The War for Late Night_ When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy - Bill Carter [70]
When Kimmel finally landed at K-Rock (KROQ-FM) in LA, he found a niche that stabilized his peripatetic career, becoming “Jimmy the Sports Guy” for a popular morning drive team, Kevin and the Bean. Finally somewhat secure, he sought out side gigs for extra money. Among others, he won a spot as a writer for a would-be game show that the legendary former programmer for multiple networks Fred Silverman was putting together.
“Gossip” had the rather preposterous premise of asking contestants to watch a series of bizarre events involving celebrities, only one of which was real. Kimmel thought the show had no shot at ever seeing the light of a TV screen—they were going to shoot it six months in advance and expect the real gossip items either to be still unknown or still relevant? But it was a paying job, so he didn’t care.
At the time of the initial run-throughs, “Gossip” had no host, so the producer asked Kimmel to stand in for a day. Within a few minutes of taking charge of the stage, Kimmel got it into his head that he could surely lead this stupid thing—a suggestion the producer dismissed when Kimmel offered it. But Jimmy raised his energy level and performed in the run-through as though the show belonged to him. Silverman was sitting in the empty audience seats sipping a glass of iced tea. This kid suddenly got his attention; he watched for a while and then called out:
“Cancel the host auditions! This guy’s the host!”
Silverman brought the show to a series of meetings with potential buyers, with Jimmy fronting the presentations. A young executive with ABCʹs production studio named Michael Davies sat in on one of them. Davies, an Englishman who knew from British television that game shows were not the lowest form of TV life, as most American producers believed, didn’t care at all for “Gossip.” But he recognized a game-show host when he saw one.
From that moment on, Michael Davies became Jimmy Kimmel’s unofficial career placement officer. Convinced of his talent, Davies laid a series of potential projects out for Kimmel, who shocked Davies by rejecting them all. Jimmy, just hitting thirty, needed money desperately, but he knew the next move was a crucial one for him. He couldn’t jump into television in some throwaway slice of processed cheese. That was a ticket back to radio, maybe forever.
Then Davies showed up with an offbeat project called Win Ben Stein’s Money. The premise was a spin on a quiz show in which every week contestants played against Stein, the dry and wry conservative commentator, writer, and actor, for (supposedly) his own money. Davies set up Kimmel to audition, and no one needed to see any other candidates. During the presentation for network buyers, Kimmel lit up the stage, providing a comic edge that made the show distinctive. Comedy Central outbid other networks. Kimmel suddenly had a television career.
He didn’t exactly fit the usual physical prerequisites of a TV star. Not really overweight but always slightly puffy, Kimmel looked less like a leading man than a relaxed-fit jeans model. Medium height, often rumpled around the edges, with a thatch of black hair that always trailed off this way or that and hooded eyes that made him look perpetually sleepy (perhaps because he actually suffered from narcolepsy), Jimmy didn’t figure to win a lot of face roles from casting directors—or style points from the fashion police. But he made up for those shortcomings with spirit. Outgoing, boisterous, and far, far smarter than a first impression might