Over nine years of unprecedented comedic work, Stephen Colbert, the performer, became synonymous with a caricature of modern conservatism. Most people were in on the joke by the end — though holdouts remained. Colbert sharply satirized, among other things, the narrow focus of the conservative political agenda, and as a white male with traditional looks and unending charm, he was the American pundit on full blast. Nobody was safe.
Of course, Colbert has been performing for decades. While little of his previous work had stuck its landing before The Colbert Report — and by extension, his previous run as a correspondent on The Daily Show — the man is unmistakably genius. More specifically, as a man whose interests range near and far, Colbert has used his platform and intellectual capacity to shine a light on issues that mattered: to him, to others, to anyone.
The irony of his show was that unlike his stringent, esoteric character of the past decade, Colbert is a cultural sponge. Through his political endeavors in the farming and environmental world, and by peering over his diverse list of guests on the show, I perceive Colbert as a sort of cultural encyclopedia: Shake him up, ask him a question, and enjoy your answer.
My favorite interactions on The Colbert Report were the moments when Colbert would sit across from someone that would never get the time of day on Fox News or its equivalents. Eva Longoria last November comes to mind. Sure, Longoria is gorgeous, successful and rich, but why would somebody like Bill O’Reilly let a Latino woman, famous for her role on a glorified soap opera, talk about real issues?
However, for Colbert, that’s what motivated The Colbert Report in the first place — to spin the hypocrisies of mainstream cable news on its head, and with our laughter as encouragement, carry out an actual discussion with smart, talented people.
This dichotomy was never more transparent than when Colbert invited rappers onto his show. More so than in most creative fields, a rapper’s authenticity is his or her livelihood — all they have is their word and their balls. This is why the recent prosperity of Iggy Azalea has received such intense pushback by Hip-Hop Heads; artists are expected to transport their audience to the places and experiences only they know, and to go outside of that milieu is trespassing at best, and plagiarism at worst.
Sitting someone like Nas or Eminem across from O’Reilly or Nancy Grace would create an ear-splitting dissonance. Words would be nothing more than weapons; nobody would hear a thing. An appearance on The Colbert Report for these recording artists offers something much more valuable — not to mention bizarre and entertaining. Colbert offers these men an opportunity to share their story with an open-minded audience.
All the while, Colbert brings his guest in on the overall gag. When Colbert sarcastically asked Nas in 2008 why he didn’t challenge O’Reilly to a rap battle over formally launching a petition, the humor is in the suggestion and not at the expense of Nas. By providing Nas the platform to speak about his petition, Colbert is co-signing his efforts, and respecting him not just as a “successful artist” but as an equal and a peer.
The final musical guest in the history of The Colbert Report was Kendrick Lamar — perhaps the most obvious reveal of Colbert’s greater cultural mission since he and Jon Stewart hired John Legend and the Roots to restore the nation’s sanity. Lamar is an effervescent personality responsible for crafting several of the most colorful texts in music the past five years. It’s no mistake Colbert picked him to close up shop.
“I’ve had Paul McCartney, R.E.M. and Nas on before,” Colbert told him. “So they’re your warmup acts. Don’t blow it.”
When Colbert came around the corner of his studio to begin the interview, Lamar was all smiles watching him give his trademark bow to his roaring audience. He asked Lamar why his stage name is a combination of Anna Kendrick and Sir Lamar Alexander, and suggested Lamar should change the lyrics to “Swimming Pools” to work in a corporate sponsorship with Dewar’s whiskey, a notable sponsor of The Colbert Report. From one creative to another, Lamar understood and respected the act, and yet it was still too much for him at times. Colbert knocked Lamar silent with laughter on a couple occasions.
The most striking moment of the appearance — outside of the alien landing which was Lamar’s “Untitled” performance — was when Colbert asked Lamar why he preferred being called a writer over rapper. When Lamar offers his passion is derived most from storytelling, that he is not “just a rapper,” Colbert kindly compares listening to Lamar’s good Kid, m.A.A.d city to reading a good book.
It’s not just that I believe Colbert — that he listened to the album, that the choice to have Lamar on wasn’t arbitrary and capricious. But asking Lamar about his greater ambitions of being recognized as a writer and creator outside of the walls of hip-hop speak to a cultural awareness in Colbert that few others in his position (Ellen Degeneres comes to mind) possess. It’s that very awareness that made The Colbert Report function as a powerful satire and not just a bundle of aimless jokes.
Colbert has been gradually ramping up his media appearances this summer in anticipation of his Sept. 8 debut as host of The Late Show on CBS. This has included podcasts, interviews with Richard Gere and most recently, a spectacular turn as a substitute host for a cable access show in Monroe, Mich. called Only in Monroe.
Traversing the hyper-local news angles you would typically find on these sorts of programs — including one side-splitting segment where Colbert analyzes an angry Yelp commenter’s 16-year-old beef with a local burger joint — the show was not so dissimilar from The Colbert Report. In fact, it felt like a long-lost pilot we’ve never seen, only about the goings-on of Monroe, Mich., and people we’ve never heard of.
It was as strange and hilarious as you’d think it was. But Colbert really outdid himself by adding famous Michigander Marshall Mathers to the show, interviewing Eminem as if he were a local flavor and not the highest selling recording artist of the aughts. They began the interview wailing out Bob Seger tunes. Then Colbert asked him what kind of rap he does: “singing rap” like Bone Thugs-N-Harmony or “street rap” like… Will Smith?
Through bits like Colbert not understanding what “feat” (featuring) meant, to asking Eminem to lift his hoodie up to show off his “cute money-maker,” Colbert was in tip-top shape. At one point, fully immersed within the joke, Colbert scolds Eminem for not having a backup plan — he suggests carpentry or HVAC because they offer more steady retirement options.
It goes without saying that none of this would be possible if Eminem wasn’t going for it. Few would even try a stunt like this because of Eminem’s supposed reputation as a humorless prick. Except Eminem has been making fun of himself for years and better than most everybody else. Through appearances on Crank Yankers and in films like Funny People and The Interview, Eminem has even allowed others to write him into their jokes. “Eminem’s gay on our show!!!”
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qW31MBrbZnM
Over the past decade, nobody has made more jokes at their own expense than Colbert, and it’s easy to see what would draw him to a performer as fearless as Eminem. This interview was a calculated risk: Colbert pushes the joke as close to the edge as possible and pulls some priceless “I’m pissed off” humor out of Eminem — two creative geniuses lost in the moment. The bit is finally paid off in the closing minutes — Colbert remembers Eminem, out of all things, as “the guy who sang with Elton John at the Grammys.”
Somewhere along the ride, Colbert touches on the film Eminem is actually there to promote, Southpaw, for which he curated the soundtrack. Colbert mimics Eminem’s trademark vowel pronunciations while overanalyzing the lyrics to the movie’s lead track, “Phenomenal.” The conversation deepens for a brief moment when Colbert asks Eminem if he ever felt “too phenomenal” — if his fame and notoriety ever made him into something he’s not.
Anybody who knows Eminem’s biography — and, remember, Colbert is pretending that he does not — can understand why this question is relevant to him. But Colbert adds more context, sharing with Eminem that he’s starting a new project in the fall, and that he’s growing anxious about the possibility of losing himself in that new world.
“I want to be phenomenal but I don’t want to turn into a monster. Is it possible to be phenomenal without losing your humanity?” Colbert asks tenderly. Eminem’s advice for Colbert is to keep his balance. Colbert promptly makes a hot yoga joke.
The point was made — this unlikely partnership brought two men together who otherwise wouldn’t appear to have anything in common. But of course they do! They’re two of the most critically successful men of the 21st Century — two men who made their careers through tireless work and revolutionary writing styles. Eminem and Stephen Colbert are fighting the same battle, their careers with more overlaps than their job titles alone would suggest.
We don’t know much about The Late Show coming to CBS this fall. We do know it’s a new stage for Colbert to showcase his chops as a comedian. He’s finally freed from the restraints of his former character. But what I’m most looking forward to about Colbert’s return to late-night television is his rare ability to bring characters of all creeds and colors together. I expect he’ll be phenomenal for the typically safe, colorless CBS. Let’s hope.
