SNL’s 25th Anniversary Cold Open Set the Bar Impossibly High

The eve of Saturday Night Live’s once-unthinkable 50th anniversary recalls the time the venerable series staged its once-unthinkable 25th anniversary.

The task for any such momentous landmark is to craft the perfect opening—a sketch that combines nostalgia for past glories, a welcome glimpse of returning legends, and somehow sums up what makes Saturday Night Live such a comedy institution while ramping up audiences’ expectations for what it could be in the future. 

So, no big deal, right? On September 26, 1999, Saturday Night Live’s 25th Anniversary Special managed the impossible thanks to one of its most iconic—and eternally confident—stars in Bill Murray, who strode out to greet the assembled galaxy of past and present cast members, guest hosts, and assorted mega-stars with the swaggering aplomb of, well, Bill Murray. 

Or rather, Nick the Lounge Singer, Murray’s breakthrough character who became an institution by simultaneously wallowing in show business glitz and glamor while mercilessly mocking the very idea of celebrity idolatry. It was a recipe for comic greatness, and Murray, alongside fellow foundational SNL figures Paul Shaffer, Dan Aykroyd, Garrett Morris, Tom Davis, and Laraine Newman, were cooking. 

As Murray himself put it in Live From New York, Tom Shales and James Andrew Miller’s oral history of the show, even these old pros were feeling some pressure as they gathered at Shaffer’s New York apartment to rattle around ideas like the old days. Says Murray, the goal was, “[t]o really just go out there, cold, and show them we still had it.”

Had it they did, with Murray’s Nick interrupting his own smarmy faux fawning crowd work with the assembled A-listers with inimitable crooning of to-him thematically appropriate old hits. “I am such a huge fan of your father, “ he tells a delightedly punctured Michael Douglas, “Would you tell him for me?” Drew Barrymore laughs herself red when Nick, after ordering the booth to cut his mic, stage-whispers, “We’re so glad you cleaned up,” before booming out some musical advice in TLC’s “(Don’t Go Chasing) Waterfalls.”

Nick (and Murray)’s signature trade in fake sincerity masking a smidge of actual affection shines when he approaches a dapper, greying Garrett Morris in the crowd. Calling Morris “soul man,” the duo harmonize on Nick’s bombastic 25th anniversary tribute version of Zager & Evans’ “In the Year 2525,” distilling the essence of those early years with aching clarity. Morris, perpetually sidelined by being literally the only Black person on the show much of his time, saw his undeniable talents wither from misuse and seasons-worth of tone-deaf slights. So having Murray give him the spotlight (Garrett’s seemingly improvised harmonies are lovely) while simultaneously calling up old wounds is Nick in a nutshell.  

With Nick and Garrett’s lyric about Saturday Night Live still being around in 2525 “if Lorne Michaels is still alive,” echoing in the rarified Studio 8H air, Murray then deployed the song he, Shaffer, and the rest had finally settled on after some old school heated debate. Murray, true to form, says he delighted in winding up original series writer Marilyn Miller when she didn’t initially understand his and Shaffer’s choice of Bruce Springsteen’s “Badlands,” but in Live From New York, he makes the case feelingly. 

“It wasn’t ‘Born to Run,” or just doing some classic song, which is what we always used to do” Murray says of the choice of the lesser-known Springsteen track. “‘Badlands’ was more about what our experience had been. It was more about us.”

The lyrics Murray and Shaffer plucked out (over the objections of those saying the over-packed show was already running long) are: 

For the ones who had a notion
A notion deep inside
That it ain’t no sin to be glad you’re alive
I wanna find one face
That ain’t looking through me
I wanna find one place
I wanna spit in the face of these

Badlands, you gotta live it everyday
Let the broken hearts stand
As the price you’ve gotta pay
Keep pushin’ til it’s understood
And these badlands start treating us good

As ever with Bill Murray, whether channeled through the eternally self-impressed Nick or not, the truth hides within the bit. The notion that the eternally praised original cast (and Murray, who came on in Season 2) are an outcast gaggle of overlooked and unsung talents had long passed, but as Murray explains with unaccustomed sincerity, the shared struggles of those fledgling days still resonates for everyone who was there.

“Only they could ever know what is was like,” says Murray of his Not Ready for Prime Time Players, “It’s like a talisman.” Murray comparing that group to “war buddies” might sound hyperbolic, but the way Murray, striding up to Shaffer’s piano, launches somberly into Springsteen’s anthem to hard-won and defiant survivor’s loyalty achieves the alchemical comedy magic that saw venerable music man Shaffer’s eyes light up in recognition when he shut down debate in his apartment days before. 

Murray and Shaffer gave everything they had for their duet, Nick’s initial faux-reverence building to a pipes-shredding, go-for-broke statement of purpose. Even Murray garbling a few lyrics in the second verse feels right, as Nick (no doubt no stranger to dropping a line in his ten-shows-a-week gauntlet) just plows ahead until he finds the road again. The response from the crowd of SNL royalty is rapturous and joyful, the resulting ovation a grateful benediction. 

As Murray said of his pre-show anxiety, If the first sketch had died, there would have been tension.” As it turned out, Murray, Shaffer, and the rest (Aykroyd and Newman doing their part as the owner of the Native American casino Nick’s now playing at and his buxom “niece,” respectively) delivered the kick-ass kick-off such a momentous celebration required. The heady buzz from that triumphant cold open carried through a consistently fun, funny, and affectionate night, setting the bar for this year’s 25-more-years broadcast impossibly high. (Seriously, good luck.)