The Tonight Show - Episode III
With special guests Larry Sanders and Dick Cavett.
Announcer with a voice made for television and a face made for radio: And now, ladies and gentlemen, here’s your host, Herb Hamilton!
Herb Hamilton: Welcome back! That’s right, we’ve returned from our four-month hiatus because I just couldn’t stay away any longer. And the network threatened to fire me if I wasn’t back within the week. But that’s all semantics.
[The audience chuckles.]
HH: See this tan? (he points to his face, which has a healthy caramel hue) This is what four months in the Barbados sun will do. The show only lasts an hour but I spend all day in this building, under these stage lights, those terrible fluorescent ceiling panels in the hallways. By the time I get out, the sun’s down. I’m so pale that half-a-dozen employees have reported seeing a ghost. In their defense, I’m a silent walker. Not one clop, like I’m floating. But Barbados, let me tell you, I could retire there. That’s the first time I’ve been happy since taking this gig.
[“Get on with the monologue!”]
HH (scratching his ear): I should do something topical, right? Well, the news was a little slow getting to me in Barbados. “Barbados”—it’s just a great word to say. Bar-bay-dows. Fantastic. Did you hear about this? A man in Norway woke up to find a cargo ship beached on his front lawn. It crashed five feet from his window and he didn’t hear a thing. That sounds like the kind of sleep I was getting in Barbados.
[Someone from the audience shouts, “You’re a has-been, Hamilton!”]
HH: Now, if that were the case, that means I must have been a “has” at one point. Fine. To tell you the truth: I forgot my glasses and I can’t see anything on those cue cards. Sorry, Mike. That’s the guy who holds the cue cards. For those of you at home, he’s just tossed them over his shoulder and is storming off the set. You think actors are a pain in the ass? Cue card holders are a pain in the ass, the neck, the head, the groin. All around sadists.
[He puts his hands in his pockets and moseys around, humming.]
HH: This reminds me of a dream I once had. I was a young stand-up, making the rounds at all the clubs, begging for any time slot, and I dreamt that I was hosting the Tonight Show but I wasn’t wearing any clothes and I didn’t have any jokes. (He pats himself and looks down, making sure he still has his suit on) Oh good, I wouldn’t want to cause any jealousy with my tan. The beaches in Barbados welcome sunbathing au naturale. Every inch of my body, except the soles of my feet and the palms of my hands, is one, smooth color. Where was I? The dream. In this dream, I couldn’t think of any good jokes, so I stood frozen on stage, holding the microphone, and stared blankly at the audience for my entire set. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do now.
[Herb adjusts his suit, plants his feet, and opens his eyes wide. He stares straight ahead, unblinking, like stone. The audience begins to murmur and squirms in their seats. Crickets, known to inhabit the studio, start to chirp.]
HH: I’m kidding. I had you going there, didn’t I? Now that’s a good joke.
[Skipping over to his desk, he rubs his palms then sits down.]
HH: Alright, let’s just get on with it. I have a reservation at Le Bernardin after the show. My first guest flew all the way from Los Angeles, he’s also a talk show host—not as good as your old pal Herb—please welcome, Larry Sanders!
[Larry Sanders prances out from behind the curtain. Instead of going over to the couch by Herb’s desk, he traipses to center stage.]
Larry Sanders: Please, sit down, you’re too kind.
[The audience continues to clap and roar. Larry turns his ass to the crowd]
LS: Do these pants make my ass look fat? Don’t answer that. Seriously, though, these are $200 pants, tailored specifically for my ass, so you tell me if they make me look fat. The camera does add ten pounds—that’s the first thing you learn in late night.
HH: Hey, hey, hey, Larry. What do you think you’re doing?
LS: I’m hosting the show.
HH: That’s my job. This is the Tonight Show Starring Herb Hamilton. I’m Herb Hamilton. Your show is the Larry Sanders Show.
LS: Wait a second—I thought you invited me here to guest host.
HH: Why would I need a guest host when I’m right here?
LS: Let me finish my monologue and we’ll figure this out.
HH: No, there’s no monologue. I’ve already done the monologue. Weren’t you watching from the green room?
LS: Not really, Herb, I was in the makeup chair getting ready to come out and host the show. What kind of monologue did you give anyway? The audience is dead. You’re the opener, you’re supposed to butter them up for me.
HH: I’m not your opener. And the audience is nice and warm—don’t blame me for anything. Can you get over here so I can interview you?
LS: I will, just as soon as I finish my monologue. Hey, where’s your cue card guy?
HH: An unplanned sabbatical.
LS: Is this how you run things in New York?
HH: Normally, it’s a much smoother operation, but as you can see, we’ve veered slightly off course.
LS: The Larry Sanders Show is a well-oiled machine. Why don’t I finish the monologue and you can take some notes, bring them back to your team?
[Herb jogs down from his desk and in front of Larry.]
HH: Okay everyone, after these messages from our sponsors, we have—that’s right—another guest. You won’t want to miss him. Go to the bathroom, crack open another beer, then come straight back to your T.V. sets.
LS: No flipping.
HH (under his breath): Your ass looks incredibly fat in those pants.
Reality is overrated. Who can stand the 24-hours news cycle, the missile strikes, the plane crashes, the ICE raids, the animal rescue commercials with that lugubrious music? With our Reality-No-More Goggles, now you don’t have to. Using new, scientifically backed technology*, the Reality-No-More Goggles don’t just give you a glimpse into a fake, virtual reality—they fundamentally change your reality. Simply strap them around your head and watch as the world changes before your eyes. Colors are brighter, the sky is always blue and the grass is always green, stock prices go up, inflation goes down, the Concorde is back in business, organic eggs are $5/dozen, a Coke is all it takes to make friends with your enemies and have everyone traipsing and singing around a field in perfect harmony. It sounds like a dream, doesn’t it? Don’t worry, it’s not. It can all be yours for the price of $9,999**. Stop trying to think positive thoughts and start living positively. Reality-No-More Goggles: your portal into a better world.
*These statements have not been approved by the CPSC. Some users have reported temporary vision loss and hearing voices after using the product.
**12% APR financing available, subject to credit score.
It’s only June but Christmas is right around the corner. You don’t want to be that sad sack at the mall who goes gift shopping on Christmas Eve, wrestling in the aisle of Toys-R-Us for that last Barbie doll or buying that knock-off iPhone because the real thing sold out. Be the star of this holiday season and give the gift of eternal life: a certificate to the Cryogenic Research Institute and Mortality Elimination. Yes, Christmas is right around the corner, but so is death. A falling piano, electric shock, spontaneous combustion—you never know when death* will knock on your door, so why not be prepared? Give your friend, your family member, or that special someone the assurance that they’ll never die. At CRIME, we offer cryogenic freezing services for every man, woman, and child. Bodies are stored securely in our state-of-the-art laboratories and monitored by round-the-clock scientists, so you can rest easy while you wait for the thaw. Spread the love with a gift certificate to CRIME and be the envy of your holiday parties.
*Studies shows that death is the leading cause of death in adults 18-64, more common than cancer and heart attack.
HH: And we’re back. During the commercial, Larry and I talked it out and he’s agreed to sit and be the guest.
LS: Herb pulled the old lawyer card, and you don’t want to get involved with NBC’s corporate side.
HH: That’s enough, Larry. It’s time to introduce my next guest who I hope—actually, I know—will be more amiable than Mr. Sanders here. Ladies and gentlemen, give a big round of applause for Dick Cavett!
[Dick Cavett, sporting fluffy sideburns and a smart suit, toes across the stage. He sits in the spot closer to Herb, after Herb shoos Larry to the other side of the couch.]
HH: Can I tell you how refreshing it is to have an intellectual on the show?
DC: Oh, I’m not an intellectual. But I appreciate the compliment.
HH: Let’s get one thing clear: you didn’t come here to host the show, did you?
DC: No, for once, I’m playing the interviewee. Three egos on stage is two too many.
[The drummer plays a rimshot.]
HH: Don’t do that. You only do that after my jokes, you understand? I’m the host, goddamn it. This is the Tonight Show Starring Herb Hamilton, and I’m Herb Hamilton!
LS: Now, Herb, everyone knows I’m the host.
DC: You’re not a real talk show host, though, Larry. You’re a talk show host on a television show. Certainly, you’re aware of that?
LS (chuckling nervously): I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dick.
DC: What I mean is that you’re not Larry Sanders, you’re Garry Shandling. Larry Sanders is a character you portray.
LS: Come on, now. Artie? Where’s Artie, my producer? Whoever booked this clown is getting fired.
HH (rubbing his forehead, sighing): Dick didn’t book anyone. My people booked Dick, and my people booked you.
DC: I don’t mean to spark a crisis of identity. Who’s to say who any of us are?
HH: What’s going on here, Dick?
DC: Well, look, here’s my hand. (He lifts his hand) It seems reasonable for me to say, “I know that this is my hand.” But how do I know that this is my hand? Wouldn’t it be more apt to say, “I believe this is my hand”?
[Herb scratches his head. Larry pouts.]
DC: Of course, I don't mean the hand at all. We know that this appendage at the end of our arms is a hand. But why do we know?
[Sputtering his lips, Herb leans back in his chair.]
HH: You ever been to Barbados, Dick?
DC: I’m afraid I haven’t. You seem to have enjoyed yourself.
HH: Oh, I did. Immensely. I didn’t believe in heaven and hell until I went to Barbados, and came back here.
[“Enough with Barbados!” an audience member yells out."]
LS: Who am I, Herb? I’m Larry, right? Tell me I’m Larry.
HH: Unfortunately, you’re Larry.
DC: Do you think you should be deluding him? If you weren’t yourself, wouldn’t you like to know that? Don’t we owe ourselves the truth?
HH: Look, Dick, most of us didn’t go to Yale. That’s why we’re in this business. You don’t go to Yale to become a talk show host. You go to Yale to become a doctor, a lawyer, someone who cures cancer. And another thing, when the average viewer sits down to watch the show at 11:30 p.m., they don’t want Philosophy 101. They just want to be amused. Give ’em a little joke, a funny skit, that’s all. You understand?
[Dick crosses his leg and adjusts the fabric on his knee. He chuckles but doesn’t say anything.]
LS: Hey, Herb? Will you let me close out the show?
HH: Take it away.
[Herb frisbees his note cards, undoes his tie, and walks off the stage, behind the curtain. Larry stands and goes to center stage, hiking up his pants.]
LS: You’ve been a great audience, so we have a surprise for you. Look under your seats where you’ll find a set of keys… because everyone is leaving here with a brand new car.
[Excited chatter and murmurs sweep across the audience as they bend over to peek under their seats.]
LS: No, I’m kidding. What do you think this is, Oprah? That’s not in our budget. But you are leaving here with a free “Larry is #1” foam finger. I usually end the show by telling you “no flipping,” but this time: flip. Flip over to the Larry Sanders Show, every weeknight at 11:30 p.m. Don’t worry, I’m not going to Barbados for another six months.