House Band? The Roots. First guests? Justin Timberlake -- and DeNiro. Audience? Roped in by the internet: And interactive via Skype.
Jimmy Fallon gets to show us what he's got tonight.
I've been agonizing over this for a week or so. The post-Ferrell, post-Fey years of SNL brought the show to a new height of amateur foolishness. Fallon, leading the charge of fourth-wall breakers, giggled and snorted his way through forgetting lines, squinting at cue cards and purposely bombing in order to get postmodern "Look how funny I know we are" chuckles. He is, without a doubt, the last NBC-ite I thought would be tapped for the job of Conan replacement, but somehow he wiggled his way in there -- or maybe he was the only one willing. Conan is 6'4", and those are some big-ass shoes.
But Fallon's getting my attention -- if for one hour only -- because I understand where he's coming from. I aspire to be writing for someone like that someday, and so the pitfalls and dumbass decisions that make up network TV tend to put these innocents -- these Not Ready for Prime Time Players, if you will -- into an absurdly bright limelight. And for some, it's always where they've wanted to be, regardless of whether or not they should.
Jimmy Fallon is one of those pathetic dreamer people out there. He definitely has the drive, and I respect that -- he's someone who probably would never have gotten his chance if it weren't for the virtue of some real specific timing. Conan is leaving. Jay is getting to bed a little bit earlier. Carson Daly is still the biggest douche alive (sorry, Carson). There was a big hole to fill in the NBC night lineup, and to fill a hole that size, you need a pretty specific kind of tool.
Jimmy Fallon just might be that tool.
Reporting after the show.
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