Late Night: Stay up for it!

Late Night (2019) • View trailer 
Four stars. Rated R, for profanity and occasional sexual references
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 6.14.19

I’ve suffered through so many vulgar, trashy, profane and infantile comedies during the past several years, that it seemed like the entire genre had been hijacked by such junk.

Imperious late-night talk show host Katherine Newbury (Emma Thompson) would only
"make nice" in this manner, with lowly writer Molly Patel (Mindy Kaling), if a publicity photo
were required. Otherwise, Katherine wouldn't waste a moment with such a staff peon...

Bless you, Mindy Kaling, for reminding us that witty, sophisticated humor still exists on the big screen.

Late Night is delightful. Kaling’s consistently amusing script is blessed with both sharp one-liners and shrewdly wry jabs at sexism, racism, ageism, tokenism and several other isms that don’t immediately leap to mind. The story also takes pointed pot shots at television and its cult of personality, while giving us the funniest behind-the-scenes writers’ room gang since we lost television’s much-loved 30 Rock.

And, unlike far too many lazy scripters these days, Kaling doesn’t focus solely on her story’s key characters; she also grants sidebar folks distinct personalities, and gives them little moments in which to shine. 

Manhattan-based Katherine Newbury (Emma Thompson) is a pioneer in her field, with multiple Emmy Awards to prove it: She’s the only woman to host a long-running late-night talk show. Unfortunately, she hasn’t changed her approach after three decades, and her ratings are tanking in an age where audiences prefer social media to social discourse. Stuffy philosophers can’t compete with YouTube “celebrities” who make embarrassing videos with their pets.

Worse yet, the notoriously impatient Katherine suddenly is accused of hypocrisy: as a so-called progressive feminist whose writers’ room is staffed solely by men. White men. Mostly young white men.

Stung by the accuracy of this charge, she orders her executive producer — Denis O’Hare, as the long-suffering Brad — to take the first “diversity hire” who walks into the building. Due to a hilariously improbable set of circumstances, that turns out to be Molly Patel (Kaling), a former chemical plant efficiency expert from suburban Pennsylvania, who has dreamed of being a comedy writer.

And whose sudden presence in the writers’ room goes over like the proverbial lead balloon.

Katherine isn’t all that pleased either, particularly when Molly presumptuously suggests the many ways in which the show is, well, badly behind the times. Given that Katherine’s reflexive response has long been to fire anybody who argues with her outdated opinion of comedy, Molly’s off to a thunderously bad start.

But Molly’s perceptive observations are completely valid, and Katherine no longer has the luxury of ignoring such advice. Network exec Caroline Morton (Amy Ryan, deliciously waspish) has had enough of Katherine’s lazy, stubborn refusal to be as cutting-edge as she was 30 years earlier. Caroline’s therefore prepared to dump Katherine and give the show to vulgar shock comic Daniel Tennant (Ike Barinholtz, appropriately smug).

That’s horrifying on multiple levels, starting with the fact that Katherine isn’t sure she can become hip and relevant all over again. And she sure as hell isn’t about to take advice from a new hire with absolutely no relevant experience.

But that’s one of the genius subtexts of Kaling’s script, because Molly actually has plenty of “relevant” experience. She knows what it’s like to be marginalized, ignored and belittled because of her gender and race, which makes her just the right person to remind Katherine of having gone through similar battles, back in the day.

Meanwhile, Molly has to simply survive each day in a room filled with guys who don’t view themselves as chauvinistic, despite constant subtle and blatant sexist behavior. All of which is played for gentle laughs, and all of which Molly confronts with wonderfully arch retorts.

Kaling (who also co-produced) and director Nisha Ganatra hired stand-up veterans to play Katherine’s writers, and wisely allowed them to enhance their characters via on-set improvisation. The resulting group dynamic feels spontaneously authentic, and displays the playful energy of people who’ve spent a lot of long, frustrating hours together.

Head monologue writer Tom (Reid Scott) is an arrogant, Harvard-educated jerk who views the job as his birthright, because his father was one of the show’s original writers. Charlie (Hugh Dancy) is the resident womanizer, so Molly immediately suspects less than honorable intentions when he’s modestly friendly toward her (or, to be more accurate, less rude than everybody else). 

Burditt (Max Casella) is the group’s lone veteran and longtime survivor of Katherine’s mercurial temperament; superficial gruffness aside, he’s genuinely nice to Molly. (Eventually.) Paul Walter Hauser is a stitch as roly-poly Eugene: forever eager to please, and forever insecure. He gets a great bit during a brief bathroom encounter with Molly.

O’Hare is solid as poor Brad, who acts as a buffer between the eternally insecure writers and the aloof Katherine, who can’t even be bothered to learn their names. (No surprise, given how rapidly some of them get replaced). Brad knows full well that Katherine needs to up her game, but he also knows her moods well enough to tread carefully. One suspects, given O’Hare’s forever harried expression, that Brad doesn’t sleep well at night.

John Lithgow brings heart to the story as Katherine’s devoted husband, Walter, whose former career as a manager of A-list comedians was derailed by the onset of Parkinson’s. (Kaling’s script has much more on its mind, than merely making us chuckle.) The disease has made him gentle and philosophical, which Lithgow handles brilliantly. He’s got a wistful smile that has nothing to do with self-pity, and everything to do with wishing his wife would become a better version of herself.

Walter also serves as the catalyst who brings out Katherine’s gentler side: the one person who transforms Thompson’s performance into something much more complex than a snarky bitch. Lithgow and Thompson bring an emotional intensity to their shared scenes, particularly in the third act, which makes us view Katherine in an entirely different light.

All this said, the film gets most of its comedic energy from the byplay and maneuvering between Thompson and Kaling, in the best imperious boss/determined underling dynamic we’ve seen since Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway, in 2006’s The Devil Wears Prada. Kaling and Thompson possess impeccable comedic timing, and both deliver the script’s biting asides and one-liners with aplomb.

There’s also a great deal of pleasure to be experienced, each time Molly stands up for herself. Which — important to note — isn’t all the time. Kaling doesn’t make her invulnerable, or always right; Molly is capable of being crushed, just like the rest of us. This makes her even more endearing.

I’m puzzled by the presence of young Jia Patel, cast as Parvati (Molly’s niece? Neighbor?), who appears in only two fleeting scenes. It feels like she should have played a larger role in these events; as it is, the character is superfluous.

Ganatra’s pacing is solid throughout, as is the funny/serious balance existing between so many of these characters. Late Night is a welcome alternative to the noisy, superficial blockbusters already dominating early summer theaters; it’s a skillfully assembled little film with a lot on its mind.