CBS Has Been Screwing Up Late Night Since the 1960s

Note: This is a commentary-style entertainment article based on real CBS late-night history, documented programming changes, and industry reporting.

The Network That Kept Showing Up Late to Late Night

CBS has had many great television instincts. It knew how to build prestige news, durable sitcoms, procedural comfort food, and football broadcasts so reliable they feel like part of the national plumbing. But late night? Late night has often been CBS’s banana peel in a tuxedo.

For more than half a century, CBS has approached the 11:30 p.m. hour like someone assembling furniture without instructions: confident, noisy, and somehow holding three extra screws when the chair collapses. From the Merv Griffin experiment of the late 1960s to the Pat Sajak misfire, from the David Letterman rescue mission to the Stephen Colbert cancellation, the network’s late-night history is not one clean strategy. It is a scrapbook of second guesses, expensive pivots, affiliate headaches, format confusion, and occasional brilliance that CBS then somehow managed to make awkward.

The strange part is that CBS has not always failed because it lacked talent. Merv Griffin had charm. David Letterman was a legend. Craig Ferguson turned a tiny studio into a surreal playground. Stephen Colbert led the broadcast late-night ratings for years. The problem has usually been institutional: CBS keeps treating late night as either a prestige trophy, a financial nuisance, a programming hole, or a weird storage closet for whatever format happens to be nearby.

Merv Griffin: CBS’s First Big Swing at Carson

The modern CBS late-night saga begins in 1969, when the network brought The Merv Griffin Show to late night as a direct challenger to Johnny Carson’s Tonight Show. On paper, this was not a ridiculous idea. Griffin was already an established broadcaster with a conversational style, strong guest relationships, and the kind of easy show-business polish that made him seem born in a blazer.

But taking on Carson was not just a scheduling decision. It was a declaration of war against the reigning king of late night, and CBS entered the battle with a host whose strengths were not always compatible with network nerves. Griffin liked long conversations. He booked entertainers, politicians, intellectuals, activists, and oddballs. That made his show interesting. It also made CBS executives sweat through their suits.

One famous example involved political activist Abbie Hoffman, whose American flag-patterned shirt reportedly made CBS uncomfortable enough to blur it on air. Imagine inviting late-night viewers to stay up for conversation, then panicking because the conversation brought a shirt. That little episode captured a long-running CBS late-night problem: the network wanted cultural relevance, but not always the mess that comes with it.

Griffin’s CBS run lasted from 1969 to 1972. He did not dethrone Carson, and CBS eventually replaced the show with The CBS Late Movie. In other words, the network’s first serious late-night talk-show strategy ended with: “What if we just played a movie?” That is not exactly a mic drop. It is more like quietly unplugging the mic and pretending the stand was decorative.

The CBS Late Movie Years: Cheaper, Safer, Sleepier

After Merv Griffin, CBS spent much of the 1970s and 1980s leaning on movies, reruns, and packaged late-night programming. This was not a total disaster. In some ways, it was smart. Movies were cheaper than producing a nightly talk show. They required no host contract drama, no monologue writers, no celebrity booking wars, and no fear that someone’s shirt might become a standards-and-practices crisis.

But the choice also made CBS feel absent from one of television’s most personality-driven arenas. NBC had Carson. Later, NBC had David Letterman after Carson. ABC experimented with its own late-night offerings. CBS, meanwhile, often looked like it had hung a “Gone Fishing” sign on the door after the local news.

Late night is not merely a time slot. It is a relationship. Viewers invite a host into the room when the house is quiet, the refrigerator is humming, and the day has finally stopped throwing chairs. A good late-night host becomes habit, mood, and company. CBS’s movie-and-rerun approach may have filled hours, but it did not build that relationship. It was television as a nightlight, not television as a conversation.

Pat Sajak: The Wheel Spun, CBS Lost a Turn

Then came The Pat Sajak Show in 1989, CBS’s attempt to return to late-night talk with a familiar, likable star. Sajak was not an absurd choice. He was smooth, quick, and beloved from Wheel of Fortune. Viewers knew him. Advertisers knew him. Your aunt probably trusted him more than her own bank.

But likability is not the same as late-night electricity. Sajak’s show looked and felt too much like a cautious Carson imitation arriving after the party had already developed inside jokes. It launched into a brutally competitive landscape: Johnny Carson was still Johnny Carson, and Arsenio Hall was bringing younger energy, music, and cultural freshness in syndication.

CBS canceled Sajak’s show in April 1990 after only about 15 months. The cancellation was not just a ratings story; it was a brand story. CBS had tried to re-enter late night with a safe bet, but safe in late night can quickly become invisible. The audience did not need a polite duplicate of what already existed. It needed a reason to change the channel after the news.

The Sajak chapter remains one of the great “seemed fine in the meeting” moments in television history. It was not a catastrophe because Sajak was untalented. It was a problem because CBS confused familiarity with necessity. Viewers liked Pat Sajak. They just did not seem to need Pat Sajak at midnight.

Letterman Finally Made CBS Cool After Dark

In 1993, CBS finally did something bold: it hired David Letterman after NBC chose Jay Leno for The Tonight Show. This was the rare CBS late-night move that felt aggressive, clear, and culturally sharp. Letterman brought a loyal audience, a fully formed comic language, and the delicious energy of a man who had been passed over and now had a new theater, a new network, and a very large point to prove.

Late Show with David Letterman debuted from the Ed Sullivan Theater in New York, instantly giving CBS something it had lacked for decades: a real late-night identity. Letterman’s irony, absurdist bits, street pieces, celebrity discomfort, and anti-showbiz showmanship made CBS feel alive after dark. For once, the network was not trying to copy the late-night conversation. It was hosting one.

Of course, CBS being CBS, the triumph came with complications. Letterman’s early ratings boom did not permanently bury Leno. NBC remained a fierce competitor. Still, Letterman gave CBS credibility. He made late night on CBS matter. He made the network look less like a place where old movies went to nap and more like a place where comedy could bite the hand that booked it.

The Letterman era is the strongest counterargument to the title of this article. CBS did not screw up everything. Sometimes it got the big decision gloriously right. But even that success highlights the larger pattern: CBS’s best late-night era happened when it acquired a proven genius from another network after a corporate succession mess. That is less “visionary development pipeline” and more “excellent emergency shopping.”

The Late Late Show: Weird, Wonderful, and Eventually Abandoned

CBS also deserves credit for building a second late-night hour with The Late Late Show, which began in 1995. The franchise went through Tom Snyder, Craig Kilborn, Craig Ferguson, and James Corden. Each version had a different flavor, but the Craig Ferguson years deserve special mention because they showed how CBS late night could thrive when it stopped pretending every show needed to be a desk-polished Carson clone.

Ferguson used puppets, a robot skeleton sidekick, loose interviews, fake awkwardness, and a sense of theatrical nonsense that made the show feel like a secret club. It was cheap-looking in the best possible way. It did not scream, “Network strategy!” It whispered, “We found a strange Scottish man and gave him caffeine.” That was exactly why it worked for its fans.

James Corden later turned The Late Late Show into a digital clip machine, especially through segments like “Carpool Karaoke.” Whether one loved or loathed Corden’s style, CBS had something valuable: late-night content that traveled online. In the streaming and social-media era, that mattered.

Then Corden left, and CBS replaced the traditional 12:30 a.m. talk show with After Midnight, a rebooted panel-game format hosted by Taylor Tomlinson. It was a logical experiment in some ways: cheaper, faster, more game-like, and better aligned with short-form comedy rhythms. But by 2025, CBS had canceled it after two seasons, leaving the network without original programming in the 12:30 a.m. hour. Once again, CBS had found a promising late-night lane and then stepped out of the car while it was still moving.

Stephen Colbert: Number One, Then Done

Stephen Colbert took over The Late Show in 2015 after Letterman retired. His early version took time to settle, partly because the shift from the fictional conservative pundit of The Colbert Report to a sincere network host was trickier than it looked. But the political chaos of the late 2010s gave Colbert a lane, and he drove it hard.

Colbert became the dominant broadcast late-night host in total viewers for years. His monologues mixed political satire, moral exasperation, theater-kid precision, and dad-energy warmth. He was not for everyone, but he gave CBS a strong identity in the most culturally combative era of modern late night.

Then CBS announced that The Late Show with Stephen Colbert would end in May 2026, citing financial reasons rather than performance or content. The decision landed like a piano in a library. Here was CBS canceling a show that still led its broadcast rivals in viewership, at least by traditional measures, while broader questions swirled around advertising declines, corporate ownership, mergers, political pressure, and the future of linear TV.

To be fair, late-night economics really have changed. Linear ratings are down across the industry. Younger audiences watch clips, podcasts, TikToks, YouTube interviews, and comedians on platforms that do not require them to sit through a local-news lead-in about a raccoon in a pharmacy. Producing a five-night-a-week network talk show is expensive. The old model is under stress.

But the optics of ending The Late Show were brutal. CBS looked less like a network reinventing late night and more like a landlord changing the locks while the tenant was still getting applause.

Comics Unleashed and the Time-Buy Future

After Colbert, CBS moved toward Byron Allen’s Comics Unleashed, a lower-cost comedy format operating under a time-buy model. In business terms, this may make sense. CBS reduces risk, lowers production burden, and turns a complicated programming hour into a cleaner financial arrangement.

Creatively, however, it feels like the network has come full circle. In the 1970s, after Merv Griffin, CBS retreated to movies. In the 2020s, after Stephen Colbert, CBS retreated to a lower-cost format that does not aim to carry the same cultural weight. Different era, same shrug.

That does not mean Comics Unleashed cannot be funny or useful. Stand-up comics deserve platforms, and Byron Allen has spent decades building media businesses. But replacing a flagship late-night franchise with a time-buy comedy block sends a message: CBS is no longer trying to win late night in the old sense. It is trying to make the hour behave on a spreadsheet.

Why CBS Keeps Getting Late Night Wrong

1. It Underestimates Host Identity

Late night is not just programming. It is personality architecture. Carson, Letterman, Ferguson, Colbert, Kimmel, Conan, Stewart, and others all built worlds. CBS has sometimes understood this and sometimes treated hosts like interchangeable lamps.

2. It Confuses Cheap With Smart

Cost discipline matters. But late night without ambition becomes filler. Viewers can smell filler through the screen, usually right before they open YouTube.

3. It Panics at Cultural Heat

From Griffin’s politically charged guests to Colbert’s sharp monologues, CBS has often wanted the buzz of relevance without the headaches. Unfortunately, late night without headaches is usually just a brochure with jokes.

4. It Moves Too Late

CBS often reacts after the format has already shifted. Carson was entrenched before Griffin arrived. Arsenio was rising when Sajak launched. Digital culture was already reshaping late night before CBS fully rethought the second hour. The network keeps arriving at the party with dip after everyone has moved to a different house.

The Viewer Experience: Watching CBS Turn Late Night Into a Long Group Project

For viewers who have followed late-night television across eras, CBS’s history can feel like watching the same group project fail in different fonts. One decade brings a polished host. Another brings old movies. Another brings a game-show star. Another brings a comedy icon. Then comes a brilliant oddball at 12:30, a viral karaoke machine, a political satirist, a panel-game reboot, and finally a cost-controlled time-buy solution. It is a lot. At some point, even the TV Guide needed a nap.

The personal experience of CBS late night is often tied to inconsistency. A viewer might discover Letterman as the cool alternative to network smoothness, then later find Ferguson turning interviews into playful chaos. Someone else might grow up with Colbert clips shared the next morning, never watching live but still feeling the show’s presence in the national conversation. CBS late night has produced real affection. The frustration comes from how often the network appears surprised by its own success.

There is also a specific kind of viewer disappointment that happens when a network stops nurturing a habit. Late-night shows are not like limited dramas. They are rituals. You do not merely “consume” them; you check in with them. The monologue becomes a nightly pressure valve. The desk becomes familiar furniture. The band, sidekick, fake horse, celebrity walk-on, or recurring bit becomes part of the room. When CBS abruptly changes direction, the viewer does not just lose a program. The viewer loses a routine.

That is why the Colbert cancellation hit harder than a normal programming decision. Even people who did not watch every night understood what was being removed: a historic franchise, a New York stage, a nightly political comedy institution, and one of the last remaining pieces of old-school broadcast late night. CBS framed the decision financially, and finances matter. But viewers experience television emotionally. A spreadsheet does not explain why a host helped them laugh during elections, pandemics, scandals, strikes, bad news, and ordinary insomnia.

From a viewer’s couch, CBS late night often looks like a network trying to decide whether it wants to be brave, cheap, cool, safe, prestigious, or simply done. That uncertainty is exhausting, but it is also weirdly fascinating. CBS has given audiences some unforgettable late-night moments, then repeatedly acted like it misplaced the instruction manual. Watching the network manage late night is like watching someone adopt a very talented dog and then complain that it needs walking.

Still, the affection remains because late night itself remains powerful. People want a voice at the end of the day. They want jokes that make the news feel less poisonous. They want interviews that are not just promotional oatmeal. They want a host who can turn exhaustion into company. CBS has had access to that magic many times. The tragedy, and the comedy, is how often it has fumbled the wand.

Conclusion: CBS’s Late-Night Problem Was Never Just Ratings

CBS has been screwing up late night since the 1960s not because every show failed, but because the network has rarely seemed fully at peace with what late night requires. It requires patience, identity, risk, and a willingness to let a host become more than a line item. It requires understanding that the 11:30 p.m. audience is not simply awake; it is available for a relationship.

Merv Griffin showed CBS the danger and promise of serious conversation. The movie years showed the appeal of cheap safety. Pat Sajak showed that familiar faces do not automatically create urgency. Letterman showed what happens when CBS bets big on a defining comic voice. Ferguson showed that weirdness can be a strategy. Corden showed that late night could become internet fuel. Colbert showed that broadcast relevance still existed, even in a fractured media world.

And yet, again and again, CBS has treated late night as a problem to solve rather than a culture to cultivate. That is the real punchline. The network did not lack opportunities. It had them. It just kept looking at a living, breathing late-night tradition and asking whether it could be replaced by something cheaper before the next quarterly report.

So yes, CBS has been screwing up late night since the 1960s. But in the grand tradition of late night itself, at least the mistakes have been entertaining.