Last month's plethora of love was an anomaly, far from the average in a column commissioned to "end careers." Before such a show of unheard of dap dies down, it should be noted that Club BC's (10pm-2am live broadcast and some of the finest and friendliest sisters north of the Mason Dixon) on Franklin in Detroit, sponsored by 106 Jamz, is all brands of off the heezy. Becky, ol' human resources boo in the black from that computer company, the operative lost your digits in the melee, he still wants to hook up wit you.
The operative suits up, to get back to work
There are two kinds of talk shows that need to be gunned down -- Tonight Show style chatfests (based on the master, John Carson), and the Phil/Oprah version with theme shows. The latter is a target for another drive-by, so we'll deal with the late night versions.
In the lingering shadow of Arsenio's gums, a modern late night urban gab-o-rama has a delicate line to walk. On one side, they have to be "extreme" enough to get people's attention -- Keenen showing Tupac and Jada Pinkett in one of those corny mall karaoke chambers singing a song by her future husband, rap acts like BEP and Ice Cube getting airtime, etc. -- to even gain an audience or voice. On the other side, they have to be "safe" enough to try for some white viewers, meaning fluffy interviews like Sinbad and Loni Anderson and a parade of Baywatch stars. In between, only the caliber of host really gives any point of reference.
Looking at the recent crop of pretenders to the throne, the line stays blurry and the acts lackluster. Starting with the spearhead of the new late night invasion, Keenan Ivory Wayans is among Hollywood's best writers, as his skits and innovative concepts in interviews (Kobe Bryant against a world basket shooting record holder). However, he has the on-screen charisma of a dry sponge. If he'd have just written and made brother Damon the host, perhaps there'd still be a late night Wayans and the horror that the Damon show would stop. Plus, how could he have Bobby and Whitney on and not ask about the beatings? That just ain't right!
The operative shakes his head in disgust
Chris Spencer was so embarrassingly boring a host, interviewer and placeholder for the coming of Sinbad that he's not worth more than this sentence. Sinbad himself was well qualified to be "da man," with the wonderful chemistry between himself and hype man Big Boy, natural charisma and a solid brand name. Unfortunately for him, he was saddled with dull guests most of the time, mediocre writing, a seeming desperation to succeed, and (according to the operative's sources within producer David Salzman's camp) the egotism to stop communicating with overlord Quincy Jones.
Finally, ultranice Magic Johnson tossed a hat in the ring. His show was best categorized by San Francisco Chronicle TV critic Tim Goodman: "... like a slow motion train accident. Just when you think you couldn't be any more shocked at the carnage, another sleeper car goes off the side." The show -- with early guests like the teetering Ah-nuld -- was awe-inspiringly boring. The cretin white co-host was an irritant, and the delectable Shiela E still wears too many clothes to keep viewer interest. With the substitution of Tommy Davidson, the chemistry of the show is a hair better, but someone playing that nice is great for guests and a yawn for everyone else, using that 1950s style format. The cancellation was sudden, and somehow welcome.
The verdict? You're better off watching for Geordi LaForge on late Trek reruns. Arsenio left the game and don't look like anything on the radar is worthy to clean his jockstrap. Short of someone having the vision to reinvent urban talk, game over, man.
