They Call It Late Night with Jason Kelce Fumbles, Barely Recovers the Comedy
Photos courtesy of ESPN
They Call It Late Night with Jason Kelce takes its name from They Call It Pro Football, the 1967 feature debut of NFL Films. The choice is a fitting tribute to history, not unlike the ones made in interviews promoting the new limited late night series for ESPN by Kelce, who gushed over his love of the genre, citing specifically his admiration for Conan O’Brien. (Two of the best writers from O’Brien’s shows, Andy Blitz and Jon Glaser [of Delocated and Parks & Recreation] are working on They Call It Late Night, which is a check in its favor.)
But now that it’s on the air, the name feels more like a defensive gesture—an assurance to audiences who may have tuned into the gauche first broadcast that what they are watching is, in fact, meant to carry on that great comedy tradition, more than a mere sports curio. After the hype of the show’s opening moments, not even the live audience could pretend to laugh at the uninventive, awkward material Kelce delivers to start the show.
All debuts are by their very nature self-congratulatory—audiences often appreciate a freshly minted host relishing their own success. But Kelce’s opening “monologue,” as it is billed on the live broadcast, never reaches beyond the proverbial pat of the back. All the “jokes” are some version of: isn’t it crazy and cool a lineman like me gets to have a show. That may work in the show’s opening seconds, but it gets old quickly. Eventually, the host must at least pretend like they have been there before. Be a pro.
Instead, f-bombs are tossed around in lieu of substance. Kelce meets a younger version of himself, to whom he excitedly recounts the great successes of his life, including landing a late night show. An older version of Kelce soon appears, warning him not to host the show. The big joke is that the actor playing the older Kelce is shorter than the actual man. “They made me get the shortening surgery,” the older Kelce warns, with no context.
Jimmy Kimmel (host of another Disney-owned property) makes a cameo in a painful, pre-recorded segment. Kelce takes a “secret portal” to Kimmel, who dismisses the new host, instructing him to stop constantly asking for advice. Kimmel also gets mad at Kelce for publicly revealing the secret portal, as it is only supposed to be available to late night hosts. Kelce then makes a joke about how he is wearing different clothes than in the live monologue: “That’s what the portal does, it changes you into casual clothing,” Kimmel says. Need I go on?
To his credit, the non-comedian Kelce does his best to sell that which he is given. He is clearly a funny man, with the potential, if given the right material, to succeed in future episodes. And even when it becomes clear that the live audience is not buying, he, with an assist from Kylie Kelce, the show’s announcer and his wife, keeps things moving. On the YouTube broadcast, in between commercial breaks, Kelce takes questions from the audience, and it is in those moments where he seems more relaxed and confident—the script is not always one’s friend.
