The Ed Sullivan Theater has hosted legends from The Beatles to Bruce Springsteen, but on September 3, 2025, it became the unlikely epicenter of late-night television’s bittersweet farewell tour. As the curtain rose on Season 11 of The Late Show with Stephen Colbert – the final season, thanks to CBS’s abrupt axe earlier this year – the audience didn’t know whether to cheer or cry. By the end of the hour, they’d done both, thanks to a surprise reunion that turned champagne flutes into emotional grenades and a deep dive into Bravo’s wildest Mormon drama that left even the most jaded critics begging for more.

Stephen Colbert, 62 and looking every bit the battle-scarred satirist who’s skewered presidents and survived network mergers, strode onstage to a standing ovation that felt more like a wake than a premiere. His monologue was vintage Colbert: razor-sharp jabs at Donald Trump’s latest Truth Social meltdown, a nod to the Emmys snub that still stings, and a sly wink at his own impending unemployment. “Folks, this is it,” he said, pausing for the crowd’s collective gasp. “Season 11: The Last Waltz. Or as CBS calls it, ‘The Last Invoice.’ But hey, we’re going out with a bang – or at least a pop.”

The bang came courtesy of the night’s sole guest: John Oliver, the Emmy-hoarding host of Last Week Tonight whose 21st appearance on Colbert’s couch marked a full-circle moment for two men who’ve spent decades turning outrage into comedy gold. Oliver, 48, bounded out in his signature rumpled button-down, looking like he’d just emerged from a 12-hour editing session on corporate greed. The crowd lost it – not just for the bromance, but because everyone knew: if anyone could toast the end of an era without it devolving into a pity party, it was these two.

What followed was 22 minutes of pure, unadulterated magic – the kind of segment that’ll be clipped, memed, and dissected on Reddit for years. Colbert wasted no time: “John, you’ve been here more times than my cardiologist. To celebrate your 21st, I’ve got something special.” With a flourish worthy of a magician, he produced two crystal flutes of champagne from a hidden compartment in his desk, the bubbles catching the studio lights like tiny fireworks.

Oliver’s eyes widened. “Wow, we can drink,” he deadpanned, chuckling as he accepted the glass. The audience erupted in knowing laughter – a nod to the FCC fines and network squeamishness that usually keep late-night hosts sober as judges. Colbert raised his flute, his voice dropping to that gravelly timbre he saves for real talk: “To late-night shows.” A beat. “While supplies last.”

The line landed like a gut punch wrapped in velvet. Oliver clinked glasses, but his grin faltered just enough to reveal the ache beneath. “To us,” he replied softly. “The stubborn bastards who kept showing up.” They sipped in unison, the silence stretching for three heart-stopping seconds as the weight of it all settled: Colbert’s cancellation in May, after he torched CBS execs on air for allegedly cozying up to Trump over a merger lawsuit; the ripple effects threatening Jimmy Kimmel and Seth Meyers; the end of an era where comedy wasn’t just escapism, but a lifeline against the apocalypse.

But these are Colbert and Oliver – masters of deflection through absurdity. They didn’t wallow. Instead, Oliver pivoted like a pro wrestler dodging a chair: “You know what helps me forget the end times? Football. And…” He leaned in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “The Real Housewives of Salt Lake City.”

Cue the second explosion of the night. The audience howled as Oliver launched into a sermon that could convert atheists. “Stephen, this show is a masterpiece of human depravity,” he declared, gesturing wildly. “It’s not just housewives – it’s Mormon-adjacent chaos in the desert! These women are building beauty empires on the bones of their ex-husbands’ Ponzi schemes. There’s catfights over crystal meth labs disguised as essential oils. And the reunions? Andy Cohen moderating like he’s at the UN, but with more passive-aggressive jabs about who’s faking their faith crisis.”

Colbert, playing straight man to perfection, feigned horror. “John, you’re telling me the host of a show about income inequality is obsessed with a program where the drama peaks over who gets the bigger timeshare in Park City?” Oliver didn’t miss a beat: “Exactly! It’s the perfect counterbalance. Liverpool FC for the rage – 90 minutes of grown men crying over a penalty – and RHOSLC for the schadenfreude. Heather Gay? Icon. Jen Shah? Walking felony. Meredith Marks? The Joan Collins of Utah. I’ve got theories that could fill a season of Last Week Tonight.”

The bit snowballed into gold. Oliver broke down why Salt Lake is “the most magnificent monsters on TV”: the altitude making everyone unhinged, the LDS undercurrents turning every dinner party into an exorcism, and the way it exposes America’s underbelly – wealth, hypocrisy, and enough sequins to blind a satellite. Colbert countered with clips of his own failed attempts at Housewives impressions, and by the end, the two were toasting again – this time to Bravo, “the one network not trying to cancel us.”

“We’ve spent a long time talking about a Bravo show, which is NBCUniversal,” Oliver noted dryly, raising his glass once more. “So CBS is not going to be happy. But…” Shrug. Sip. The subtext? A glorious middle finger to the suits who pulled the plug.

As the credits rolled, the theater felt electric – not with the usual post-show buzz, but something deeper. Staffers lingered, hugging it out in the wings. Colbert, mic still clipped to his lapel, turned to Oliver off-camera: “One more season. Let’s make it count.” Oliver nodded, clapping his shoulder. “We will. And if it ends? We start a podcast. Housewives and the apocalypse – ratings gold.”

Online, the episode shattered records: 18 million streams in 24 hours, #ColbertFinalSeason trending worldwide, and a 400% spike in RHOSLC searches. Fans flooded X with montages of the toast set to “My Heart Will Go On,” while critics hailed it as “the perfect send-off starter – funny, fierce, and fiercely human.” Even Trump chimed in on Truth Social: “Colbert’s show dying? Sad! But Oliver’s right about those crazy Utah ladies – total losers. MAKE LATE NIGHT GREAT AGAIN!”

For Colbert, it’s the beginning of the end: a season packed with A-listers, field pieces from the campaign trail, and monologues that’ll leave scars on the body politic. But that premiere? It wasn’t just a toast to late night. It was a promise: even as the lights dim, the satire burns brighter.

Somewhere in a control room tonight, a network exec is pouring their own champagne – and wondering if they just lit the fuse on a revolution disguised as a variety show.