Jack Black’s Game, But Saturday Night Live Drops the Ball

And Your Host…

It’s been 19-plus years since Jack Black graced the Saturday Night Live stages, which is our loss. Jables is a comic force, a musical comedy dynamo of bombast and full-on rock god gusto whose inimitable talents seem pitched at the perfect frequency to rock SNL‘s socks off.

During his inevitable monologue anthem (scored to “Back in the Saddle,” appropriately), Black does a nifty little barrel roll and some high kicks, reminding everyone that while the show might be 50, he’s a deceptively nimble, salt-and-pepper 55. Striding through the crowd while belting his heart out (ignoring a balcony-seated Bill Burr and Kieran Culkin as he introduces the marching band on hand to bring the number home), Black throws himself into his reintroduction to SNL hosting duty with customary heedless relish. Sure, he might get a little winded along the way, but there’s nobody more infectious than Jack Black when he truly gets rolling.

I wish the show were more up to his energy level. There’s one showcase Jack Black sketch later in the show, where, thanks to some impressively unexpected wire work, he and would-be paramour Sarah Sherman duet about their upcoming night of passion while spinning and swimming through the air. For Black, by this point fully embracing his bounding roly poly persona, there’s a Jackie Gleason style delight in watching someone so improbably graceful—even witty—in his movements. Every fluttering limb motion and unexpected tumbling flourish is its own bravura joke from a consummate showman completely in control of his instrument. The sketch itself, with its self-aware chronicle of the pitfalls of finally opening up that threesome (or foursome) fantasy, feels like a lesser Tenacious D album track but it’s still pretty delightful, buoyed aloft by Black’s charisma as much as those wires.

What I’m saying is, it’s impossible not to love Jack Black. In the monologue, Black name-checks a few of his various high-concept multiplex fare (including his most recent video game adaptation), reminding us that, no matter what disposable nonsense he puts his bottomless energy into, he’s going to emerge unscathed. Black jokes about the “indie” nature of his work, but he’s actually sought out some impressively ambitious roles and projects over the years, even if he’s currently plugging the Minecraft movie.

The Best and the Rest

The Best: With someone like Black (not that there’s anyone like Jack Black) in the house, a listless show like tonight’s really feels borderline irresponsible. The musical sketch noted above is probably the best of a middling bunch, where often Black’s injections of energy brought the only real laughs. I don’t know if Black wrote the anthem to so-so polyamory, but it’s catchy stuff—the way he pronounces the rhyme “donce” with “romonce” suggests Jables at his most faux grandiose. And while the gag reveal of additional sexual participants Bowen Yang and Brandi Carlile (also gamely on wires) was likely spoiled for the live crowd, it was a fun bit of blocking on TV. If I have a gripe it’s that it should have been a showstopper and it was just fun. I’m crabby.

The Worst: I didn’t actively dislike any of the sketches tonight. It’s more a question of squandered potential with Black in the building. In that vein, I’ll stick the restaurant sketch in here, where a potentially fruitful dumb premise was undercut by some bad direction. The sketch also suffers from that seemingly incurable SNL malady of premise over-explaining, as a quartet of diners leadenly set up the fact that two of their arriving party have to constantly one-up each other. One of the chief joys of sketch comedy is discovery—each scene is its own world and figuring out its rules can be a major part of our enjoyment. Saturday Night Live, in recent years at least, is absolutely terrified that no single viewer anywhere would be even momentarily confused. It’s deadening.

Prosaic set-up aside, the joke—that each one-upping brag (giving up social media, volunteering, watching foreign films and reading actual books) is accompanied by a triumphant sound effect and to-camera preening by the speaker—needed more than sheepish half-commitment. It’s s dumb gag that should have worked much better. Here though, the cutaways were so sluggish, and the resulting sound effects (eagle screech, cougar roar, sword ka-ching) limp along behind instead of announcing themselves with comic authority. Several sketches tonight also just… ended without having built up the necessary head of comic steam. I’m all for SNL‘s puppet closet getting a workout, but the reveal that waitress Heidi Gardner’s pet eagle Aurelius was making those bird noises likewise just kind of happens.

The Rest: Another sketch that could have used a little goose to get going, I still really liked the open mic jam band. With a mellow Black inviting would-be musicians up to join his “potluck jam,” and getting only bass players, the sketch rides along a little too placidly, but the accumulation of an all-bass version of “Free Falling” still escalates things amusingly. Here I will say that, especially with the virtuosic Jack Black at its center, a lot more care could have been taken with the actual music in this one—there’s not enough contrasting bass styles, and the sounds we do get are muddled and muted. I mean, I’d really like to hear what an all-bass chaotic cover band would sound like. Here, we get a few snatches of different styles but the mix is unimpressive. I did like that Black’s relief upon seeing Bowen come in toting a keyboard dissolves once it’s discovered to be merely a keyboard-shaped bass case, and even the bartender’s dog turns out to play bass as well. (Again, SNL + puppet humor = Dennis happy.) Black’s irritated observations that the bass overload “sounds like a sinus infection” is also a bit muted. It was that sort of night.

There were two filmed pieces tonight. The first was a bit of gonzo gross-out comedy which started out pitching those painfully spicy corn snacks and then shifted unexpectedly into a full-throated, pants-dropping come-on for some painfully spicy hemorrhoid cream. With Black alongside a CGI cheetah mascot (you know the one) blasting out his love for this alarmingly red butt ointment, the sketch is all about volume and outrageousness, Black doing some gamely vanity-free red faced screaming and side-butt baring. Like all SNL‘s fake ads, it’s well-made in pursuance of its goal of being loudly gross.

The other short is a music video that starts out as a Jamaican tourism jingle from Ego and Kenan (in nifty accents) before going ultra-specific as a mocking tribute to goth teens sulking through their family’s sunny island vacation. The song is catchy, with the hook being that watching a pasty goth moodily sweat through his all-black ensembles is how the tourist-exhausted residents get through their day. Michael Longfellow stars as the teen who prefers masturbating to The Killing Joke in the family’s hotel room to snorkeling, while Black comes in to land the sketch as the now-grown goth, happily crooning about his time hiding from all that sun. (He did go zip-lining, just that once.) It’s catchy in its ultra-specific meanness about a target one suspects some writer observed once. Or was once.

“The First Play” coasts mainly on Black’s outbursts as Clymesticles, one of the audience members experiencing the first-ever live play. (Titles don’t lie.) “Lies!,” Black screams upon seeing his neighbor portraying the play’s king, and so forth. It’s a case of the premise being the joke, although everybody adds some amusing embroidery around the edges. Mikey Day’s theatergoer attempts to hand some bread to Emil Wakim’s hungry character, while the bloody climax sees a horrified Day scream, “Why were we brought here to watch someone be murdered?!” You get it. I do appreciate a sketch where the internal logic is respected throughout—theoretically, the initial concept of live performed fiction must have thrown a few people. And, again, Jack Black booming out his outraged responses is just funny, even if I laughed most at actor James Austin Johnson breaking character in frustration. The guy’s a great character actor inside of all manner of sketches. With the thoroughly unverified scuttlebutt about SNL cleaning house after the season, I’d be most shocked (and bummed out) to see JAJ go for all he adds to each episode.

Sticking with JAJ, I’ll point to the game show sketch as proof of just what his underplayed acting does for a premise. The sketch itself sees the host of its Dating Game ripoff (Andrew Dismukes) obsessing over the fact that Black’s contestant is dressed in head to toe Indiana Jones garb, including whip. While Black continually professes ignorance of the entire Raiders franchise (Black puts a little spin on the name Indiana Jones as if its a foreign word he’s sounding out), Dismukes only gets more and more irate, which is pretty funny. As far as thankless game show hosting duties go, the boyish Dismukes seems an odd fit, although the way his host just steers further into his fixation with Black’s getup is right up his alley.

But it’s Johnson who steals things with just one unassuming delivery. Midway through Dismukes’ and Black’s escalating dispute (Dismikes shouts in triumph when Black accidentally explains that Indiana was Jones’ nickname), JAJ’s mild-mannered also-ran chimes in to note pleasantly, “I haven’t had a question yet. What can we do about that?” There’s no malice to the question and no overacting by Johnson—his contestant is just curious about how things might get back on track, and Johnson, as usual, creates a compelling little sketch of a minor character that steals the sketch not through grasping effort but by the simple fact of existing. JAJ reliably provides the texture that lifts a so-so sketch into something more memorable. Love that guy.

Weekend Update Update

Trump’s pesky 401k-destroying tariffs are on everybody’s mind, so naturally Jost and Che got in on the jokes about some nitwit’s isolationist nonsense tanking the economy all in the space of 48 hours for no discernible reason. As Jost put it to lead things off, “America elected Donald Trump to run the country like a business. But it turns out he’s running it like one of his businesses.” (See, Donald Trump has gone bankrupt about a million times, including somehow losing his shirt running businesses where the house always wins.) Che jumped in by noting how Trump’s harebrained scheme will hurt China, noting that it’ll be tough “because it’s not easy to tell a child they’re getting laid off.” Got to love the economy of a single joke hitting several targets.

Jost also did double duty by comparing the speed with which Trump cost the U.S. trillions to Morgan Wallen fleeing during the goodnights. I mean, I’m sure Lorne is undoubtedly already reaching out to have Wallen back, but I do like it when SNL allows some actual backstage pissiness into the jokes. And Che, ever on the hunt for audience’s unease button, delivered the kicker by noting, “President Trump announced a tariff on all goods imported into the U.S., saying the U.S. has been ‘plundered and raped’ by other countries. And Trump will not stand for plundering.” (See, because Donald Trump is a rapist.)

Jost and Che were feeling especially cheeky tonight, with Jost indulging in more guest-bashing by noting the awkwardness of a clip where former SNL host Russell Brand (charged with rape this week) introduced infamous woman-beater Chis Brown. “We really know how to pair ’em up,” Jost joked, once again scratching my itch for Saturday Night Live to stop being polite and start being petty about people associated with the show when they reveal themselves. And while the show could do more with its complicity in booking a-holes everyone already knew were a-holes (like the subjects of tonight’s cold open, just for example), it’s still refreshing when SNL gets mean-funny.

The fact that an outspoken political comedian (a queer Black woman at that, go figure) was uninvited from the White House Correspondents Dinner this week might have been the catalyst for a righteously pissed off bit of satire. And when Ego came out to seemingly address the matter of the assembled free press chickening out in quavering fear of the one person they should be most bold about, I foolishly got my hopes up. That Ego’s bit saw her pitching herself as a completely non-political alternative to Amber Ruffin (who’s never named) was a real letdown then, even if Ego is reliably funny doing her thing. A bit of audience call and response comedy sees Ego baiting the audience into what may or may not be a spontaneous FCC violation at one point, a move about which Nwodim states, “Lorne gonna be mad at you all.” I’m not convinced it wasn’t a planed bit, but it was still bracing live TV stuff nonetheless. But, man, if I were Amber at home, I’d be more than a little confused why SNL would bring up the WHCA’s cowardly decision in the first place.

Political Comedy Report

James Austin Johnson does a great, accurate, slyly insightful Donald Trump. The impression plays on the margins of Trump’s self-impressed dimness, reveling in Trump’s digressions and repetitions as the failed businessman here announces his simpleton tariffs plan with all the unearned confidence of the born rich and willfully dumb. That said, Saturday Night Live continues its long tradition of wasting good impressionists on mediocre sketches with little to say. (Call it the Jay Pharoah syndrome.)

There’s something JAJ captures about Trump’s smug sing-song cadence that cuts to the center of things and makes me constantly wish he was entrusted with much more than neutered takes and pop culture references. (JAJ’s Trump shouts out a Liz Lemon catchphrase and gives one of the night’s two nods toward Morgan Wallen’s swift exit last week.) Trump’s tariffs are disastrous, the resulting sweaty spin by his minions a North Korea-style full-court press of gaslighting and “trust in Glorious Leader” nonsense, and the reasons behind this obvious, foot-shooting catastrophe suggest all manner of nefarious things you don’t have to be a conspiracy kook to get behind. (Of course, Trump just being pig-headedly stupid is right in the mix.)

So naturally the cold open goofs on the admittedly baffling nature of Trump’s tariff chart prop (“neither alphabetical not numerical”) and the fact that his crack team levied tariffs on an island inhabited solely by penguins. It’s cute and toothless—sort of like a penguin. Mike Myers returns as Elon Musk, once more essaying the South African white supremacist’s own easily replicated stammering cadence without really getting into anything too potentially messy. (Myers plays into the “Elon is a robot” cliché, adding in a head-jerking “pinwheel” effect.)

There’s a resignation to the innocuousness of these cold opens at this point. Reality is so absurd that it seems like SNL‘s writers have thrown in the towel on matching or exceeding it. The economic and social fallout from one career business failure’s bigotry-fueled rise to a position of unparalleled power is bad, and it’s only just begun. Saturday Night Live has a world-class Trump in its scabbard but refuses to wield him with anything but the most flabby jabs. Sure, Donald Trump is a thin-skinned baby who’ll whine about even that, but that doesn’t make these cold opens any more potent or hilarious. They’re just the thing the show needs to get done before the real show begins, which is, considering the talent and the stakes involved, bordering on unforgivable.

Recurring Sketch Report

On Update, Marcello Hernandez and Jane Wickline played their Couple You Can’t Believe Are Together, an odd couple pairing that benefits from the odd coupe casting. Hernandez has been the breakout star this season, while Wickline’s stylings have seen her shunted into the background most weeks. But I like them together, Marcello’s jockish lout and Jane’s bookish gal nonetheless making us believe that these crazy kids might just make it on the back of their inexplicable bond.

The joke is that Marcello, with his sports gear and habit of snorting “pre-workout” while she sits him down to watch her favorite show about “an Australian guy who lives in a porta-potty” and Wickline really are into each other. (“He means Doctor Who,” Wickline adds meekly. ) The joke, and presumably the relationship, works so well because of how enthusiastically in love the clueless Hernandez is with his tea-sipping lady love, and vice-versa. “We’re gonna live happily ever after like Romeo and Juliet… I assume!,” Hernandez booms, suggesting that he gamely sat through at least a synopsis of the play, for a little while. There’s something deeply endearing about the couple’s dynamic, whose ground rules mesh Hernandez’s limitations with Wickline’s baseline human competence. Sure, he’s not allowed to use the stove (because hot things) but he loves playing in water, so the dishes are all his.

The mismatched couple concept could have gone obvious, but instead mines the pair’s deep well of affection—however inexplicable—for the laughs. I love that he bought her a clarinet because “she looks like she’d go stupid on a woodwind.” And that he proudly busts out the new word she teaches him every day, even if he doesn’t quite nail the usage. (“You make me feel undoubtedly!” “That is so close, baby.”) Sure, the punchline is that Wickline’s mousy exterior relishes getting down with her buffoonish beau (“Don’t wear those little shorts around unless you’re trying to drop them,” Wickline recalls her favorite phrase slyly), but hey, there are worse foundations for a lasting relationship.

Not Ready for Prime Time Power Rankings

Another ensemble episode tonight, with nobody especially claiming the spotlight overall. I’ll give shout-outs to Dismukes for making something out of a game show host, Marcello for boisterous boyfriending, Jane Wickline for underplaying as his gal, Ego for strutting her stuff in a pointless but amusing Update piece, and James Austin Johnson for simply being JAJ all over the place.

Michael Longfellow got a juicy spot, even if his appearance was most of the joke, Bowen and Sarah got to sing while they flew, and Heidi played with an eagle and kissed everybody.

I didn’t see Devon Walker anywhere, while Ashley Padilla was just one of the bass-playing mob. Hang in there.

10-To-Oneland Report

Based on that famous VJ Day photo of what turned out to be a woman being borderline sexually assaulted by some grabby jackass, the boardwalk sketch was an exercise in snappy, old-timey patter, which is always a plus for me. Black and Gardner are the unhappy couple, the succession of returning soldier boys smooching the obliging Gardner while Black’s sputtering suitor sets aside his obsession with an armload of hot dogs to get jealous.

Black and Gardner have fun with the snappy dialogue, even if the sketch does sort of imply that the nurse in the iconic (later controversial) picture was asking for it. But the real 10-to-one of it all comes in the digression about Black defending his wartime service—drawing racist propaganda cartoons about the Japanese. (“Do you know how many people joined the army because of my racist cartoons? Millions!”) With final doughboy Mikey Day taking time out from smooching Gardner to anachronistically berate Black for his work (“I mean even for war time, those were really, really, really racist”), the sketch pivots into unexpected territory. Nothing gets paid off, really—Black is more upset about losing his wieners—but I appreciate a good nonsensical digression in the last sketch of the night.

Stray Observations

The Season 50 RIP title card tributes keep coming. This week it went to one-time SNL host Val Kimler, who died on Tuesday after a long battle with cancer, among other things. He also made for a memorable foil for Will Forte’s MacGruber, but we’ll always have The Great Frog Society.

It was perhaps unsurprising that we didn’t get a Tenacious D performance in a sketch tonight, considering the… unpleasantness. Honestly, it’s one of the only false moves I can think of Jack Black making—sure, Kyle Gass made a perhaps tasteless assassination joke, but that’s sort of the D’s brand. (Plus, according to conservatives, I thought comedy was legal again.) Black immediately and dramatically throwing his best friend and creative partner under the tour bus mid-tour always smacked more of him protecting his brand than actually being offended. Justice for KG, I say.

Props to everyone, especially Colin Jost, for soldiering on this week despite some complete loser threatening to blow up 30 Rock.

And to Kenan for coming forward about a medical issue that’s been dogging him for so long. Get well, mister.

Episode Grade: A Deflated B-Minus.

Next week: Jon Hamm is back for hosting gig number four, alongside musical guest Lizzo.