The much-anticipated golden anniversary of SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE kicked off last night , and you bet I watched. After all, unlike most of the folks who recently made a movie that celebrated that legacy, I was actually watching a half-century ago when it all began. So I guess I’m a creature of habit.
These days, however, I almost never watch the show actually “live”. I was once one of a scant few living on the West Coast who had access to the feed of WNBC New York via an easily garnered DIRECTV loophole who was able to watch the show at 8:30 PM Pacific, a practice the network finally allowed once ratings fractionalization had reached enough an alarming enough level where the idea of a double run in 20 per cent of the country wasn’t so blasphemous. It was the way I watched New Year’s Eve programming as well; basically, by midnight, I was in dreamland. These days, I almost never make it to 10:00, so I watched last night’s episode in a manner scant few would have considered in the fall of 1975–on a playback of a recording.
So yes, I watched but, honestly, I’ve seen better. Yes, the eagerly anticipated casting reveals of the new faces in this fall’s election season that would share the spotlight with Maya Rudolph’s spot-on Kamala Harris and James Austin Johnson’s phlegm-laden Trump provoked some laughter. Jim Gaffigan as Tim Walz was a no-brainer, and Andy Samberg as “First Husband” Doug Emhoff was inspired. Bringing back Dana Carvey as yet another rambling, confused and word-salady chief executive, this time as Joe Biden, was a wonderful hollaback to his “nahgonna”-laden parody of George H.W. Bush. But the balance of the show was also largely a showcase for impersonations of actual celebrities, as has been the emphasis in recent years, and for as impressive as the physical similarities are these dats to create the sight gag they lack both the originality and eventual franchisability that SNL established itself upon during its formative years. They’re a damn sight 
better than when the show began, where Chevy Chase as Gerald Ford was no more of a doppelganger than if one tried to pass off a Chevy Vega as a Ford Pinto. But we also had The Blues Brothers, Todd and Lisa Loopner, Samurai Whatever and The Coneheads. The closest this premiere offered up was Sarah Sherman’s “hot boy” co host to an ill-fated attempt to cast Bowen Yang as Charli XCX hosting a “political” talk show. That said, Yang pulled that one off more than he did channeling J.D. Vance. With all due respect and a nod purely to the obvious, Yang more resembled Pat Morita’s Arnold from Happy Days.
But just as was the case when the show debuted, when almost nothing else of consequence is on against it, there’s still more than enough to keep this as appointment television. When the show debuted on October 11, 1975, it replaced reruns of previous seasons’ episodes of THE TONIGHT SHOW and in New York competed against several old movies and harness racing highlights. NBC even ran ads to announce it–though it didn’t feature a single face from the then-unknown cast. And it wasn’t even called Saturday Night Live. I know, because I was actually at the first broadcast of the show that actually had that title, the historically awful attempt to recreate what Ed Sullivan did with a live from New York variety show from the same stage he pulled that off for 23 years using the polarizing Howard Cosell as ringmaster. That show attempted some skits of their own, with even a lesser degree of originality than the current iteration produces.
Thank goodness it’s generally an afterthought in the annals of TV history, virtually unknown by anyone of a movie-going demographic.
Such lack of attention to those kind of details may explain why the level of excitement that emerged from this month’s film festivals about the Jason Reitman movie that chronicles that first-ever broadcast, SATURDAY NIGHT, which began early premieres this weekend in New York and Los Angeles and will be released nationwide, appropriately enough, on the 49th anniversary of that October 11th premiere. While I understand that both legal hurdles as well as creative license may try to explain why there are departures from the actual look and sequence of events I remember with vivid detail even to this day, it doesn’t diminish the level of consternation or inclination to nit-pick that arises. NBC refused to allow Sony use of their name or logo, hence producing this look where merely the studio name adorns the massive cameras that indeed were recreated accurately. But since I actually went to a taping of the show and spent a lot of time in Studio 8H just before the show took it over, I know damn well how it really looked and, sorry, this press release look simply isn’t accurate.
And apparently I’m not the only curmedgeon, as THE HOT BUTTON’s David Poland confessed in his non-review that dropped in his newsletter yesterday:
As someone who experienced that mania first-hand for a season and change, it is hard to seperate the realities of what goes down in that studio, those hallways, those elevators, those offices, that observation room, and that stairwell from the art of trying to squeeze it all into 90 minutes…I mean, I can tell you that going from the outdoor skating rink at 30 Rock, even empty, to Studio 8H is at least a 12-minute run, if you are in a hurry. The offices for the show and 8H are also on different elevator banks. I mean, these are minor. And maybe Belushi really went down to skate before a show at some point. But did Lorne? In the movie, Lorne also goes to 50th St to greet Andy Kaufman. In reality, those 2 outdoor visits alone would take up 1/3 of the film’s running time.
I know I had similar feelings watching last night’s $100,000 PYRAMID “Celebrity Edition” skit, where despite clearly having access to the show’s graphics and set design specs it had different music and perhaps the worst Michael Strahan impersonator I’ve ever seen, so bad that he had to be identified with a graphic himself–something the actual show never did in seven seasons. And, by the way, unlike JEOPARDY! or WHEEL OF FORTUNE, the show never has had a “celebrity edition” since celebrities have ALWAYS been part of the game.
So I’m not surprised to see some of the reviews that have hit so far to be more tepid that I had earlier anticipated, even from those of an age and mindset that is theoretically more tolerant than the likes of Poland or moi. THE ASSOCIATED PRESS was modestly complimentary, albeit with reservations:
“Saturday Night,” which opens in theaters Friday and expands in the coming weeks, isn’t a realistic tick-tock of how Michaels did it. And, while it boasts a number of fine performances, I wouldn’t recommend it for anyone hoping to see an illuminating portrait of the original Not Ready for Prime Time Players.
No, Reitman’s movie is striving for a myth of “Saturday Night Live.” Michaels’ quest in the film — and though he never strays farther than around the corner from 30 Rock, it is a quest — is not just to marshal together a live show on this particular night, it’s to overcome a cigar-chomping old guard of network television. (Milton Berle is skulking about, even Johnny Carson phones in.) In their eyes, Michaels is, to paraphrase Ned Beatty in “Network,” meddling with the primal forces of nature.
In mythologizing this generational battle, “Saturday Night” is a blistering barn-burner. In most other ways (cue the Debbie Downer trombone), it’s less good. Reitman, who penned the script with Gil Kenan, is too wide-eyed about the glory days of “SNL” to bring much acute insight to what was happening 50 years ago. And his film may be too spread thin by a clown car’s worth of big personalities. But in the movie’s primary goal, capturing a spirit of revolution that once might have seized barricades but instead flocks to Studio 8H, “Saturday Night” at least deserves a Spartan cheer.
MASHABLE’s Kristy Pushko was even more Debbie Downer-ish:
With Saturday Night (a nod to the the show’s original title, NBC’s Saturday Night), Reitman and screenwriter Gil Kenan (Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire co-writer/director) dug through the Saturday Night Live archives for anecdotes, fun facts, and Easter eggs to reimagine that first landmark night. Set over the course of the 90 minutes leading up to showtime, this film aims to capture the manic mayhem, creative conflicts, soul-crushing obstacles, and larger-than-life personalities that contributed to Saturday Night Live’s birth. And it fails.
At the film’s premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival, Reitman noted in his curtain speech that the movie contains over 80 speaking parts. One might admire the filmmaker’s passion, but that’s also the problem. Reitman, who spent a week as a guest writer on Saturday Night Live in 2008, is a devotee of the church of SNL. As such, Saturday Night is so stuffed with impressions and nostalgic callbacks that it’s not much of a movie at all.
The accolade that does emerge seems to come from the castings of the Not Ready For Prime Time Players, as well as show czar Lorne Michaels himself. Corey Michael Smith is far better cast as Chase than the real Chase was as Ford. JK Simmons’ Milton Berle, a story otherwise not known since the original “live from New York” NBC variety show host’s guest spot was ultimately cut from the actual broadcast, has been lauded as spot on, right down to the references to his most famous body part, and, no, it’s not his hands.
I suspect there’s at least a possibility that today’s show may give more than a brief mention to the movie as its release goes wider; personally, I’d love to see them recreate some classic character sketches from the 70s that those actors made famous. Particularly after the election cycle, whenever that may be, because there’s a darn good chance we all could benefit from some true comic relief at that point. It would certainly break up the monotony of political and ripped-from-the-headline satire that Season 50 portends to be. I might even find more of a reason to once again watch live.
Until next time…