Conan: The Debut

brent johnson looks at the arrival of Conan O’Brien’s new show on TBS …

I watched Conan for the first time last night, and a few minutes in, I realized: The name of this show is fitting.

So much has been made of O’Brien’s foray into basic cable that I won’t dwell on the hype. Nor will I dwell on something my favorite TV critic, The Star-Ledger’s Alan Sepinwall, was wary of: That instead of truly whacking out late-night TV, Conan relies too much on the monologue-and-desk standard of the genre.

On top of anything, I was just happy to see Conan back on TV. More than anyone expect Will Ferrell, O’Brien embodies the ethos of the humor that my generation has embraced: self-mocking, strange, utterly random. It simply felt good — relieving even — to see his lanky frame cutting faux puppet strings again.

But something felt different. Back in his days on NBC, Conan’s humor shined because he mirrored his audience and their sense of humor. He was an offbeat, random guy spurting offbeat, random jokes. It wasn’t about him, per se. It was about his jokes and the way he delivered them. He was the anti-icon.

Right now, though, Conan is about Conan — not the comedy. Blame it on the unfair, crazy hubub of his departure from NBC and the hilariously wacky ads that TBS aired in the weeks leading up to the show’s debut.

But right now, it feels like people are worshiping an icon more than a comedian — simply because Conan is a hero now. Scraggy audience members wear Coco shirts. The show’s title itself bears nothing but his name. Conan thrived as an anti-icon because he was a gawky-yet-naturally funny dude who managed to score his own talk show with a masturbating bear. Will his humor feel as zany and unpredictable if the crowd is magnifying him to be a god?

But maybe I’m over-thinking. I started to feel better last night during a segment where Conan poked fun at the show’s name, listing the titles they rejected:

The ‘C’ Word
One Hour To Lopez (my personal favorite)
Taller And Gayer Ellen (the one my brother loved)

It was classic Conan, and it managed to joke about his newfound mega-celebrity at the same time. It also made me laugh out loud. And that, I was happily reminded, is something Conan can coax from me more than any other host — the great Letterman included.

I also liked that on his third-ever episode, Conan welcomed a left-field musical guest: Fistful Of Mercy, a sub-supergroup made up of Ben Harper, Joseph Arthur and Dani — George’s son — Harrison. It’s something I admired Conan for early in his talk-show career: He championed up-and-coming bands before they were big. Hootie & The Blowfish. Ben Folds Five. On cable, he can do even more of that. It’s good to see he’s still swishing things up on that end.

I imagine the Conan-as-an-icon bent will die down as the show goes on. So I’m not worried. I imagine he will also take bigger chances the more he settles into his new chair.

In the end, I’m just glad to have him back.