The Late Shift, a 1996 HBO movie based on a book by the New York Times' Bill Carter, chronicled the infamous struggle between David Letterman and Jay Leno to replace Johnny Carson as the host of the Tonight Show after his retirement. Higgins, in an interview with Starpulse's Mike Ryan, said that he knew at the time he was offered the role that the film would be controversial and that he risked facing a backlash within the notoriously petty industry for taking the role, but at the time he was a struggling actor who desperately needed $300 to fix his broken-down car.

They had a hard time casting it for that reason. And he was very powerful — and is. He didn't like the project from the beginning and didn't make it easy for me — or for anyone doing that project. It was (pauses) it was hard. I took it because I needed to fix the steering column on my Subaru is why I took it. I needed $300 or I wouldn't have a steering wheel. So, I ended up making more than $300 but in the end it's one of those jobs you just can't... I could not turn it down. I may be able to turn it down now, but I couldn't at the time. It would just be completely crazy and irresponsible.

You know, it was scary. I was scared of it. No question. Actually, doing the job itself was a tricky acting challenge but I had had harder acting challenges onstage. That part wasn't so bad, it was the appendant hoopla which was difficult for me to navigate and I didn't do it that well because I was so inexperienced. There was a lot of press, there was a lot of interviews and comparing me. And [Letterman] was saying things about me on his television program. It was difficult. I didn't know what I was doing.

I had a lot of help from HBO's publicity department who was holding my hand through it because I suddenly was in a rather glaring spotlight. Mostly not because of the project, which was good, but it wouldn't have gotten all that press. It was mostly because of the nature of the project. An inside, big Hollywood story where people were actually getting represented on the screen. People who are alive and well.

It was a great opportunity and it was really daunting and scary. It was like, "Should I do this? This could end it all. This could start and end the whole thing." Thankfully, it didn't.

Higgins also said that Letterman has refused to speak to him in the years that have passed since, though he was booked to appear on Letterman's show, only to get bumped without explanation.

There was a famous incident where he invited me to the show and I got bumped off the show. Everyone sort of tried to figure out what happened there ... it's odd though, it's an interesting job. It's really interesting to industry people. To still be talking about a job I was in 12 years ago is very unusual.

Back in February, Letterman invited the mother of the late comedian Bill Hicks onto his show so he could apologize publicly for a slight he perpetrated upon Hicks back in 1993. Maybe one day Letterman can invite John Michael Higgins to join him on the air to talk about The Late Shift and put all of the animosity to rest. We think it's be a tremendously nice gesture, not to mention something that would make for very compelling television, don't you think?

John Michael Higgins Talks [Mike Ryan/Starpulse]

While most famous for being Johnny Carson's go-to man (an able backboard for jokes, an incredulous-yet-always-rolling-with-it co-witness to bizarre moments and personalities), McMahon also acquitted himself nicely on the long-running Star Search. While recognizing the show's inherent cheesiness with a wry twinkle in his bespectacled eye, McMahon was never condescending or dismissive of the dreamers who danced and sang and acted and told jokes so earnestly on center stage. Maybe that was just the style of the time, but when compared to the detached smugness of a Ryan Seacrest or the acrid British lady on So You Think You Can Dance, McMahon carried himself with an air of, well, genuine class. We know "class" is word that's become something of a joke, but McMahon knew that the word was sincere and important. Ed wanted you to enjoy what you were watching, and for the people performing to enjoy what they were doing. He made everyone comfortable and kept things moving. A lot easier said than done. He was even good at giving people enormous checks!

While McMahon ran into some slighty embarrassing financial problems late in his life, he briefly reentered the public eye in a great way with a hilarious, gently self-mocking bit in a Cash-4-Gold commercial that ran during the Super Bowl. Amid all the glitzy expensive beer ads, his was the funniest and, yes in a strange way classiest, of the evening.

Some highlights:

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Johnny poking fun at Ed

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Singing on a telethon with Jerry Lewis

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Playing MC on Star Search

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The Cash-4-Gold ad

That's a question we've been asking ourselves a lot over the last few days. We love Letterman. We also love Conan. We've never really been forced to confront this sort of dilemma previously. In the past the question of who to watch at 11:35 was a no-brainer—-Johnny Carson was the only show in town during his era, and Letterman was always matched up against Leno, his comedic antithesis in just about every way, so usually we watched Letterman on CBS at 11:35 and then switched over NBC to catch Conan at 12:37. It was all so fantastically fine.

But now there's this new thing and we don't know quite what to do. This is like that time Hulk Hogan squared off against Andre The Giant for the WWF title when we were kids—-We didn't know who the hell to pull for!

We can, however, take solace in knowing that we aren't the only ones confused by all this. New York has a feature in their new issue by Sam Anderson addressing the same subject.

Now we have to adjust to a new binary: Letterman versus Conan. (Leno will take his show to prime time, where he enters into a new binary with a bunch of sausage-grinder franchises like Law & Order and CSI.) On the surface, Letterman-Conan is infinitely less dramatic than Letterman-Leno; the intensities have all dropped out of the equation. They are not peers-when Letterman started his first late-night show, O'Brien was at Harvard studying Faulkner and writing Lettermanesque humor for the Lampoon. There's no obvious bad blood-Letterman was an early Conan supporter, and, just as Letterman once paid tribute to the retiring Carson ("Thanks for my career"), Conan spent much of his recent Late Night farewell speech gushing over Dave ("David Letterman invented this Late Night show … He set the bar absurdly high for everybody in my generation who does this"). Their stylistic differences will create very few rifts between friends and neighbors. Conan speaks fluently in the late-night language Letterman invented: cerebral non sequiturs; field trips in search of real-world absurdities; forays through the bowels of the studio to interrupt other shows. Both hosts morph into clingy nerds when faced with beautiful actresses. (Conan once screamed like a linebacker and threw his chair after Rebecca Romijn kissed him.) Conan is in many ways a mini-Letterman: tall, lanky, red-haired, stunty, smart. If Letterman-Leno felt like a decades-long slow-motion death match, Letterman-Conan threatens to be its opposite: sweet, cute, possibly even boring.

The most tantalizing possible outcome of the Letterman-Conan binary is that it will force Letterman, at this late stage in the game, to get better. To stand out against the background of Jay, Dave just had to be Dave. To compete with a younger, hungrier version of himself, he might have to do more than that, for the first time in years. The similarities might turn out to be a blessing: Their stunts will cross-pollinate, their jokes will play against each other. To differentiate themselves, they may even have to launch an arms race of total absurdity.

We'd like to just state here and now that we have no issue whatsoever in "an arms race of total absurdity." In fact, we encourage it. Please fellas, indulge us. And as for who to watch, we suppose that we can just DVR one or both shows and watch one at 11:35 and the other at 12:37, because we usually have to be kinda stoned to get into Craig Ferguson and Jimmy Fallon's show just, you know, fucking sucks.

Letterman vs. Mini-Letterman [New York]

In case you're unfamiliar with the "upfronts," they're an annual television industry event held in New York where all of the bigshots and stars from all the networks present their show lineups for the upcoming season to advertisers in the hopes of removing them from their money. Usually, these events are one enormous act of autofellatio, an endless stream of workers sucking the cocks of the companies they work for in order to hold on to their jobs and continue to cash ridiculously large paychecks, and really, who can blame them? Apart from the time in 1991 when Johnny Carson announced out of the blue that he was retiring during an NBC upfront presentation, these things are usually painfully benign, and are rarely, if ever, truly newsworthy. Typically it's an endless parade of people like Charlie Sheen stepping up to a podium to tell the fine folks at Procter and Gamble and General Motors how if they thought last year's season of Two and Half Men was funny, well, they haven't seen anything yet, because this upcoming season is going to be a fucking riot, and then they politely ask them for $1.5 million for a thirty second spot and the advertisers usually pay it and everyone goes home fat and happy. The end.

Now, with all of that established, back to Kimmel, who completely shattered this usual sort of monotony with his performance yesterday. Here's a sampling of what he said as advertising executives just sat there squirming in their seats, laughing nervously, exchanging "WTF?!" glances, not quite sure of what to make of what what happening in front of them as he fired rhetorical scuds at ABC, its competitors, and the advertising industry in general.

"Let's get real here. Let's get Dr. Phil-real here. These new fall shows? We're going to cancel about 90 percent of them. Maybe more."

"Every year we lie to you and every year you come back for more. You don't need an upfront. You need therapy. We completely lie to you, and then you pass those lies onto your clients."

"Next year on ‘Grey's Anatomy,' your product could kill Dr. Izzie. It just depends on how much you want to pay."

"I think all our shows are going to work this year. I really do. I don't, really."

"The important thing to remember is: who cares, it's not your money."

Kimmel also took a shot at NBC and Jay Leno, whom ABC once courted to possibly replace him when his contract with NBC expired, saying that they're "giving Jay's viewers exactly what they want. An early-bird special."

It's hard not to love and respect Jimmy Kimmel more than ever after all of this, but one can't help suspecting that ABC will soon be announcing his show's cancellation so that it can extend Nightline back to a full hour.

Jimmy Kimmel Demolishes ABC's Upfronts [New York Times]

Watch as the consummate entertainer revisits the painful time in his career, clearly still scarred by the memory of The Tonight Show host ripping open the edge of a white envelope, blowing into it, and producing an index card that read "Name a cancer, a dancer, and a prancer," (the response to Great Carsoni divination, "Lung, Baryshnikov, and Wayne Newton") to the audible delight of the studio audience.

• Wayne Newton threatened to kick Johnny Carson's ass over gay jokes [PageOneQ]
• Larry King Live