Of the current hosts, David Letterman comes closest to that grand master, albeit more lately than formerly, and it is not that surprising to hear jokes in his monologue that came from the pen of the late Carson. When one thinks of the tribute shows presented after Johnny's death, the difference between Letterman and his counterpart Jay Leno was striking. Leno's program seemed to be almost a hurried afterthought that featured three of Carson's old guests (Don Rickles, Bob Newhart, and a bedraggled Drew Carey) while old tapes provided by Carson Productions were played for fond remembrance—and bigger laughs. But Letterman's program, a week later, evinced not only more thoughtfulness but also his actual closeness to Carson and his performing world.

As we saw on the tapes, Letterman was the only talk show host who could get Carson to make a cameo appearance, which he did several times through 1994. With typical self-effacement, Letterman refused to even compare himself to the master, from whom he gained his first national exposure as a comedian…and never forgot the gesture. And, as a more than ironic tribute, Letterman's entire monologue that night contained jokes written by Carson. Dave had convinced Carson's former producer Peter Lassally to sit and share insider anecdotes and then listened as former band leader Doc Severinsen, joined by a favorite Carson foil, saxophonist Tommy Newsome, and drummer Ed Shoughnessy, conducted and played a classy, string-laden rendition of "Here Comes That Rainy Day," one of Carson's favorite songs.

You would never see such a connection to Carson's world on Leno's show. What NBC execs had decided to do when Johnny left was to excise most traces of the old show from the appearance and approach of the new one. Carson was reportedly hurt and upset by the move, and not even a sincere (but very formal) commentary by Jay could make one forget the clamorous behind-the-scenes politics that led to the bitter transfer of Letterman to CBS.

Before he was tabbed by NBC to be Carson's permanent replacement on "The Tonight Show," Jay Leno was the funniest comedian in the world. His lovably acerbic delivery, concentrating on consumer irritations and frustrations with old-school parents in a new technological world, was the perfect fit for an audience that was moving from older baby boomers to new age suburban get-goers and soccer moms.

And the place to see Leno was on David Letterman's show following Carson, as Dave was slowly emerging as the likely successor to Carson's late night throne. Letterman, now known to have been the late Carson's favorite for the position, was certainly gearing his career to be a modern replacement for the Great Carsoni, introducing America to the new generation of cutting edge comics. For example, how many of us would have even cared about Richard Lewis without Dave?

At the same time, Letterman maintained nuances of the old school talk show schtick, whether it was hamming it up with Tony Randall and Regis Philbin, featuring the Peace Through Dramatization Players (his version of the Mighty Carson Art Players), or, like an obvious influence, Steve Allen, taking the camera outdoors to create humor with common people or attempt some sort of crazy stunt. Even animals occasionally showed up, and it was Dave who became Velcro Man for a short time.

Essentially, Letterman tailored his career to extend the tradition of avuncular, sometimes wacky, NBC talk show hosts who entertained the American late night public for 40 years.

Yet, it was Leno who was hired to host "The Tonight Show," and television has never been the same. While Letterman continues to grind away at Leno's audience figures, somewhat gained (one suspects) from the preponderance and accessibility of NBC's local stations and their news shows, the four-decade momentum of excellence that began with Allen, extended by Jack Paar, and perfected by Carson is, for all intents and purposes, over. And, as a tragic extension of its original decision, when NBC and Leno curiously decided to announce their intention to replace Leno in five years with ex-Letterman writer Conan O'Brien, the travesty of corporate television was at its zenith. Afraid of losing O'Brien, whose manic, Nervous Nelly presence makes Letterman look smooth, the network unintentionally reminded us of their previous decision that ostracized the superior talent and opened the door for another network's challenge to a form of programming NBC had owned and dominated since televisions became mass produced and network programming accessible to most of the country.

One could almost claim that the omnipresent glut of talk shows available these days received its greatest boost when Carson left and no one nearly worthy of his desk seat was allowed to take his place: if Leno could walk in with only replacement host credentials, then even John McEnroe could have a show!

END OF AN ERA

The bottom line is that American audiences will never, ever, again experience the progression of excellence provided by the first three hosts of what became The Tonight Show. What made Allen, Paar, and Carson unique was the depth of their interests, their comic sense, and their particular genius for connecting with the audience while crafting a singular television persona. While it is true that every talk show takes on the personality of its host, audiences of the current group are much more aware of these hosts' limitations – almost painfully so at times. Letterman remains a very stiff and self-centered conversationalist who needs someone creative like Steve Martin to come out of his shell. Leno's joke delivery changed radically when he had to produce a nightly monologue, and his material began to gravitate toward cheap laughs initiated by the tawdry Hollywood scene. O'Brien's antsy stage presence relies more on his ability to find ways to reveal himself on camera (although his producers have solved that problem in an ironic old school fashion by keeping the camera still); his edgy, cynical material that, eventually, will placate a goodly portion of middle America, is more at home with Generation Y-types who will, some day, grow old and demand more maturity from its host.

It's almost as though these current hosts (I refuse to call them "performers") are stuck in one gear and struggle day in and day out to create new humor through one conduit.

What made Allen, Paar, and Carson superior was that their consistency was developed through their versatility. The structure of their shows, with the desk as the centerpiece and focal point, remained static but never grew old because the person manning the desk was capable of so much more.

Steve Allen was the progenitor of late night wackiness, a sometimes Bizarro version of Dave Garroway's quietly erudite "Today Show." Interested in hundreds of things, Allen was comfortably introducing his audience to the studio itself, the art of word play for laughs, new music, and the ability to laugh at himself. Through Allen, a young person interested in the trade could get a feel for studio production as the host often left his desk to prance about the cameramen, sound people, and audience. It was as though the audience-removed was allowed into a very special fun house.

Paar brought a cerebral ambiance and urbanity to the proceedings, not only by his thoughtful and wry monologues and travelogues, but also by allowing people more talented and singular to share the spotlight and the lines. One cannot think of Paar without thinking of the eccentric Oscar Levant, the mildly loony Jonathon Winters, the mousy Wally Cox, and the wickedly witty Dame Edith, people who would never be comfortable with either Leno or Letterman, and certainly not O'Brien.

It is impossible to understate the importance and contribution of Johnny Carson, whose quiet sophistication, balanced with Midwestern good sense, provided an underpinning to his comic genius. This was a guy who could talk seriously with noted scientists while at the same time sponsor the wedding of Tiny Tim to Miss Vicki without the country wondering if he had smoked some of that new weed prevalent on the West Coast. While not a complete original in the sense both Allen and Paar were, Carson was a great student of comedians. He parlayed his own performing sensibilities and finely crafted joke telling into the finest, most consistently excellent performance in television history. Anything and anybody could become a victim of Carson's supreme wit, making him the ultimate spokesperson for the Silent Majority that wanted, once in a while, to see those in power, notoriety, or popular fame go down in flames, but in a humane way.

THE CURRENT CREW

When Leno began his NBC run, his popularity, not hurt by several stand-in appearances during the last two years of Carson's run, helped generate interest in the new show. But Leno, frankly, seemed a bit ill at ease for someone who was a veteran of the comedy stage, stumbling over lines and fidgeting with his hands. He fortunately maintained a bit he had developed, showing ill-worded ads, headlines, and captions printed in small town newspapers, attaching incredulous comments along the way. Combining it with his version of Allen's Everyman, "Jaywalking," Leno was able to maintain vestiges of his familiar persona as he reacted to the incredible ignorance of southern California folk.

As for Letterman, over the past two years as he was increasingly fed material from Carson, he began to hone a monologue presence that showed more and more of Johnny's influence, from the oddball "How hot is it?" schtick to an increasing propensity to put his hands in his pockets. But one of the weaknesses of his program is that one joke will be recycled numerous times over the course of one, maybe two, weeks. The studio audience may get a kick out of it, but loyal viewers can get tired in a hurry, something a Carson fan could never experience.

For his part, Leno works hard at providing fresh material, but his constant appearances without break suggest two coexisting forces: hard work and insecurity. When Carson developed his cadre of substitute hosts, it was out of a sense of security. When one thinks of the outstanding list of subs, including Joan Rivers, David Brenner, Gary Shandling, Bill Cosby, and both Letterman and Leno, the high quality of "The Tonight Show" was never threatened.

Neither Letterman nor Leno has been able to conquer an insularity that evolved since the late night wars commenced. While his heart surgery and 9/11 clearly have softened him, Letterman shares his throne only a few times. Meanwhile, Leno doesn't, and the recent declaration of his coming retirement only stokes the fires for more Jay, more often.

As for O'Brien, there is no sign that his christening has changed anything. He'll still tote out Nascar-driving Jesus and Frankenstein Who Wastes A Minute of Your Time, wildly cynical and obtuse humor that continues to play well on the college scene and in Blue States. But he fills gaps in humor and his own mania with physical shenanigans that hearken back to local television kid shows – quaint in an odd way, but when one translates that approach to the mass market of late night prime time, one can only wonder what will happen to the man who was Mel Brooks to Letterman's Sid Caesar.

THE FUTURE

The future of contemporary television comic entertainment seems, at this point, problematic. Some have seen a light at the end of the picture tube in people like Jon Stewart and Ellen DeGeneres, whose TV-woven personalities have attracted increasingly loyal fan bases. Stewart can deliver lines and smirks with the best of them, and his solid rhetorical battle with the CNN talk people during the last presidential campaign drew people looking for a critical edge from an entertainer who is steeped in satire. DeGeneres has risen above her self-proclaimed lesbianism to become a beloved, sensitive, extremely witty, dancing everywoman who offends almost no one.

One comedian who could rise to attract Common America is Ray Romano, who is a much better stand-up comedian than an actor and whose appearances on talk shows evince an ability to be relaxed, open, spontaneous, and articulate in front of millions of people. Comments by on-air partner Patricia Heaton have suggested that Ray has a very clear concept of humor and its timing. I have no proof that anyone is thinking about Romano in a talk show role, but the idea becomes more attractive when you consider alternatives.

Sadly though, it seems at this point that a generation of TV viewers will never experience the depth of the true American phenomenon, a host with depth, as the networks have chosen to devote their time and money to generally mini-dimensional talents. Perhaps that is a reflection of what passes as entertainment in today's United States, but, compared to what we once had, what a pity it is.

Photos courtesy of NBC

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