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It is, of course, the money to be made that has sparked the current boom in programming for the not-ready-for-prime-time hours. Independent stations and syndicators, which have proliferated in recent years, see late night as a relatively untapped time period, where they can compete against network fare with somewhat inexpensive shows. The networks, in turn, have fought back by more aggressively programming a time period that used to be an afterthought. The stakes are rising: late night is a desirable time period for advertisers because it is attracting an increasingly high proportion of young adult viewers, especially women. "With a growing percentage of women now working out of the home," says David Poltrack, head of broadcast research for CBS, "the reach of daytime television is declining. Advertisers find late night to be an ideal time to reach young workingwomen."
Much of the late-night revival can be traced to the success of NBC's Late Night with David Letterman. The show's hip, media-wise comedy has caught on with the Saturday Night Live generation, and ratings have increased more than 40% since its debut in 1982. Letterman's influence, not surprisingly, can be seen across the late-night dial this fall. Rivers and Brenner are booking hot music groups like Run-D.M.C. and the Fabulous Thunderbirds in an effort to attract a younger audience. And both hosts (as well as the conservative Carson) are toying with offbeat, Letterman-style comedy bits.
Nevertheless, Rivers' show still hews closer to the Carson line. Her Tonight-style set (desk, couch, picture window with a fake Los Angeles view) seems calculated to fool a casual viewer into thinking he has stumbled into one of Johnny's vacation weeks. After an exceedingly nervous start, the brassy comedian is settling into her familiar, irritating groove. To her credit, Rivers has loosened up the stuffy Tonight format a bit (with Film Critics Gene Siskel and Roger Ebert, she left her desk and plopped onto the couch to separate the "feuding" pair). But her naughty-girl obsession with sex has become grating and pointless (to Kate Jackson: "Did you ever have a one-night stand?"). And for all her "Can we talk?" frankness, the show drowns in the biggest deluge of show-biz gush on television.
Well, maybe the second biggest. Brenner's new show -- a cramped half-hour of music, talk and comedy -- has managed to strip the celebrity interview of its last vestiges of real-life conversation. "How does it feel to be a star?" groveled Brenner before Malcolm-Jamal Warner, 16-year-old supporting player on The Cosby Show. Brenner, the most Vegas-ized of the stand-up comics who emerged from the comedy-club circuit of the 1970s, has made stabs at Lettermanesque irreverence (taking members of the studio audience to a clothing store to help him pick out a new wardrobe), but comes across like Robert Goulet trying to do a rap song.