Forget the politics for a second. Let’s call late night TV what it is right now: a wasteland.
Once upon a time, Johnny Carson defined pop culture. You didn’t just watch The Tonight Show — you talked about it the next day at work or school. It was a shared experience, like watching Dallas on a Friday night or the World Series before cable fractured the audience. But today? Most people don’t even know who’s hosting half these shows, and fewer still are tuning in.
The economics tell the story. Networks are paying out big dollars for star hosts, bands, writers, and production staff, all to chase an audience that keeps shrinking by the year. Advertising revenue can’t keep up, especially when younger viewers are more likely to scroll TikTok or stream Netflix than wait up until 11:35 p.m. for a monologue. The math doesn’t add up, and nostalgia isn’t going to save it.
Cable splintered the audience first. Then streaming services finished the job, giving us bingeable shows on demand. And then, late night itself pushed away part of its base by leaning hard into politics. Whether you agreed with the jokes or not, the shift turned off a chunk of the audience that just wanted laughs without a lecture. When you combine limited viewers, expensive talent, low ad rates, and divided loyalties, you have a format that’s losing relevance fast.
I wouldn’t be surprised if, a few years from now, we’re down to just The Tonight Show as the last man standing. Not because it’s thriving, but because NBC might keep it alive for tradition’s sake, much like baseball keeps the sacrifice bunt in the rulebook. Everything else? Networks will quietly move on.
Late night TV had a good run. It launched stars, it made cultural moments, it kept people company at the end of the day. But culture has moved on. The next “late night” is already here — it’s just on your phone, at any hour you want it.
