When Oscar Isaac was announced as the Saturday Night Live host, I was psyched—and a little worried. While his breakout role in the Coen brothers’ Inside Llewyn Davis showed he was capable of a light(ish) touch, Isaac was still a Juilliard-trained actor who specialized in heavy lifting of themes both supernatural (Star Wars, X-Men, Dune) and marital (HBO’s recent Scenes from a Marriage). You root for any SNL host who is that proficient. Isaac isn’t a crowd-pleaser like Jason Sudeikis or Paul Rudd, and SNL can do esteemed actors dirty (see the recent Willem Dafoe episode). Will this show be one that allows a multi-dimensional performer to reveal new layers? Or will he be sidelined by an inability to connect with the writing staff?
Early this season, I was encouraged by some of SNL’s writing, which had been sagging toward 1993-era quality last season but had shown signs of going different places (fewer rote game-show parodies, more stuff that is just weird). But as the season has progressed, more cheap gags about dicks and bodily functions have made it to air, and the sheer size of the cast was holding back talented people I wanted to see more. So I approached this episode with trepidation.
Isaac’s monologue was thoroughly charming. He introduced himself to those unfamiliar with his work and quickly dispatched something of an elephant in the room, noting that his last name is Hernandez, or, “as casting directors call it, ethnically ambiguous.” He proceeded to show home video footage of a VHS home movie he made as an eight-year-old called “The Avenger,” a ninja pastiche that ended with him licking a bloody sword. “Total commitment from the start!” he said, noting, “It’s important to encourage kids to be weirdos,” because “one of those weirdos grew up to host SNL.” It was totally ingratiating. Expect more home videos from future hosts, for good or for ill.
What killed: The cold open featured Kate McKinnon and Alex Moffat as Fox News hosts Laura Ingraham and Tucker Carlson, hosting a telethon to atone for their on-air Russia sympathizing. This was sharp, with plenty of great lines. Carlson is described as “a pair of boat shoes came to life.” The telethon’s beneficiaries? “The real victims of this invasion—the oligarchs.”
James Austin Johnson’s Donald Trump was working the phones, naturally. Bowen Yang made a solid appearance as infamous conservative former action star Steven Seagal, who made an appeal to minorities “as someone who pretends to be both Native American and Japanese.” Cecily Strong and Mikey Day showed up as gruesome twosome Kimberly Guilfoyle and Donald Trump, Jr., with Cecily nailing the perpetual scream that materializes whenever Guilfoyle opens her mouth.
Some surprising demerits: As Trump, Johnson made less of a mark than usual. His prosthetics seemed to be wearing him, and he was imbuing Trump with a physical subtlety the real guy never shows. He needs to stay big and two-dimensional. And the writing started strong and sort of collapsed into the obvious. But this is the kind of topical skewering SNL needs to be doing more, and they mostly did it well.
The Aidy’s Dream sketch was a much-deserved showcase for SNL’s secret weapon, Aidy Bryant. The premise: She’s played teachers, principals, and hausfrauen for 10 years, and if she did 150 of such roles, SNL would let her write her own sketch. Her creation: The Sexual Woman, which she tells Isaac is a recurring sketch in which she plays a bombshell he must seduce relentlessly. “I need you to know that I see you sexually, not as someone who would, like, run a school,” Isaac reads off cue cards. Bryant notes that “every time I’ve done something romantic it’s been totally random,” showing shots from past shows of her kissing Ryan Gosling while dressed as a chicken and humping an ottoman as a horny teen. It was a reminder of how great a utility player Bryant has been on the show and a sharp comment on sizeism.
What bombed: This was a fairly strong episode. Each sketch earned a passing grade in my book. But two exemplify patterns SNL can lapse into that I don’t love, so I’ll point them out.
This apparent commercial-gone-off-the-rails featured Isaac as a city council candidate attempting to recall the mayor of his town (Ego Nwodim) because she’s installed the Paw Patrol, those popular cartoon dogs, to perform most essential city services. Victimized townsfolk then testified about the Paw Patrol’s incompetence. It was a cute idea that ran aground in about a minute. Yes, we get it, animated cartoon dogs aren’t equipped with sufficient tools to ensure public safety. This was a random choice for the first sketch. There was an opportunity to connect cartoonland to our current batshit political reality, but it didn’t work. It reminded me of the “You Can’t Do That on Television” sketch from last week, which settled for goopy nostalgia when it could have hit sharper targets. I don’t come to SNL for cute.
In this filmed bit, Chloe Fineman sees Inventing Anna, the miniseries about the con artist Anna Delvey, and adopts Delvey’s voice, mannerisms, and wardrobe to grift her way into better treatment, perks, and parts on SNL. She tells Michael Che that Lorne Michaels has made her the new Update host, so Che instantly wheels away a prepacked suitcase (a good bit). This continues until McKinnon convinces her she doesn’t have to “Delvey” her way to success—before nabbing Fineman’s sunglasses to Delvey herself.
Listen, I love Fineman. She’s a very promising performer and could be used more on the show. What bugs me is SNL being self-referential, which pops up a lot lately. SNL’s writers and producers seem to think we’re fascinated by the show’s backstage goings-on. When the original cast would self-refer—when Bill Murray would do a confessional monologue about how he feared he wasn’t “making it on the show”—it was different and interesting. When a veteran like Bryant does “The Sexual Woman,” it makes sense. But today, everyone’s doing their own Delvey act on Instagram, and this feels like filler from a newish cast member whose talents are better used on outside targets. If SNL becomes even more of a blatant vehicle for personal-brand-building, Lorne help us.
WTF: Sarah Sherman reveals to her date (Chris Redd) that she’s covered in meatball-shaped growths, each with a small face that sings. She kisses him and transmits this condition. I am really impressed by Sherman—I think her Weekend Update debut was one of the highlights of the season so far—and I get that body horror is one of her things. I think comedy is absolutely ready for a Cronenberg. But to get there, you’ve gotta let your audience in on your intentions. What was the point?
And now the fake news: Weekend Update Digest
I judge Weekend Update on a two-LOL minimum. I’ve got to bust at least a chortle, at least twice, or I’m not satisfied. For most of the season, Update has met this mark but gone not much further. Overall, they’ve underwhelmed me with their soft-pedaling of batshit domestic and international events. That wasn’t the case tonight, which was the strongest Update of the season so far.
Some highlights: Colin Jost describing photos of Sen. Lindsey Graham and Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis—a pleasant memory of the Chevy Chase/Jane Curtin/Dennis Miller Update eras, where photo commentary was regular—and Che’s commemoration of National Pig Day.
And McKinnon’s Emily-Litella-like take on Florida’s “Don’t Say Gay” law:
This week’s SNL MVP
Can the host be the MVP? Sorry, I don’t know how this works. I was impressed with Isaac at every point. As with Ariana DeBose a few weeks ago, the writers realized what he was capable of and put him in as many sketches as possible. He was comfortable in everything and elevated everything he was in.
The cast member MVP goes to Nwodim, who was a super-solid utility player throughout the show—in a Weekend Update appearance as Pauline, the exhausted pregnant mother who compares herself to a beatifically baby-bumped Rihanna, and as an exasperated wife of the host of the home-repair show in In Over Your Head, as well as the mayor in the Paw Patrol sketch.
Ladies and gentlemen...
The musical guest was Charli XCX, who makes a kind of dance-pop I really like. But I consider the performances inferior to Dua Lipa’s of last season, who brought better songs, styling, and choreography that made me more interested in her as an artist. (This may be the only time I get to say this, so I’ve got to: SNL, if you’re having Charlie XCX and Dua Lipa as musical guests, there’s no excuse for you not booking Roisin Murphy by now).
Stray observations
- Everyone who writes about SNL is complaining that the cast is too big. Add me to the list. Cast members have a great moment (or a great episode), then disappear for weeks. I constantly fantasize about the cast being cut down to the old model of seven to 10 regulars.
- What’s up with the curious and mistaken conviction by musical guests and their management that each SNL performance must be some sort of spectacular? It’s impossible. So many have tried, and no one has pulled it off. Studio 8H is too small to do a Folies Bergére with the latest digital fuckery. No matter how much you green-screen the SNL stage or crowd it with dancers, it’s always going to look chintzy. Just plant yourself in front of a mic and show us what you’ve got.
- Hello! Here’s my wallet, here’s my phone, just let me live. I’m Michael. I’m a writer in New York City. I grew up watching SNL. Happy to be here. Be nice. (I would also like to thank Dennis Perkins for his stellar work.)
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