Unless you’ve been living under a rock for the last year and half, you’ve at least heard of The Tonight Show debacle that happened last year. Conan O’Brien‘s short-lived reign as the show’s host only lasted 7 months, but the fallout from his departure lasted significantly longer. Though it was certain O’Brien would land another show with ease, as part of his exit deal with NBC, O’Brien was prohibited from appearing on TV and radio for six months. To fill the gap, O’Brien went on his “Legally Prohibited from being Funny on Television Tour.” But even during this time, O’Brien often found himself in front of a camera, as Rodman Flender filmed a documentary, Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop, about the trip.
Nearly a year later, that film is out.
The appropriately titled Conan O’Brien Can’t Stop opens with a brief summary of the events that led O’Brien to leave his post and follows the tour from conception to its aftermath. Starting with the idea of a road show, O’Brien and his team of writers and producers hastily lay out plans for a 90-minute program that is little more than an idea even after tickets have gone on sale. Pressure begins to mount quickly as, to the visible surprise of everyone, the first two shows sell out in less than 20 minutes.
Interspersed with clips of tryouts, rehearsals, and bits from the show itself, the real core of the film comes from candid interviews with O’Brien. Though he acknowledges he was never entitled to his prior successes or any claim to the Tonight Show, O’Brien clearly struggles to keep a positive outlook while dealing with the anger he can’t let go of. Though the remarks are sparing, O’Brien occasionally takes digs at NBC executives and Jay Leno (the latter of whom took over as Tonight Show host) that make it clear he is having difficulty moving on. All the while, it’s clear O’Brien has long become addicted to, if not fame itself, the act of performing for people.
The documentary tracks him from Eugene, Ore., to Atlanta, with stops in Las Vegas, New York, and at the Bonnaroo Festival in Manchester, Tenn. Throughout, Mr. O’Brien is seen fretting, fuming and occasionally rejoicing while in the throes of what looks like a sustained adrenaline rush. At one point he exults that for the first time in his career people have actually paid to see him. The film also reveals the grueling labor of putting together an act, taking it on the road and enduring such necessary rituals as greeting fans with whom you don’t want to spend time.
Just as O’Brien doesn’t seem to have an “off” switch, neither does the filmmaker. On the plus side, it enables us to see the comic not only at his best, but at his worst — impatient, whiny, turning his frustrations into acerbic cuts that sting friend and foe alike. But in never stepping out of the maelstrom, Flender fails to mine the rich access he has for any deep insight into all that raw ambition he’s exposing.
It’s unfortunate because just who the subject matter is. O’Brien is so good at his job in so many ways: quick on his feet, fast with a comeback, able to simultaneously defuse and stoke tension in a roomful of writers with a single wisecrack. Yet as Flender captures the preparation and execution of this live variety act, O’Brien’s bristly demands for “a simple piece of grilled fish” or a conversation with a fan in a wheelchair (“You got a raw deal,” the fan says) begin to accumulate, and the whole thing becomes a sort of Song of Myself for needy multimillionaire comics at work and play.
At one point O’Brien says,
“I don’t know what it would be like to stop.”
You can’t help but think he’d be terrified to find out.