Conan O'Brien hung up his invisible strings Friday after a 16-year-long run of "Late Night with Conan O'Brien." This is a part of NBC's move to shake up its late-night lineup to save some dough.
The game of television show host musical chairs will involve O'Brien taking over "The Tonight Show," Jimmy Fallon hosting "Late Night," and Jay Leno moving to his own 10 p.m. talk show. In pushing late night talk shows into the territory of prime-time programming, NBC can cut back on its dramas, which cost the network millions more to make per episode.
Even if it is to decrease the bottom line, this shuffle of hosts is a clear sign that the era of late-night television isn't ending any time soon. People need comedians willing to be humorous for the simple sake of humor more than ever, but what does this mean for America's favorite swoop-haired Tarja Halonen lookalike?
O'Brien has amassed his very own cult following. He's just such an awkward buffoon that some can't help but adore his absurdist humor. He has come full circle: O'Brien is so untcool that he has redefined the meaning of the word "cool." Honestly, how many people can pull on a lever and have clips from "Walker, Texas Ranger" magically appear?
With his endearing self-deprecation, O'Brien constantly announced to his audience that "Late Night" just wasn't that good. They obviously begged to differ, some of them waiting hours just to get standby tickets to the final taping of his show. That shows true commitment to the "humortastical wonderment" of the Cone Bone.
Does this mean that with a new time slot, Conan O'Brien will be forced to mature? The world caught a glimpse of a more humbled, thankful, almost - dare I say it - grown-up Consie at the end of his last show. Could this indicate a shift in his television personality as he makes the move to "The Tonight Show?"
Say it ain't so, Conando!
O'Brien's shift to a more mainstream time slot is leading some to speculate that he will have to give up certain characters that made "Late Night" unmistakably his.
"Late Night" was groundbreaking in that over the course of 2,725 episodes, it featured a crying Nazi in the audience, O'Brien zip lining across the studio while donning a steam-spouting helmet to save our sixteenth president from being assassinated by John Wilkes Booth, and a bear that… well, you know.
While O'Brien takes his house band, the Max Weinberg 7, along to its new home in Burbank, it may just be that the only change in the show's dynamic will be that the censors will not take as kindly to a crotch-fondling bear or the racist, misogynist ghost from the heyday of radio who was murdered by the League of Women Voters.
In that case, let us welcome a new era of ridiculous characters that make up O'Brien's entourage. Whether O'Brien changes or not, he will indeed be judged for it, and the judgment will come swiftly.
Good luck, you long-limbed, Irish wag. And stay true to the slightly creepy, beady-eyed fool you are. We'll see you in June.
Naudia Jawad is a journalism graduate student. Her column appears on Wednesdays.
