Conan O'Brien, the Oscars, and Hollywood's ego

Conan O'Brien opened by declaring himself the “last human host,” a line that worked both as a joke and a diagnosis

By Bisma Saleem
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March 16, 2026

The Academy Awards have always needed a host who can do two things at once: flatter Hollywood and also quietly deflate it. On Sunday night at the 98th Oscars, the comedian Conan O'Brien did just that.

He opened by declaring himself the “last human host,” a line that worked both as a joke and a diagnosis. Hollywood, after all, is now an industry run by algorithms, intellectual property, and a streaming economy that has turned cinema into something closer to content.

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The image of the pale, red-haired absurdist from late-night television presiding over it felt faintly anthropological, like a relic from the era when comedy was written by people rather than trained on their data.

But O’Brien’s real talent has always been his instinct for mischief. As he pivoted in minutes from Hollywood gossip to geopolitics.

Referring to the evening’s heavy security, he deadpanned that officials were worried about attacks from “the opera and ballet communities,” who were apparently furious that “you left out jazz.” The joke was absurd, which is precisely why it worked. It allowed the room to acknowledge the anxious world outside the Dolby Theatre without collapsing into solemnity.

He did not entirely avoid politics. At one point he took a swipe at President Donald Trump, wiht a piece of schoolboy insult that nonetheless landed with the unmistakable rhythm of late-night satire.

Another joke referenced the Epstein scandal, with O’Brien remarking that Britain seemed “one or two steps ahead” in making arrests.

What made the monologue memorable, however, was the tone as O’Brien did not deliver the smug sermonising that sometimes afflicts awards shows. But he practised the older art of comic destabilisation.

Hollywood, politics, streaming giants, the British royal family, even the ballet world all appeared briefly ridiculous.

In an era when the Oscars struggle to justify their own existence, this may be the only viable hosting strategy left.

If the ceremony cannot pretend to be the centre of culture anymore, it can at least laugh at the illusion. Conan O’Brien understands the assignment. And the joke, as always, is on the room.

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