Television: Midnight Idol

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frequent guest: "It's like going to 200 cocktail parties in a row and being the life of all of them." Johnny's workdays usually start around 8:30 or 9 a.m. in his $173,000, nine-room duplex at Manhattan's United Nations Plaza. He reads newspapers and magazines, and works out for a while in his den gym. By 2 p.m., his chauffeur, one of the Carson staff of five (none of whom live in), ferries Johnny to his Radio City office in a 1967 Fleetwood Brougham.

The rest of Tonight's 37-man staff has already been scrambling since 10:30 a.m. in their dingy old headquarters. One of the critical functions—shared by the show's producer, its two associate producers, four writers and four talent coordinators, and supervised by the star—is the selection of the Tonight guests. The pay is only $320, but the pool is limitless, explains Tony Randall, because the show "is plugsville." Bob Hope, for example, came on recently, chatted a bit, and then showed a 21-minute clip from his latest film, Eight on the Lam. At Tonight's going commercial rates, that air time would have cost United Artists $40,000. The second attraction to the stars, says Actress Susan Oliver, is that "when you play a part onstage or in a film or TV, you can't appear as the person you are. But on something like this, you can be yourself—you can show your own colors."

What sort of colors is Carson looking for? "The best guest," he has discovered, "is someone who is not trying to protect his image, somebody who lets his interests run a little bit, who can converse. Someone who can put words together easily, who can relate to what's going on"—someone like Lee Marvin, for example, or Gore Vidal, George Plimpton or Greer Garson (who once played a tiny harmonica held between her teeth). Some of the liveliest moments have been provided not by celebrities but by people with unusual interests. Carson had a hilarious workout recently with William Ottley, a sky diver who gave Johnny a lesson in the art right on-camera. On the other hand, the worst guests, says Carson, are "movie stars in quotes"—the people who have no interests beyond their own careers.

Freer Format. Lesser-known prospects get screened at pre-interview sessions. Comedienne Joan Rivers was rejected six times before she was considered ready; she has been on 18 times since. After the talent is selected, Tonight staffers rough out a crib sheet for Carson, proposing possible lines of questioning and the guest's likely answers. Carson rarely talks to the guests beforehand, lest "they leave their fight in the gymnasium."

He first sees his opening monologue at 5:30 p.m., about one hour before the taping begins. Some of the original concepts may have come from Carson's weekly staff conference, but the daily script is worked up by two writers who are well in tune with Carson's personality. "I edit it," says Johnny, "and I may add a few jokes of my own, or shift things around a little. But I couldn't possibly write a good six-minute monologue every night."

He also brings to the taping a wiry grace and spontaneity that successfully hide all the tensions that contribute to the show's success. Precisely what those tensions are is something that the Tonight staff prefers not to discuss. There is no

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