The Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn

Kilborn has proven that funny isn't genetic. Without good writing, his new effort seems like he's making no effort. His good looks and charm only expose his lack of talent...hopefully only temporary. If he learns quickly, he'll be back in form, bu it's gonna take some solid, new writing.

This is show is a one-trick pony and the one trick isn't very funny. This show is nothing more than Craig Kilborn using his smarmy frat boy charm for all that it is worth (which isn't alot). He ripped off "In the News" and "5 Questions" from his Daily Show days, proving that he is incapable of creating any new gimmicks to get us to laugh. If you truly want to be entertained late at night, watch the Daily Show (Jon Stewart has taken that show to incredible heights) and follow it up an hour later with Conan.

Can Late Late' Bloomer and ex-Daily Show host Craig Kilborn replace Tom Snyder? (Tom who?) Improve CBS' late-night numbers? No doubt. Challenge Conan's ratings? That is the question.

Panic on the set of The Late Late Show: Craig Kilborn is having a bad hair day. And just three weeks before his much-hyped replacement of former host Tom Snyder, the notoriously meticulous Kilborn is not suffering imperfection (grooming or otherwise) gladly--even during a rehearsal. Encouraging words are offered; the network is thrilled with what it's seen so far. "I don't care what they think," mutters Kilborn, "it's what I think. I don't want to wing this."

A rather animated exchange for the usually unflappable Kilborn, 36, who cut his teeth anchoring two of cable's snarkiest talkers: ESPN's SportsCenter and Comedy Central's The Daily Show. But for all the loose, wry repartee on camera, the 6'5" blue-eyed blond is wrapped tighter than a mummy when he's off. "Craig is a complicated guy," says Daily Show co-creator Madeleine Smithberg. "I used to call him a TV savant. It's almost as if he comes to life on camera. Everything else is in the shadow of his TV persona."

Indeed, delivering a smarmy version of "Looks Like We Made It" by the piano on the show's new pseudo-den set (complete with functional bar--"We'll break some FCC rules," Kilborn promises), he visibly relaxes; he's a Mister Rogers for the after-dark crowd, having a Scotch and cracking wise about the neighborhood.

The irreverent Kilborn may seem an odd choice for the determinedly square Eye network ("He's hipper than CBS," admits its TV CEO Leslie Moonves), but really, what's the net got to lose? For four seasons now, its late-night ratings have trailed behind NBC's. Kilborn is certainly a better fit with lead-in David Letterman than the leaden Snyder was. And Late Night With Conan O'Brien proves there's a demographic (young men 18 to 34) eager to stay up late with a sarcastic white guy. The question is, will any of them be eager to flip? Kilborn diplomatically addresses the upcoming battle: "Conan's got a five-year start," he reasons. Kilborn adds that he'll be able to deliver "as long as expectations are low."

If Kilborn's cautious, you can't blame him. He's reticent by nature; a true Midwestern WASP, brought up in Hastings, Minn., he guards his past, revealing little beyond a lifelong desire to be a talk-show host (as a kid, he'd record monologues that his insurance agent dad would critique) and a lackluster basketball career at Montana State University ("I was a slow white player, and I still am," he says). But he's also been burned by the press, not to mention by his own occasional candor. He recently admitted to having an 11-year-old son--but only after a tabloid threatened to break the news first. And he spent most of '98 apologizing for a crack he made in Esquire about Daily Show co-creator Lizz Winstead (that she'd Monica Lewinsky him if he asked). The remark got Kilborn suspended; Winstead quit. "I made a mistake," he says. "It was a bad joke--and there will be plenty more of those when the show starts."

Clearly, there are still hard feelings. "The Daily Show was obviously a great platform," he says, "but from day one I wanted to leave." He frequently bickered with the show's writers over his role, pretty much limited to making fun of the day's headlines. And he continues to fume over accusations that he didn't write much of his material, though he won't discuss it: "It's almost gossipy. And who the hell cares? Let my work speak for itself." Or listen to Rob Burnett, CEO of Worldwide Pants, producer of Late Late: "We knew we were getting someone very comfortable on camera. What we didn't expect was a guy with a million ideas."

What's certainly true is that The Daily Show has suffered since his departure. Despite the auspicious first-week ratings of his successor, Jon Stewart, Kilborn attracted a younger, more male audience. If he can do the same for Late Late, plenty of CBS execs will be willing to get down on their knees and, uh, thank him.

When I was about eight years old, I used to tune in to Letterman or Leno from time to time. While their juvenile antics amused me when I was young, and on rare occasion still do to some extent-- I grew weary of their repetitive, unfunny jokes and stupid skits. In my mid-teens, I started watching Conan. I thought, this guy is succeeding where the others have failed. But I also tired of Conan, and rather quickly, as I found his range as a comedian quite miniscule and his jokes monotonously shallow. I still tuned in occasionally, but not more than a few times a year, because that seemed to be the only way late shows could stay funny and fresh to me.

And then, about a year ago, my friend started nagging me to watch Craig Kilborn. I kept forgetting about it, and so he started taping episodes and making me watch them whenever I was over at his house. At first, though I noted Kilborn to be a skilled comedian with a very diverse portfolio of perfectly executed facial expressions, I didn't understand a lot of his jokes. This is because he has built his show upon a foundation of inside jokes that are sometimes rephrased and repeated a number of times within any given week. As a new viewer, I was unfamiliar with his inside jokes. But now, I feel they are one of the best parts of his show, because for an inside joke to be funny-- the audience has to KNOW what he is talking about. It makes you feel like a part of the show.

I treasure parts of Kilborn's show, such as In The News, Five Questions, and Yambo. Not only are these segments often the highlight of Craig Kilborn, they (more often than not) dwarf the competition in terms of wit, humor, and intelligence.

But the thing that makes The Late Late Show with Craig Kilborn succeed more than anything else is Craig Kilborn. He has a style of comedy that is very self-referential, and he puts on the act of a vain man who thinks he is more important than he really is. He'll act like he thinks he's a big star, while in reality, he's really making fun of himself.

You have to hand it to him. This man with no announcer and no band has single-handedly created the greatest late-night talk show of our time.

If you don't like Craig Kilborn, then try watching it for a couple of weeks straight. If you're not converted by the end of those two weeks, then you're simply not American.

Craig Kilborn seems to have a habit of taking a job, putting his style to it and then moving on to something new. He did it on ESPN's "Sportscenter." He did it again at Comedy Central's "The Daily Show," and he did it with this, his CBS Late Night talk fest.

To really understand what went on with this program, you have to know the history. Go back to the remarkable HBO series, "The Larry Sanders Show," where Garry Shandling played a self-absorbed emcee. At a crucial point, the fictional Sanders was looking for someone to host a program after his and the name he came up with was Tom Snyder. In a "life imitates art" moment, David Letterman brought Snyder in to host "The Late Late Show." Where Snyder was innovative and cutting-edge in the 1970s and 80s, his delivery and selection of guests for the late 90s were more conducive to a mid morning deadly dull radio program, and people were quick to tune out.

Meanwhile, Kilborn was building a reputation as an amusing character, doing interviews on "The Daily Show" and introducing his "Five Questions" quiz of guest celebrities there. When it was time to replace Snyder, Letterman plucked Kilborn from his Comedy Central job and installed him at the 12:30am slot. Craig's arrival at CBS may have surprised some, but it was clear that he was ready for this next step in his career. In early 1999, Kilborn signed on, with almost no fanfare whatsoever.

The critics didn't seem to get what Kilborn was attempting to do with the genre at first, and branded him a smarmy frat boy early on in his run. He was, in fact, probably the most underrated host in the history of late night television.

His set looked like an erudite bachelor's lair, with wood tones, a fully stocked bookcase, overstuffed and distressed warm leather chairs, a bar cart and a sound system where he could play the stylish music of Sergio Mendes, Antonio Carlos Jobim or sample the hits of a performer on the program. There was also a "windowseat," to which he brought several female guests to do some canoodling, most famously, Catherine Zeta-Jones.

When he was not figuratively or literally kissing up to his guests, the host of the show was clearly trying to do something a little different from other late night talkers. His affirmational concepts including his catchphrase, "Proud of you," were a constant, and he had a metrosexual air, even before that term became part of the vernacular. His attempt to bring back the Ascot was only one in a series of style choices, and he was typically well groomed, keeping a hand mirror as one of the props on his over-sized Bavarian Oak desk.

His heroes were the stars of Old Hollywood and 1960s teevee, and many made semi-regular appearances on the program. His "Tuesdays With Buddy" segment featured Borscht Belt favorite Buddy Hackett. Adam West, William Shatner and Merv Griffin all paid visits, and his final show featured a taped segment with famed producer Robert Evans. Also notable were the seemingly never ending parade of supermodels and starlets that visited, which gave Kilborn a chance to show off his boyish charm and Midwestern homespun manners.

Perhaps the most historic moment for the show came when, with the sponsorship help of Coca-Cola, they took the program on the road to the NCAA Men's Basketball Final Four in 2003. A week in New Orleans was the first and only road trip for the program, and featured a segment where the modest Kilborn wandered around the French Quarter imploring women to keep their tops on, and permitted him the opportunity to show off some of his basketball prowess, since he was a member of his college team.

Kilborn had a taste of success with acting during the run of the program, including a well-received appearance in the big screen "slob" comedy "Old School," and that might have sealed the show's fate. He realized that he wanted to do something more, and hosting the program meant he would be tied to that desk, unable to continue to grow. He shocked many people (including some CBS execs and industry insiders) by leaving the program on August 27, 2004, a decision that was only made public a few weeks before his departure.

Many of the show's staff remained in place through the guest host trials that followed Kilborn's exit, and many stayed on for the program's ensuing incarnation: "The Late Late Show With Craig Ferguson."