In the rarefied world of late-night television, there has long been an unwritten code, a gentleman’s agreement that even in the heat of a ratings battle, a certain solidarity exists. An attack on one host’s right to speak is an attack on all. But in the wake of the shocking cancellation of “The Late Show with Stephen Colbert,” Fox News’s Greg Gutfeld didn’t just ignore that code; he took a sledgehammer to it. In a monologue that was as strategically brilliant as it was brutal, Gutfeld chose not to defend a fallen colleague but to launch a multi-pronged assault that praised one rival, savaged another, and in doing so, announced a new, more aggressive set of rules for the ongoing culture war.
The maneuver was a masterclass in media jujitsu, using the momentum and division of his opponents to his own advantage. The centerpiece of his strategy was his surprising and effusive praise for NBC’s Jimmy Fallon, on whose show Gutfeld was scheduled to appear. He lauded Fallon as a “great, genuine guy who wants to make people laugh,” positioning him as the avatar of a joyful, apolitical brand of entertainment. This, in itself, was a sharp contrast to his jab at Colbert, whom he implicitly framed as a bitter partisan. But the true genius of the move was in how Gutfeld used Fallon as a wedge to split the liberal media establishment.
This act of praise was a strategic masterstroke for two reasons. First, it created an immediate and uncomfortable division. How could the same “mob” that defends Colbert’s right to free speech be the one that tried to cancel Fallon for his? It paints the liberal media as hypocritical and factional. Second, it brilliantly redefined the concept of “courage” in late-night. For years, the prevailing narrative has been that courage is a host like Colbert taking on a powerful figure like Trump. Gutfeld flipped that script entirely. In his new framing, the real courage belongs to a host like Fallon, who is willing to take on his own side’s “hive mind” by daring to have fun with a conservative.
With this new definition in place, Gutfeld’s ultimate target became clear. His attack wasn’t just on Stephen Colbert the man, but on the entire intellectual foundation of his brand of comedy. He used Colbert’s cancellation not as a moment for solidarity, but as proof that the angry, politically charged, and humorless ideology he represents is a failed one. In Gutfeld’s telling, Colbert wasn’t a victim of corporate censorship; he was a casualty of his own toxic and alienating approach to entertainment.
The announcement of his own appearance on “The Tonight Show” was the final piece of this strategic puzzle. It was a demonstration of his thesis in action. Here was a conservative firebrand being welcomed onto a mainstream liberal platform, an act he portrayed as a brave step toward a new era where “we can have fun with each other, even if politically we’re different.” It was a move designed to make his rivals look small, cloistered, and afraid.
In one fell swoop, Greg Gutfeld exploited the cancellation of his biggest ideological opponent to forge a public alliance with another, all while positioning himself as a champion of a more open, tolerant, and “fun” vision of comedy. It was a stunningly effective piece of narrative warfare. He has made it clear that the old rules of engagement, the quiet understandings between hosts, are over. The new battlefield is one of ideological jujitsu, where the divisions within your enemy’s camp are the most powerful weapons you have. The late-night war is far from over, but Greg Gutfeld just proved he is playing an entirely different, and far more ruthless, game.
