HOW LATE-NIGHT COMEDY SLIPPED INTO THE SAME, SMUG ROUTINE
By JAMES LILEKS
Monday night, David Letterman compared Sarah Palin to a slut and joked that, at the Yankees game she attended, "There was one awkward moment during the seventh inning stretch. Her daughter was knocked up by Alex Rodriguez."
Palin was outraged. Letterman lamely explained himself, saying he didn't realize the daughter at the baseball game was 14-year-old Willow, not 18-year-old Bristol. The Alaska governor called the explanation "convenient," wondered why the Obama daughters were off-limits but hers were not. Letterman suggested she couldn't take a joke. And on it went.
Unless Letterman makes a joke tomorrow that blends Baby Palin and Hugh Hefner, the flap is probably over. But it's a sign of the times that the argument came down to which teenaged daughter he smeared for a rim-shot. In the spirit of the age, let us consider what we've learned.
1. Not much. The parade went exactly as expected. Conservatives wondered why a women could be described as a "slutty flight attendant" without a hail of brickbats from high-minded progressives, but they knew full well the reason: To the left, Palin is a non-woman thing in heels, a female manque who will only be accepted when she tearfully tells Oprah she wishes she'd had an abortion. Maybe two.
Liberals pointed out that conservatives have failed to be outraged -- outraged, I say! -- by similar situations, such as the remark by Emperor Claudius that the Consul's wife was ugly enough to be one of Caligula's equine Senatorial appointments. Where was the outrage then? Hypocrites. (Nothing inflames the adolescent sense of righteousness like hypocrisy.) People who care little for politics but marinate daily in the shock-jock gutter broth just figured it was a tame gag, part of the game -- c'mon, lighten up. Finally, representatives of the Comedian-American Community reminded us that comics are supposed to be edgy. To push the envelope. As if the current envelope didn't consist of a few microscopic remains displayed at the Smithsonian.
As it turned out, some liberals did object; NOW put Dave in their Media Hall of Shame, whatever that is. Dave apologized, sort of: "These are not jokes made about her 14-year-old daughter. I would never, never make jokes about raping or having sex of any description with a 14-year-old girl. I mean, look at my record. It has never happened. I don't think it's funny. I would never think it was funny. I wouldn't put it in a joke."
Add 200 weeks to the girl's age, though, and it's boffo.
2. Something. Even if the routine was unfunny and pathetic, it shows where the line is -- for now, anyway. If a mainstream comic felt comfy with the jape, it'll be back. Jokes that won't fly today will be cheerfully deployed down the road, because we get bored of being pious. We're appropriately solemn about a Bad Thing at first, but after a while, everything's fair game. Let someone twitter a rude remark, let Gawker test the ice, then it's monologue material. The next Republican First Daughter will have her entire puberty charted through late night monologues.
How did we get here? Blame Dave. When he came on the air, he was utterly new, and hilarious. He may have invented the posture of Nerd Cool, an aspect so familiar to anyone who reads Internet message boards -- the skill at deflating enthusiasm, puncturing passion with a hatpin lobbed from a safe distance.
Now he's about as edgy as a soccer ball, and exists to ladle out rations of Wryness and Irony. With those shields we can never grow old, you know. We'll always be as sharp and perceptive as we were when we were sitting on a cast-off sofa in college, working through a midweek buzz.
Compare him to his predecessors: Carson was all Midwestern charm, with mannerly reserve; Steve Allen was show-off smart but cheerful; Parr was a nattering nutball covered with a rich creamy nougat of ego, but he was engaging. Letterman compares Sarah Palin to an Olive Garden hostess, thereby sneering at all the ghastly rubes who pullulate beyond the Hudson -- while making you wonder when he hits the OG. It's possible he built a replica at home, and hires people to behave just as stupidly as he believes they must be.
If Letterman was the father of modern smirk-comedy, his children by various muses are everywhere, from Jon Stewart -- not a real journalist, and therefore somehow a more really real journalist -- to Colbert, Conan, et. al. (Conan got a good start on winning over middle America last week, when he said half of Wisconsinites hadn't seen a black man, and half hadn't seen a thin person. Context? We don't need no stinking context!) They all skew left, but that's not the problem. It's that everyone else they know has the same ideas. Bush = teh evil, Palin is stoopid. At this point it's about as fresh as Mort Sahl doing a Khrushchev routine in 1976.
Yet reserve some sympathy. Money aside, it can't be fun to deal flat, rote A-Rod jokes night after night and hear laughter you know the joke didn't earn. Of course, $32 million buys many comforts, including insulation from both the people you mock, and the yo polloi who huff hardy-har at your mocking. But then there's those days where you have to clarify that you meant to suggest that the older daughter was having sex, not the underage ones. It wears on a man, no doubt.
Comedy is hard. Those envelopes don't push themselves, you know.