Welcome Back, Dick Cavett

According to Wikipedia, The Dick Cavett Show has existed, in various incarnations and sporadically, throughout the 80s, 90s, and early 2000s. But I think it's fair to say that the height of the show's fame and significance was in the 1970s, and those episodes -- both in their entirety and in the form of brief clips -- are now available for viewing on YouTube -- some of them hosted by Dick Cavett himself, with new introductions.

Watching these old clips really underscores the immediately noticeable difference between Dick Cavett and other talk shows, especially those of modern day. Oh, I'm not saying there's anything wrong with modern talk shows; I'm partial to Conan O'Brien myself, and even though they're not my cup of tea, I recognize the creativity that James Corden, Jimmy Kimmell, and Stephen Colbert bring to their comedy. But those shows -- not much different than David Letterman or Johnny Carson in their day, just with more polish -- revel in the artifice of show business. You never know when a seemingly sincere discussion is going to segue into a pre-written comedy bit. And as for the discussions themselves, even the best ones are more or less predictable, with the guest stars' "amusing" anecdotes almost inevitably designed to plug their latest album, movie, or TV series.

On Dick Cavett, stars would also occasionally plug their latest work, but only occasionally, not as the norm. Cavett was much more interested in the overall lives and careers of his guests, and always seemed much more interested in their inner thoughts. Thus, his questions tended to be more probing, more thought-provoking. It's no coincidence that Woody Allen was a favorite recurring guest; Allen's fascination with psychoanalysis, and Cavett's particular form of introspective questions seem tailor-made for each other. There's a sincerity to Cavett's interest lacking in other talk show hosts; you can sense so many of Cavett's colleagues constantly setting up potential punchlines, while Cavett's conversations with his guests seem more, well, conversational -- you get the strong feeling that Cavett's conversations would play out almost identically even if there was no audience to play to.

When I observe that Cavett's greatest strength is in his skills as a conversationalist, that's not to say that those skills are flawless; far from it. His jokes fall flat more often than not (there's clearly no "applause" or "laughter" signs facing the studio audience), his silences can be awkward (the episode with George Harrison is aptly, hilariously, unintentionally Pythonesque as Harrison lives up to his nickname as "the Quiet Beatle," uniquely stymying Cavett's attempts to make conversation flow), and his questions can be unintentionally confrontational ("you do know that Beatles fans call you 'the Dragon Lady,' don't you?" he asks Yoko Ono at one point, not seeming to realize how lucky he is that John Lennon and Yoko Ono handle his mis-step with aplomb).

Cavett's biggest flaw is his well-meaning but clueless fascination with race relations. Most black celebrity guests find themselves on the receiving end of at least one inadvertently offensive question sooner or later. Bill Cosby and James Earl Jones give insightful, well-thought-out responses to Cavett's questions (Cavett asked Cosby if "Amos & Andy" should have been cancelled, and Cosby explains that he was a fan of the comedy, but from the perspective of race relations, asserts that it was right to be cancelled. Jones, asked if he was offended by Anthony Quinn being cast as a black man, gives a mini-treatise on the concept of acting and losing oneself in the role.) Eddie Murphy and Richard Pryor have very different reactions. (Murphy is shocked into laughter when Cavett asks him if he's offended by the word "nigger," with Cavett emphasizing the word with an affected redneck drawl. "Did you just become possessed?" Murphy jokes. Pryor, asked if he prefers black writers or white writers working for him, explains that he has no preference as long as they're writing for Pryor "as a human being," but he can't abide white writers who try to write about "the black experience," or write in a specifically "black language" that they only think they understand. "I think I could write in your language," Cavett replies. "What do you mean?" Pryor demands -- calmly, quietly, but refusing to let Cavett off the hook.)

But Cavett's weaknesses as a conversationalist only emphasize his sincere interest in his guests. He gets some surprising confessions, opinions, and stories out of his guests without seeming to cross the line into manipulation. Lennon, for example, expresses admiration for the other Beatles' post-Beatles musical output, despite his occasional swipes at Paul McCartney in other forums. And Stephen King surprisingly expresses sincere admiration for Stanley Kubrick's adaptation of The Shining, despite King's later countless complaints about the film. The latter example is from one of my favorite episodes, in which Cavett hosts a panel of horror writers in an attempt to examine the concept of horror itself, from the perspective of their own lives and careers.

Nowhere is Cavett's skill at provoking honest, interesting conversation from his guests more reflected than his two interviews with Orson Welles (once one-on-one between Cavett and Welles, and another time with Jack Lemmon serving as a sort of Ed McMahonesque sidekick). Welles turns out to be a fascinating raconteur, telling stories about things he's experienced or sometimes simply observed, in a manner that proves that even his own massive ego has room to admire the accomplishments of many others, both in and outside of show business. Nobody name-drops like Orson Welles! Other celebrities, depending on their generation, might tell half-funny stories about meeting Frank Sinatra or Brad Pitt. Welles tells fascinating, hilarious anecdotes about meeting Adolf Hitler and Winston Churchill. But his stories about people we might callously consider "nobodies" -- an innocent, low-ranking young GI who stumbles into a meeting of top Army brass, or a little old lady who has a uniquely charming way of hosting dinner parties -- are told with equal fascination, gusto. and admiration for his subjects. Add the two Orson Welles episodes together, and the conversation lasts for nearly an hour and a half -- and still left me wanting for more. Oh, sure, Welles has appeared as a guest on other talk shows -- but it just ain't the same.

Don't take my word for it. The link to one of the Welles episodes is attached to the end of this blog. Watch with delight, and maybe it'll spur you on to watch other Dick Cavett clips as well. You won't regret it.

Orson Welles, Storyteller Extraordinaire