Returns from late night

In the interest of science, (with simulcasts made possible thanks to my trusty TIVO,)  I stayed up late last night to watch the return of late night TV.

The writer's strike had sent Jay, Dave and Conan (and countless others) off on two months of exile. Last night, they returned, two sans-writers, one back to normal thanks to an adroitly written one-off contract with the WGA.

So how were they?  To be frank, mixed.

First, let me go off on a little rant about men and beards. Why, oh why, do men immediately go native when something interrupts their normal routine?  Both Conan and Dave returned to live air sporting ridiculous facial hair.  Letterman looked like an (old) rabbi. Conan, oh dear.  I guess it gave him something to talk about. (and God knows he needed it...) Dave had a full compliment of writers, (and actual guests...)  WTF?

But back to the shows.

Usually, I'm a Letterman girl.  And while I don't dislike Jay,  I prefer the East-coast flavored drollery of Dave and his wonderful side-kick, Paul Shaeffer. Last night, both were good.  Letterman, with no picket line problem, offered A-list guest, Robin Williams and a well written, (if a little sanctimonious) program made possible by the side deal his company, World Wide Pants crafted with the union to allow the show to go on.

But last night, Jay won the duel.  Working without a net, Jay was on his game. Good jokes, good energy and a smart show plan, Jay invited a Republican presidential candidate (no scab issues there...) and a tv chef to fill out the dance card. The hour and a half flew, better, actually than usual.  Jay's stand up-roots shone. He owned the material and infused the night with an unusual energy and passion for the work that showed me why he's the king of late night's prime real estate.

What followed, however, was dismal (and the beard not the half of it.)  Conan, back in the day, shone with t he help of  frat boy writers and their urbane, Hasty-Pudding yuks. Cool guests, great music and the fabulous Max Weinberg band.

Last night? Manic mediocrity. Conan on fear and adrenaline (with a beard) was not good. Not good at all. Compared to Jay, his show appeared to be pasted together with spit and arrogance.  Not well-planned, not well-scripted, not much at all, really.  Conan's "guests," Bob Saget (huh?) and a stand-up wannabe were, well, willing to cross a picket line. The program's highlight, as usual, was the band. (La Bomba's comic mugging was the funniest thing all night.)

Turn's out, Letterman's entrepreneurial deal-making trumped the mega-corp networks and forced his competition back to the airwaves without portfolio. Going forward, until the strike is settled, Jay and Conan are going to have a tough time putting out a quality product. Writing one's own material night after night will be an issue, more so will be finding company willing to cross the line. Unsustainable.

Moral of the story? Quality programming come from talent not gimmicks. Content needs uh, content. Pay the writers. Now and later. Without them, you're toast.