Saturday Night (2024)

Score: 4 / 5

And the Oscar for "Best Ensemble" goes to... well, if there was one, it would certainly go to Saturday Night this year. In perfect homage to the industry standard of irreverent pop culture humor for almost fifty years now, this film does more than simply recount the 90 minutes before "Saturday Night Live" aired for the first time: it honors the quirky, hopeful, nervous artists and technicians and producers who made it happen. It's a delightful time, sure to make you nostalgic and wistful, but it's also fraught with anxiety that might leave you twitching on the edge of your seat.

NBC would never be the same. That's the sensation we get from the major players in Rockefeller Center on October 11, 1975, as what will come to be known as SNL prepares to broadcast in less than two hours. Audience seats hadn't sold yet, so Finn Wolfhard hustles customers on the street. Costumes are still being worked on, a row of lights falls on set, at least one star still hasn't signed his contract, and the brick centerpiece of the stage hasn't yet been laid. But Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle) has a vision, a calling, a purpose, and he'll be damned if this show doesn't air. As writers offer new material, actors take substances and complain about costumes, producers breathe down his neck for information, and his own ego threaten to derail his dream, Michaels remains somewhat enigmatically determined to revolutionize American television.

Did it all happen like this? Almost certainly not, but this isn't a historical treatise; it's art. As such, the film harnesses its own anxieties and pulls us into the mess, not unlike Birdman in its frenetic pacing and multiple deep cuts into the showbiz lingo and themes. Too many cooks in the kitchen, for example, means big heads bump into each other at crunch time. Some of the artists are here for vanity projects while others excitably play with each other, oblivious to the administrative panic setting in just down the hall. Director and co-writer Jason Reitman clearly loves the history and people in this yarn he's spinning, but he also clearly intimately understands the flavor and kinetic motion of these kinds of sets, so he doesn't make it pretty or neat. While his focus is sharply on the characters, he carefully ensures that the immaculate production design isn't lost on us, grounding us in the reality of the moment even as we're swept from room to room in the crowded, bustling studio. Dizzying cinematography and editing keep the action in something very, very close to real time, and for the most part we follow Michaels on his odyssey through the chaos on delicious 16mm that makes the warm amber of dressing room lights, wood paneling, and thickly textured fabrics as tactile as they are visually pleasing. 

To praise the cast is to list the whole bunch, so I'll leave you to peruse IMDb for that or, better yet, the credits of the film after you watch it. Personal favorites were Cory Michael Smith doing a dead ringer for Chevy Chase and Ella Hunt's frothy, sweet Gilda Radner. But, really, there's not a weak link in the whole thing, even when heavy hitters like Willem Dafoe and JK Simmons grace the screen, knowing their place and their task among this enormous ensemble. In fact, mentioning the latter reminds me of one of the thematic concerns raised by the film: the conflict between mainstream, "safe" comedy represented by old, established Big Names and the kind of disruption represented by Michaels and his hippie friends. The film struggles a bit with its big themes when it tries to literalize them rather than letting the screenplay speak for itself; when Michaels, for a memorably blunt example, decides on the iconic brick floor an hour before go time, it smacks of historical inauthenticity as much as thematic desperation for establishing (literally) its own character.

Your mileage in this film may depend on your affection (or lack of) for its characters. While I think all actors perform admirably here, some are clearly swinging big while others are determined to recreate their subjects as truthfully as possible. For example, Jim Belushi (Matt Wood) is painted very much as a laughable monster, while Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris) is relegated to the role of racial spokesperson. And if you're a stickler for facts in your art, you won't like this. Though, if you are, maybe you should re-evaluate your understanding of what art actually is. As a richly detailed, knowingly clever, furiously thrilling depiction of the night American television changed forever, Saturday Night is one of the more affirming and emotionally honest historical films in years. And it's hilarious, which is maybe more important.