Martin Short and All the Guest Stars in the World Adorn SNL‘s Christmas Episode

And Your Host…

“It’s just like you. Super sweet, and after a few sips you’re like, ‘I get it.'”

But I kid the treasure of two nations and tonight’s Five Timers Club host, Martin Short. It’s as impossible to not love Martin Short as it is to not admit that, yeah, a middling amount goes a long way. Short is a justified and undeniable comedy legend whose indefatigable showmanship can get a little fatiguing.

But who am I kidding—I love Martin Short. From his time swooping in partway through SCTV with a roster of brash and showy characterizations to his one unhappy but productive year on Saturday Night Live (Lorne wasn’t in charge, so nobody mentioned it tonight), to his brief window as an unlikely late 80’s romantic lead, to his now decades-long reign as show biz’s irrepressibly aging imp, Short is everywhere. And while Tina Fey (one of the [checks notes] 13,000 big stars crashing tonight’s final show of 2024) put it, “You are one of the least rare things in Hollywood. A loud man.”

The thing is, Short has always, even at his most boisterously, incessantly on, always struck me as a guy trying his damnedest to make me laugh. And more often than not he’s succeeded grandly, even if, yeah, there’s a constitutional cutoff point to my tolerance for a beaming, booming wee Canadian imp. Martin Short on Saturday Night Live these days is a coal-stoked little machine, an all singing, all dancing, all schtick-ing master of ceremonies whose practiced zingers about his celebrity scene partners vie with the septuagenarian’s insatiable love of performance to pummel you into mostly happy submission. You either hop on board the Short train or sit like a curmudgeon at the station.

Short’s monologue, coming as it did after a cozily indulgent Five Timers Club cold open (adios, top 20-plus minutes of the show) was a musical number, because of course it was. Short allowed a few cast members to back him up in his ode to holiday season self-medication before tromping through the backstage in hallowed SNL tradition. The song itself was fine, and the 74-year-old Short strutted his way through the bedecked halls with customary aplomb.

Short, as his talk show one-liner delivery system has become (think Don Rickles but Canadian) zapped a few zingers at targets like Matt Gaetz, Elon Musk, Armie Hammer, and the drug-peddling Sackler family oligarchy. But in any Marty Short show, Marty Short is the attraction, the product, and the mandatory focal point. And, again, I’m not crotchety enough to begrudge the guy. For my entire life (I’m old, but not Marty old), I’ve been happy to see Martin Short on my TV screen. You know, even if I generally say, “I get it,” before he’s done.

The Best and the Rest

The Best: Kenan Thompson is really the only performer charismatic enough to lay claim to any meaningful impact in a show as dedicated to servicing Short and his celebrity pals. The short film, “An Act of Kindness” saw Kenan’s shaggy homeless guy returning a dropped package to brusque rich lady Heidi Gardner, only for her day-long spree of guilt-inspired charity to run up against the revelation that Kenan’s outwardly noble-but-poor guy is actually “Ricardo, the D-Train Deviant Dumont.” SNL‘s shorts are invariably meticulous in replicating the genre they’re about to puncture, and this is such the spitting image of one of those self-congratulatory Jesus-y commercials for once-a-year white beneficence that when the inevitable twist comes, it’s all the funnier.

Kenan is the one cast member as well that Short appeared to single out as a peer in his monologue (“Gather round youngsters—and Kenan”), and pieces like this are why. Kenan initially brings a heartbreaking nobility with just his character’s unassuming interaction that even though you know the turn is coming, you can’t ignore his presence. Gardner’s brittle rich woman is spurred on to her generosity (haircut, new suit, fancy dinner, wristwatch) simply by the guy conveying a shared humanity without a scrap of manipulation or blame, making her inevitable disillusionment that much more impactful and funny. Ricardo boasting to Gardner’s confused husband on the phone that Gardner is trying to shack up with him in a fancy hotel and then stealing her car with a punch to the valet is all the funnier for how much Kenan brought to who we thought Ricardo was.

If there’s a qualm, it’s the queasy one creeping in that helping the poor and unlucky is for suckers, but the tag redeems the piece with the episode’s one potent satirical kick, as the commercial is revealed to be Fox News’ pitch to its (white) viewers on just that theme. “Stay smart, stay rich,” is a motto that might not appeal to all of Fox’s viewer base (“stay white” definitely is), but the concept of shoring up viewers’ prejudices and fears in the face of all this holiday goodwill and inconveniently Christ-like charity strikes right at the heart of modern American conservatism. Remember, white America, all that New Testament touchy-feely stuff is for making yourself feel superior, not for helping people who need it.

The Worst: Proper sketches were scarce amidst all the cameos, the joke-swap, and Marty being Marty, so the pickings were slim for regular categorization. Two weaker pieces go into the recurring sketch segment, which basically leaves us with the airport holiday parade or the Charlie Brown pageant to choose from here. Neither sketch bit it completely, and everybody seemed to be enjoying themselves. Plus these were some of the only opportunities the actual cast had to do anything on their own show. Since I have to select one, I suppose the airport sketch was merely a parade of drive-by holiday travel clichés (with a generous scoop of guest star spotlight-stealing on top).

Ego Nwodim and Bowen Yang did their spirited best as the airport employees hosting the pageant as they introduced such archetypes as the guy whose edible kicked in too early and the lady bringing day-old tuna on board. (Ego’s one good line was her explanation of her name, Chartreuse, being, “My parents loves charcuterie and were illiterate.”) The famous types saw Kristen Wiig spirited away as an old woman who accidentally perched on someone’s motorized luggage and former sexiest man alive Paul Rudd (as himself) forlornly being turned away from the high-flyer’s lounge by Short’s attendant. (And if you didn’t think we weren’t going to get a Martin Short spit take at some point tonight, you don’t know Marty.) Basically, the sketch was for seasoned travelers who like to point at Chloe Fineman’s “white lady who makes the flight all about her” (who watches movies without earbuds) and say, “That is so true!” Bless you.

The Rest: The Charlie Brown Christmas show started by coasting on well-worn nostalgia of the “remember those weird, stilted, repetitive dance moves from the Charlie Brown Christmas Special?” variety. Props to the costume department as always for transforming the otherwise underserved regular cast into the Peanuts gang, even if—no shock—Kenan’s Snoopy was the only one who popped before the sketch proper got underway. What can I say? Kenan has a way of peering out through a Snoopy costume that I find effortlessly charming.

The meat of the sketch sees Short emerge as the “community theater legend” tasked with whipping the gang’s admittedly rudimentary stage show into shape. And if you don’t think Martin Short leapt at the chance to essay yet another catty show business lifer, then you need to check out his IMDb page. Bowen Yang, perhaps the only current cast member able to match Short for catty show biz types, is the amusingly mononymic choreographer Lestat, even if the duo’s back-and-forth isn’t as snappy as they’d have us think. Short jabs that Linus has autism, which is sort of mean, I guess.

Again, it’s only Kenan who steals this one away from Short, his Snoopy relishing being the only cool (as in Joe Cool) one on stage, and responding to Short’s invasive question about being neutered with an impeccable, “Naw man, ’cause I ain’t broken.” This was technically the 10-to-one sketch as well, but since there was nothing to it but good costuming, hammy overplaying, and nostalgia, it’s going into the regular roundup.

Weekend Update Update

The last show of the calendar year joke-swap has become such an expected tradition that its ability to shock has diminished. Still, Jost and Che gave it their best shots. For those just joining us, the concept sees the anchors amplifying their well-honed odd couple dynamic by openly punishing each other with deliberately offensive news items that they must read out, sight unseen. Again, the first time this aired, it was a sensation, what with Jost and Che delighting in making each other nearly as uncomfortable as they did the NBC censors.

Nowadays, as with any recurring bit, the edges are blunted and the always self-impressed cheekiness (something Jost and Che already count as their métier) is only more pronounced on both counts. Still, it’s a bracing little exercise in button-pushing, only cranked up since Che knew that Mrs. Colin Jost (that’s movie superstar and Five Timers Clubber Scarlett Johansson) would be watching from a handy monitor backstage. Che also demanded that Jost read out his Che-written jokes in a “Black voice,” thus tapping into that potently overused “Colin Jost is so white” comedy vein.

As usual, Che won the night—in that Jost got most of the laughs by reading out Che’s jokes in a strangled tone of embarrassment. Che even provided a catchphrase (“Shizz, I ain’t afraid of you mofos”) to force his pal to double down on jokes like the one about Kamala Harris’ take on reparations, “Well damn girl, me too. ‘Cause white people deserve money back for all those slaves that ran away.” (Shizz, etc.) The biggest attraction here was the inevitable ScarJo jokes, one of which heard Johansson, apparently kept in the dark (at least according to the bit) letting out an un-bleeped “shit” after her husband made a joke about her post-birth vagina.

The joke-swap is fun. Even if—and here comes Dennis the curmudgeon—pre-packaged fake outrage isn’t all that comedically bold, all things considered. Jost and Che traffic in “we’re just kiddin'” provocation on the reg (Che especially), and the crowd-pleasing mandatory joke-swap is an annual tradition about as transgressive as Short’s chummy zingers to his fellow slumming famous friends.

Oh and they did the regular Update too. Honestly, Jost’s joke about the ongoing scandals involving Elon Musk, Donald Trump, and Diddy did more for me, as he promised that all three would be part of the incessantly hyped SNL 50 celebration in February. The fact that Saturday Night Live has chosen to platform truly problematic/awful people for ratings is fertile ground, is what I’m saying.

Bowen Yang donned yet another elaborate get-up, this time as one of those New Jersey drones that the country and the media are allowing themselves to be distracted by while a cabal of fascistic oligarchs plot to divvy up the country. (What, if Update isn’t going to do politics, I will.) Yang loves him a silly, impossible to maneuver costume, and then fact that he accidentally destroyed two of his drone’s working little propeller attachments only pointed out how dedicated he is to being uncomfortable for laughs.

As ever, Yang’s schtick is that these put-upon targets of national media frenzy are feyly offended, even as they concede that, sure, they might be guilty. Here, the drone demands respect as a being with dignity, even though, sure, he’s peering into people’s backyards and may or may not be armed with sniper bullets. (“God, it’s like y’all have never been to Afghanistan before.”) Being “a receptacle for everybody’s anxiety” is the drone’s message, with a sub-theme of deflection. “Who’s controlling you, Michael?,” is the essence of these pieces—Yang’s drone personifies these feared entities as wounded, sexually ambiguous figures, their performative martyrdom only slightly undermined by the fact that they’re sort of doing the thing people say they are. It’s not a bad schtick, abetted as ever by the elaborate silliness of Yang’s costumery.

Political Comedy Report

Not with Marty in the house. No room at the inn. Let’s see what 2025 brings.

Recurring Sketch Report

Tom Hanks ate up a full minute right off the top tonight. It’s not his fault—nobody knew he was going to be the one introducing the Five Timers cold open, and he’s Tom Hanks, for God’s sake. Still, the crowd-whooping happy indulgence of this show-opener set the tone. With [counting for real this time] ten similarly huge stars joining Short for the sketch, the recognition applause no doubt doomed at least one cut for time sketch.

Hanks joked/not joked that the Five Timers Club conceit is played out, an unexpected and mandatory show-eater sprung from a throwaway idea he came up with so he wouldn’t have to write his 1990 monologue. As much as these forced marches of self-congratulatory back-patting continue to absolve the writers of having to come up with original sketch ideas, this was as amusing as these things always are. You never know which multi-host will hit their marks next, and it’s always nice to see the likes of [deep breath] Paul Rudd, Tina Fey, Melissa McCarthy, Emma Stone, Alec Baldwin (sporting his 17 Timers jacket), Kristen Wiig (who appears to be living at the fictitious club), Jimmy Fallon, Scarlett Johansson, Hanks, and John Mulaney, even for one line. (Or if you’re the ever game McCarthy, one wall-smashing pratfall.)

The rituals are deployed (five forearm smashes and a “You’re great”/”No you’re great” is the club handshake), created (being unable to name three current cast members is the final test for entry), and beaten into the ground on waves and waves of happy audience laughter. Whatever sharpness there is comes off like an afterthought. Here it’s Mulaney being willing to be the butt of sobriety jokes as well as ones about his Short-co-starring sitcom disaster, and Stone’s little dig at the ratings-grabbiness of it all. Still, it’s Christmas, Marty’s paid his dues and then some, everybody’s having what looks like fun, and who am I to poop the exclusive, sort of exhausted party. (Oops, sorry.)

The angry traffic charades sketch worked so well the first time because it overcame how lame I expected it to be. Quinta Brunson, Mikey Day, and Chloe Fineman kept finding novel ways to sign inappropriate things to each other, the warring inventiveness and anger of the drivers was a nice performing balancing act on everyone’s part, and there was a great little twist. Even the unique-for-SNL camerawork livened things up.

Trotted out for a second time with Short as the driver attempting to steal Day’s parking spot is a primer on diminishing returns. For one thing, unlike Brunson, we know what we’re getting with Short in this situation. As Fey joked in the cold open, Short is never one for subtlety, so loud, demonstrative pantomime is sort of a hat on a hat. Day exasperation is less amusing because we know what’s coming, and if the writers came up with a few other graphic oral sex charades for Fineman’s teen daughter to horrify her dad with, that’s at least putting in the work.

And then there’s the twist which, admittedly, I didn’t see coming—at least not with this degree of over-the-top commitment. Melissa McCarthy lampooned her usual comic style in the cold open, referencing her ranch dressing-chugging past. But even I was impressed, if not lightly horrified, by how dedicated she’d be as Short’s wife, popping upterrifyingly beside Fineman’s car window to first shout and glower, then spit chocolate milkshake all over the window, then smear the goop with her American flag T-shirted boobs, then lick the goop off the window in one mighty stroke. Say what you want about McCarthy—an Oscar-nominated actress who too often falls back on physical stunt comedy—but nobody is more game to do literally anything for a laugh. Stealing a scene from a shouting and gesticulating Martin Short isn’t a task for the timid.

A benefit of Saturday Night Live becoming (marginally) less white over its 50 years has been the writers room familiarity with parody-bait from around the world. For those not in the know, Sabado Gigante was a real, unclassifiably bananas variety/talk/game/stunt showcase that ran for longer than SNL has before finally closing the doors in 2015. Being one of those white people ignorant of the Univision show’s frenetic charms until Saturday Night Live let Marcello Hernandez loose with his host’s torrent of rapid-fire Spanish in the face of one unlucky English-only contestant, there’s an element of “look at those silly foreigners” comedy to the proceedings. Still, coming from a country made up of Real Housewives, Masked Singers, and people eating bugs for gummy vitamins, who am I to judge?

As a sketch, the joke rests on its clueless gringo contestant (here Rudd, because juicy roles are for famous guest stars and don’t you forget it) gazing blankly into Hernandez’s tongue-tripping Spanish patter. Mocking other cultures’ pop culture is an SNL staple (Sprockets, J-Pop America Fun Time Now!, etc), but there’s not much more to Sabado here than that. Rudd’s American is the butt of the chaotic joke (at one point, in response to a question he doesn’t understand, he’s punched in the nuts by a jacked baby Jesus), while the stream of fevered consciousness that is the show’s parade of inexplicable weirdness is amusing. (Even if it seems like this version of the show at least cribbed heavily from 90’s Conan.) The main issue is that the sketch is told through beleaguered white dude Rudd’s sensibilities, his put-upon sour griping tacitly endorsed as the only proper response.

Not Ready for Prime Time Power Rankings

I’m tempted to put a big N/A in this spot, since this was perhaps the most egregious example of cast erasure since the second-ever episode, which essentially was just a Paul Simon music special.

Still, Kenan got his—that fake-out Christmas spirit short film is a killer. And nobody can fill out a Snoopy suit like Kenan. (Also props to props for putting actual strings on Snoopy’s cardboard guitar.)

Mikey Day and Chloe Fineman got to replay a hit, which they attacked with game ferocity.

Other than that, a jazzed-up Marcello hosted, Bowen was a drone, Ego shone when she could, and… that’s about all. With the nostalgia ramp-up to February’s 50th anniversary love fest only set to increase, here’ s hoping the cast can at least squeeze into a sketch or two.

Stray Observations

Not to re-litigate the greatest Christmas song of all time, but my inevitable goosebumps upon Hozier launching into “Fairytale of New York” for his second number subsided when the NBC standards department got a hold of it. The Pogues’ classic (RIP, Shane) is a majestically heartbreaking story song about broken people grasping at any snatches of remembered warmth and winding up with handfuls of ashes. In the middle verse, the couple in the song say the worst things they can think of to puncture the singer’s meager, doomed hope for a new year better than the shattered ones he’s left in his wake. That’s the soul of the song, and neutering the (admittedly harsh) language leaves a bitter classic a hollow little holiday ditty. I knew they’d change the lyrics and they did, but still, it’d be better not to have done it at all than to pander.

For those not versed in the deep bench of Martin Short characters, the theme music and hip-swiveling dance he and his backup dancers did was a nod to Jackie Rodgers Jr. Jackie was a self-obsessed, self-impressed show biz lifer who was going to entertain you with his smarmy charms whether you liked it or not. Take from that what you will.

Speaking of sketches apparently cut due to all that extended audience applause for every cameo, but wow—SNL sure spent a ton on a Grinch sketch you can now find on YouTube. Short underwent some serious makeup. Same goes for all the Whos down in Whoville, with their creepy dog-person snouts. Oh, and then there’s the fact that Lucy freaking Liu reprised O-Ren Ishii when the sketch made a not-terribly-successful transition into a Kill Bill parody. Okay, maybe this mashup of beloved holiday classic and blood-drenched gross-out holiday comedy isn’t the best thing around, but the timings must have been seriously off to deprive this already-star-stuffed Christmas sack of one more big name cameo.

Even Jost was taken aback by the unambiguous whoops of support alleged CEO murderer Luigi Mangione got. Sententious scolding by the media isn’t doing much to combat the righteous ire and defiant schadenfreude of a country daily subjected to the for-profit healthcare industry, it seems.

“Is there anything non-alcoholic?” “Do you mean drinks or people? ‘Cause either way, no.”

john mulaney/Tina feY

“He would have been here tonight but he had a conflict of me not wanting him to be here.”

Martin Short, on Steve Martin’s absence

“That’s perfect for the holidays.”

michael che, greeting the audience’s shock at his suicide joke

Episode Grade: A holiday-generous B-Minus.

And that’s a wrap on 2024. Hang in there and I’ll see you all in January.