But for all the ridiculous prop runs and tedious daily chores, the interns here are also given incredible access to the inner-workings of an Emmy-nominated television program. Aside from what we absorbed through sharing the same room as these people, each intern was allowed to choose a staff member to shadow for an entire day, to really see what makes the show tick. I chose Laura Krafft, one of the writers, and trailed her like an idiot at some sort of thousand-dollar-a-day fantasy camp.
I sat in on all of the writer’s meetings that day, and was able to see how an episode of the Colbert Report evolves into the tight package we get every Monday through Thursday at 11:30 pm. I was privy to discussions of ethics (Is a Hezbollah-palooza joke over the line?); given sage-like advice (“There will be days when you’ll wonder why you’re in this business, and then days when it all makes sense.”), and even got to pitch some of my own ideas (“If there’s a bustle in your hedgerow, don’t be alarmed America, it’s just the Colbert Report.”). To my surprise, I was actually taken seriously, my initials even placed on script submissions alongside writers I supposedly collaborated with. It was an honor, but I couldn’t help feeling a little like that kid from the Shake ’n’ Bake commercials; Mom did all the work, I just shook the damn bag and got credit.
As the day came to a close, I was invited into the studio to watch rehearsal. The studio itself is much smaller than I imagined. I’d describe it as “intimate,” but not in that deceitful real-estate agent sense of the word. Instead, it made me realize that there are actually places that can be described as “where the magic happens,” even if that phrase has been abused by every clueless celebrity in a trucker hat on Cribs to describe their master bedroom.
“Don’t feel like you have to laugh,” someone tells me as I sit in the audience for the first time. “It’s important that we find out what works and what doesn’t during rehearsal so we can edit before show time.” But I felt awestruck, giddy even; Colbert could’ve read from The Bell Jar for the next hour and I’d still find it difficult to keep a smile from my face.
At the tail end of the internship, I found myself in the studio again, this time with the other interns, eagerly awaiting the true climax of the summer: a Q&A with Colbert himself. He sat in a lone chair on the floor in front of his character’s desk, a subtle gesture that let us know we were talking to Stephen Colbert the actor and not Stephen Colbert the megalomaniacal pundit. There was no artifice here, no showbiz insincerity; just a man addressing his adoring indentured servants. It was all the compensation we’d ever need.
One intern asked how Stephen feels about being pegged as not just a comedian, but also an important social figure. His response surprised me. He explained that, while there is some truth in the “sad-clown” theory of coping with a dismal world by finding comedy in tragedy, the humor comes first, with the political arena really just being a forum for the jokes. He doesn’t think he’s changing the world, and doesn’t really express a desire to do so. It was a refreshing take on his role in society, especially since there are times when Jon Stewart feels to me like he’s only a beret away from becoming the next Che Guevara, commanding an over-eager army of white college-age males with disposable income.
