Stephen Colbert, the sharp-witted host who turned The Late Show into late-night’s undisputed champion, pulled back the curtain on its abrupt cancellation in a candid GQ interview, calling it “the first number one show to ever get canceled.” The CBS staple, ending its run in May 2026 after 11 seasons under Colbert and 33 years total for the franchise, leaves fans and industry watchers scratching their heads over the fate of television’s most consistent winner.

The announcement dropped July 17, 2025, catching even Colbert off guard. He didn’t hear it straight from network brass—instead, his manager James “Baby Doll” Dixon showed up unannounced. “Hey, do you have 15 minutes? I’m going to stop by,” Dixon said, turning a quick chat into hours of discussion. Colbert, lounging at home, sat bolt upright: “This is going to be the last season.” His wife Evie nailed the gravity immediately: “Did you get canceled?” They talked it over with a drink, pondering next steps.

CBS framed the move as “purely a financial decision against a challenging backdrop in late night,” insisting it had “nothing to do with the show’s performance, content or other matters.” Executives pointed to plummeting ad revenue—down 50% industry-wide from $439 million in 2018 to $220 million in 2024—high production costs at the Ed Sullivan Theater, and viewers flocking to free YouTube clips where monetization lags. Reports pegged annual losses at $40 million, though some dispute the figure after affiliate fees. “Late-night shows are kind of like symphony orchestras,” Colbert noted. “You can’t really do a show… with a band and sketches… for the cost of a podcast.” Paramount’s pending Skydance merger amplified cost-cutting, following the earlier axing of After Midnight.

Yet the math baffles: The Late Show dominated for nine straight years since 2016, topping competitors like The Tonight Show in key demos and total viewers. Its post-announcement episode drew 3.079 million live viewers—the year’s best—spiking to four-year highs in July. YouTube views exploded past 10 million for monologues alone. “No one’s ever been the number one show for nine years in a row and then been canceled,” Colbert’s late-night pal remarked.

Colbert’s reaction blends shock, relief, and resolve. “Very surprising and so shocking,” he admitted, with the finale “still seeming like a long way away.” The grind wore heavy: two decades “attached to the exhaust pipe of news,” snorkeling “into the sewer every day.” CBS CEO George Cheeks might have “saved my life,” granting “oxygen back into my brain.” Still, he cherishes the live energy: “I love what we do and I love the grind.”

Political whispers add intrigue. Two days before the news, Colbert labeled Paramount’s $16 million 60 Minutes settlement with Donald Trump a “big fat bribe” on air. Sens. Elizabeth Warren and Rep. Adam Schiff cried foul, demanding transparency. Trump, fresh off reelection, has needled CBS while praising its new owner. Colbert deems the theories “reasonable,” given the timing and payout over a “completely without merit” suit. “It is self-evident that that is damaging… So it is unclear… why anyone would do that other than to curry favor.” But he stays above fray: “My side of the street is clean… I have had a great relationship with CBS.”

Looking ahead, Colbert prioritizes a “graceful” landing for his 200-plus crew. “I just want to land this plane… in a way that I find satisfying.” Post-May? Vague but optimistic: revive a Colbert Report-era character arc shelved in 2015, sail a catamaran, or craft anew with loyal collaborators. “I love creating things… Why not?” YouTube looms as a platform, leveraging 10 million subscribers, though unconfirmed.

Colbert’s path mirrors late-night’s evolution. Debuting 2015 post-David Letterman, he pivoted to politics in 2017, surging past Jimmy Fallon. Emmys crowned it Outstanding Talk Series twice, with a 2025 standing ovation chant of “Stephen!” He evolved from satirical blowhard to earnest everyman, blending faith, family, and monologue mastery.

The franchise’s end—born under Letterman in 1993—signals broader shifts. Viewers fragment to TikTok, podcasts; networks chase profitability over prestige. Colbert defends late-night as a “third space” for communal sense-making: “The best reason to be number one is that the network does not… interfere. And we enjoyed nine unfucked years.”

As Ed Sullivan’s lights dim, Colbert eyes uncharted waters. Fans mourn a ritual; rivals like Kimmel and Fallon recalibrate. In TV’s churn, his quip endures: shows end, but legacies linger. Nine months remain—plenty for one last mic drop.