As a child, watching “Saturday Night Live” was the goal. As an adult, being on “Saturday Night Live” was the goal. From the time I was a 6-year-old sitting in the dark at the bottom of the long staircase of our old Victorian house on Chicago’s North Side there has never been a cultural landmark more significant to me than this show. I would feebly cover my mouth in an attempt to stifle a laugh. I did not want to alert my parents of my presence as I listened to Bill Murray’s Todd DiLaMuca attempt to seduce Gilda Radner’s Lisa Loopner in “The Nerds,” one of the show’s early iconic recurring sketches.
I spent the better part of my 20s working through the Chicago improvisation community, which had produced such “SNL” legends as John Belushi, Murray, Tina Fey, Amy Poehler and Aidy Bryant, to name a few. Spoiler alert: I was never hired for the show, and so my appreciation for it always has and always will be that of a regular viewer and fan.
As it turns out, “Saturday Night Live” enters its 50th season on television just as I embark on my 50th year alive on this planet. And so, with my usual level of narcissism, (which years of partaking of the sacraments and Scripture have been unable to entirely override), I take the show’s 50th anniversary more personally than I should. And I approach Jason Reitman’s just released film, “Saturday Night,” with equal parts suspicion and an unwarranted sense of proprietorship.
“Saturday Night” tells the story of the last few hours before the first episode of the NBC series went on the air on Saturday night, Oct. 11, 1975. Reitman, who co-wrote the screenplay with Gil Kenan, grew up in the company of “SNL” stars such as Murray and Dan Aykroyd. His father, the late Ivan Reitman, was the director of the original “Ghostbusters” movie and its first sequel. Reitman’s affection for the show shines through, as “Saturday Night” feels very much like a nostalgia piece.
The thing is, nostalgia and urgency rarely work well together, and that proves to be the case for “Saturday Night.” The film is the cinematic equivalent of the “It’s a Small World” boat ride at Disneyland: it is sweet and relaxing, and your mind is never troubled by anticipation or concern over what happens next. The film attempts to heighten the stakes as it loosely runs in “real time” over the two hours preceding the first episode, but the suspense never builds. Perhaps it is the film’s use of high-key lighting and a bright color scheme that diffuses any tension, regardless of how many Steadicam shots are used to attempt to give the film a feeling of fast-paced immediacy.
That there is no urgency to the story does not make “Saturday Night” a poor film. Rather, it just makes it a hard sell for those unfamiliar with the original cast from the mid-1970s. For those of us who are familiar with Dan, John, Chevy, Jane, Garrett, Laraine and Gilda (Bill Murray came in Season 2, after Chevy Chase’s departure), “Saturday Night” is like a sweet but short visit to your parents’ house as an adult. It is just long enough to evoke a bittersweet tear or two of fond recollection but also brief enough to not to dredge up the “warts and all” ambivalence and regret that haunt everyone’s childhood.
“Saturday Night” is a sweet, sometimes tender look back at a very chaotic moment in time. The uncertainty about the show’s identity and its success were very much in question even up to the moment the show went live. But the film’s sweet and tender approach is also the type of thing that Lorne Michaels and everyone portrayed in the film were completely against. Then again, “Saturday Night Live” as it exists today and has existed since well, the original cast departed (if not earlier) is far from the edgy, underground show that Michaels and the original collection of actors/writers had envisioned. With the arrival of subsequent casts, the show became very much an American institution, full of funny bits that could be talked about on Monday at the proverbial water cooler of mainstream America.
Which leaves the question: Was Reitman being intentionally ironic in making such a bright, cheery film about the dark “SNL” origin story?
Many critics have commented on the performances of the “cast of unknowns” portraying Saturday Night Live’s then “cast of unknowns.” I am of the school that appreciates depictions of well-known public figures that are approximate to the real-life figure, as opposed to full-on impersonation: Think Michelle Williams’s portrayal of Marilyn Monroe in “My Week with Marilyn.”
Thus, the cast of “Saturday Night” does a good job of approximating the appearance, sound and essence of the TV icons they are asked to portray. But none of them overwhelm the film with an uncanny impersonation. This is in part because the film never rests long enough on any character, save Gabriel LaBelle’s Lorne Michaels, the creator of “SNL,” who serves as an anchor to a collection of thin narrative strands.
LaBelle’s performance is liberated by the lack of a clear public persona for Michaels. We do not know what Michaels is really like, so the actor portraying him does not have to meet the public’s expectation for how he should be portrayed. Save for Mike Myers’ Doctor Evil character from the Austin Powers franchise, the “SNL” producer has provided little visual imagery for the cultural imagination. LaBelle’s genial, wide-eyed, Lorne-in-Wonderland approach to the narrative makes the viewer’s journey a safe and comfortable one.
Lamorne Morris’ Garrett Morris, Corey Michael Smith’s Chevy Chase, and Dylan O’Brien’s Dan Aykroyd all captured the essences of their respective performers in a way that is not distracting either, because of their extreme physical similarity ordifference from the real-life figures they were portraying. Of course, no one would have been acceptable as Gilda Radner except Gilda Radner. So I will give Ella Hunt credit for taking on an unplayable role—if not in terms of characterization, than in the hearts of Gilda’s many devoted fans. Gilda’s ability to give herself over to her audience, to convincingly depict characters across a spectrum from waif to virago, along with her palpable desire to be loved by the audience, are inimitable.
And I will admit I shed a tear or two in a scene toward the end of the film, when Gilda has a conversation with John Belushi as he skates around the empty rink in Rockefeller Plaza, minutes before the first show is to air. Gilda says she is feeling nostalgia for the moment they were in at that moment. She says she is already imagining them in 20 years walking by Rockefeller Center with their spouses and children looking back on that night of the first show.
Of course, Gilda’s premonition was never fulfilled for either her or John, as they both passed much too early. But the nice thing about a film like “Saturday Night” is that, for at least a little while, you can briefly recall the wonderful gifts of some amazing people without having to dig up all the “warts and all.” Sometimes that’s all that is needed.
