Is there any television show that’s made a more significant contribution to American entertainment and culture over the past half century than Saturday Night Live?
Especially after the last nine months, I’d be hard pressed to name one.
The 2024-25 season of SNL was unlike any other—except in all the ways that it was very much like the rest. Mostly that meant episodes that ranged from hot to tepid; individual performances awash in hilarity or familiarity; some surprises, some controversies, some things borrowed, and quite a few things blue.
That has been the regular business of the show for most of its now-venerable run.
What was extraordinary about this anniversary season was SNL’s ubiquity. The attention on the show’s celebratory year swamped public consciousness like few previous entertainment phenomena.
At the local multiplex you could sit and eat popcorn and see a feature film about the show’s iconic premiere in 1975 (surprisingly good.)
On television you could watch a documentary by the talented filmmaker Questlove on the show’s extraordinary musical history (superb).
There were other docs about SNL writers, SNL auditions, (both great) and one about a single unforgettable sketch (exceptional.)
Then you could read a book, a heavyweight book, about the life and achievements of the show’s creator and impresario, Lorne Michaels (completely absorbing).
And of course, on one memorable weekend, you could watch two massive compendia of SNL’s greatest hits: one featuring spectacular music performances from artists who have blown the roof off Studio 8H over the past five decades, “The Homecoming Concert” (as good as it was on TV, inside Radio City Music Hall it was electrifying); and, of course, the big anniversary special itself—a starry, sentimental celebration that played all the hits.
In many ways the original work in this season’s 20 regular episodes was an extension of the “best-of” theme that characterized the specials. It didn’t hurt that the season, the first section of it anyway, was taking place in a presidential election year.
The show’s political satire has been rightfully cited both for classic lines that have entered the nation’s political history—“Strategery,” “I can Russia from my house,” “How am I losing to this guy?”—and its roster of outstanding impressionists, Phil Hartman’s Bill Clinton, Amy Poehler’s Hilary, Dana Carvey’s G.W. Bush and Ross Perot; and James Austin Johnson’s current Trump.
In the show’s earlier days, the political impersonators could switch with new casts, Darrell Hammond followed Hartman for Clinton, Kate McKinnon followed Poehler with another great Hilary.
But some impressions are hard to follow, like Cecily Strong’s unmatchable Jeanine Pirro, and Maya Rudolph’s Kamala Harris. Faced with the bizarro candidate switcheroo this season, Michaels of course recruited Maya’s return. But why stop there?
He brought back Carvey to create a Biden and Andy Samberg for Harris’s husband Doug Emhoff, and, heck, everybody thought Jim Gaffigan looked like Tim Walz, so why not create a fearsome foursome?
That quartet dominated the early cold opens, which again underscored the remembrance of things past theme of the season.
Even though the current cast was the biggest ever, it was old-home week many weeks. Alec Baldwin returned to play Fox’s Bret Baier and RFK, Jr; David Spade turned up as Hunter Biden; Tom Hanks reprised his Sully Sullenberger; Beck Bennett returned as Putin, as did Alex Moffat as Eric Trump; Mike Myers took over as the regular Elon Musk; Carvey had played him earlier, as well as Al Pacino, Jennifer Coolidge, and a Church Lady revival.
It was already hard for cast members to break through with so many seeking stage time, but some did. Sarah Sherman seized the moment with big, broad, funny work. Bowen Yang had another strong season. Marcello Hernandez is maybe only one more Bad Bunny guest appearance from major stardom. Ego Nwodim burst through with her stand-up character, Miss Eggy.
She also had a central, though unintended, role in one of the season’s “scandals” when the live audience, participating in a call-and-response moment, went with a live vulgarity. Naturally, Ego was back in character in the season finale.
A Trump FCC appointee deemed a brief appearance by Harris on SNL before the election a violation of the equal time rule, so NBC offered Trump 90 seconds a day later on a post Nascar race show.
The SNL sketch apparently did little for Harris.
She appeared on an edition hosted by John Mulaney, which was among the season’s best. Other notably strong hosts: Lady Gaga, Jack Black, and Timothee Chalamet, the first host/music-act double from a performer not chiefly known for music since Gary Busey, of all people.
As for the genuine music acts, Gaga was predictably great, Billie Eilish, Chappell Roan and Bad Bunny all came to play (and sing.)
Dave Chappelle came back to break his own record for length of the opening monologue, just under 17 minutes, most of them quite funny.
Any laugh-meter analysis of the 50th season would have almost surely awarded the top scores to a segment that is itself 50 years old. “Weekend Update” delivered big, spontaneous laughs virtually every time.
The real challenge for SNL this season was competing with itself, with its actual history and the much more daunting remembered history from fans of several generations who believed the show once spoke to them directly and hasn’t been as good since.
And, of course, it has; now and then, here and there, in fits and starts, and sometimes for just about all the 90 minutes.
Just like always.
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