Playboy Interview: Jon Stewart

a candid conversation with the smartass host of the daily show about news versus entertainment, the size of garry shandling's ass and why movies get sex all wrong

Every evening, after the audience is locked and loaded but before taping begins, Jon Stewart bounds onto the set of The Daily Show to meet the people. He faces two sets of bleacher seats, cracks a few wry asides and takes questions from the crowd. Tonight a college student wants to know if Stewart will say the letters NYU on the show. Stewart mocks amazement.

"Why? If I do it for you I'll have to do it for everyone."

"Because I . . . I made a bet," the kid stammers.

Stewart is suddenly interested. "Oh? What's the bet?"

"I bet ten dollars. If you say it I win."

Stewart mulls this over. "Will you give me half?" he asks. The kid seems hesitant, so Stewart adds, "Come on. I can't feed a family on cable money."

You can on the kind of cable money Stewart's making: an estimated $1.5 million a year for four years as the new front man of The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, Comedy Central's designated successor to Politically Incorrect. And according to the critics and fans, Stewart (who also helps write and guide the show) is worth every penny. Maybe that's why, late last year, in a New York Observer column "memo to David Letterman" lamenting The Late Show's decline, Ron Rosenbaum wrote: "It started to go bad the moment your show stopped being about ridiculing big-ass, pompous television and started becoming big-ass, pompous television" and included an unexpected yet creative exit strategy: "Get Jon Stewart to replace you."

Not that Stewart is angling to move on. He has the greatest respect for Letterman, whose show helped launch Stewart's career, positioning him to have a talk show on MTV and, later, in syndication. And then there was the deal with Letterman's production company to host either a 1:30 A.M. talk show or to replace veteran Tom Snyder, for whom Stewart served as guest host, on The Late Late Show With Tom Snyder.

Are you keeping this all straight?

Stewart is a bright talent whose lightning-fast prowess with the ad-lib and wisecrack is savant-like. Since taking over The Daily Show from Craig Kilborn, he's seen the show's ratings improve (while Kilborn, who took over the Snyder show, seems badly miscast in his new role). Critics have raved about Stewart's self-effacing charm and smartass sensibility. That sensibility has been the secret to Stewart's success dating back to his days as talk show host on MTV. He doesn't try to be hip in the slightest, and yet he comes across as the hippest comic on television. It's no wonder that one critic called The Daily Show "the smartest thing on the air."

Jonathan Stewart Liebowitz, 37, grew up in the Trenton, New Jersey suburb of Law-renceville, where he lived with his father, Donald, a physicist for RCA, and his mother, Marian, an educational consultant. The couple divorced in 1971, but otherwise Stewart's wonder years were typical for a young Jewish boy. He wondered: Would he "grow taller, get better looking, get laid"? Meanwhile, Stewart took refuge in Mad magazine, The National Lampoon and the defensive use of comedy to short-circuit any comments about his height, looks or religion.

At the College of William and Mary he got the answers to his questions (yes, yes and yes) and graduated with a B.S. in psychology, which he promptly put to use working as a bartender. His best drink: "A Whack in the Head---a mixture of Alabama Slammer and Long Island Iced Tea. Drink two and you're not getting up the stairs."

Stewart also worked for the state of New Jersey in various civic capacities and eased into a comfortable middle-class lifestyle that left him uncomfortable.

In 1987 he decided to pack his bag for New York City and test his secret ambition to do stand-up. His coming-of-age at the famed Bitter End was less than auspicious, but it still made him feel "better than anything else" he'd done. Even when another club owner told him that there were already too many Jewish comedians, Stewart didn't retreat to suburbia. He got a job hosting Short Attention Span Theater on Comedy Central in 1991. In 1993 he tried out with every other comedian to succeed Letterman on Late Night; Conan O'Brien got the job. Eventually, Stewart appeared on an HBO Young Comedians Special, then did the Late Show With David Letterman. That shot got MTV interested and he signed on to host the half-hour Jon Stewart Show, which debuted in September 1993. Paramount expanded the format to an hour and syndicated the show. Soon it was being replaced by Roseanne reruns, shifted to the 3:30 A.M. slot and was canceled in June 1995.

During the next few years Stewart turned up in unexpected places, including The Larry Sanders Show, where he often appeared as himself and was a creative consultant. He also launched a movie career (Half Baked, Playing by Heart, The Faculty, Big Daddy), hatched a production deal with Miramax Films and wrote a humor book titled Naked Pictures of Famous People. Rather than rely on the stand-up material he'd already mined in his 1996 HBO Comedy special, Jon Stewart: Unleavened, Stewart wrote essays skewering the conceits of popular culture. It was an immediate New York Times best-seller.

In January 1999, Stewart replaced the host of The Daily Show and hasn't looked back. "I'm very happy now," he says. Even if it doesn't get any better than The Daily Show? Yes, Stewart insists. "Let's just say that if it never gets any worse than this, then I've had one of the luckiest runs ever."

We asked Contributing Editor David Rensin, who last interviewed David Spade for us, to spend a few days with Stewart on the set of The Daily Show. Rensin reports:

"His office is littered with the detritus of celebrity: unopened champagne bottles, promo items, gift baskets and a biohazard container left by 'a guy who did flu shots. I wanted something to remember him by.' Jon's mind is similarly littered, but with the raw material of comedy-to-order. He could send up any topic instantly, especially when he detected an intentional (or unintentional) set-up in my questions.

"For our second meeting, he asked if we could talk during the sixth New York Mets---Atlanta Braves playoff game. We ordered in pizza and Cokes. 'This is going to be the best 12-year-old's pizza party you've ever had in your life,' Jon said. It was touch-and-go the whole game, and we would have watched the entire thing, but Jon kept calling his girlfriend to rave every time the Mets scored. Eventually he decided to catch the last few innings with her, and we said goodnight.

"The Mets lost, so I wanted to begin our next conversation on a cheery note."

[Q] Playboy: Congratulations.

[A] Stewart: Thanks. [Pauses] For what?

[Q] Playboy: Isn't The Daily Show the longest you've ever held a job?

[A] Stewart: That's true. I started January 11, 1999. How did you know?

[Q] Playboy: This is Playboy. We know everything.

[A] Stewart: We'll see.

[Q] Playboy: Tell us about the time you destroyed thousands of dollars' worth of aquariums in what can loosely be described as a gymnastics accident.

[A] Stewart: You do know [smiles]. First, the tanks were empty. No fish were harmed in that senseless tragedy. It was 1976 or 1977. My brother was an assistant manager at one of the first mega Wool-worths. He was a bit of a taskmaster, but good people. The main floor was filled with entertaining and wonderful items. I worked downstairs in the catacombs, with the stock shelves. To alleviate some of the boredom, we used to dive off the shelves. They were pretty high, but it was OK because this was back in the day of the beanbag chair. We'd pile them up and do whatever gymnastics routine we could imagine. Unfortunately, I hit a bag wrong and it shot across the room and wiped out thousands of dollars' worth of aquariums. Fortunately, I had the key to the incinerator. But, much to my chagrin, aquariums make a lot of noise when they burn. It drew the attention of some higher-ups and my brother had to fire me.

[Q] Playboy: Too bad. You probably would have made manager by now.

[A] Stewart: A major disappointment. But I sought professional help, improved my diving technique and haven't hit the bag wrong in years. I know it's one reason I've lasted so long with The Daily Show.

[Q] Playboy: Describe The Daily Show to someone who's never seen it.

[A] Stewart: It's a pulsating hour of drama. Actually, if someone's never seen it, chances are I won't be talking to them; I force people to watch a highlight reel before each and every introduction.

[Q] Playboy: And then you walk into the room?

[A] Stewart: Exactly. Then I say: "Do you watch the news? Do you think it's funny? We do, too." That's pretty much it.

[Q] Playboy: What specifically is funny to you about the news?

[A] Stewart: Not the news itself but how the news is delivered. The process of news. The parody is our bombastic graphics and the news song, the correspondents and their interaction with me. And by using the general structure of a news show, which we find inherently satirical, we've found a cheap way to get in 20 monolog-type jokes. Does that make any sense? [Pauses] Judges? Too bad: The East German says no.

[Q] Playboy: Perhaps an example would help.

[A] Stewart: Last night we had a bumper graphic that parodied how news programs tease viewers into watching the whole show: "10:11: Hero dog saves family. 10:13: Rapist on loose. 10:15: Do you know what's in ice cream? It could kill you. 10:17: Sports." Or look at the pomposity of Dateline: the grandiose set, the guy sitting in his chair, then getting up and the camera moving in that slow, sweeping way, as the host asks, "Would he escape from the ocean after eight days of drinking his own urine? When we return, the answer." Some news magazines will report on a murder trial while a ticker at the bottom of the screen counts people's phone-in votes for which side they think is right. "When we come back, the defense will present some evidence you won't believe!" It's gotten ridiculous. So we make fun of it.

[Q] Playboy: On The Daily Show your interviews are only four minutes long. How do you prepare?

[A] Stewart: Is it that clear that I don't? It's pretty standard stuff. Hank books the guests, does a preinterview, then comes in with a dossier and we put up their picture. We do this in a secret basement room. We talk about their physical characteristics, their emotional characteristics. Has there been a breakdown? Drug allergies? Any notes from a doctor. Mental pressure points. Did you ever see Slim Goodbody? He wears a suit with the human organs on the outside for all to see. We usually go over that for each potential guest to see if we can find any weak areas. Once we come up with a game plan, Hank sends it out by code. I can't tell you much more because I'm already telling secrets.

[Q] Playboy: In other words, you don't prepare at all.

[A] Stewart: Hey, wait a minute! My goal is to be relatively spontaneous. The interview is really just a little something extra to throw into the show. It doesn't even have an angle, like when Kilborn did Five Questions. We just want it to be light and entertaining. We want to put our guests at ease. The key is to get them to go far enough to give the appearance of a heightened conversation that's not purely on the seller-buyer level. It's an easy gig. If it ran five minutes, I'd be concerned.

[Q] Playboy: Have you ever taken on a guest over a disagreement with him?

[A] Stewart: Not that I can recall, though that would be interesting. I've seen Chris Rock eviscerate people with common sense and wit while they sit there looking flummoxed. His interview with Representative J.C. Watts was one of the best I've seen. The Johnnie Cochran thing, too. We'd like to branch out into the political arena, but it's really hard to get anybody with a stake in politics to come on a network called Comedy Central. It's a fear of disgrace or embarrassment or humiliation. They know the rules of Face the Nation and Meet the Press, but nothing here is controlled.

[Q] Playboy: Michael J. Fox was your first guest. Who would you like for your last guest?

[A] Stewart: A 70-year-old Michael J. Fox.

[Q] Playboy: Why is The Daily Show advertised as "the most important show ever"?

[A] Stewart: It's a haven, an oasis of serenity and sanity. It's a new Statue of Liberty. It's a bully pulpit. We have an enormous effect on the population. The power is incredible. I hadn't planned to say anything about it, but we did a story about a peace accord in Kosovo, and the next day it happened. Coincidence? I don't think so. I liken myself to Oprah. When I plug a book, it flies off the shelves. Where would Tuesdays With Morrie have been were it not for our recommendation? Where would Stephen King be today? We saved his career.

[Q] Playboy: Speaking of careers, though the press and public love you on The Daily Show, Jon Voight, when he was a guest, ribbed you good-naturedly about aiming higher. Did that bother you?

[A] Stewart: No. I'm paid more money than I should be to come in, read the newspapers, write a bunch of jokes and work with an unbelievably talented group of people who make me laugh. It's better than being on a sitcom, where the show can be a big hit but your character has a terrible story line and nobody likes you.

[Q] Playboy: Like Jeff Conaway on Taxi?

[A] Stewart: Right. Everybody else goes off to these monster careers, but he ends up on Babylon Five. The last time I saw Jeff I was on the road, flipping channels in a hotel room. He and two strippers were learning how to do something in one of those flicks you pray for when it's late at night and the only thing on HBO is an old fight. It was some crazy titty movie. No dishonor in that, though.

[Q] Playboy: In a recent New York Times story, Madeleine Smithberg, who helped create and runs your show, said that since Craig Kilborn left, the show "has lost the crystal-clear joke that it's a parody of the news." It wasn't a complaint, but what did she mean?

[A] Stewart: They'd brought in an audience while Craig was there. An audience means you've given in to the fact that it is also a comedy show. When I came aboard I pushed that a little further. I don't say outright that we're doing jokes, but I ad-lib in a way that lets people at home know we're enjoying ourselves.

[Q] Playboy: You seem more conspiratorial than Kilborn.

[A] Stewart: That's my philosophy of television. If you're going to watch me, I might as well let you know I know you're watching. I don't think of this show as elitist.

[Q] Playboy: Is TV bad for us?

[A] Stewart: Here's what's really crazy: Everybody complains how the media are responsible for this or irresponsible about that. So the media hold forums to interview the media to find out what the problem is. I can't tell you how many times I've been asked on those shows, "Now you [comedians] push the limit and often offend people. How do you defend that?" Here's what I think of when somebody has the nerve to ask me what it's like to step over the line with a joke: What about a news program that shows a guy whose wife just got blown up in an accident? Right away they've got a camera at his house, in his face, and the correspondent asks, "How does it feel?" Then they show you the body. What answer will we get that's not some variation of "shitty"? What right do we have to know how that guy feels after losing his wife? There are times when I think, Man, this news guy would do a report from inside an open wound if he could.

[Q] Playboy: They call it the public's right to know.

[A] Stewart: That's true. But it's really the news functioning as entertainment. It shouldn't, but it does, because what the media really want---or need---is to create conflict. The hell with being informative; conflict is entertaining. If you scare people, if you use their fear against them, you can win. "Is your washing machine spreading dangerous bacteria to your children? Is a crazy rapist lurking in your supermarket? Uzi-wielding murderer on a rampage in local neighborhood! Film at 11."

[Q] Playboy: Can the media reverse course or are we stuck with this national soap opera?

[A] Stewart: I hope it's cyclical, but once you break through certain barriers, it's hard to reel that back in. The problem is the competitive nature of news. There's too much fear of being scooped. The news has always had a detrimental effect---Hearst did it during the Spanish-American War---but the march of technology has made it ubiquitous. And has exposed it. I remember after Columbine there was a press release about the network that claimed to have broken the story---as though how fast it broke was what really mattered. Fortunately, the network evening news isn't as slash-and-burn as what you see on a local level. The real disaster is the all-news channels. They have to fill 24 hours. They have enormous machines; tragedy and sensationalized material are their life raft. Without them, most of the time, they would drown in 24 hours of nothing. So: O.J., Menendez, Lewinsky, Columbine, JFK Jr., etc. They milk it.

[Q] Playboy: Aren't they just trying to attract viewers?

[A] Stewart: Yes. If TV thought that showing a naked girl jiggling car keys would do it---and they could get away with it---you'd see it tonight. TV news today subverts how I think news organizations should behave. Reporting news is a huge responsibility. It has to be taken more seriously. Bobcat Goldthwait had a great joke about the guy who videotaped the Rodney King beating. His joke was: "Put down the camera and help him!" He's right. News isn't a Discovery Channel documentary where you're not supposed to feed the apes because that would be messing with the journalistic credibility of your documentary. It's real life. News shows do, at times, affect the real news with their coverage.

An obvious example is when Bill Clinton, in his first hundred days, tried to do health care reform, among other things. But all we heard about was gays in the military. Was that his flagship issue? Did he say, "Health care reform? That can wait, as long as I get through my agenda of making sure that gay people are allowed into the military." No, but that's how it came out because that was the most inflammatory story and the most conflict would come from it.

Same with the penis thing, the Lewinsky story. I still don't understand where the abuse of power was. You mean because he's an older guy and he's kind of her boss and she blew him? Like that abuse of power? Is that an abuse of the Constitution? Did he invoke some obscure article to get a blow job? The way it was characterized, you would have thought that getting a blow job from an intern was a crime against humanity, that even Adolf Eichmann would have said, "He did what? A blow job from an intern? Is he insane? My God. Think of the imbalance between their positions!" And there were the news media, over and over, trotting out the pomp and circumstance of "He lied to the American people." Don't they understand that we have memories? When Clarence Thomas was accused of sexual harassment, we could see that Republicans went out of their way to talk about how it wasn't important and how Democrats went out of their way to talk about the crucial nature of proving these claims: How could any man serve on the Supreme Court when he had mentioned pubic hair and Coke? Pubic hair and Coke? He's a judge! Judges aren't human! Then, a few years later, it switches around. Democrats are defending sexual harassment and Republicans are talking about the moral imperative of treating women as equals. Don't these people---news media and politicians alike---know that we sit home, watch this and go, "You only have situational ethics. You have no credibility with us."

[Q] Playboy: So politicians are complicit in this?

[A] Stewart: I think politicians look at these incidents with glee. They don't go, "Oh, I can help rid the country of perjury, lying and sexual misconduct." They think, I can use this to give my party an advantage.

[Q] Playboy: What a surprise.

[A] Stewart: Our elected officials hold themselves above the people and what's best. I don't believe for a second that Henry Hyde was appalled by Clinton's behavior. I don't believe Bob Barr was appalled by the conduct. Newt Gingrich? Newt Gingrich was fucking a woman-not-his-wife while he was attacking the president for Lewinsky. It doesn't get any clearer than that. These guys are all just acting. You know that after Congress let out for the night they all went for a beer at some bar on the Potomac and giggled their fucking heads off. They're all in cahoots to keep their privileged places. Yet they and the media said, "Of course the American people care. Look at how the ratings go up." Big surprise: They were talking about the president's dick. Who's not going to watch that? "Hmm. Should I watch a rerun of The Nanny or a guy on TV talking about the president's dick and a cigar in a girl's vagina?"

[Q] Playboy: For a guy the press has called "the Stravinsky of self-deprecation," you're pretty outspoken in print.

[A] Stewart: It's how I feel [sighs, exhausted]. I also think I have to be outrageous here because I'm competing with naked women.

[Q] Playboy: Seriously?

[A] Stewart: Yeah. I'm not sure how long I can keep the readers from looking at the girl with no pants on, sitting on a llama. At some point you have to say something incredibly inflammatory, like "I fuck raccoons." Take Jesse Ventura's interview. It was tremendous. That was the key. I'm going for that little box with the bold print.

[Q] Playboy: So what do you want as your quote?

[A] Stewart: How about: "Please, please, just hang in there. Keep reading. You're only four pages away." I don't mind begging. "You can't masturbate forever. Everybody has to rest sometime. Don't hate yourself. We all do it. Just thank God you didn't flip to this page right before you came." You never want that image in your head: someone flipping the pages and seeing your picture at just that magic moment. That happened to me once with Gilbert Gottfried. Just as I was about to finish, I flipped the page and saw his face. It was like, "Oh boy, I got to work with this guy."

[Q] Playboy: Does it bother you that, unlike Chris Rock or Dennis Miller, your voice is not the dominant sensibility of The Daily Show?

[A] Stewart: My job is not to tell you what I think. My job is to tell you what I think is funny---which they do, too, by the way. If it's not funny it's not anything. Our show had its sensibility before I got here. But I also know that when I'm out there saying stuff on the air, I'd better be OK with it, so the editorial viewpoint is influenced by me. I like the balance. If the show's smart and funny, whether I have anything to do with it or not every night, I win.

[Q] Playboy: Any advice from former host Craig Kilborn when you appeared as a guest during his final week?

[A] Stewart: Not really. I congratulated him and tried to find out if I could use the bathroom. That sort of thing.

[Q] Playboy: The feeling was that you, not Kilborn, would succeed Tom Snyder on The Late Late Show because you were under contract to the producers, David Letterman's company, Worldwide Pants. Instead, you replaced the guy who got the Snyder gig. What happened?

[A] Stewart: My deal with Worldwide Pants was like a Vegas marriage. They were drunk, I was drunk. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Getting together was just an impulse thing. We both woke up the next morning, mouths a little dry, feeling a little cottony, eyes a little bloodshot. We looked at each other and went, "Man, you sure looked better last night when I was drunk." But not in a bad way. That's just how shit happens sometimes in this business.

[Q] Playboy: Were you disappointed?

[A] Stewart: No. I wasn't ready and Worldwide Pants wasn't ready. I don't think it was a priority for them to develop a show for me, which, originally, was talked about as for 1:30 in the morning. The whole thing was serendipity. I did a spot on Letterman's show; at the same time, I'd been offered the gig hosting NBC's Later, which Bob Costas and Greg Kinnear did. Letterman's people knew about it and said, "Hey, what would you think about. . . ?" I said, "You know, I'm sort of into this thing over at NBC." I think their reaction was, "Well, we don't want them to fuck this girl. We'd rather fuck her."

[Q] Playboy: So you were seduced.

[A] Stewart: I've got major admiration for Dave Letterman. To hear from him that he would somehow like to have his name associated with mine, in however peripheral a manner, was powerful candy. My sit-down with him was like an audience with the Pope. So even though a contract was signed and money exchanged hands, we committed without really committing. Thank God, because it never would have worked. A show of that magnitude, five nights a week, becomes your life. I've done it before, and not that successfully, even though I thought we did a nice job of it.

[Q] Playboy: Were you concerned that doing The Late Late Show might look like failed-talk-show-host-can't-give-up?

[A] Stewart: No. It's not as if I had a dart board at home with my face next to Pat Sajak's and Rick Dees'.

[Q] Playboy: What's the difference between Letterman on-screen and off-screen?

[A] Stewart: On-screen is a performance. His interviews are like a sketch. He plays like he's actually interested in what I did for Thanksgiving and I play like something funny actually happened. Off camera, he's incredibly human. There is no game, no act. He was a very smart, funny man talking to me about his vision for late-night and his interest in me. I was impressed.

[Q] Playboy: Did Letterman ever say that Snyder would soon retire, or that he wanted him to?

[A] Stewart: That was never explicit.

[Q] Playboy: Did you and Snyder ever talk about this when you guest-hosted The Late Late Show?

[A] Stewart: We had one sort-of conversation in which I said, "Hey, I just want you to know I have the utmost respect."

[Q] Playboy: Give us the short course on the fine art of sitting in.

[A] Stewart: If there's a drawer that is locked, don't jimmy it with a butter knife. They'll know. Also, you can only pull that fill-up-the-vodka-bottle-with-water gag once.

[Q] Playboy: You also tried out for the job that Conan O'Brien got.

[A] Stewart: It was pre-MTV. I had no experience outside a couple of writing gigs and doing shows above the karaoke bar. I lived on the road, staying in comedy condos that had huge holes in the walls because the last comic there didn't have as pleasant a time as he'd expected. I tried out because the juxtaposition of my life with the idea of maybe replacing David Letterman on Late Night was so great I almost couldn't get my head around it. I thought of it as a lifeline. And the weird thing is that I got far enough in the auditions to believe for a second that I might get it. The audition was in a stand-up club. We each did ten minutes. Among the "contestants" were Allan Havey, Drew Carey, Paul Provenza. It was like being in the Miss America finals. I knew I wasn't going to get it when, after two minutes, Lorne Michaels---who produces the show---stood up and said, "No!" That's when I thought, Oh, I should have turned the mike to "funny."

[Q] Playboy: Do you now feel like you've had the last laugh?

[A] Stewart: Not really. On the other hand, the prophecy I'd created for myself---one room without a bathroom, miserable old guy who will never love or be loved---didn't happen either. Some of us are optimists, some are pessimists. Some see the glass half full, some see the glass half empty. And some are sitting on shards of glass and trying to pick them out of their ass.

[Q] Playboy: One magazine writer described you as the "celebrity equivalent of lint: He pops up in interesting and unlikely places." Another example of your waiting in the wings was when you appeared as yourself on the last season of The Larry Sanders Show, filling in for Larry. Rumors quickly circulated that you'd actually take over as faux host when Shandling left. Was that ever in the cards?

[A] Stewart: That's the beauty of the show. They drew a bizarre line between fiction and reality. In reality, my becoming the host would be like saying, "Hey, Michelangelo's David could really use a mustache and mutton chops." It's like MASH and After MASH. Are people really interested in what Klinger and Radar are doing in Iowa?

[Q] Playboy: How did you get involved with Garry Shandling?

[A] Stewart: I met Garry through the personal ads in The Advocate. Or maybe it was through the 4-H circular. I can't remember. But his ad was charming and I thought we had a lot in common. Except his ass is bigger than mine. By the way, I've only eyeballed his ass. I don't know firsthand. You have to draw the line somewhere in a working relationship. Now when we hang out, it's not exactly dating because only light petting is involved.

[Q] Playboy: How about the real story?

[A] Stewart: When I hosted my own talk show, Garry did a walk-on for the last three minutes, the night Jeff Tambor played my sidekick. Of course, I knew who he was. I had a TV. I liked It's Garry Shandling's Show and his stand-up. I'd been aware of him for many years, from afar. The beauty of Garry is, when you think the joke is over, it's not over. Most of us run out of steam on punch lines. You get to that point where you've tagged your last tag and there's nowhere else to go. That's when Garry comes up with five more tags. I can't quite figure out how he does it; I just think his brain is wired more efficiently.

[Q] Playboy: You're known for being lightning quick and dead-on yourself. Did you two ever trade professional secrets?

[A] Stewart: No. I've spoken to some of his representatives and they have agreed with me, but I've never spoken to Garry directly. He was kept in a plastic bubble when we worked together.

[Q] Playboy: Can comedians really be friends with other comedians? What's the rule?

[A] Stewart: They have it up in the bathroom at the Improv, but I can't remember it. No, no, that's "Wash your hands before you leave." [Pauses] Most people have this impression that among comedians it's like Diner, a bunch of guys doing shtick over French fries; or that all we do is analyze comedy; or that we're all neurotic and crazy. Well, maybe that last bit is true. But some of the best conversations I've had with other comics at three A.M. sitting in a diner were not about comedy.

[Q] Playboy: Are you the kind of guy you imagined becomes a comedian?

[A] Stewart: Preconceived notions are invalid. With accountants the big gag is that they're boring. But I'm sure there's a hang-gliding accountant out there who knows how to play the drums and fucks like a champ. I'm sure there's an accountant somewhere who comes home late at night drunk, sticks his dick in the butter, laughs his ass off and goes, "If they only knew."

[Q] Playboy: What's the most important thing to you about comedy?

[A] Stewart: Nothing. It's silly. You want something important? Learn to take a guy's heart out of his chest, restart it and put it back in.

[Q] Playboy: Isn't humor also curative? A way of enhancing the human spirit?

[A] Stewart: Oh boy. Most comedians are incredibly cynical, and the last thing they're doing is enhancing the human spirit. [Pauses] Most are feeding their own gratuity machine, ingesting something they need and popping it out on the other side. If it happens to have a positive effect on people, that's great. But I believe very few comedians got into it because the children need to laugh. They do it to feed something in themselves. Somewhere in their brains a neuron fires happily and a need is eased, like a drug. It's almost self-medication.

[Q] Playboy: Even so, the public gets something out of it.

[A] Stewart: Yeah, but there's no Mother Teresa of comedy saying, "I'm going to go to Calcutta and live there for years in poverty and entertain the children." There are no development deals for martyrs. We're out there getting our swerve on.

[Q] Playboy: Why did you want to become a comedian?

[A] Stewart: Like most of the comedians I know, I was uncomfortable in other settings. Before I found comedy, nothing fit my receptors. But this felt right. As bad as I was when I started, it still felt better than anything else I'd ever done. It soothed a need, and that was good enough for me.

[Q] Playboy: You did kids' puppet shows before stand-up; why didn't that feed the need?

[A] Stewart: This is actually a great example that illustrates my point. Kids on the Block was a performance program in which half the puppets were disabled and half the puppets weren't. They interacted in a way that helped children understand people with disabilities and how to interact with them. It was a truly good and decent thing to do for people; an enlightened, wonderful performance. Yet I thought to myself, Fuck this. I need stand-up.

[Q] Playboy: Like Larry Sanders, you wrote a book. But instead of an autobiography, yours has comic essays in which you take on Bill Gates, Hitler, the Kennedys, Hanson, Leonardo Da Vinci, chat rooms, Judaism, sitcoms, local news and more. What did you leave out?

[A] Stewart: [Laughs] There was one piece called Les Marlboros. It was a parody of Les Miserables where the revolution was smokers versus nonsmokers. It actually included Jean Valjean, who didn't understand the whole thing, but he was French and he liked to smoke, so he decided to lead the band of rebels. It was long and boring.

[Q] Playboy: What can't you wait to write about in the next book?

[A] Stewart: As far as I can tell, in this country we can't keep a secret about anything. We even found out that Dick Morris was sucking the toes of a prostitute. So how come the guys protecting the truth about whether or not we've been visited by extraterrestrials have their shit together? I would love to figure out a way to write about the sciences. Cloning: We just hit 6 billion people and we're still working on a new way to make new people? It's fascinating that, with all the world's problems, scientists decided to make hard-on pills. I might write about how to make Viagra palatable. It could come in a gelatinous form, like Jell-O cubes, because we need to make it fun for kids, too! And I guess if you're 80, Jell-O is just easier to swallow. Pretty soon it'll be a Viagra patch. Or it'll be a pull cord somehow. It's this crazy idea that if we somehow keep old people fucking, everything's going to work itself out. It boggles my mind that that's where the money goes.

Violence is another interesting area, especially with kids who don't realize that everything they're so bummed out about now will turn around. My idea on solving that issue is to take high school kids on field trips. But not to planetariums and museums; take them to 20-year high school reunions. "See the fat guy over there? Bald? Crying in his beer? Captain of the football team." "That nerdy guy with the pocket protector? A billionaire." Giving them a sense of perspective would be good, and maybe we'd even come up with a cool T-shirt to give the kids.

[Q] Playboy: Let's investigate your style. Thin ties or wide ties?

[A] Stewart: You mean to wear? I wasn't sure. It's Playboy, so I figured at some point I'm going to have to throw in my sexual proclivities.

[Q] Playboy: Better topic. Go ahead.

[A] Stewart:I fuck cheese!

[Q] Playboy: Anything else?

[A] Stewart: In bed I always apologize. I take responsibility for a job poorly done. I like to end sex with, "I beg your pardon." Sometimes, if I've been doing a film, I'll say, "Check the gate." Or: "Sign this form and you can go. You can take something off craft services on your way out. We'll call you for the premiere."

[Q] Playboy: When was the first time you had sex?

[A] Stewart: What time is it? I guess I was 18. I was a freshman in college.

[Q] Playboy: When was the first time you had good sex?

[A] Stewart: Boy, I'm not good with dates. You mean sex with love, where there's actually emotion involved, other than fear?

[Q] Playboy: Yes. When did fear leave your sexual routine?

[A] Stewart: [Whispers] It was Christmas 1984. We hadn't had much snow that year and the potato crop had been good. We huddled around the hearth. [Pauses] I think for men the fear is never gone. While he may not be on your shoulder, he's certainly around: "All right, buddy. Don't get any ideas. I'm right here in the hall."

[Q] Playboy: What are your turn-ons?

[A] Stewart: People who ask me what my turn-ons are. Also, honesty and long hair.

[Q] Playboy: And turn-offs?

[A] Stewart: Short hair and lying. Makes sense, right? You never see: "Turn-on: Honest people. Turn-off: People who tell the truth." There's never that.

[Q] Playboy: Tell us the truth: What was it like to kiss Gillian Anderson in Playing by Heart?

[A] Stewart: I was upset. I blacked out and woke up with makeup on my face. That's all I remember about it, but I know the truth is out there. It's weird to kiss somebody you don't know in that way. It's not natural. I don't think anybody would tell you it's the most comfortable thing in the world.

[Q] Playboy: So it was your first time?

[A] Stewart: No, I kissed Jennifer Beals onscreen a few years ago. And I kissed Fran Drescher on The Nanny. Luckily, everyone was professional and nice about it. I've never had a situation where I did it and the woman turned to the director and said, "Uh, can we just get the stunt guy in here?"

[Q] Playboy: Do you bring the kiss from home or do you act the kiss?

[A] Stewart: I guess it's my personal kiss, but it's not like it's from home because it lacks the huge emotional thing. Also, a lot of what we're doing is impressions of what we think we're supposed to be doing. Remember those old Forties movie kisses? Those are kisses. The-war-is-over, we're-in-Times-Square, I'm-wearing-a-uniform, you-look-pretty, I'm-gonna-smack-you-one-right-here, bang! kisses. They dip and do the thing.

[Q] Playboy: But they don't even open their mouths.

[A] Stewart: Right, but look at how they go for it. Bang! The new thing in kissing is the lean-in, the I-have-to-show-you-that-we're-just-coming-to-this. I don't recall that ever happening to me. It's usually far more awkward than that, and afterward you have to talk about it for six hours. In some ways we're doing an impression of what a Hollywood make-out scene is now. Have you ever watched soft-core movies on Cinemax? They're not having sex, they're doing an impression of what sex is. The girl sits on top and you raise your arms to cover her breasts, depending on if she signed a release about her nipples. It's fake sex. It's the impression of sex as we have come to know it through movies. It's sort of like comedians who do an impression of Jack Nicholson. It's actually an impression of a comic you saw doing a Jack Nicholson impression.

[Q] Playboy: Which films moved you as a child?

[A] Stewart: I can tell you the first two films I ever saw: Ring of Bright Water and Yellow Submarine. It was a back-to-back drive-in thing.

[Q] Playboy: Did they influence your career?

[A] Stewart: Well, it was a long time before I realized that the world wasn't animated. Ring of Bright Water is the most amazing movie. It was back in the old days when animal movies were supposed to end horribly. Now they have the kid weeping as he looks up to see the dog limping on three legs after traveling 2000 miles by train, with a smelly hobo, to come home. This movie is about a kid who had an otter. The otter helped the kid out of a tough jam and he and the otter were tight. So you think everything is OK; the kid's life is going to be good. Instead, he's walking along with his otter, moseying down this country road, when a farmer comes up and, in a split second, decapitates the otter with a shovel. Then the movie ends. It is the most bizarre thing I've ever seen. And the kid just looks at him like, What the fuck? It's sick. It's sadistic. I loved otters. [Pauses] Imagine a Disney movie today that got away with an ending like that. Mighty Joe Young shot through the head. At least they didn't roll the end credits on Bambi's dead mother: Bambi's an orphan, the fire is burning, see ya.

[Q] Playboy: Let's break your life and career into The Daily Show segments. What are the headlines?

[A] Stewart: Stewart's acne clears up just as back hair appears: will he ever win? Stewart scores seat at new jersey bar, given tenure: will he accept it? Stewart hits the bitter end, Robin Williams not shaking in boots.

[Q] Playboy: Your first gig was there.

[A] Stewart: I chose the Bitter End because of its vaunted history of comedic performances; also it was within walking distance. I thought of Woody Allen in front of the brick wall, spinning yarns, and Cosby and Richard Pryor. Then I remembered that that was 20 years earlier. It had become Doors cover bands. I went onstage and after only two minutes received my first "You're an asshole!"

[Q] Playboy: Your reply?

(continued on page 149)Jon Stewart(continued from page 72)

[A] Stewart: Well, I'm known for my rakish comebacks. I believe I said, "Nuh-uh" and let him take it from there. It was raining as I was leaving, and I remember thinking, What a lovely literate metaphor for my career right now.

[Q] Playboy: What kept you going?

[A] Stewart: The combination of rejection and laughter. They didn't laugh ten times, but they laughed once and I gambled that I could get them to do it again. I also realized that stand-up was about getting your face beat in, and I might as well get used to it. Comedy became like a new girlfriend. I'd wake up at four in the morning, and instead of a hard-on, I had an idea, and I wrote it down. Ninety-eight percent of them were garbage, but I was in love.

But there was no epiphany after a 28-hour cocaine binge, as I sat there, staring at my sweaty self in the mirror, thinking, No one gets out of here alive! It happened over two years. I was living a comfortable life: I made fine money working for the state of New Jersey. I had a car. I had a house. I played on the liquor store's Softball team. That could have lasted 40 years.

[Q] Playboy: Sounds like you were Jon Bon Jovi in that Ed Burns movie No Looking Back.

[A] Stewart: You know what? I think I might be telling you that plot. I'm sorry. No: I didn't grow up around there at all. Wait! Hold on a second. No: I was an Army kid. No, that's Three Kings.

[Q] Playboy: What did you do for the state of New Jersey?

[A] Stewart: I was a contingency planner for emergencies. I happened to be a bit of a whiz at the then-new Lotus 1-2-3, so I had to make charts of centers for psychiatric treatment and how many extra beds they might have, just in case we were attacked by Pennsylvania and took some casualties. At what point could we set up a triage center and where would we find an extra minivan? I was responsible for our level of readiness in 1985. Let me tell you: We had a lot of canned goods. We were ready. It took me six months.

They were about to re-up me for another 40 years in Jersey, and before I signed the papers, I thought, You know what? I'm 23. If I leave, no one's going to miss me. I don't have kids, I don't have a girlfriend. I don't have anything that I've always romanticized having, so now's the time. I didn't want to be 30 years old and doing the same thing. I thought, I can always be one of the bitter guys in my town, so why not go to New York and fail and come back? It's not like they won't save a seat for me. I checked out in a week and a half. I'd never told my friends or my family what I wanted to do, so to them it was like a bombshell. I walked in and said, "I'm selling my car and moving up to New York to become a stand-up comedian." They looked at me like I had the three nipples I have.

[Q] Playboy: Do you still love New Jersey?

[A] Stewart: New Jersey is tremendous. Everyone's got New Jersey wrong. What we've done in New Jersey is create the world's largest, smelliest scarecrow, and we've kept people away from it for years just by saying, "Where's the point that the most people who aren't really dedicated to this state will see?" It's the Turnpike, because the majority of people are going to be hitting the airport or heading from New York down south or up north. If we create an area of what appears to be pure, toxic genetic-mutation soup right along that road, everyone who drives by is going to go, "Holy shit!" But it's a scarecrow. It exists solely for the purpose of driving others away.

[Q] Playboy: Next segment: What's the correspondent's piece?

[A] Stewart: We would visit the mosquitocatching program I was part of when I was 18. I used to go down to a Jersey Pine Barrens in a state car. We'd bring the little critters back to Trenton for encephalitis testing. We didn't pull their genitals off. My job was solely to catch them, knock them out with chloroform, sort them male-female, and bring all the females back.

[Q] Playboy: How about "In Other News?"

[A] Stewart: Stewart discovers alcohol and Tom Waits; Waits decides he doesn't want to be found.

[Q] Playboy: The celebrity interview?

[A] Stewart: My father. We'd bring him on. After the interview he still doesn't believe I have my own show.

[Q] Playboy: Describe that interview.

[A] Stewart: It'd probably be one question and then three and a half minutes of him explaining the answer to me by writing and graphing it on a napkin. He was a physicist.

[Q] Playboy: What one question have you always wanted to ask your dad?

[A] Stewart: Ain't I doin' good, Pa? Ain't I? Then he would explain through graphs and charts why I'm not. It's a very precise equation calculation. It's calculus, something I don't really understand. But I would get to keep the napkins, to back it up.

[Q] Playboy: Does your father really think you're not doing well?

[A] Stewart: Hey, hey. Don't think you're on to something here! No, I think he thinks it's fine---probably.

[Q] Playboy: How old were you when your parents divorced?

[A] Stewart: Ten or 11.

[Q] Playboy: You saw him afterward?

[A] Stewart: Oh yeah. Hey, pizza every Sunday, my friend. Or every other Sunday.

[Q] Playboy: Do you have a good relationship with him?

[A] Stewart: Uh . . . what do you mean? He hasn't broken up with me.

[Q] Playboy: Did he try to explain the mysteries of the universe to you?

[A] Stewart: Not that I remember. I was just happy, when I turned seventeen, to realize maybe the divorce wasn't my fault. I saw that one after-school special where the kid thinks it's their fault, and I watched it with tears: "Yes, that's true." Then you realize, Oh, it's not my fault. In my hazy memory, I was thinking I had done something or gotten into some minor trouble before it happened. You sort of have the sense of, Oh, Christ, what have I done? But that's because kids are completely egocentric: I fucked up, therefore. . . .

[Q] Playboy: Didn't your parents say, "Dear, it's not your fault"?

[A] Stewart: I'm sure they did. But you're living in the world of hyperbole at that age. The drama itself was somehow comforting. It was the Seventies; I'm OK---You're OK had just come out but I don't think anybody had read it all the way through yet.

[Q] Playboy: OK. Now let's go to "This Just In."

[A] Stewart: Stewart lands a regular job, may never have to buy clothes again. Then we do a moment of Zen.

[Q] Playboy: What's yours?

[A] Stewart: Probably footage of me watching one of my cats a few years ago take a shit right next to the litter box because I had been too lazy to actually clean it out. It was a brief message of her displeasure. She was the Felix Unger of cats: If it wasn't just right in the litter box, "I'm sorry, my friend, I'm going right on the floor next to it, just to show you."

[Q] Playboy: Much of your humor is based on your being Jewish. You even called your HBO special Unleavened. Are Jews funnier?

[A] Stewart: Than?

[Q] Playboy: Gentiles.

[A] Stewart: Any time you're a group that wants desperately for others to like you so they'll let you stick around, you have a tendency to be more amusing. When you're in charge there's really no need to be funny. The captain of the football team doesn't have to be funny. Water boy? He has to be a little amusing.

My comedy is all about anything that, when I was growing up, made me feel different or disenfranchised in any way. What is comedy other than: Love me! We're not so bad. We don't really love the money. Love me! Height, looks and religion became the cornerstones of what I talk about. They had to, because as a kid you learn preemptive-strike comedy. If I hit someone with a tremendous joke about how small and Jewish I am, they had nowhere to go. All they could do is punch me once and leave.

[Q] Playboy: Were you the only Jew in your school?

[A] Stewart: No. There were probably four or five, but Lawrenceville was not a predominantly Jewish area.

[Q] Playboy: Did you feel ostracized?

[A] Stewart: It's not like I walked into school and everyone turned their backs and shunned me [laughs]. It was just in my head. I felt different even if no one else noticed or cared. Most people were very nice to me. I got my share of ass-kickings and being made fun of, but it wasn't anything unusual. My parents divorced, but other people have gone through that as well. I'm not going to write Jonathan's Ashes. I didn't have a tragic childhood. It was OK, normal. But if you're looking for what informs my thought process, it was those feelings of inadequacy that were placed there by me, for me. They were grounded in reality, but one with far less importance than I gave it. In other words, it wasn't like The Breakfast Club, with Judd Nelson just fucking poking me in the chest every day. But in my head I was a weirdo.

[Q] Playboy: Are you now at ease with your height, religion and looks?

[A] Stewart: When I stopped thinking about them, all the problems they caused went away. There comes a point in your life where you go, "I guess I'm not going to be six feet tall---and I can't believe how important that used to be to me." I'm fine. If I can't reach a glass, I can just stand on a chair.

[Q] Playboy: Jewish mysticism has been in the news lately. Have you given any thought yet to studying the Kabbalah?

[A] Stewart: I'm letting Madonna get her feet wet, and if it seems OK, I'm jumping in. You know, nothing shakes my world more than giant celebrities who tell us about their spiritual awakenings.

[Q] Playboy: Oh? Why?

[A] Stewart: Because it's amazing to me that the journey to superstardom always culminates in, "Hey, we really all have to be nice to each other." Well, thank you! Of course you should be celebrated for coming to that conclusion!

All kidding aside, I can't believe that it's newsworthy when somebody of grand fame and wealth has an epiphany that maybe there's a larger world out there beyond their narcissism---and I'm not speaking of anyone in particular. It's as if a celebrity epiphany is somehow more valid than anyone else's and therefore that star is to be congratulated on their arduous spiritual journey. And guess what else? There is no grandeur in that epiphany. A celebrity's spiritual awakening is no different from or more important than one that happens to whomever is mopping up come in video booths on 42nd Street.

[Q] Playboy: Sounds like business as usual.

[A] Stewart: Of course, because in this business your status is elevated just for not shitting on people. You're celebrated as more than decent for acting normally. It makes me wonder: My God, what's going on behind that?

[Q] Playboy: What do you think?

[A] Stewart: The problem, I think, is people caring about all the things they shouldn't and not caring about all the things they should. It's that disparity that creates a fucking star temper tantrum when the tandoori chicken isn't orange enough. Any human being who has any sense of perspective would understand not to shit on the five-dollar-an-hour production assistant because he didn't understand that you said "spring rolls" and not "dumplings." To miss that point is just insanity.

Brett Butler is a great example of this. I've known Brett for a lot of years and she's an incredibly intelligent, funny woman. She flipped out---which I think she would admit to now---but they didn't call her on it until the show was no longer making them the kind of money that justified tolerating her behavior. There is no medal of honor for the people who pulled the plug on that show. They waited until it was economically feasible for them to do so before saying, "Hey, you can't treat people like this."

[Q] Playboy: And that sort of stuff is common in Hollywood?

[A] Stewart: It's common in the world. We are a global capitalistic conglomerate. Corporation Earth. Whatever drives that bottom line drives our behavior. The more you bring in, the more you are allowed to fuck up. It's as simple as that. When you stop bringing it in, people stop hanging around.

The random glorification can also lead to random vilification. That's the double-edged sword. People in that spotlight are more loved than they should be and more despised than they should be. That's why they're always complaining about being praised and then suddenly attacked.

[Q] Playboy: If we were to help you package your philosophy and get a celebrity interested in it, should he or she be celebrated for "getting it"?

[A] Stewart: No. And I shouldn't be either. It's like the notion that tacking up the Ten Commandments on a wall in a high school is going to help. Who doesn't already know "Thou shall not kill?" Who is going to walk into a principal's office, look at the Commandments and go, "Thou shalt not kill? Are you fucking kidding me? When did that happen?" It's the same thing with the red ribbon for AIDS. It's a wonderful thought, but who's not aware of AIDS? It's people putting their hope in symbolism and bullshit and not in the actual work it takes to attain the kind of world you want. The problem is that people have to stop looking to others to tell them how to act and feel. People's internal barometers have to be dialed up a notch. [Pauses] I'm on the pulpit now, brotha! Tes-ti-fy! By the way, this is all one man's bullshit. I want to make that clear. I'm not out there beating the fucking sidewalk with my donation cup and a bell, trying to get money for this. It's my worldview and it has nothing to do with anybody else. Sure, I wish everyone thought this way, but they don't. And I'm not saying it's any more valid or interesting than anybody else's point of view. Everything comes with disclaimers. For instance, this philosophy is not valid in Tennessee. Or Alaska.

[Q] Playboy: We should wrap this up. Describe the Jon Stewart the public never gets to see.

[A] Stewart: Here's the weird thing: This is my secret life. You have no idea what's going on in my real life. I actually manage a Bennigan's. No one knows I'm here. That's the beauty of it. They don't get cable.

[Q] Playboy: With which celebrity are you most often confused?

[A] Stewart: By people who are drinking or not?

[Q] Playboy: Drinking.

[A] Stewart: Seinfeld.

[Q] Playboy: Not drinking?

[A] Stewart: The kid from Married With Children.

[Q] Playboy: Why did you drop your last name, Liebowitz?

[A] Stewart: It's hard to see your name in lights when you feel like there won't be enough lights to spell it.

[Q] Playboy: This interview will appear in early 2000. Would you care to predict what will happen during the millennial celebrations?

[A] Stewart: Hmm. I won't come out of my bunker until January 8, so many of those days will be something of a blur. However, when I do come out, through the smoldering ruins, I'll see the hand of a child holding a daisy and think, We're going to be OK! Then an animated bluebird will land on my shoulder and whisper something dirty and vaguely anti-Semitic in my ear.

[Q] Playboy: What do you already miss about the last thousand years?

[A] Stewart: I guess the pace of it. The kindness we showed each other. The gentle tableau of a pie cooling on a sill while Ma stands out in the back and tries to figure out why the radar dish won't get the porno channel.

At least they didn't roll the end credits on Bambi's dead mother: Bambi's an orphan, the fire is burning, see ya.