I came home yesterday afternoon from a fun day of sledding and playing in the snow, exhausted but in a perfectly good mood. I love it when New York has this kind of snowfall, the streets and parks blanketed in white. But then I came home and read about Johnny Carson’s death. I wasn’t a huge Carson fan — I didn’t watch him religiously or anything — but his legacy and imprint on the television landscape has been enormous. At the same time, his passing now, even though it’s been more than 10 years since he was a regular on the nation’s TV screens, seems symbolic of the greater shifts happening within the medium.
The first thing I did upon seeing the headline was search for a column I wrote for the UCLA Daily Bruin when Carson retired from The Tonight Show. I wanted to remember what I thought and said at the time, but unfortunately, many of my college paper clips were lost a few years ago, and while I’m enough of a pack-rat to have well-over 100 other (horrifyingly poorly written) clips from that time, this column doesn’t seem to be among them. I think I remember the gist of what I wrote, however, and upon further reflection, I’m struck by how far we’ve come from the days of Carson’s late-night dominance – “far” solely referring to distance rather than necessarily implying progress.
When Carson passed the Tonight Show baton to Jay Leno, it was during a time when the “comfort stars” were getting older and starting to disappear. “Comfort stars” is my own little term – those entertainers who you simply expect to always be there: George Burns, Bob Hope, Dick Clark, Johnny Carson. You don’t even have to be a fan, but there was just something comforting about knowing that Burns would be on some show doing his schtick or Hope would have his annual TV specials. These talents stopped performing as they got older, but I didn’t always feel their loss until they were gone. Even though there has been no definitive report as to how debilitating Clark’s recent stroke truly was, is there anybody not expecting his return to Times Square next New Year’s Eve? And for what really? Even on his own annual ABC special, for years now Clark has been little more than a simple presence. How much screen time does he really have? How much time does he spend outside with the crowd? Yet that presence is comforting, and, no offense to Regis, this year wasn’t the same.
The Tonight Show was the same thing for me. I didn’t actually watch it all that often. If anything, I’d stay up for Late Night With David Letterman or the Bob Costas incarnation of Later — possibly the best simple interview show to ever air in the wee hours. But Carson was comforting. The rainbow curtain; his relatively straight microphone; the golf swing announcing he’d be right back; Ed and Doc – you could be sure that the show would be the show every night. Not that it was boring or bad or lacked anything worthy of interest. On the contrary, The Tonight Show possessed a power and cache within the world of comedy that doesn’t exist in any single form anymore. A Tonight Show appearance was the goal for any stand-up comic. If Carson liked you and invited you over to the couch, it could mean a much larger payday at appearances around the country. This was before Comedy Central, before HBO Specials, before every stand-up worked just long enough to get a sitcom. And as for Carson himself, sure he could tell a joke or act in a sketch, but his specialty always seemed to be the perfect reaction — a simple deadpan look or sly comment — to the bit that bombed or the guest who would say something, uhm, unexpected.
Do those of us in our late 20s and 30s really realize what kind of media-transformation our generation has experienced? We’re the tweeners, growing up to remember the last vestiges of a time that couldn’t be more different than now. How television especially, primarily due to the birth and expansion of cable, has changed during our lifetime, and especially our formative years? When Carson retired, a late-night battle between NBC and CBS, Leno and Letterman really wasn’t imagined as something that could end in a draw. For years, Carson had so dominated the late-night landscape, destroying all challengers, that it seemed like a winner-take-all situation. Yet now, even though Leno has been the primary winner over the past 10-plus years, a multi-channel universe has trained us to not all watch the same thing. Whereas in the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s whatever audience stayed awake past the 11 PM news had a choice of three to maybe 10 channels and the plurality would choose to view Carson through their feet lying in bed, Leno and Letterman together don’t have that kind of hold or, more importantly, loyalty among late night viewers. Sportscenter, Trading Spaces, Blind Date, Howard Stern on E!, reruns of Friends, three cable news networks – all of these kinds of shows and cable networks have spread the audience much thinner than having to choose between simple alternatives of Nightline and M*A*S*H reruns.
Carson’s brilliance was simply in the performances he gave on his show for so many years. He didn’t create the late-night talk show, even if he did perfect it. What is fascinating is that maybe more than anyone in the history of Hollywood, Carson knew when to get out. Had he stayed for another 5 years, would he have left on top? Would a house band in the model of big band jazz meets Lawrence Welk been able to keep up? Is it not somewhat symbolic that when Branford Marsalis left as Leno’s bandleader, the new “Tonight Show band” was not led by another trumpeter (the same instrument Doc Severinsen played), rather by a guitarist?
But what strikes me now is how the loss of Carson really is symbolic of something greater; something which I have actually written about a few times in recent months, and that is the loss of what truly characterized the golden age of television – those trusted, and comforting, personalities who are long gone. Tom Brokaw’s retirement and Dan Rather’s pending departure from the anchor chair are just the beginning of the final demise of broadcast network news having any resemblance to being the most important information source around. Sure, Brian Williams has been able to hold-on to Brokaw’s audience, but the networks as a whole are still losing viewers to the cable nets.
News is no longer Cronkite or Brinkley. Late night is no longer Carson. Comedy is no longer Berle, Burns, Hope or Caesar. Music is no longer Clark. Who do we have now? Does it matter? Maybe not. Do I want to return to a time when I didn’t have all this choice? No, of course not. But as I look at a country which is as split, if not more so, than any other moment in my lifetime, from my little apartment within the largest urban environment in the country, flipping through cable channels that give me, among other things, the ability to watch the news I agree with rather than the information I need to know, it seems sad that even if just for entertainment purposes, there are no longer people – as opposed to just shows – that everyone watches. Carson, not something called The Tonight Show, was our late-night guide, our sandman, our television companion who would help us forget the troubles of our days and ease into the slumber of our nights. Will there ever be personalities – as opposed to simply entertainers and celebrities – like that again? Probably not, and for that, the world of television and its ability to create a common community will always be worse off.
When Carson said goodbye to his audience at the end of his last show in May 1992, he said he would return to television, “when I find something I want to do and think you would like.” I guess nobody, certainly not I, truly thought he would disappear as completely as he did. But obviously, he knew what he was doing, and he knew he likely wouldn’t be seeing us again. For the last time, he tucked us into bed, and with a break in his voice and tears in his eyes, he thanked us for always welcoming him into our homes, and he said, “I bid you a very heartfelt good night.”
As we lose another of what is most definitely a dying breed, to you Johnny, I say good night, goodbye, and thanks.
Out of Focus 