From the Archive

Every week, the Opinion section presents an essay from The Times's archive by a columnist or contributor that we hope sheds light on current news or provides a window on the past.

Conan O'Brien has been the focus of a great deal of news coverage and Internet discussion after a decision by NBC to move Jay Leno's program back into Mr. O'Brien's current time slot. For a look into the past, rather than the year 3000, here is an Op-Ed published at the debut of Mr. O'Brien's "Late Night."

September 13, 1993



O'Brien Flops!

By CONAN O'BRIEN

Conan O'Brien is host of "Late Night."

There has been much speculation about the new "Late Night with Conan O'Brien." Little is known about the new host, and even less about the show's format. Last week, this writer had the opportunity to watch a test show in Rockefeller Center's legendary studio 6-A. Frankly, I was not impressed.

The crowd was visibly eager to like the young newcomer, but some seemed puzzled by the radical new set. The backdrop, consisting of 15-foot representations of Mr. O'Brien's laughing head, loomed over his desk and chair, both carved from illegally imported African ivory. While this was somewhat unsettling, an aura of eager anticipation still hung in the air.

Until, that is, the new Late Night band began to play. Composed of musicians cut by the Boston Pops, the band lurched into an interminable version of "Waltzing Matilda," apparently the show's theme song. The bandleader, a surly cellist, refused to make eye contact with anyone and hissed at a young girl who tried to clap along. As the music sputtered to a flaccid conclusion, thick jets of foam were dumped on the audience from hidden ceiling ducts. As people wiped the stinging lather from their eyes, Mr. O'Brien jumped out from behind a curtain and cheerfully quipped, "Ha, ha, you're all foamy!"

Unfazed by the lukewarm reaction to this ill-conceived prank, Mr. O'Brien launched into his monologue. Whipping out a large book, he read a string of childish "knock-knock" jokes. While the material was fair, Mr. O'Brien's delivery was halting, and he paused several times to adjust his reading glasses.

The worst was yet to come. Strutting arrogantly to his desk, Mr. O'Brien tried to converse briefly with his sidekick, an elderly Irish priest. But the old man seemed confused, and despite constant goading from Mr. O'Brien, sat in stony silence.

Sensing a loss of momentum, Mr. O'Brien quickly launched into a "Top Ten" list, something he'd repeatedly told the press he would never do. The list was rife with misspellings, and three of the 10 entries read "joke to come." Moments later, he tried playfully flipping a pencil at a camera, but missed and struck a woman in the eye. "At least it wasn't me," quipped the first guest, the former Mets outfielder Vince Coleman. O'Brien burst into laughter at this distasteful comment. "Now we're cooking with gas," said the cocky new voice of "Late Night."

Mr. O'Brien's guests that evening also included the deputy director of New York's wastewater collection bureau, the editor of the NBC inter-office newsletter and a man who could eat oranges without getting any juice on his shirt (although he failed to do so on camera). Inexplicably, all the guests were introduced at the same time. Mr. O'Brien then asked each, in turn, his favorite color. To every answer, he snorted that the chosen color was "for girls."

During a commercial break, several NBC executives entered the audience and asked for volunteers to hold up a gaudy "Nobody Beats Conan" banner, but the crowd jeered bitterly and one youth kicked the sign.

The last 20 minutes of the program consisted of Mr. O'Brien performing a strange, snake-like dance in front of his desk as audience members filed out in disgust. "You'll be back!" he shouted several times, until the entire studio was empty (except for the orange-eater and Mr. Coleman, who giggled frenetically under the closing credits).

As much as this writer would like to root for Mr. O'Brien, one can't help but have grave doubts about his prospects. Despite the considerable power of his raw sexuality and mesmerizing intellectual presence, this "Late Night" may very well end up the late "Late Night." Or not, I gotta go.