By David Blacklock

Backstage at Carnegie Hall

The world of late night television is generally an orgy of cliché. Cookie-cutter white guys in business suits tell the same jokes about the same things, or about one another. They do, however, have the ability to simultaneously keep you awake (all that jibber jabber between the commercials) and put you to sleep (all that jibber jabber). Agreed, these guys are very good at what they do – they’ve fought bloody duels to get where they are. They each have their niche, of course, but in general they’re good middle-class American college boys who’ve steadfastly refused to grow up while at the same time steadily grown rich. It’s a dream life of sorts.

Into this world, in January 2005, stepped a foreign sounding fellow with an impish grin, a dirty mind and a compelling back story. Craig Ferguson, host of CBS’s “The Late Late Show” seemingly shares none of the assumptions and presumptions of his confreres of the nighttime gabfest. Scottish-born academic dropout, one-time punk musician, gifted writer and possessor of sophisticated comic timing, Ferguson is also a recovering alcoholic and drug addict who makes no bones about his colorful and checkered past.

IT DOESN’T COST ANYTHING

He is also not afraid to speak truthfully to his audience as if they were actually functioning adults. One of Ferguson’s best known monologues was broadcast on February 20, 2007. If you missed it, you can catch it on YouTube: http://tinyurl.com/3asxcj. In it he addresses his feelings about the type of material he (and by implication other comedians) use as their stock in trade. “Comedy should have a certain amount of joy in it. It should be about us attacking the powerful people, attacking the politicians, the Trumps and the blowhards. We should be going after them, we shouldn’t be going after the vulnerable people. I feel as if my aim’s been a bit off lately, so tonight, no Britney Spears jokes and here’s why….” Of course, at the mention of Britney Spears the crowd erupts into giggles and guffaws and Ferguson has to rein them in. “The kind of weekend she had, she was checking in and out of rehab, shaving her head, getting tattoos, that’s the kind of weekend she had. This Sunday I was 15 years sober. So I looked at her weekend and I looked at my own weekend and I thought ‘I’d rather have my weekend.’”

His is an exemplary disclosure because he manages to simultaneously reveal his alcoholism while maintaining his anonymity – in the sense that he doesn’t discuss any programs or organizations that he might or might not be affiliated with. His only hint is at the end of the 12-minute monologue when he says: “I have found this – you can’t beat it with money. If you could beat this rap with money, rich people wouldn’t die. I have found, and I’m only speaking for myself, the only way to deal with it is to find other people who’ve had similar experiences, and talk to them. It doesn’t cost anything. And they’re very, very easy to find – they’re very near the front of the telephone book. Good luck.”

Of course there is an entire sub-genre of comedians and actors who’ve made their personal travails the meat of their performances. Robin Williams, Carrie Fisher, Richard Pryor and others have used their experiences with addiction and dependency to fuel their routines. Ferguson’s addiction and, more importantly, his recovery don’t form the content of his jokes so much as they form the background of his persona. The difference between him and other comedians is that he has a daily show that he can use as a bully pulpit when he has issues he wants to discuss, or points he wants to make. Recently he threw in a quick aside to his monologue: “What’s the matter with Mel Gibson, anyway?” After a brief detour to other topics he gave the answer: “untreated alcoholism.”

DECONSTRUCTING LATE NIGHT

In his 2009 autobiography, “American on Purpose,” Ferguson describes his struggle from the grind of 1960s and ’70s Glasgow to a stint on the lower east side of Manhattan where he was at one point a bouncer at the old after hours club Save the Robots, while working illegally on construction sites in Harlem. His book is a beautifully written ode to the joys of rock and roll (punk division) and a poignant description of the toll that alcohol and drugs can exact. “Alcohol ruined me financially and morally, broke my heart and the hearts of too many others,” Ferguson writes. “Even though it did this to me and it almost killed me and I haven’t touched a drop of it in seventeen years, sometimes I wonder if I could get away with drinking some now. I totally subscribe to the notion that alcoholism is a mental illness because thinking like that is clearly insane.” With a career as an actor and comedian in the ascendant, Ferguson’s demons caused him tremendous difficulties, getting him fired from shows and destroying his relationships. Buoyed by his family and supportive industry types, Ferguson found his way to American television in the mid-’90s, soon garnering a role as the office boss, Nigel Wick, on “The Drew Carey Show,” where he stayed from 1996 through 2003.

Ferguson’s rise to the top rungs of the late night world isn’t the result of his addictions or his colorful past, of course, but arises from the fact that he’s a very funny guy. He won “The Late Late Show” gig when CBS conducted a competitive “beauty competition” with three other comics for the role that Craig Kilborn had walked away from in 2004. His schtick is the class clown, the naughty boy, the cheeky charmer. Peppering his monologues and audience asides with doubles entendres, bursts of obscenity (cunningly obscured by an “Ay Caramba!” or such), and outright flirtation with his guests – as well as dodging running commentary from his gay-robot-skeleton sidekick, Geoffrey Peterson – Ferguson cleverly deconstructs the very notion of a talk show. Instead of having a house band, Ferguson blows on a harmonica (“my mouth organ,” he sometimes leers). He peers into the camera, waving his arms and invites the viewing audience to “come on in.” He sits happily astride the fourth wall, ad-libbing madly, cussing like a trooper (though he says “I’m from Scotland. Cussing isn’t cussing there. It’s….food”) and generally wanders into territory no other late night host would dare or care to go. His show is gay friendly in that he makes juicy gay jokes (“You can get a great homosexual breakfast in West Hollywood for $20”), camping and mincing in the grand British music hall tradition (think Benny Hill). His hair, he says, is “lesbian hair,” and you know what he means. It’s all just good-hearted nonsense to fill the air at midnight and keep the viewers awake.

Behind it all is a performer with an understanding of the fragility of his situation. As he says in the Britney Spears monologue, “I don’t have a drinking problem. I could get one fast, but I don’t have a drinking problem. I have a thinking problem.” By bringing the totality of his experience to the crazy world of late night, Ferguson – and his sidekick puppet rabbit, the foul-mouthed Sid from North London – has brought with him the ineffable qualities of compassion and emotional vulnerability to what is basically a slot for hawking goods and services to stoners and insomniacs. There are rumors that he is on the short list to succeed his boss, David Letterman (whose Worldwide Pants produces Ferguson’s show), when that dyspeptic curmudgeon calls it quits – rumors that Ferguson neither confirms nor denies. As for hosting a comedy show, “It’s my calling,” he says. “Some people are called to the church, some to teaching, some to the military. Me, to talking crap in the middle of the night.”

SOBER AS FUNNY

The alcoholic/addict is a staple of modern television and movie writing. Current series such as “Californication,” “Nurse Jackie” and “Entourage,” all feature characters who consciously or not are being brought low by the ravages of alcohol, cocaine or other drugs. “Breaking Bad” has a lead character who’s busy cooking meth, while “Weeds” is about the suburban marijuana trade. A new entry, “Terriers,” features that staple of detective fiction, the ex-cop who got kicked off the force and struggles to stay sober. There are other examples too, such as the “The Wire,” in which characters are taken through the arc of addiction and recovery – including scenes purporting to be set in AA meetings, and a sponsor who explains the 12-step program to his protégé. The adventures of Lindsay Lohan, Paris Hilton and Ms. Spears keep entire web sites in business. Even Tiger Woods was in rehab!

These shows, and there are others, provide opportunities for writers, often themselves sober, to display the 12-step tenets while giving the viewers a vicarious ride on the wild side. What we hardly ever see, and this is Craig Ferguson’s strength, is a performer who integrates his personal story into his onstage persona. The chance to see a functioning, funny, smart and respected-by-his-peers entertainer talk about his addictions, his stints in rehab and, more important, the facts of his recovery – making amends, being responsible, trying to maintain an ethical way of doing comedy – serve as living proof that life goes on after the circus leaves town.

“The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson” airs weeknights 12:35 a.m. EST.

David Blacklock was born and raised in New Zealand before moving to New York in the 1980s. These days he lives in the Caribbean where he is a charter captain, sailing instructor and dive master, as well as a writer and editor. FindYourselfAtSea@gmail.com