No film succeeds on its premise alone, but a good one can be enough to get you in the door. That’s certainly true of Late Night with the Devil (2023), which enticingly situates a creepy tale of horror on the cheesy soundstage of a fictional 1970s talk show. Fortunately, it lives up to the idea, a deliciously campy romp that sells its nifty concept with aplomb.
Opening with a compelling documentary prologue, Late Night with the Devil purports to present “found footage” of a long-lost episode of Night Owls, a fictional, early Tonight Show competitor starring former radio personality Jack Delroy (David Dastmalchian). Forever hosting his show in the looming shadow of Johnny Carson, Delroy nonetheless has aspirations of rising to the top in the entertainment industry. But the comforting, conventional variety-show trappings of Night Owls can’t quite compete, forcing Delroy to inject more and more outrageous content into his alternative platform. This culminates in a controversial 1977 episode, orchestrated by Delroy in an attempt to save the show during sweeps week. It would become the “live TV event that shocked a nation.”
There isn’t a ton of surprise to the plot of Late Night with the Devil, but the points are in the execution, which is superb. Night Owls isn’t a real show, of course, but it faithfully recreates the feel of the 1970s “reality TV,” the game shows and talk shows that cluttered the airwaves during the rabbit-ears era. I’m just old enough to remember black-and-white glimpses of Phil Donahue and Gene Rayburn and the carpeted sets of The Mike Douglas Show, and Late Night with the Devil recaptures that vibe perfectly. Key to the period resemblance is a perfectly cast Dastmalchian, utterly convincing as the bland, good-natured interviewer who sees his Carson dreams spiraling deeper and deeper into Jerry Springer territory. The stagey theatrics of the episode aren’t always convincing, nor is the “backstage” footage that contextualizes the more effective Night Owls broadcast material. But it doesn’t matter, because the exercise is so lovingly and effectively realized, blazing along with dark nostalgia that delivers chills without ever taking itself too seriously. In a good supporting cast that features Rhys Auteri, Fayssal Baazi, Ian Bliss, Laura Gordon, and Georgina Haig, the standout is surely Ingrid Torelli, who brings just the right unsettling stares, grins, and tonal pivots needed to sell the central supernatural elements of a memorable episode-gone-wrong. One would be hard pressed to call Late Night with the Devil high art, but damn is it ever fun and effective, delivering precisely on its promise.
