelle Pfeiffer a revelation. She’s Michelle Pfeiffer! One of the most respected actresses of her generation. But she’s in a different era of her career than her massive movie star days in the ’90s. The projects she’s in are stranger. The characters are quirkier. And her performances have never been better.
Her work in Apple TV’s Margo’s Got Money Troubles ranks among her career best. I’m obsessed with it.
She plays Shyanne, the mother of Elle Fanning’s Margo. When Margo gets pregnant after an affair with her college professor, Shyanne is equal parts heartbroken, livid, and compassionate that Margo is repeating the difficult life she had herself as a young, struggling single mother.
Shyanne is prickly, but caring and loyal. She’s cynical and realistic, but not immune to catching others’ cases of optimism. Every interaction with Margo is riddled with devotion, tinges of resentment, exasperation, and unconditional love.
Pfeiffer looks fabulous, and in each episode delivers line readings that make you laugh out loud, often in the same scene when suddenly her face contorts, tears fill her eyes, and you find yourself weeping. It’s the kind of performance that whenever she comes on screen, your heart does a giddy little clap because you’re excited to see her again.
The show itself is one of my favorites of the spring, and all the episodes are now available on Apple TV. Watch!
Is This the New Hamilton?
It’s the time of year when the New York culturati is abuzz, debating the plays and musicals that are nominated during the theater’s awards season. I’ve seen a bunch of Broadway heavy-hitters, like Ragtime and CATS: The Jellicle Ball, and star-studded productions like Death of a Salesman, with Nathan Lane and Laurie Metcalf, and Fallen Angels, with Rose Byrne and Kelli O’Hara.
But the show that stuck with me the most isn’t one of the celebrity-driven, massive Broadway productions. It’s an off-Broadway musical starring just two actors called Mexodus, a show that was hyped to me as a successor to Hamilton. So it’s high praise, given that comparison, to say it lived up to the hype. It even just made history as the first off-Broadway musical since Rent in 1996 to win Best Musical at the esteemed Drama League Awards.
The hip-hop musical was written by its two stars, Brian Quijada and Nygel D. Robinson, revealing the untold story of the Underground Railroad to the South that helped thousands of enslaved people escape to Mexico.
The show employs impressive, suitably showy audio-looping technology to turn what is essentially a jam session with some beatboxing into a robust, electrifying score. It’s a scrappiness that evolves into something undeniable, echoing the people whose stories and impact are being illuminated to most audience members for the first time. I think we’re going to be hearing a lot about this show in years to come.
She Was Right to Do It
I was very tickled by the so-called controversy that Jessica Simpson apparently once flew in first class while her three children, ages 13, 11, and 9, sat in economy.
She’s since explained that her mother bought the tickets for a trip to Hawaii, and she had no control over it. But I say, don’t defend yourself, queen. You’re an inspiration. Write a parenting book. Start a podcast. Become my life coach.
First of all, those kids are absolutely at an age where they can sit on an airplane a few dozen feet from their mother and handle it. For all intents and purposes, it’s an airplane; they’re all in the same room. Second of all, none of them had a major pop career that they then converted into a billion-dollar (and highly praised!) fashion business. They’ll sit where they sit.
In fact, my favorite take on the matter is that Simpson didn’t go far enough:
Cat’s Out of the Bag
I’m often asked who the rudest celebrity I’ve interviewed is. I never like to answer that. So I’ll just say, I did enjoy this article.
More From The Daily Beast’s Obsessed
I interviewed the chaos agent breakout star of Real Housewives of Rhode Island, “Nosy Rosie.” Watch here.
I interviewed one of my favorite actors and writers, Ryan O’Connell, about his incredible new book, Inspiration Porn. Read more.
Chelsea Handler is twisting the knife after her epic roast of two MAGA comedians, and I’m loving it. Read more.
What to watch this week:
The Boroughs: It was described as “Stranger Things with old people,” and I was sold. (Now on Netflix)
Tuner: A thriller about piano tuning. Who said there are no new ideas? (Now in theaters)
The Mandalorian and Groku: Apparently, the first good Star Wars movie in years. (Now in theaters)
What to skip this week:
I Love Boosters: When you throw too much at the wall, sometimes the wall falls down. (Now in theaters)
Maximum Pleasure Guaranteed: There must be fine print on that guarantee. (Now on Apple TV)
