Though Layered And Ambitious, 'Late Night' Doesn't Always Stick The Landing

DAVE DAVIES, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. I'm Dave Davies in for Terry Gross. Mac Rebennack, the musician, singer, songwriter and producer, better known to his fans as Dr. John, died yesterday of a heart attack. He was 77. His best-known songs include "Right Place Wrong Time" and "Such A Night."

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "SUCH A NIGHT")

MAC REBENNACK: (Singing) Such a night, it's such a night, sweet confusion under the moonlight. Such a night, such a night to steal away, the time is right. Your eyes caught mine, and at a glance, you let me know that this was my chance. But you came here with my best friend Jim. And here I am trying to steal you away from him. Oh, but if I don't do it, you know somebody else will. If I don't do it, you know somebody else will. If I don't do it, you know somebody else will. If I don't do it, you know somebody else will. And it's such a night, it's such a night, sweet confusion under the moonlight. It's such a night.

DAVIES: Mac Rebennack grew up in New Orleans and came of age when the city was one of the country's rock 'n' roll capitals. In his teens, he worked as a session musician, playing guitar and keyboards, influenced by the pianists that epitomized the New Orleans sound, including Professor Longhair, Huey Piano Smith and Fats Domino.

In the mid-60s, he left for Los Angeles, where he created the Dr. John persona. As Dr. John the Night Tripper, he led a production that combined voodoo, psychedelia and old medicine shows. He would emerge on stage dressed in sparkling robes and shoot glitter out over the audience. A troupe of dancers performed to his band's music that fused New Orleans rhythms with acid rock. He continued to perform as Dr. John, even as he phased out the show.

In the early 1980s, Rebennack moved to New York and made his record debut as a solo rhythm and blues pianist, paying tribute to his mentor Professor Longhair. In recent years, he appeared on several episodes of the HBO series "Treme," set in New Orleans.

Today we'll feature excerpts of Terry's 1986 interview with Mac Rebennack. He started performing as a teenager, playing New Orleans clubs with older musicians who promised his parents they'd look out for him. He told Terry what the club scene was like.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

REBENNACK: Most of the clubs were fronts for something else. It was like the - you know, there were the B drinkers and all, working prostitution out the backs of the clubs. There's - they all these motels connected to them. There was gambling going on, like - and all these hidden rooms around the clubs.

And it was all pretty, like - what was great about it was it left - the club owners hired bands that played music that they liked. And there was a lot of freedom, so bands in those days did not have to play for the public. They played for club owners that enjoyed music. You know, what happened - there was a lot of clubs that had bebop music or different forms of music. It was great for musicians. They weren't under pressure to pack people in a club 'cause these guys didn't even care if there was any people necessarily in the club 'cause that's not where their money was necessarily coming.

TERRY GROSS, BYLINE: Were there are a lot of knife fights or gun fights at some of the rougher clubs that you played?

REBENNACK: Oh, yeah. Some of the giants were real, you know, typical bucket-of-blood giants. And there were - some of the places my family knew I was working, and some of them would have just pulled me out the whole scene. I mean, it was nights that guys would push me behind, like, these one-arm bandits, you know, the little slot machines and would use them like shields and shove me behind them when they'd see the guns come out and stuff. And like, man, there was a night, you know, that somebody got shot, stabbed or whatever.

GROSS: If the guns or the knives were coming out, were you supposed to keep playing?

REBENNACK: Yes. We always were instructed to play loud and fast when trouble happened. That was kind of the rule of thumb. When trouble start, you play loud and fast.

GROSS: What was that supposed to accomplish?

REBENNACK: Drown out the trouble.

GROSS: Oh (laughter). Did it work?

REBENNACK: Yeah.

GROSS: So people wouldn't notice that much what was happening.

REBENNACK: Yeah, so the bouncer could clear the people out the place. And, usually, nobody was the wiser that somebody was murdered or whatever happened. It was usually not even noticed by the bulk of the paying people.

GROSS: I had read somewhere that you were shot in the fingers, I think, when - during a club date. What happened? What's the story with that?

REBENNACK: Well, I was playing a gig in Jacksonville, Fla. And Ronnie Barron, who was singing with our band at the time, he was, like, really underage. He was, like, a couple years younger than me. And his mother had told me, look. You look out for Ronnie. And I remembered how guys had looked out for me when I was first out there.

Well, I went to get Ronnie for a gig. I walk in the room, and this guy's pistol-whipping him over, like, a jealous lover scene. And I went to try to get the gun out the guy's hand. And in doing it, I got my finger over the barrel instead of the handle of the gun. And as I hit the guy's hand on a rock to get the gun out of his hand, it went off and blew the tip of my finger off.

And I was fortunate they were able to sew the tip back on, but it's, like, affected me from being a guitar player. And it really took a toll. I really feel that a lot of the contribution of me getting into drugs was out of - connected with this incident; that I was very depressed about not being able to follow my career as a guitarist. And even though I was - went into playing keyboards and other things that worked out later, there was a long space of time when I was very, like - I'd just give my life to being a guitar player. And all of a sudden, that was, like, gone. And it really messed my whole head up.

GROSS: Was there a separate black and white music scene when you were coming of age?

REBENNACK: Well, there was separate unions. There was segregated unions, which was a real problem for me because - especially as I was working in the recording scene, I had flack from the white union for hiring black musicians. I had flack from the black musician by hiring white musicians. So both unions were giving me trouble for hiring the other guys when what I was doing was trying to hire the best guys to fill the jobs.

GROSS: How did you start doing studio work?

REBENNACK: Well, I hung at the studio. Myself and James Booker and several other musicians, as kids, we just literally hung at the studio, hoping somebody would get sick or get hurt and that we'd get to sub for them. And, I mean, literally, we made, you know, novenas to the saints that somebody would get ill, that we'd get a chance to play. And we'd wait. And occasionally, somebody would be late, and we'd get to play for a little bit. And usually, they'd come, and we'd get shooed out again. But slowly but surely, we kind of got accepted into the clique. And it was like, I think more to do with persistence and talent, you know?

GROSS: What are some of the sessions that you played on that became big hits nationwide?

REBENNACK: Well, early on, some of the Huey Smith and The Clowns things and Frankie Ford sessions and Jimmy Clanton sessions. Like, with Huey Smith, it's funny. I listen to some of the records that we had done. And I don't know what I played on them because Huey Smith would take me as a guitarist and say, play a conga part or play a bongo part. And I've played more things on records as a guitarist that don't sound like a guitar than I did that sound like a guitar.

GROSS: I want to play a recording from your "Gumbo" album. And it's "Those Lonely Lonely Nights." Why did you choose to do this song?

REBENNACK: Well, I was looking for some Earl King songs. Earl was one of the - he and Huey Smith were two of the guys that encouraged me to keep on writing songs. And they were like the up-and-coming guys. Like, Huey Smith was the young piano player coming up at that time. And Earl King was, like, called Little Guitar Slim, who was, like, the hero of the guitarists at the time.

GROSS: And why don't we hear it? You're featured on piano and vocals...

REBENNACK: Right.

GROSS: ...On this recording of "Those Lonely Lonely Nights" from Dr. John - Mac Rebennack's album "Gumbo."

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THOSE LONELY LONELY NIGHTS")

REBENNACK: (Singing) There's been some lonely, lonely nights, oh, baby, yes, since you been gone. Lay my head on my pillow. Oh, how I cried all night long. The thing you used to say to me - you said that we would never part. Well, you know I love you, darling. Tell me why did we have to part?

GROSS: "Those Lonely Lonely Nights" with my guest Dr. John - Mac Rebennack - featured on piano and vocals. When you started producing records, did you have a sound in mind that you were always going for?

REBENNACK: When I first started, I didn't know what I was doing. I was such a - like, a kid that got into things before I was ready. I was like the original learning-on-the-job-experience guy. All I knew was, if I hired the best musicians, I got the best arranger and got the right songs for the right singer, I had did my job correctly. Then all I had to do was get everybody to play it right in the studio, make sure we got a good tape. And my job was finished then.

And it wasn't about so much getting a sound. To me, it was getting a feeling. Once we had a track that felt good, that was it. It was like - because it was all one-track recording. There was no overdubs till a few years later. We began to overdub machine to machine. We didn't have two-track machines then. But the thing was, mistakes or not, anything went as long as it had a good feeling. If you could dance to it, if it made you - we could tell on the playbacks whether we had something good because the musicians would all start dancing if it felt real good. If they didn't get up and dance - no matter how tired they was, at least some of them would always dance if it was - felt right. If that didn't happen, we'd go on and do it again.

DAVIES: That's New Orleans pianist and singer Mac Rebennack, also known as Dr. John, speaking with Terry Gross in 1986. Mac Rebennack died yesterday at the age of 77. We'll hear more of their conversation later in the show. But next, a performance Mac Rebennack recorded in the FRESH AIR studio. That's coming up right after this short break. This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF DR. JOHN'S "HONEY DRIPPER")

DAVIES: This is FRESH AIR. We're remembering the great New Orleans pianist, singer and producer Mac Rebennack, also known as Dr. John, who died yesterday at the age of 77. In 1988, we invited Mac Rebennack to be FRESH AIR'S performer-in-residence for a few weeks. Here's one of the sessions he recorded - two songs written by Hoagy Carmichael.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

REBENNACK: I like to decompose a couple of Hoagy's tunes for you right now, starting with an old tune called "Up The Lazy River" (ph).

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "UP A LAZY RIVER")

REBENNACK: (Singing) Up the lazy river in a mill stream. Lazy, lazy river, where we can sit and dream. Linger in the shade of a kind, old tree. Throw away your troubles. And dream a dream with me. Up the lazy river by the old mill run, lazy, lazy river in the noon day sun. Blue skies up above, everyone's in love up the lazy river with me - up the lazy river with me. Up the lazy by the old mill stream, that lazy, lazy river, where we could just sit and dream. Linger in the shade of a kind, old tree. Throw away your troubles. Dream a dream with me. Up the lazy river by the old mill run - that lazy, lazy river in the noon day sun. Blue skies up above, and everyone's in love. Up the lazy river - how happy we could be up the lazy river with me. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

That's an old Hoagy tune I used to really dig. I used to play it with various Dixieland bands. And now I'd like to do one - "The Nearness Of You" - starting out with a little...

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "THE NEARNESS OF YOU")

REBENNACK: (Singing) It's not the pale moon that excites me, baby, that thrills and delights me. Oh, no, it's just the nearness of loving you. It's not your sweet conversation, baby, that stirs up my imagination. It's you, child, and the nearness of loving you. When you're in my arms and I feel you so close to me, all my wildest dreams, baby, come true. And you know, sure enough, they do. It's not your sweet conversation, baby, that stirs up my imagination. It's you, child, and just the nearness of loving you. And when you're in my arms and I feel you so close to me, all my wildest dreams, baby, come true. And you know, and, well, it's not your sweet conversation, baby, that stirs up my imagination. It's you, child, and the nearness of loving you. Baby, it's you and all the stars above and the nearness of love, and just the nearness of love.

A little Hoagy Carmichael stuff for you - some oldies but moldies (ph) but some real truies (ph) and sweethearts of tunes you can't get away from.

DAVIES: Mac Rebennack, also known as Dr. John, performing in the Fresh Air Studios in 1988, when he was a FRESH AIR performer in residence. Rebennack died yesterday at the age of 77. After a break, we'll get back to his interview with Terry and hear how he combined voodoo lore and psychedelic rock to become Dr. John the Night Tripper. Also comedian Zahra Noorbakhsh shares some thoughts on community and ritual, and Justin Chang reviews the new film "Late Night." I'm Dave Davies, and this is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "MAMA ROUX")

REBENNACK: (Singing) She was the queen of the little red, white and blue. She was the queen of the little red, white and blue. She said, ooh, why can't you spy, boy? Prepare yourself to die, boy. Medicine man got a heap strong power. You know better than to mess with me. La, ga (ph), ra, bo (ph), la, la, la, la, la, frou (ph), frou. La, ga, ra, bo, la, la, la, la, la, frou, frou. If you see a spy, boy, sitting in the bush, mess him on his head and give him a push. Get out the dishes. Get out the pans. Oh, he's a pheasant for the medicine man. Tra (ph), la, la, la, la, la, la, la, ja, kon-oo (ph). Ooh, lo, ma, lo, wa (ph), la, tra, lo, wa, lo, won, ja, lo. The queen is coming.

DAVIES: This is FRESH AIR. I'm Dave Davies, in for Terry Gross.

Today, we're remembering the great New Orleans pianist, singer and producer Mac Rebennack, also known as Dr. John, who died yesterday at the age of 77. He recorded more than 30 albums, and when performing as Dr. John, he sometimes appeared in snakeskin, beads and feathers. Terry spoke to Mac Rebennack in 1986.

(SOUNDBITE OF ARCHIVED BROADCAST)

GROSS: You went from this background of playing a music rooted in jazz and blues and early rock and roll. And then you became one of the leading figures in psychedelic music, and you created this persona for yourself - the Dr. John persona. How was that created? Was it your idea to do that?

REBENNACK: Well, I had always came up with album concepts. I would think of, like, well, this will be a project. And I would come up with, like, a lot of album projects so that if I had some work to do that we'd have projects to fill in, to do. And the Dr. John thing was - the idea was, at the time, there was no real show shows that were out and around.

And the concept was to take all of the tricknology (ph) that I knew in show business from over the years, like throwing glitter to make the effect of magic and using a lot of concepts that were easily and cheaply adaptable to show business and then make a show that would be real mystical, an orientation for people. And it was a real, like, easy-to-do show.

And all I had had to do was to get a group of dancers. And I got all these people from New Orleans who were real familiar with that kind of music. And we did the album, and the show was geared to the snake dancers and all the regular voodoo shows of New Orleans.

And I first - and when I first presented it, it was a little too authentic for the labels. They weren't quite ready for a guy biting a chicken's head off and stuff. So they - we modified the show down to a lot less authentic-ness to more showbiz style and took it on a road.

But when it first started, it was a great show. I would have put that band up against anybody. I used to challenge any band that was on a gig with this tour - battle of the bands. And whether it was Thelonious Monk or whether - whoever it was, I knew these guys could hold their own with. And my idea was that to show people that we weren't just about show business - that we were real good musicians, too.

GROSS: I want to play something from one of your early Dr. John the Night Tripper records, and this is from the "Gris-Gris" album, and it's "Gris-Gris Gumbo Ya Ya." Do you want to say anything about when you started doing this song and how you'd get into it?

REBENNACK: Well, this was the introduction song. Like, on the show, I would step on a button and have a big puff of smoke and say, they call me - and as the smoke cleared, it would look like I had just popped up. You know, it's an old magic trick. And that was, like, the introduction song to our show. And this also, was, like, introducing myself to the audience is who and what Dr. John is.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "GRIS-GRIS GUMBO YA YA")

REBENNACK: (Singing) They call me Dr. John, known as the Night Tripper. Got my sizzling gris-gris in my hand. Day tripping up, back down the bayou. I'm the last of the best. They call me the gris-gris man. Got many clients come from miles around running down my prescription. I got my medicine to cure all y'all's ills. I got remedies of every description. I got - gris-gris gumbo ya ya. Hey, now. Hey, now - gris-gris gumbo ya ya. Hey, now. If you got love trouble, you got a bad woman you can't control, I've got just the thing for you - something called control in the hearts or get together drops. If you work too hard, and you need a little rest, try my evil eye rub. I'll put some on my boss fix jam in your breakfast. Try a little bit of gris-gris gumbo ya ya. Hey now. Hey, now gumbo ya ya.

GROSS: Now, I think you hadn't sung or at least recorded your singing before recording in the persona of Dr. John. Was it hard to find your own voice when you were doing Dr. John?

REBENNACK: I literally had no voice. I had never really sang other than a few risque songs after hours at clubs. But I'd never - the only thing I knew about singing was I knew how to sell songs as a songwriter. But I had no chops as a singer in any way, shape or form. And I'm only recently kind of learning a little bit how to sing.

GROSS: What was your reaction to the psychedelic music scene? You'd come from a very different background.

REBENNACK: I was very turned off by the vibe of everybody being into the oneness of the planet and how that was great and the vibe. And then I was watching the aftereffects of this. I mean, I'd see these runaway kids that would hook up with that band. And like - I was around, like, the Diggers who were, like, feeding all these runaway kids in the parks.

And it was real - the side that is calling of all the love and the love beads and all was in the marketplace. But they're little kids. They got this far. They're freezing and not covered and didn't know how to take care of their self. And it was very fortunate that there were guys like the Diggers and the Panthers feeding these kids and taking care of them.

GROSS: You were born Roman Catholic. What got you so interested in voodoo?

REBENNACK: Well, it's a real heavy port in New Orleans' scene. When I was coming up, it was like everybody I know - it's like you automatically, whether it was my grandmother or my grandfather - everybody did certain little gris-gris things. It was like the herbal remedies we took as a kid was strictly gris-gris things. And I don't think people - they look at spells and the stuff, but that's a side of something, and it's a very small part of what gris-gris is about in Louisiana. And it's just part of the culture.

GROSS: You were studying to be a priest in the church of voodoo and witchcraft.

REBENNACK: Well, what I actually did was legalize it. I chartered it so that the reverend mothers in New Orleans would not be busted for fortune telling, for doing spells and whatever they did prior to me having got a charter with the state of Louisiana. Always, reverend mothers, who was some of the best people I ever knew, were getting busted on a regular basis for just going to hospitals and helping people. And it was ridiculous.

GROSS: So you created the church to help legitimize their activities.

REBENNACK: And it worked real well. It's like - to this day, they still can use this charter.

GROSS: A couple of your latest albums really showcase your piano playing. Have you been seeing yourself as much of a pianist now, as a singer or guitarist or producer or any of the other things that you've done?

REBENNACK: Actually, I just have always looked at myself as just a musician that plays in a rhythm section. I feel very awkward being called a piano player, a something, 'cause what I do is, like, not necessarily - I'm not a great piano player, so to speak. I can play the piano, and I love to play the piano. I love to play music. But I just as much love to play the guitar, the bass and the drums or anything else in a rhythm section. And that's really my love. I feel very awkward making piano solo records because there's no interplay.

And I always thought of doing something like that. It's like the end of the rope. From there I - I'm stuck with playing the Holiday Inn circuit for the rest of my life. And I'll be in some little club, somebody drunkenly asking me to play "Melancholy Baby" or something. And that was my vision, and it's - well, it didn't go that way, but that's a real underlying feel with this kind of thing to guys like me who've seen it happen to friends.

GROSS: I want to play a piece in which you're featured at the piano. It's a composition that you wrote called "Dorothy." My guest Dr. John, Mac Rebennack, at the piano. Thank you so much for talking with us.

REBENNACK: Well, thank you for having me. I enjoyed this.

(SOUNDBITE OF DR. JOHN'S "DOROTHY")

DAVIES: Mac Rebennack, better known as Dr. John, spoke to Terry Gross in 1986. He died yesterday at the age of 77.

Coming up, commentator Zahra Noorbakhsh reflects on a time when a personal health crisis coincided with the Christchurch shooting in New Zealand. This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF DR. JOHN'S "WADE IN THE WATER")

DAVE DAVIES, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. As a Muslim and Iranian American woman, Zahra Noorbakhsh has a lot of worries about the future. In March, when the Christchurch shooting coincided with a personal health crisis, she found hope in the Muslim tradition of Friday gatherings and learned her love of touring as a comedian may run deeper than she realized.

ZAHRA NOORBAKHSH: Last year ran me ragged. Every comedian feels bad all the time. That's why we do comedy. But this felt different. Nothing could get me out of bed.

It was two months before the Christchurch shooting, and I was checking boxes about my thyroid in a surgeon's waiting room. Do you sometimes acutely believe that people hate you? Yes, I'm Muslim and Iranian. Do you sometimes believe that people are talking badly about you? Yes, I'm Muslim and Iranian. Do you sometimes feel that you are being monitored or watched closely? Yes, I'm Muslim and Iranian.

My surgeon explained that a three-centimeter nodule in my thyroid was pushing against my esophagus. It could also be the cause of some of the anxiety and isolation that I'd been feeling. A biopsy revealed that it might be cancerous. My right lobe and its rogue nodule had to go.

On that Thursday in mid-March, I woke up at the UCLA surgery center to a smiling nurse in blue scrubs. The nurse said that the surgeon was happy with the procedure and that pathology would contact me soon with the results.

Your parents are here. Your mom has your phone. Would you like a popsicle? Yes, I said, testing my voice. I was eager to speak, but I could feel the suture tape grip with any movement of my neck. They told me that in rare cases, the surgery could do permanent damage to the vocal nerve. My voice was unscathed, but I'd have to take it easy on the stitches to avoid a scar.

In the recovery room, my parents kept me company. Mom handed me my phone, aglow with notifications from my friends. It made me smile to know they were thinking of me. But then the muscles in my neck pulled against those stitches.

When visiting hours were over, I thought I'd be scared to be in the hospital overnight, but I was relieved to be alone. The nurse took my vitals, and I had the company of a few machines beeping on cue. I reached for my phone. A white supremacist had travelled from Australia to New Zealand on a killing mission.

I looked at the row of empty beds in the surgery ward and thought about the packed trauma center across the planet. I thought about my friends who texted me, I'm sending you all my strength, while tweeting at the same time about their despair at the loss of 49 souls killed during prayer, killed while playing with their children, killed after greeting their murderer at the door.

The next morning, the discharge nurse helped me change clothes, printed home-care instructions and wheeled me to my parents' rental car. The sight of their concerned but smiling faces reminded me that I was still waiting for news about my prognosis. A few hours later, the doctor's office called. Ms. Noorbakhsh, I'm calling with your pathology report. Your surgeon removed a precancerous lesion - no further surgery necessary.

My parents hugged and cheered and gave me a soft high-five. I wanted to cry with relief, but my sutures singed. As a comedian, I'm always the one buffering silences. But from the backseat of the car, I could only let out a deadpan, hooray. Mom slapped the dashboard and said, I'm making dinner tonight. We were blocks away from Pershing Square in Los Angeles. When my parents parked and headed for groceries, I waited in the car and texted nearby friends.

So much had happened in the last two days, I needed a Jummah - a joyful Friday gathering. I invited about a dozen people, Muslim or not, expecting three. I texted, precancerous - stage 0. We're celebrating. Mom's making Persian food. Come by. Their emojis poured in. See you tonight. I needed this. Yes. Yay, they said. Everyone was coming. I felt my stitches pulse as panic washed over me. I have a 700-square-foot one-bedroom apartment. I own one pot and utensils for two. Just having mom and dad over felt crowded.

Persian parents are somehow always ready for a group of 10 to become 50. All I could do was watch. My kitchen was a Mary Poppins bag. Dad found a colander I didn't know I owned. He chopped and simmered while mom cracked open my insta pot from Christmas and threw in the lamb. Any time I tried to help, they scolded me to ice my neck and take my stool softener. As friends arrived, it was as if each had been whirled through the door by a storm outside. They were so happy to be there.

I watched from the couch as they swapped hugs of relief with my parents and flowed into my tiny living room, making chairs out of anything. Dad turned my cutting boards into tea trays and served Persian tea in my shot glasses and mason jars.

Someone cracked a joke. And for a moment, I forgot I'd had surgery. My face puffed with pressure, and I let out a cackle. The room went silent. Everyone watched as a trickle of blood dripped out the center stitch and stained my bandage. I let my friends do the laughing for me.

We never talked about Christchurch. We didn't need to. It was in every inhale. It wasn't the first mass shooting. It wouldn't be the last. So often, tragedy is what brings us together that it made me appreciate the ritual of Jummah all the more.

Growing up, we went to mosque every Friday, whether in joy, sorrow, grief or uncertainty. I think it's because of that tradition that I love performing live so much, even when it's just with a dozen friends in my living room. Even when it runs me ragged, I love being there with the crowd. And now I might have a scar to remind me just how much.

DAVIES: Zahra Noorbakhsh is a comedian and co-host of the GoodMuslimBadMuslim podcast. Her new show "On Behalf Of All Muslims: A Comedy Special" makes its theatrical premiere at the Brava Theater Center in San Francisco on June 21st.

Coming up, Justin Chang reviews the new film "Late Night." This is FRESH AIR.

(SOUNDBITE OF PRINCE'S "DELIRIOUS")
DAVE DAVIES, HOST:

This is FRESH AIR. Actress and comedian Mindy Kaling has said in interviews that she started her entertainment career as a diversity hire, writing for the NBC series "The Office." She's parlayed some of that experience into her script for "Late Night," a new movie set in the world of network television. She co-stars along with Emma Thompson, who plays the longtime host of a late-night talk show. Film critic Justin Chang has this review.

JUSTIN CHANG, BYLINE: The Hollywood we see in the crowd-pleasing showbiz satire "Late Night" is more progressive than the real thing in at least one respect. This one has a late-night talk show hosted by a woman. That host is a British-born New Yorker named Katherine Newbury, and she's played by Emma Thompson, giving one of her signature, superb performances as a woman who's incapable of suffering fools gladly.

Katherine is brilliant, acerbic and proudly elitist. She has few friends or family, except her loving, ailing husband, beautifully played by John Lithgow. She's built her reputation on excellence and has a shelf full of Emmys to prove it, though her 28-year-old show has seen better days. Viewership has been slipping for a decade, probably because Katherine prefers to interview writers and intellectuals rather than movie stars and YouTube celebrities.

Around the time she learns that her days on the show are numbered, Katherine decides it's time she diversified her staff. Her writing team consists entirely of white men, fueling rumors that she's one of those successful women who can't abide other successful women. And so she ends up hiring Molly Patel, played by Mindy Kaling, who also wrote and produced the movie.

Molly is a former efficiency expert at a Pennsylvania chemical plant with a passion for comedy but no TV writing experience. Her irrepressible eager-to-please spirit almost immediately rubs Katherine and her other co-workers the wrong way. In an early writer's room meeting, Molly gives a detailed report, laying out three areas where she thinks the show could improve.

(SOUNDBITE OF FILM, "LATE NIGHT")

MINDY KALING: (As Molly) The first is your overall unwillingness to do high-concept recurring bits - you know, where you have to physically leave the studio. Those are the ones that can go viral if executed well. The second is your total lack of presence on social media. You seem to have contempt for it, which feels ill-advised because most of your audience is watching on their phones. The third - I think people get very excited when you share your beliefs. So what you just said about the Miss America Pageant, that was awesome. When you reveal those kind of strong opinions, it's when you really come alive as a performer.

CHANG: But Molly's well-intentioned advice gets a frosty reception from Katherine.

(SOUNDBITE OF FILM, "LATE NIGHT")

EMMA THOMPSON: (As Katherine) So what's the solution?

KALING: (As Molly) Oh, I don't have one.

THOMPSON: (As Katherine) Just to be clear, you don't have any new ideas or jokes.

KALING: (As Molly) No.

THOMPSON: (As Katherine) OK. I've been doing this job for nearly 30 years, and I know what works. And I'll tell you what doesn't work - an absurdly confident newcomer coming in, criticizing my show and giving me her assessment of my comic persona without doing the hard work of presenting me with solutions. This room is a ship. I am the captain. And you were barely in the right to be in awe.

CHANG: I don't know how faithfully "Late Night" reproduces the behind-the-scenes goings-on at a late-night talk show, but it's probably about as accurate as "The Devil Wears Prada" was about life at a glossy fashion magazine, which is to say, accurate enough.

Despite some quick cameos by Seth Meyers and Bill Maher and a few references to past late-night ratings wars and host succession scandals, the movie is never as rich or penetrating a sendup as, say, "The Larry Sanders Show." But as with most office comedies, logistics matter less than the quality of the banter and the character interplay. And the director, Nisha Ganatra, pulls off that juggling act smoothly enough.

The movie could stand to be more judicious where its huge supporting cast is concerned. I was grateful for every minute of Amy Ryan as a tough-as-nails network boss and Denis O'Hare as Katherine's unfailingly loyal executive producer. But some of Molly's fellow writers, especially Hugh Dancy as the office Lothario, overstay their welcome.

You always want more scenes between Molly and Katherine, two mismatched individuals who come to realize how much they need each other. Kaling wrote the script with Emma Thompson in mind, and it's a dream pairing of role and star. Few actors can be as hilariously withering as Thompson and show you the human longing and frustration beneath the surface.

"Late Night" is a Cinderella fantasy of sorts, with happy endings all but assured. Katherine will get just enough of a comeuppance to become a nicer person and better comedian. And Molly, after a few false starts, will excel at the job of her dreams.

But while there's more than a little wish fulfillment going on here, the movie is also boldly confrontational about topics like casual workplace sexism and the push for inclusiveness in the entertainment industry. The other writers initially treat Molly with sniggering contempt, even as they drown in their own self-pity. It's just so hard being a white man these days, they say. But while Molly may be the show's token woman of color, she's also hardworking and perceptive, and her fresh outsider's perspective turns out to be pretty spot on.

"Late Night" is so smart about nearly every subject it tackles that I wish it were even smarter, that it did a better job of reconciling its caustic industry satire with its more sentimental lump-in-the-throat moments. Beyond stage comedy, bits actually fall pretty flat. Even allowing for a charitable audience, the jokes in Katherine's nightly monologue and the occasional stand-up routines just aren't funny enough to get such exaggerated audience reaction shots.

"Late Night" is an uncommonly layered and ambitious mainstream entertainment, but it doesn't always stick the landing. Comedy may be hard, but comedy within a comedy is even harder.

DAVIES: Justin Chang is a film critic for The Los Angeles Times.

On Monday's show, a conversation with British actor Damian Lewis, who plays a ruthless hedge fund owner on Showtime's "Billions." He also played a Marine sergeant in the series "Homeland," King Henry VIII in "Wolf Hall" and first became known for his role as Army Major Richard Winters in the HBO series "Band Of Brothers." Hope you can join us.

FRESH AIR's executive producer is Danny Miller. Our technical director and engineer is Audrey Bentham, with additional engineering support from Joyce Lieberman and Julian Herzfeld. Our associate producer for digital media is Molly Seavy-Nesper. Roberta Shorrock directs the show. For Terry Gross, I'm Dave Davies.

(SOUNDBITE OF SONG, "IKO IKO")

CHANG: (Singing) Iko, Iko. Iko, Iko, un day. Jockomo (ph) feeno (ph) ah na nay, jockomo feena (ph) nay. My spy boy and your spy boy were sitting on the bayou. My spy boy told your spy boy, I'm going to set your tail on fire. Talking about hey, now. Hey, now. Iko, Iko, un day. Jockomo feeno ah na nay, jockomo feena nay. My marrain (ph) and your marrain, sitting on the bayou. My marrain told your marrain...

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