The War for Late Night_ When Leno Went Early and Television Went Crazy - Bill Carter [8]
The other booked acts had a few highs and lows, with Meyers and Poehler scoring with a version of “Weekend Update” from SNL that mocked NBCʹs prime-time machinations. Williams then returned to the stage to set up the next of the evening’s highlights: the latest of NBC’s late-night stars, Jimmy Fallon.
Fallon had been on the air since March, displaying typically rocky rookie moments but quickly making his mark by hitting the sweet spot for the Late Night audience: the college crowd, which Fallon was expanding by reaching out through his blog and his Twitter account.
He shambled out in his aw-shucks manner, his suit looking maybe one size too big, underscoring how much younger—he was thirty-four—he was than most of the others who’d appeared onstage. Fallon got a quick laugh with a throwaway line directed at Williams: “Thank you, thank you very much—Anderson Cooper, everybody.” Since he had his house band at hand, Fallon was able to lead the Roots into one of the signature bits from his nascent show, “Slow Jammin’ the News”—only, given the occasion, Jimmy made it a slow jam of the NBC schedule.
If that routine played a little arcane for this particular audience’s taste, Fallon had something more surefire prepared, a bit he had actually performed at an earlier dinner.
Grabbing his acoustic guitar, Jimmy explained he was going to do something he did regularly on the Late Night show: lure a member out of the audience to come up onstage, where he would make up a song about him or her on the spot.
“Any volunteers?” Fallon asked, looking down into the front rows. “You, sir? You want to get up?”
Jeff Zucker, in his impeccably tailored suit, the fringe of hair around his bald pate buzzed close, clambered onstage, playing his part of looking reluctant.
“What is your name, sir?” Fallon asked, all innocence amid the laughs.
“Zucker” came the reply, accompanied by an “as if” look.
“What do you do, sir?” Fallon asked, pretending to write the information on a card.
“I’m with NBC.”
“And . . . straight or gay?”
After getting the predictable boisterous laugh, Fallon began strumming chords and launched into his song:
Going to sing you a song about a friend I know.
He has no time for a late TV show.
He ain’t tall, completely bald,
My friend, Zucker.
He says his last name’s pronounced Zooker.
He’s a crazy mother-fooker.
He’s the man who makes decisions.
He ain’t got 20/20 vision (he wears glasses),
My man, Zucker!
He’s the guy calls all the shots.
What if he married Courteney Cox?
They’d be so in love with each other,
She’d be Courteney Cox Zucker!
After the biggest laugh of the night since Conan’s Leno joke, Fallon squeezed in his last notes:
And . . . And, I just got fired!
It was a wow finish for a performance that made the impression NBC was seeking. Fallon demonstrated compellingly that he was both funny and appealing; as a replacement at 12:35 for Conan, he just might do.
Backstage many of the comics who had finished their spots lingered to watch their compatriots, but mainly, it seemed to one of the stars that evening, out of “a palpable curiosity about how Leno would perform.” Conan, however, had long since departed. He had been happy to get on the bill early so he could hit the road fast, back to the small jet waiting at Teterboro to fly him back to Los Angeles.
Jerry Seinfeld had remained, and he had a small concern that he thought about mentioning to somebody in charge. Jerry hadn’t had any problem connecting with the crowd during his crisp five-minute stint, but he was a bit uncomfortable out there nonetheless. What disturbed him was that throughout his spot—and the entire evening, really—the house lights had been kept all the way up, making the audience totally visible to the performers onstage. For a seasoned professional stand-up like Seinfeld, this was “one of the