Conan O'Brien Understood the Assignment

Yahoo

03-03-2025

As soon as Conan O'Brien strode onto the Oscars stage Sunday night, he looked like he belonged there. He was self-deprecating, telling the crowd to sit down before he continued, even though no one was standing. He found Demi Moore in the audience and greeted her with a grin; he had just played a pre-recorded clip of himself emerging out of her back as a nod to her work in the Best Picture-nominated body horror film The Substance. He took several steps across the set and quipped, 'I'm walking to show I have control of the stage.'
He really did have control. O'Brien has never hosted the Academy Awards before, but the comedian seemed like a veteran of the gig as he kicked off the show. That's in part because he spent three decades working in late-night television—writing bits, interviewing celebrities, and commanding all kinds of audiences as a host. As the writer Vikram Murthi observed last year, O'Brien 'is one of our last classic entertainers.'
But O'Brien's success at the Oscars is also a result of his ability to balance the silly with the serious; every now and then, he even embodied both at the same time. His tonal agility as a performer made him well-suited to a ceremony that came on the heels of two major events—the presidential election and the wildfires in Los Angeles that destroyed entire neighborhoods—while Hollywood itself has been enduring a tricky time: Studio productions have largely vacated Los Angeles after the pandemic and the dual strikes, streaming platforms continue to disrupt the traditional theater business, and a series of scandals have plagued several of the nominees seated inside the Dolby Theater. O'Brien has been going through a rough few months, too; his parents died within days of one another in December, and he evacuated his home amid the fires. His job, on top of charming both the A-listers in the room and those watching at home, requires knowing when and how to make his audience not only laugh, but also listen.
He proved adept at the task from the jump. In some moments during his monologue, he played the role of the conventional Oscars emcee: He encouraged the crowd to applaud Cynthia Erivo and Ariana Grande, the stars of Wicked, for their performances at the beginning of the show. He poked light fun at the Best Picture nominees, and teased some of the assembled actors by showing their pre-fame headshots. (The image shown for Timothée Chalamet, for instance, was that of a sonogram.)
Yet he also played the unruly jester: He championed Babygirl, a 2024 film that was snubbed by the Academy, and skewered Amazon's recent purchase of the James Bond franchise. He also deployed several harsh punchlines about the actor Karla Sofía Gascón, whose resurfaced tweets—a series of bigoted missives, including one about the Oscars themselves—essentially sank her Best Actress campaign. After the crowd gasped at his reference to Gascón, O'Brien seemed delighted, pointing at the audience, rubbing his hands together, and even jogging in place. 'I'm having fun,' he said, smiling impishly.
O'Brien's giddiness was key to his opening act. It softened the strangeness of some of his gags, whether it was verbally sparring with his longtime friend Adam Sandler, requesting the Conclave star John Lithgow's help to shame speech-givers into wrapping up, or performing an ironic song-and-dance number about not wasting time onstage the way that previous hosts and presenters have. These moments aren't new to awards shows; Sandler has become a pinch hitter for live TV lately, and practically every Oscars host calls out how long the ceremony runs. But O'Brien made plain how much he sought to entertain, to hold everyone's attention at any cost.
Perhaps that's why he successfully delivered the segment that others in his position would have tried to quickly gloss over: a serious, direct-to-camera appeal about the importance of filmmaking, especially during less-than-ideal times. 'In moments such as this, any awards show can seem self-indulgent and superfluous,' he began, 'but what I want to do is have us all remember why we gather here tonight. … Even in the face of terrible wildfires and divisive politics, the work, which is what this is about, the work continues, and next year, and for years to come, through trauma and joy, this seemingly absurd ritual is going to be here.'
He paused. 'I will not,' he said as the crowd began to laugh. 'I am leaving Hollywood to run a bed and breakfast in Orlando, and I'd like to see you there.' It was classic Conan: goofy and ridiculous, but earnest in his excitement, too. He'd said in an interview last week that all he wanted out of the hosting gig was 'to have fun onstage.' He clearly did. So did those off of it.
Article originally published at The Atlantic