San Diego Unseen: An Urban Portrait
Conan O'Brien, feelin' it
Let’s start with a caveat: Conan O’Brien has been on TV regularly since 1993, and I’ve watched him maybe a half-dozen times in any of his iterations—if that. It’s not like I’ve got a beef with him or anything—I’ve just never been enamored with any of the late-night-talk-show guys. To me, O’Brien will always be the guy who wrote some of the best episodes of The Simpsons, not a guy on whose behalf I might pick up a protest sign.
Point being, I’m not on Team Coco, but I’m not a member of Team Leno, either, and from all appearances, O’Brien and his posse got a raw deal from NBC in 2009. That’s when the network reinstated Jay Leno as host of The Tonight Show and paid O’Brien to walk out the door. It’s worth noting, of course, that O’Brien got about $30 million in severance, so it’s tough for me to feel the deal was, like, sushi-grade raw. Me, I’d take just $3 million not to host The Tonight Show, and I can’t work up too much emotion over what went down.
One of the stipulations to the agreement, besides money for O’Brien and his staff, was that the comedian could not ply his trade on TV or the internet for six months. This led him to hit the road for the 30-city Legally Prohibited from Being Funny on Television tour, which featured O’Brien performing with a live band and preaching to the faithful. Filmmaker Rodman Flender was there for much of the lead-up to the road trip, as well as the tour itself, and it’s all captured in his new documentary, Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop.
You don’t have to be a fan of O’Brien to watch the movie, but if you are, you might feel more sympathy for him than someone who isn’t. O’Brien’s career is built on being a snarky nice guy, working a level of sarcasm that borders on nasty without crossing the line. In the film, we see a side of him that verges on manic, in terms of his energy and his demeanor. His hurt is still fresh, and what he seems to miss the most about being on TV is the nightly applause. He paces rooms like a caged animal, always trying to be the center of attention and occasionally crossing the line and being mean to the people around him. This is without a doubt a pro-Conan movie, but there are moments here when he comes across as little more than a dick.
It’s not that he’s unappealing. It’s just that he’s still so frustrated and angry with the way he was treated by NBC that any problem becomes magnified, and, occasionally, he lashes out at people. But Conan being Conan, he’s not yelling at anyone; it’s more indirect and nasty, more of a cut than a stab. And, often, you see that he’s simply unable to stop himself from digging at someone.
There’s a sequence when Mad Men’s Jon Hamm and 30 Rock’s Jack McBrayer come backstage after a show in L.A., and O’Brien simply cannot stop himself from making fun of McBrayer’s southern accent. It’s mean, but what’s more interesting than the ugliness of it is the sheer inability of the man to stop.To be clear, you won’t come away from Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop thinking O’Brien’s a terrible guy—he’s not. And it’s certainly worth remembering that the film was shot at a time of enormous upheaval. What’s interesting is the relentless pace he sets for himself. The deeper into the tour he gets, the harder it is for him to even give himself a day off. He’s more likely to take his band to his high-school reunion or play a secret show at Jack White’s studio.
And that, of course, is really what’s at the heart of Flender’s documentary. This is a portrait of a guy who has to find a way to channel his boundless energy and drive after a huge personal and professional loss— which is what you would face if, you know, your TV show got taken away.
Write to anders@sdcitybeat.com and editor@sdcitybeat.com.
