When Stephen Colbert landed The Late Show in 2015, he received two notable calls. One from David Letterman, whom he’d be replacing; the other from Letterman’s rival, former Tonight Show host Jay Leno.

“Jay called me right away, and he was lovely,” says Colbert, as he slips into a Leno impression: “He goes, ‘Yeah, you got the pope job. You got the job ’til you’re dead.’ Well, you were wrong on that one, Jay.”

Last July, Colbert looked straight to camera and announced that his 11th season of The Late Show would be his last. CBS, whose parent company, Paramount, was in the midst of closing a multibillion-dollar merger with David Ellison’s Skydance that required the Trump administration’s approval, insisted it was “purely a financial decision.” But the choice to cancel the No. 1 show in late night raised more than a few eyebrows, particularly as it came just two weeks after Paramount had agreed to pay Trump $16 million to settle a controversial lawsuit over a 60 Minutes interview.

In the 10 months since, Colbert has not held back, regularly jabbing his network, its new owners’ cozy relationship with the president and reports that his show was hemorrhaging $40 million a year. Being able to be brutally honest about all of it was part of the arrangement he made with his bosses last summer. He has also continued to mercilessly critique Trump on a nightly basis.

If there is a silver lining to Colbert’s unexpected ouster, it’s that he is now able to be intimately involved in co-writing an installment of the Lord of the Rings film franchise. The project is already six years in the making and a lifelong dream for the self-proclaimed superfan. And though he isn’t ready to sign on to any other projects just yet, he began fielding scripts immediately after he announced his Late Show chapter would conclude. He says he could see “creating another show,” too, and that his desire to perform will always be there. He jokes: “Got to stay in front of the lens, baby.”

On an April afternoon in New York City, Colbert settled in for the first of two wide-ranging conversations about his surprise cancellation, his late night fraternity, his Hollywood future and the real reason his studio audience is told, in no uncertain terms, not to boo Trump. (See more photos of Colbert.)

You sign off May 21. What will the 22nd look like?

My brother is getting married, so my whole family is going to be here on the 21st, and then we’re all going to get on the train and go to D.C. for the wedding. So, immediately after the show’s over, there’s something much more important going on. And there’s something much more important going on the Monday before, too. My son is graduating from college. Then there’s a little blip in the middle where my 20-year late night career comes to an end. The universe has conspired to give me the proper perspective.

Your manager, James “Babydoll” Dixon, delivered the news of your cancellation last summer. How did you respond?

James never visits in person, and they’re like, “James wants to talk to you.” I’m like, “He’s here? In person? What’s going on?” And he says, “This is going to be the last season.” So, I sat up and said, “Really? Huh? Well, this comes as a surprise.” And he goes, “I can imagine so. They said it’s not making any money.” I’m like, “OK. I mean, it’s their business.” I’m a company man, and I understand that people are here to make the green stuff. We’re not here to do freeform polyrhythmic jazz poetry. We’re here to sell some Breathe Right strips, and I have no qualms about that. And they’ve been great partners. But I went, “I don’t understand. It hasn’t been two years since I signed my last contract, and they were feverish to lock me down. It was the best negotiation we’ve ever had. I only do 160 shows now, all that kind of stuff.” Baby said, “They say they could show me the numbers if we want,” but I’m not going to ask them to open books. I’m not here to talk anybody into me.

You’ve joked about the reports that suggest the show’s been hemorrhaging money, losing $40 million a year.

I think we killed people.

So, that‘s where the money went?

Yeah, just for sport, I’ve been bludgeoning drifters.

In all seriousness, does that figure sound accurate?

Um, it came as a surprise. Listen, there’s no denying that the broadcast model is in huge trouble. But our model [late night] within that overall model has been very profitable for, like, 70 years, starting with Steve Allen. But maybe we were the first show to then be a detriment. Maybe we were the first one to flip in the other direction. I do not wish to litigate it. It’s their shop, and they can do what they want.

Fair enough.

I am grateful for the time I’ve spent here. I will just say, as I said to Baby 18 months ago, they could not nail me to this building hard enough. But maybe everything changed after the strike, and if that’s the case, I accept that entirely. There are many people who believe there was another reason. And, as I said in the most measured tones I could muster, there is a reason why people believe that — the network had clearly already done it once by cutting that $16 million check [to the Trump administration].

Me being canceled reinforced a narrative that CBS already had a nimbus of knee-bending that they had created around themselves, because even their lawyers said there was no reason to cut the check, and then they did and gave no rationale for why they changed their minds, and then suddenly they got their broadcast license.

Causality is not the same thing as correlation, and I understand that — and not just because I learned it from the R.J. Reynolds Tobacco Company, which reminded us that, yes, you smoked and you got cancer, but, you know, correlation is not causality. So maybe my cancellation was just a naturally occurring tumor that just had to be cut out of the corporation. I mean, that’s entirely possible. I would also say — and this is what feels most true to me — that two things can be true. It can be that the broadcast model is collapsing, and, while we’re at it, as long as we’re collapsing here, what if we shove this one out a window first? I mean, this lamb’s got a very cuttable throat.

Your boss, Paramount’s George Cheeks, delivered the news not to you but to your manager, which didn’t sit well with you. Did you ultimately have a conversation of your own?

He called me eventually.

What did that call look like?

I don’t think George would mind if I characterized our conversation. It was later in the summer, and he called to express that he wished [it] had gone down a different way. I said, “Me too.” And then I said, “I’m not over here grinding a knife, but we are going to make jokes about how this went down and about the $40 million and about CBS’ apparent check-cutting spree to the president. That’s the show I want to do for 10 more months because I like working for CBS and I’m not going to change that relationship between now and the end if you allow that to happen.” And he said, “I promise you that’s what will happen.” So that was it. And what’s the use of being mad? All I want to do is go have fun for an audience that appreciates it, and that’s what my goal has been for 10 months. When this is all over, I will probably have a different — or rather a fuller — perspective on all of this, but I don’t really have time to be mad about anything right now.

Has there been any outreach from David Ellison since the Paramount-Skydance merger closed in August 2025?

No.

So, you have no relationship with the current CEO?

No, I mean, I’ve spoken to the guy, and I hear great things about him. I have many friends who [said to me during the early merger talks,] “You guys will be lucky if it’s David Ellison because he actually cares about making stuff and he wants the talent to be happy.” And I really looked forward to having that conversation with him and saying, “Hey, I hear great things about you. I hope we can have a great time together.” I never got to have that conversation. But I’ve had a conversation with the guy.

What did your conversation with him entail?

I have a cloud-based script software company called Scripto, and I’d read an article where [Ellison] said, “I want to create a studio in the cloud.” And I went, “You know what? No one knows [our software] exists because basically it’s us and our friends who use it. SNL uses it, The Daily Show, [John] Oliver — there’s maybe a dozen shows. So, I said, “Baby, see if you can get me a call with him and please tell him it’s not [about The Late Show].” And he took the call, which is very nice.

Seems cordial.

Well, vendettas just sound exhausting, and I have no reason to have one. We’re all big boys. I got to do this for 21 years. What is there to complain about, really? I knew that the show had to end at some time. I did not expect it to end this way. But my staff are the only people I’m worried about.

You also get to go out as a kind of martyr, which you joked about when Kimmel looked to be another casualty last fall.

Oh yeah. I was like, “Hey, there’s only room for one person on this cross, buddy!”

You’ve announced your next act: a Lord of the Rings film. Naturally, there’s a contingent of the LOTR fan community that’s miffed: “Why does Stephen get to write this? Just because he’s famous and a superfan?” Tell them why they should trust you.

I mean, there’s no reason to. And there’s no value in me addressing that because all you can do as — I’ll use a loaded term here — an artist is follow your heart and the craft that you have learned to try to turn this into something that is not fandom but drama. And luckily, I don’t have to do this alone. I have a great Sherpa in [co-writer and LOTR veteran] Philippa Boyens, who cares about it in the same way I do. And I will just say that every moment has been a joy so far.

You’ve said a few times that you’re about to “reenter show business.” Have you been approached with scripts?

Yes, immediately. And listen, people have been patient because I’ve had to say, like, “I’m sorry, when I no longer have to think about this show all the time, I’ll have a better idea of what I want to do.” But it’s been very nice.

I assume that you’ve had conversations with Conan O’Brien and Jon Stewart about what life after late night looks like. OK, why are you laughing?

Because I’ve been having those conversations with them for a long time. Jon Stewart’s like, “You like ice skating, but you know how great it feels when you take the ice skates off? It kind of feels like that.” And for years, Conan’s been like, “I’m telling you, there’s so much other fun to have.” [To the point where] I’ve been like, “Do you not like my show?”

Conan has since built his own empire — podcasts, a travel show, some acting. And Jon ultimately went back to The Daily Show. Those are two very different paths and probably very different perspectives.

Yeah, and I don’t think I will do either one of those.

If you could have gone out on your own terms, what would it have looked like?

I mean, a lot like this — I’d just be a little older. And it would have been my choice, and I probably would have known what the final show was going to be a little bit earlier. On The Colbert Report, I picked that day — I didn’t tell anybody, but I knew two years ahead of time. Well, we didn’t pick this day. We know what it’ll be now, but it took a few months. But maybe they gave me a gift because I had a lot of jokes I could make about the end of the show, and if I’d decided to end the show, then I’m the bad guy — hard to make jokes about that.

Any guests who you’re still desperate to have on?

The pope is my white whale. I wrote him. I said, “Come on!” No, I said, “Your Holiness, I hope this letter finds you well or, at the very least, infallible. Would you please come on my show? We don’t have to talk about politics.” Because I didn’t really think he’d want to talk about politics or anything like that. Little did I know that the guy could throw a punch [as he recently proved feuding with Trump over the Iran war]. I said, “Let’s talk about being an American Catholic.” Now, if the pope goes on Kimmel [instead], I’m going to think hard about the Presbyterian church. That’s all I’m saying.

What would your Colbert Report character look like if he were revived to satirize 2026?

I really don’t know. It was very early on in this show that I was glad I didn’t do him anymore. I mean, he came back a couple times. He showed up to praise the cancellation of Kimmel. How long was the long national nightmare of no Kimmel? Like, three days? And yet the republic rolled on, Jimmy, can you believe it? Wait, what was the question?

What would he look like today?

Oh, yeah, I’ve been very glad I hadn’t been doing him because even when I did him a decade ago, he had to somehow leapfrog the mendacity of the public discourse. And I don’t think I can jump that far [today], and I have zero desire. And who would you be? Would you be Alex Jones? Who’s the most extreme?

Leno left late night and added more dates on the road. Trevor Noah did the same. Does that space hold any appeal?

I didn’t come up as a stand-up. Improv is collaborative in its nature, and all the shows that I’ve done have been collaborative. It doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t do a live show at some point, but it’s not like I’m going to go out tomorrow and do a tight 10 at Zanies [Comedy Club]. That hasn’t been my life, and it would be a big thing for me to do now. I could see creating a show. But I don’t know what form it would take. I’m still doing this show.

Meanwhile, The Late Show is being replaced by Byron Allen‘s Comics Unleashed.

God bless him. I know Byron. We got to know each other last year, actually. He’s fascinating. You know his history with Carson? [At 18, Allen became the youngest comedian ever to perform on The Tonight Show Starring Johnny Carson.] Anyway, when I found out, I wrote him the next morning and I said, “Hey, congrats. I heard you got the time. Good for you. Wouldn’t it be lovely if you could drop Mr. Carson a note?”

Is it better or worse than being replaced by another traditional late night comedy show?

It’s none of my business.

How worried are you about the future of the genre?

I don’t know what it’s going to be, and I don’t know what I can do to help other than what I did the last 11 years. But one night I’ll turn on the TV and probably no one will be there.

What kind of conversations have you had with Seth Meyers and the Jimmys on the subject?

When I got canceled, the only other people I spoke to for days were those guys. I came up to my office [after making the announcement on-air] and flipped open my phone and we did a quick exchange. My favorite was Kimmel, who just said, “That’s a hell of an Emmy campaign.” I said, “Busted.” And then I think they might have laid bets on who was next. The other text I got was from Jon Stewart, like, “Whaaaaat?” I’m like, “Right back at you, buddy.” And then I closed my phone and gave it to my wife, Evie, and said, “Please don’t let me have this for several days.”

I was at a recent taping of your show, and, before you came out, your stage manager instructs your audience not to boo Trump. What’s that about?

We don’t always remember to do that, but I always want them to because we’re here to harvest laughter. It’s like Obama used to say, “Don’t boo, vote.” I’m like, “Don’t boo, laugh.” That’s what I’m here for. Booing sounds like we’re cheering for sides; I’m pointing and laughing. It’s a different beast. But you don’t always have to [tell them not to boo]. Not that my audience is a perfect cross section, but they’re somewhat reflective of what the national mood is, and the more outrageous or unsettling the president’s behavior is, the more likely you are to get boos. It also just bothers me because it steps on setups and punchlines.

People presume that you’re this lefty figure, but you’re actually more conservative than people think. Do you agree?

I do not perceive myself as some sort of bomb-throwing, left-wing radical. I wear khaki pants and button-down shirts, and I go to church on Sunday and I taught [Sunday school], and I live in a suburban Center Hall colonial and I believe in institutions and in the essential greatness of America. If I ever had a chance, I’d ask the president, “What do you mean by great?” Because there was so much greatness that was awaiting him if he had actually just acknowledged it. Instead, he decided to rewrite things in his own image.

But yeah, I’m a moderate, suburban Catholic, but people perceive me as this liberal thing when in fact what presents itself as modern conservatism [today] is actually radical behavior. I believe that what purports to be the present conservative movement is actually engaged in constant heresy against reality. Just wish-casting a world to exist that doesn’t, which is very destructive. That’s like alcoholism. That’s reaching for a drug that’s really a poison all the time in order to give you the worldview that you hope. And then worse than that, imposing that on other people and denying their reality.

The last time you appeared on the cover of THR, Trump was newly in office and The Late Show had just found its groove. But it had taken a long, ugly year to get to that place. In fact, then-CBS CEO Leslie Moonves had said in that piece: “Was I concerned? Of course.” How concerned were you?

I was very anxious. I had walked away from an entirely argumentative show [The Colbert Report] where everything was an argument that [the character I played] had to win, and behind it was a desperate need to be loved, and I wanted to disengage with that game in the new place. And we were also really waved off from having a strong opinion by CBS. They wanted us to get to the guests right away. They didn’t want me to do a lot of topical stuff. They wanted differentiation from the old show. And listen, they were giving the best advice they could, and we didn’t have a strong enough opinion about what we wanted to do because we had this double bind. We had to replace two shows. We had to replace Dave and we had to replace me, the false me — and then they charged higher ad rates because they anticipated I would be No. 1 immediately and by far. Then they were like, “Hey, we’re going to have to do give-backs on this.” I was like, “I’m not the one who told you to charge more. I never said I’d be No. 1.”

What do you hope your Late Show legacy will be?

I want to be remembered as a comedy show. We harvest laughter for a living, and ultimately that’s the thing I want more than anything else. I just want to make the audience laugh.

Are you responding to those who argue the late night shows have become more agenda-based and, thus, less funny?

Now I will! No, I was having this argument with myself about maintaining the joke 25 years ago. And it’s important to never forget that your standard is the joke. We’re not changing the damn world. Have you seen the world? I promise you, if you think that I’m on some kind of agenda, then I’m really shitty at it because nothing has gone in the direction that I had hoped. I mean, nothing for 25 years. So, I do not delude myself that there’s any other part of the job for me than that. And if people think that there is some other agenda going on, all the more reason to stick to that first principle that we started with 25 years ago, which is: What’s funny about this?

This story appeared in the May 6 issue of The Hollywood Reporter magazine. Click here to subscribe.