I figure everyone on the planet at this very second is writing his or her review of the Late Show with Stephen Colbert so I thought I would be a stand out exception and write one too.
To me The Late Show was like having a date with the one great love of your life who had some work done since your broke up, especially on his set which looked like the love child of Baz Luhrmann and Les Moonves.
What we need, at my age anyway, is for a late show to be on time (even though it's always going to be late) and to be soothing like the all-you-can swallow ambien buffet at your favorite opium den.
What we got instead was an electric eel cranked on a drug that is freely distributed to schools by that evil warlord Nabisco -- and for the most part I loved every single second of it.
Not because the show was perfect.
George Clooney felt like he was doing a manic cheerleader routine for a mentally challenged losing team, trying way too hard to funny-up the down in the dumps crowd.
Being an amusing and sometimes very funny guy does not mean that you are a wild and crazy performer. That is why Letterman began his run with Bill Murray whose droll whacked out persona perfectly matched Dave's own.
Frankly I always thought that the very first guest should have been The Colbert Report's Stephen Colbert to come on to announce his permanent death. That way we could have compared the old Stephen with the new one.
The whole show felt like a race by a marathon runner who was taking a short cut by rocketing to the finish line on the back of CW speedster, The Flash.
There were certainly opening night jitters and I will bet you that they whole thing felt like a two second blur to everyone involved who must have required copious amounts of after-show alcohol in order to help scrape themselves off the walls.
The second guest, George Bush. No. Wait. I meant Jeb Bush. He was more of a symbolic interview rather than an actual guest. Frankly he looked like a monk caught in the headlights who accidentally found himself in the deep end of Hef's pool.
He was pre-programmed robotic and, well, a Bush. He had no clue how to play to a non built-in, automatic response crowd who crows to your each and every talking point, as opposed to the presentation of real, actual ideas and vision.
It was like watching the GOP debates with him debating himself relying on stale, endlessly used lines like "I'm the Veto Corleone of Florida" (does he not know he's used that line a thousand times on national TV?). Stephen kindly pointed out that the Corleones were a family of questionable values which made me think: what exactly is the difference between the Bush family and the Corleones?
As of this writing I still have no idea. But I do know that George is Fredo.
What I think was brilliant was all the adult grown up movie commercials that CBS aired. Their visual and mental assault spoke volumes to me.
They all said "Now coming to your homes... Intelligence! Sophistication! Super smart silliness!"
It was the kind of endorsement that subliminally told the audience: Fallon is for the kids, Kimmel is for the snarky kids, but the Colbert world is the circus: ladies and gentlemen of all ages (but mainly for the ladies and gentlemen).
I even found myself a bit emotional having Stephen -- and for a brief moment Jon Stewart -- back.
Those two are both the genius puppet masters of information deliverance that came packaged in the exact same kind of knowing smirk that is on every Amazon.com box.
The real Colbert has always shown through to me. After awhile the real humanity of the performer can clearly be seen even through his clown make-up -- especially if he brilliant enough.
Honestly, from the moment he said, "Nation" I knew exactly who he was and still is. Plus the crowd chanting "Stephen! Stephen!" said all is right in the world once again. Brand, brand new always needs a sense of the familiar to make us feel at home.
So it's time to settle down now and get ready for the next few decades with Stephen who in some ways is not unlike your four-year-old (or Jimmy Fallon) who insists on PERFORMING for the relatives RELENTLESS.
Things will jell.
Stephen will realize that his mind and mind alone is his greatest strength almost equal to his faith filled, full of love heart.
He is adored by we the faithful because in some ways he has always been transparent to those of us who were in on the joke for the last nine years or so.
Performers like Marcel Marceau without the make-up turned dull and uninteresting. But here is the thing: Stephen never really wore any make up. There was always a genius navigating his way through the Perfect Storm of brilliant satire: a knowing wink if you will that if you got the joke, made you feel like you were an important member of Stephen's chapter of Mensa.
Not once during the hour did I look at my iphone -- who I am currently married to and who demands my ENDLESS attention.
At our wedding we are pronounced man and wifi.
As for the Jon Batiste band while I adored him it did feel a teeny bit trendy-ish (see: Cordon and Fallon's Roots).
But I was so captivated by the sheer propulsion of his impish and impulsive musical force that I'm willing to bet that he's going to show us some hitherto unseen on TV chops really soon.
He's like the love child of Dr. John and the entire Marsalis family rolled into one.
Late arrival Mavis Staples seemed to me like crazy Aunt Ethel who just leapt out of her audience chair to go sing on stage uninvited. And Buddy Guy seemed like he had just wandered out of the hospital in his hospital gown and was walking aimlessly up and down the aisles of K-Mart.
Not knowing who everyone was on stage (beyond Buddy, Derek and the Mrs.) was a bit odd. And PS: who the hell was that screeching gleeful James Cordon guy? Anyone? Bueller?
The best part of the final song (to me) was not the performances of the musical guests. It was the moment that Stephen made his entrance to sing because he is like your Aunt Ethel's equally insane husband, Uncle Loopy, who can't wait to leap and tickle you to death with his love of unbridled love for music and entertainment.
Audible.com has like nine million books on the pursuit of happiness, so let me help you eliminate, well, ALL of them because Stephen Colbert is the answer to all of them.
What Stephen deftly and naturally does is force you into the NOW, GRIPPING you by the collar like Bogart right before he bashes you in the face with a feather and a Maltese Falcon for the duration of the show.
And that is not mere distraction: it is total involvement.
It is PAYING ATTENTION while giggling like a girl who accidentally walked into a totally naked One Direction dressing room.
The final summation?
Intelligence is back.
A ham on wry is back.
Ironic is back.
Originality is back.
Okay, so I own't have any sleep for the next twenty years. But at least I'll die smiling.