Weekend Watch: 'Vengeance' and vintage Carson

'Vengeance'

Whenever the Trump era finally ends, one thing I won't miss is the spectacle of liberal magazine writers bravely venturing to the heart of flyover country to embed themselves among the savage MAGA tribe.

When B.J. Novak's "Vengeance" appeared in summer 2022, I assumed it would be the feature film version of these useless, self-flattering travelogues. When I finally watched it months later, I almost turned it off 10 minutes in, repelled by the opening rooftop party scene in which Novak and musician John Mayer (playing himself) smugly trade notes on their "dating" lives. I stuck with it, though, and soon realized my reaction was the intended one. Novak's treatment of his own class is pitiless.

The movie also cured me of my allergy to Ashton Kutcher, who's perfect as small-town music impresario Quinten Sellers. Like Novak's protagonist, Ben, a shallow "New Yorker" writer hoping to spin a rural West Texas tragedy into a successful “dead white girl” podcast, Quinten is an outsider, an Ivy League graduate too faux-humble to mention his alma mater by name. Unlike Ben, Quinten has learned to adapt to his surroundings with a sort of hipster cowboy look that nods to local convention while still setting himself apart.

What our self-presentation reveals — or conceals — is an ongoing concern in Novak's comedic Western noir. Sometimes appearances keep us from fully understanding one another, as we learn when a chubby, line-dancing local proves more knowledgeable about Chekhov's plays than the name-dropping pseud condescending to her. And sometimes our own appearance keeps us from understanding ourselves. In pursuing this latter notion, "Vengeance" achieves surprising depth and shows a remarkable willingness to skewer the likes of its director and audience.

"Vengeance" is available on all the usual streamers.

Vintage Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson' clips

Getty Images/NBC

"They have abdicated their moral authority!" That was Stephen Colbert last night, haranguing his audience about the Supreme Court's decision to hear Trump's immunity claim. Anyone still bothering to check in on late-night talk shows knows this kind of stuff is standard.

It's tempting to say it all went downhill after 2016, but the truth is, it's been a long, slow decline.

By the time Conan O'Brien finally landed the "Tonight Show" in 2008, it was hardly the prestigious job it once was. Cable had cut into its audience, of course, while the dawning of social media and YouTube hinted at further decimation. Some 15 years after O'Brien had his dream cruelly destroyed by the fiendish machinations of Jay Leno, one has to wonder whether all the public angst was worth it. Compared to its heyday in the pre-digital era, the venerable TV institution and its competitors are fighting over scraps.

To retain any relevance, today's late-night host must pander to an increasingly fickle and distracted public, resulting in a garish and frenetic jumble of would-be viral gimmicks, toothless promo interviews, and shrill political humor.

To recall what has been taken from us, we need only visit johnnycarson.com and play one of the many vintage clips on offer. Just like that, we're nestled in our Barcalounger, tab pulled on a fresh can of Schmidt's, as the inimitable Don Rickles waltzes onto Johnny's set to “surprise” his good friend Frank Sinatra with a kiss on the lips and news of an “associate” from Jersey City: “He started his car with your album on and now he's a highway.” The easy, unforced banter between the three men lulls you into a contented doze ...

"Wake up! 'Carpool Karaoke’? ‘Celebrity Mean Tweets’? What are you talking about? It's 1976 and the TV station signed off an hour ago! Let's get you to bed."