It’s even later than ‘Late Late’ thinks
THE 10 longest minutes in late night belong to Craig Ferguson. His monologue at the outset of “The Late Late Show,” which he has hosted for over two years, is a comedic desert, one gag less funny than the next.
It didn’t have to be this way. Ferguson took over duties on “The Late Late Show” (CBS, weeknights at 12:35 a.m.) in January 2005, after a handful of hopefuls went through on-air tryouts. Before that, he was best known for his role as Nigel Wick, office boss, on “The Drew Carey Show.” For a time, looseness was his stock-in-trade. With no formal hosting experience, he seemed as if he were inventing his style on the fly. Interviews sometimes veered in odd directions. He often forewent wearing a tie.
Time sands all eccentricities, though. “The Late Late Show” today is limp and bare. Even a newly neutered Jimmy Kimmel feels more alive than Ferguson, whose show has become hopelessly routinized. There are sound-effect gags, generally underwhelming skits and, of course, a preposterous number of gay jokes.
He’s also prone to repeating his jokes -- recently, there was one about mixing up Bill Paxton and Bill Pullman; another referring to South Florida as north Cuba. “The problem with ‘Lost’ is if you miss one episode you think, ‘That’s that, I can’t watch that again,’ ” Ferguson complained in one recent monologue. “That’s why on this show, so no one feels left out, I repeat the jokes night after night.” Then he proceeded to -- blithely, and with no apparent irony -- repeat a joke he’d previously made about Paul McCartney. It might not be so bad if his timing weren’t so off -- his jokes often give themselves away a few beats before the punch line. Additionally, editing on the show can be sloppy, and at times, it feels aggressively laugh-tracked.
Super Bowl Sunday, for which the show was relocated to Miami, was meant to be Ferguson’s coming-out party. But in taped interludes with ex-coach Mike Ditka, ex-player Dan Marino and singer Gloria Estefan, he still had the affect of a child getting to meet famous people for the first time. He never imposed himself, never left a mark -- unlike, say, his boss David Letterman (“Late Late” is produced by Letterman’s company, Worldwide Pants), who over his 25 years on air has learned that his own idiosyncrasies are just as compelling as those of his guests.
By contrast, Ferguson often appears outmatched and outmaneuvered by those he’s trying to interview -- LL Cool J shouted him down with motivational speaking, Eddie Griffin bobbed and weaved with slick talk. When Hannah Storm of “The Early Show” appeared, it was as if she were interviewing him.
Ferguson is not without his strengths: he’s unfailingly affable, quick to laugh (especially at himself) and appears comfortable using his body to comedic effect. When introducing guests from shows on other channels, he mock-spits on the ground after mentioning the network’s name. He’s not actually indignant, but even the approximation thereof is nice.
Keeping it real
HE’S also more than a caricature, something many late night hosts -- Kimmel and, to some degree, Conan O’Brien -- have a problem with. Around a year ago, Ferguson’s father passed away, and he honored him with a sometimes funny, always deeply felt opening monologue on his show the following night. (Clips are available on YouTube.) On that night, Ferguson showed his strengths as a storyteller, using his charm as something more than a mere gimmick. Self-effacing and open-hearted all at once, he suggested a common-man’s Spalding Gray.
Though he’s rarely referenced it since, the subject of his father’s passing has lately come up, adding shades of personality to his largely one-note presence. In late January, to mark the one-year anniversary of his father’s passing, he invited Billy Bragg on to perform 1991’s beautiful “Tank Park Salute,” which the English singer had written as a tribute to his own father. Introducing the performance, Ferguson was visibly shaken, and he looked moved at its conclusion. A week later, he welcomed Bob Saget, whose own father had also recently passed away. While the always pleasingly filthy Saget squeezed a couple of blue jokes out of his anguish, Ferguson tried to stay on emotional message. It was there -- without the dances, the sound effects, the mask -- that he seemed most comfortable, and apt, even if it felt nothing like late night.
