My Night as a Colbert Fangirl: How Comedy Central Whips Up Its Audience

When a friend got in touch a few weeks ago inviting my husband and me to go see the Aug. 25 taping of Comedy Central's The Colbert Report I jumped at the opportunity, even if I'd pick seeing The Daily Show over Colbert any night of the week. To the extent I had a concern -- beyond getting a babysitter -- it was being surrounded by the rabid Colbert fans who so obviously populate the show's audience. They've always seemed louder than most.

Don't get me wrong -- I tune in many nights -- but I've never quite been able to connect with the adoring crowds who chant, "Ste-phen! Ste-phen!" at the beginning of the show as though he were the second coming of Bill O'Reilly. (Inside joke: I'm referencing the fact that some people believe that he's a real conservative.)

But little did I know that after Colbert's staff had worked me over, I would become a member of one of those crowds I couldn't connect with: a hooting, hollering Colbert fangirl. Applause signs? So 1965! The Colbert Report staff is way too sophisticated for that!

It actually started in the line outside the studio, where employees -- maybe picked because they were former high school cheerleaders, who'd ditched the pleated skirts for grunge-wear -- began to weave their magic. They didn't just hand audience members tickets -- no! They sidled up to our group with a perky, "Are you excited to see the show tonight?" before handing us each a beaten up, laminated card with a seat number and Colbert's picture on it. It said something to the effect of "This lucky boy (or girl) is seeing Colbert tonight!" Pro-Colbert graffiti covered the walls outside the building. Was it a plant?

The process continued once we were past the metal detector. Herded, like adoring cattle, into a small red room, we were entertained while we waited ... and waited ... and waited by what can only be called Best of Colbert, streaming from a monitor mounted high on the wall. Colbert's "Better Know a District" series in which he interviews unwitting congressmen; his duet with Barry Manilow; his "Green Screen Challenge" featuring George Lucas -- it was all there.

Finally, it was time (well, almost time) for us to proceed through the double doors into the studio. The most petite -- and perkiest -- female employee of the bunch jumped on a table, informing us that "Stephen" considers the audience crucial to the show's success, and that, by the way, he was in the studio rehearsing right at that moment and would probably like to hear a lusty cheer from us. The crowd -- including me -- let out a roar. Wow. I wasn't expecting that from myself, I thought.

Soon, the 150 of us or so we're herded into the studio, where the next step in the process began. We all know about warm-up acts -- most TV shows have them -- but what struck me about this one was its obvious focus. Rather than just being about filling up time, it was designed to make the audience feel like a group whose reason for being over the next few hours was to make that particular night's show a success. Julian McCullough, the comedian hired for the gig, astutely pointed out right from the start that it probably felt a little peculiar to "go bananas" on cue, and in so doing, somehow made it easier for us to go bananas on cue.

Beyond that, his whole act was about trading quips with audience members. The effect? Before too long, we weren't just 150 people -- but the guy from Afghanistan who was there with his friend from France; the documentary filmmaker with the long white hair, the Walgreen's manager who was growing his hair for Locks of Love. Yes, we're in this together, people.

But the crowning part of the warm-up was the appearance of Colbert himself, who customarily -- like many performers -- comes out before the show and answers questions from the audience before he's in character. ("You do know it's a character, right?" asked the petite cheerleader girl at one point while we were waiting in the red room.) It was a great moment when the connection between audience and performer was cemented -- the sealing of the deal.

One reason this worked so well is Colbert's almost humble demeanor when he's not officially on stage. He gamely answered questions about whether he'd ever taken dancing lessons (in fact, he won an engraved shot glass for coming in second during the 8th grade cotillion in South Carolina), and went back and forth with some woman about why there are sea lions but no sea elephants. I didn't really follow.

Then, it was time to start. A stage hand -- who we'd been introduced to by McCullough making him now, officially, a friend -- began to countdown from ten. At three, he held a rolled up piece of paper high above his head ... and on cue, the crowd roared. When Colbert, now being filmed, cocked his ear at us, I began to chant, "Ste-phen! Ste-phen! Ste-phen!" I could feel my throat getting raspy. And I didn't care.

When the shrieking died down, Colbert looked into the camera: "Folks I give you answers but I also ask questions on a nightly basis. The eternal questions, like: 'There are sea cucumbers. There are sea lions. Why no sea elephants?'" He'd opened with an inside joke. It was done. I was a fangirl. And the crowd went wild.