Film Review - Saturday Night
Images courtesy of Sony Pictures Releasing.
For close to half a century, Saturday Night Live’s status as a cultural touchstone has given rise to countless venerated characters and a slew of iconic one-liners usually butchered and mercilessly driven into the ground by Robbie from Finance come Monday morning. But does one ever consider the sheer chaos which reigned prior to its inaugural episode? A time where SNL didn’t even have an L? Saturday Night regales the minutes before minute aught, marking the unadulterated pandemonium which gripped Studio 8H one fabled Saturday evening in October 1975.
With just ninety minutes to air, the NBC offices at 30 Rockefeller Plaza are awash with turmoil. The writers are at war with the NBC censors; the cast at war with one another; the seasoned crew in open revolt; and the reclusive host thinks the whole show is nothing but a sham. And let’s not forget that couch that’s on fire. Yet Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle), an ambitious yet auspicious first-time showrunner, continues to try and corral his motley crew of not-ready-for-primetime misfits whilst placating the eagle-eyed NBC executives watching from the wings – ready to pull the plug at any moment. As we edge ever so closer to showtime – running down the minutes without a finalised script, signed contracts, or a live audience for that matter – the frenzied chaos hurtles towards a boiling point which continually shifts itself out of reach. Michaels is trying to revolutionise the game, but nobody else knows what he’s trying to play.
Jason Reitman’s mythologised retelling champions a sense of exhilarative apprehension, amplified by Labyrinthian long-takes and swirling Steadicam shots that leave you feeling dizzy from the comedown. However, it admittedly invokes bastardised characterisation whilst taking creative liberties in its portrayal. Whether it be Jim Henson’s boundless imagination, George Carlin’s fearless wit, or Andy Kaufman’s boundary-pushing absurdism; all are boiled down to one-dimensional caricatures which serve as conduits for buffoonery, rage, or childlike aloofness (although to be fair, Kaufman’s portrayal is probably accurate). Their roles seem crafted solely to underscore Lorne Michaels’s wunderkind genius, which feels dismissive of their individual contributions to comedy and the countercultural ethos which drove the genesis of this program. However, despite this one qualm, there’s still plenty of praise to give – Reitman finally has a winner.
Thankfully, despite some landmark missteps in characterisation, Saturday Night shines in its portrayal of characters often overshadowed within the annals of comedy lore; Rosie Shuster’s emergence as a powerhouse writer serving as a foundational force behind SNL’s early voice; Garrett Morris’s crisis of identity as he ponders his place as an operatic performer pushing 40 amongst a slew of early 20’s comedic performers. And then there's Chevy Chase. Oh boy.
Saturday Night’s crowning achievement lies not in its fidelity to historical accuracy or varied characterisations, but rather in the strength of its ensemble cast. Cory Michael Smith (Chevy Chase), Dylan O’Brien (Dan Aykroyd), Matthew Rhys (George Carlin), Nicholas Podany (Billy Crystal), and Josh Brener (Alan Zweibel) are all such dead ringers for their not ready for primetime counterparts – it’s downright dizzying. Rachel Sennott delivers a remarkably nuanced vitality in her portrayal of Rosie Shuster, conveying a deeply witty sense of amiability whilst seamlessly wrangling with the mercurial hostilities rife within the original cast; synergised with Michaels’ calculated yet uncompromisingly detached demeanour as the duo attempt to curate the soon-to-be televised cavalcade of dysfunction. Not to mention Willem Dafoe; J.K. Simmons; Cooper Hoffman – I could really go on.
Encapsulating the unpredictable freneticism which helped form the genesis of its namesake, Saturday Night offers a compelling, if imperfect, peek behind the veil which concealed the chaos. Although slightly hindered by some shallow characterisation, Saturday Night is a thrilling homage to the spirit of tenacity and mad ambition which would come to define such an enduring cultural phenomenon. Admittedly, I was hoping that Nick Fury would appear in a post-credits scene to foreshadow the Farley initiative – which would ultimately comprise of three sequels featuring Norm MacDonald penning the OJ Simpson jokes that would eventually get him sacked by NBC. But hey, that’s a story for another day.
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Saturday Night is screening in cinemas now. For tickets and more info, click here.