Saturday Night Live, Ranked and Reviewed: Season 8

 "Hey, Mr. Wheat!"

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Season 7 proved to be, for me, a rather tumultuous time. That's not because it was bad; it was a land of extremes, packed with forgotten gems but also ensured, interminable dead spots in every single episode. My expectations going into this season, then—touting some crucial new hires and losing Tony Rosato, Christine Ebersole, and Brian Doyle-Murray—were refinement and stability. Beyond that, Season 8 also boasts some of the more daring and intriguing offerings of the Ebersol era: comedy icons like Sid Caesar and the Smothers Brothers, an eight year-old Drew Barrymore, Chevy Chase emceeing the premiere through a television-screen, and of course Eddie Murphy hosting the show while a member of the cast, cementing his status as the show's in-house legend. 

For my reviews of the previous season, Season 7, CLICK HERE! Otherwise, without further ado (but my god, please pace yourself): here's my thoughts on Season 8!

9/25/82: Chevy Chase / Queen (S8 E01)

It's strange, but also I suppose oh-so-Ebersol, to kick off the latest season of SNL with a highly unusual episode, even if that novelty was bred from unintended circumstances. Bringing Chevy Chase back to 8H is (I should clarify to a comedy-loving audience in 1982, but not necessarily 2022) a cause for celebration and a bombastic way to welcome everyone back! Little did he know, though, that he Chevy would end up hosting all the way in Burbank, California, his duties conducted through a simulcasting television monitor.

Admittedly, this is probably the best way to have Chevy return to SNL, and I'm sure this is the hosting gig where he's caused the least grief among those he has to work with. The idea also helps a sense of fun permeate even the most tired elements of his routine; I'll admit that it's fun to see him perform a pratfall or appear as Land Shark through a TV set. But it's also not an episode whose strengths really lie on that gimmick, because accidental or not, Ebersol has his eyes on the new cast, for whom most of this episode's most exciting moments can be attributed to.

First of all, though, yes, Eddie and Joe are very much the show's central cast members, and the season is quick to give the audience what they know they want. The monologue is immediately followed by the return of Tyrone Green, this time exhibiting his contemporary artwork to an audience of liberal white art lovers who are entranced by his blunt artistic visions. It's, y'know, fine? Eddie kills in the role, but it's not particularly surprising; most of the fun comes simply from the opportunity it presents for Tyrone to play off of different types of characters. It's obvious that it can never recapture the spark of the first installments, as his sequel poem "Wite People" testifies. Joe gets the next piece of the night, introducing a pretape of him and his new love, Rose Kennedy, enjoying a stroll on the beach. Again, whatever. The two submit their best work of the episode in the Letterman sketch buried in the back-half, with Piscopo doing a spot-on Letterman impression while interviewing Eddie's Gumby, now more fully-formed in its second appearance... but it's not a piece that's all the way there for me either.

I was more excited by our three new cast members, who make quite a good splash here. Brad Hall is the first of the bunch to get much of a shot, doing a delightfully dark and scathing John Hinckley impression, vowing for the US presidency, in the night's first winner ("You don't have to wonder what kind of president I'm gonna be, my record speaks for itself.") and helming the latest iteration of Weekend Update which... is an accomplishment, for sure! We'll see how he does. The other two get less, but they do more to helm the "PTC Club" sketch, a trunk piece from the trio's improv days; Julia Louis-Dreyfus proves herself to be a particularly fearless performer as a Southern preacher who has a magnificent breakdown discussing a battle with Satan, and Gary Kroeger steals the sketch with his crowd-work as a faith healer who insists he will exorcise audience members by placing a hand on their breasts. Of the three, I find myself shocked to say that I'm looking forward to what he'll bring to the show the most.

The best sketch of the night, though, is "Video Junkie," because if there's anywhere you can expect Ebersol to come in clutch, it's in the pretape department. A phenomenal bit of satire, it casts the plight of the young, arcade-obsessed child against that of the drug junkie, with child actors all-too-convincingly droning about their love of video games like needles of heroin ("When you're doin' the Donk, it's like there's nobody else alive but you.") and becoming so codependent that they require experimental shock treatment. It's the dedication it has to its mockumentary format which makes it such a tragically-forgotten gem, and its scope makes me excited to see how this era continues to approach its pretaped segments.

Throw in some solid Queen performances (their final ones in the US led by Freddie Mercury), and you've got a premiere that signifies promise, if not immediate strength. I look forward to seeing how this new season continues to develop and embrace its new talent. (Penned 3/05/22)

GRADE: B.

10/02/82: Louis Gossett Jr. / George Thorogood & The Destroyers (S8 E02)

After the preceding, very strange episode, it's nice to return to 8H with an episode that feels like it sets a precedent for what this season will look like, and unless it's a false alarm, I get the sense that we're in for a lot of improvements. This certainly isn't a perfect episode, but it feels like a nice establishment of this season's goalposts. While we're as quick as last season to bring back some reliable recurring bits to give the night some electricity, there's also a general enthusiasm that keeps even the lesser material moving along, rather than ever wallowing as much as Season 7 was prone to do.

Maybe a part of that is also because our host, Louis Gossett Jr., is really into this episode. Like... maybe a little too into it? Sometimes you just get one of those hosts who is more than capable, but all too eager to show themselves as a game participant, though it's not the biggest slight for Louis. His broadness may be something of a deterrent for some, but he always feels like he's delivering what the show wants him to at the very least, with however much of an idiosyncratic slant, rather than throwing things into dysfunction. And sometimes, as is the case in the sex therapy sketch, I actually got a kick out of his character work, punctuating the fairly slow scene with strange, understated "a-ha, a-ha-ha, a-ha"s that carry it, eventually, to a strong finish.

It's also just nice, after the past two seasons of mayonnaise heapage, to see another black host on the show, especially able to pal along during these peak Eddie years. It's not that it encourages the show to conduct itself all that differently, but combined with how much the material really pushes Louis to the forefront, there's something naturally refreshing about it (which you can interpret as however damning). It also does enable us to have a particularly fun, satirical and meta sketch about how Louis' presence creates an arbitrary expectation that the night has something to say about race, with Louis and Eddie assuming stereotypical father-son roles before bailing and deconstructing the sketch, trotting out its white writer, and invalidating its attempts at implicit truths. (In a particularly fun crescendo, Eddie points out his real-life father in the audience, with whom he has a healthy and loving relationship, before ordering him to sit back down.)

When Louis isn't involved, we also get some surprise appearances from Mr. T, helping to enliven some of the episode's best material. While this installment of "Mister Robinson's Neighborhood" was already a fairly refreshing one, revolving around music and featuring Eddie banging the shit out of a drum kit, it's Mr. T busting down his door and putting him in a chokehold as Robinson's no-nonsense neighbor that makes this one of the most delightful installments. Similarly, even if all he really does is stand next to Robin in the "Mr. and Mrs. T Bloody Mary Mix" sketch, he offers the oddball idea some fun credibility, not that it really needed it; all of the joy is in watching Robin, with an insane Mr. T wig and get-up, going absolutely fucking nuts in a way that only Robin could (a way, too, that she doesn't get the chance to anywhere near enough). Did Mr. T's cameos make me wish that he simply hosted the show instead of Louis? Perhaps, but hey, at least there's no shortage of energy between the two.

Of course, not everything works, but I honestly couldn't find it in myself to really hate even the worst of this episode. "The Interesting Four" is our big clunker of the night, and it's certainly an indefensible sort of bad, but I want to find some appreciation for it; it feels like the work of a smart writer trying to write the dumbest thing possible, but it's never able to push into being stupidly delightful. Instead, it's simply a string of hammy performances (Brad and Louis seem to be in some scenery-chewing competition) tethered by a hokey premise. If that's the lowest we go, though, we're already leaps and bounds ahead of Season 7. The other minor pieces in the show are also charming enough: while the Donahue sketch has some real broad ethnic caricatures, it also offers a delightful physical performance from Joe, Tim scores a win with his "Don't Hitch-Hike" pretape, and Mary has some devilish fun relishing in some (admittedly-toothless) Jerry Lewis jokes in her little editorial. Overall, this episode was pretty much what I hope to see the show shoot for at a baseline... so we'll see how well that expectation pans out. (Penned 4/11/22)

GRADE: B.

10/09/82: Ron Howard / The Clash (S8 E03)

I feel like there's a basic rule to how Ebersol thinks about the show which can have incredibly mixed results: if a character sketch is well-received, it will return in the show's mission to offer its audience material that they're already proven to be lukewarm on. Sometimes, this means we can see the repeated return of a winning idea, like "Mister Robinson's Neighborhood," which always brings a certain joy to proceedings, or other times, it encourages the show to think outside of the box and do more unconventional things, such as how it's slotted Tyrone Green or Buckwheat into different scenarios. But it's a tricky philosophy, though, because of how much it opens the floodgates for limp reprisals. The Ron Howard episode unfortunately hits a point of oversaturation with this dependency. 

I mean, for Christ's sake, after last season made a point out of retiring Velvet Jones... he's back, inexplicably, and without much justification in his use for this reprisal—it just feels like a bit of damage control to ensure that the audience feels rewarded for tuning in. (He does absolutely nothing new here, though I suppose he rarely has.) The final "Hail to the Chief" reprisal comes across similarly questionable; without Tony's excellent Ed Meese impression to work off of, the sketch feels aimless, only existing for the mild silliness of seeing Joe play both Reagan in the voiceover and Carter in the flesh. And unfortunately, there's still a lot of juice left in the Whiners in the writers' eyes, making their third appearance and far from their last here and without anywhere near as good of a foil as Danny was in the last installment, or even Tony before him. It's the sort of premise where fire needs to be fought with fire, but Ron Howard can't convey very convincing exasperation to save his life, and so he simply succumbs to being a doormat.

The good fortune of this episode lies mostly in the fact that, unlike many episodes last season, it moves along quickly. To be honest, I feel like I'm biased in favor of this episode, in spite of its lack of any true highlights, simply because nothing overstays its welcome, and that feels so much more merciful than what Season 7 threw at me. There's also an inherent likability to Ron Howard, and it's fun to see him actively allowed to participate more than Ebersol era hosts up to this point have been able to. It's sort of amusing, too, to look back on a time where Ron Howard wasn't just a big-time director, and where he had to contend with his legacy as an actor on The Andy Griffith Show or Happy Days, as he playfully acknowledges in a few pieces across the night. Those encompass some of the night's most enjoyable pieces: another "Focus on Film" segment where he fights for respect as a filmmaker from a skeptical Raheem Abdul-Muhammed, and the obligatory sketch casting him as an adult Opie Taylor returning to his morally-decayed hometown of Mayberry. (I haven't watched the show, but there's a thrill to seeing everyone in the cast being able to act out characters that are so dear to them alongside Ron.)

A few other things round out the night. My favorite sketch, however guiltily, is "Sylvester School of Speech Therapy," a thin but undisguised excuse for everyone to do their best Sylvester impressions, spit all over Tim, and force a fun break out of Eddie. The Clash also contribute some fun performances, even if the performance of their legendary punk rock anthem, "Should I Stay Or Should I Go," suffers abominable mixing. (They make for it in energy, and an amusingly biffed attempt at blasting a dead boombox into the mic.) Lastly, guest magician Harry Anderson returns to perform his most memorable trick yet: driving a hat needle through his arm and making me squirm even now, just thinking about it. He's rarely done a ton for me before, and I think this is actually my first time mentioning him in my reviews, but I feel like I have to give him some credit for the awful, visceral reaction it gave me; playing that needle like a violin in his arm is one of the most distressing things I've ever seen. Overall, though, this is a lackluster episode, even if it's by no means a slog. (Penned 3/05/22)

GRADE: C+.

10/23/82: Howard Hesseman / Men At Work (S8 E04)

It feels, initially, rather strange that Howard Hesseman is the first original-era host that Ebersol would invite back to SNL. He's not someone who has much of an established history with the show, only hosting a single time in Season 5, though recalling that outing, it makes a strong case for Howard to return. Amidst lackluster material, he emerged as a strong voice that elevated everything that he was given, and he has a natural ease as a live performer. Howard is the strongest component of this episode, too, though it also benefits from having a different air about itself in general, fueled by a certain freshness that Season 5, even at its best, seldom had.

You can tell that Howard is very passionate about this particular opportunity he has to host the show, too, which fuels the most striking piece of the night: his monologue, where he discusses his decision to host the show, despite being told it was a bad idea, in tribute to John Belushi and in no deference to any notion of taste. It's proven to be polarizing with some of the people I've talked to, but to me, it's this amazing moment of catharsis. It's not a clean or polished piece, with Howard turning his attempts to reconcile with his friend's death into a Belushi-esque tirade, but there's something raw and visceral and emotionally-honest about the whole display that feels legitimately valuable, both as insight to the weight of Belushi's death at the time and as a view into how the show wrestles with its own image—especially at a point where the show is trying to simultaneously move into a different era. 

The sketches that follow embody a certain strange, darker energy that feels like an extension of that message in the monologue, too—"The world is not run according to good taste." Sometimes that doesn't necessarily work, as in the coming out sketch which does a bit of role reversal that maybe felt more stirring in 1983 (Gary coming out as straight to his gay father, OMG!). Other times the darkness of a piece earns it heaps of "Jesus fucking Christ" energy as in "Uncle Teddy's Little Theatre," with Joe's pedophilic janitor introducing a one-act play about a child (Gary) who receives nothing but scorn and punishment from his family for simply existing. (Amidst all of that, though, it does find a flawless out: after his grandfather gives him a gun to shoot himself with, he immediately uses it to mug him instead.) The best piece of the night is also one of the most joyfully tasteless, with a family reacting in shock at the wake of a loved one when they discover his body is completely naked. It risks being cheap but thankfully becomes a delightful ensemble piece instead, with Tim awkwardly attempting to micromanage or temper the expectations of every shocked guest who approaches the casket. (Eddie gets an especially fun turn as a frustrated mechanic: "He owes me $400, he said he would give it to me!" Tim: "Well, he hasn't got it on him, okay!?")

It's ultimately a very hard episode to land on, but one driven by an appreciable viscerality. The Ebersol era has proven difficult for me to assess because it so rarely is able to be consistently funny, but an episode like this feels like one that succeeds because there's always a passion to it. It's really trying, and the fact that its attempts to shock the audience or be cathartic are still felt decades later means that there's something successful about it. I look forward to seeing what Howard will continue to bring to the show when he hosts later this season. (Penned 5/18/22)

GRADE: B+.

10/30/82: Michael Keaton / The New Joe Jackson Band (S8 E05)

Well... what a tragically humdrum episode. It's not that this one comes across as a full-fledged disaster on screen in the slightest, but it's a painful one knowing its circumstances. Michael Keaton was a truly dedicated host, spending the long nights leading up to his hosting gig working closely alongside the cast, but when he floundered through the week's read-throughs, Dick Ebersol panicked and booked Michael Palin as an emergency special guest. I can't imagine how much that sort of move stung, and even though Keaton is trying his hardest throughout the show, you can tell he took it very personally, culminating in him walking away from the stage in the middle of the goodnights. I'm so grateful that Michael Keaton got better hosting gigs down the line where he could feel more in his element and shine—his Season 40 gig is, full stop, one of my favorites—but this one makes for a tepid and disappointing debut.

It's true that Michael isn't a very great host, but I also think that comes from how his very idiosyncratic energy is misused. He's not someone that you can easily cast as a straight man or put in a box; he has a nervous and unnerving but genial energy, and the writers never figured out what to do with it. He's perfectly fine in the cold open, a backstage bit that finds him panicking about the live show after learning there will be no cue cards tonight, and his monologue is okay too—not very good material, but he's an endearing presence. It's not until all the way in the back-half, though, that he re-emerges before the audience, in the "Bill Smith Cares" mini-epic playing a very thankless role. One final appearance playing second fiddle to a Michael Palin piece drives home the discomforting lack of faith Ebersol presented him, but also the lack of legitimate opportunity. 

Unfortunately, for the most part, the material is nothing to write home about either, so the fail-safe aspect of the evening doesn't particularly work either. Neither of the two Michael Palin bits are particularly good, for instance, carried more by his likability than a strength in the writing, if at all. There's a Python-esque quality to the first, casting him as the reader of a spooky story that is actively befalling him, but it loses steam as it struggles to escalate; the second piece, meanwhile, has some polite laughter from poking fun at poor translations ("May your house be full of Belgians!"), but the funny foreign culture routine is rather thin. The more cast-centric sketches aren't anything too amazing either, even if I want to like some of the ideas at play. I still stand by "The Interesting Four" being a premise so cliched and stupid that it borders on working, and there's more to enjoy here than in the first installment (especially with the time loop portion), but yet again the ceiling isn't very high and it ends up feeling too childish for its own good. Meanwhile, the aforementioned "Bill Smith Cares" is closer to working for me and has some interesting character moments, but it feels sluggishly paced and unsure of what its own focal point should be.

There is a bit of good, though. We do get one particularly strong sketch in the mix, and Julia Louis-Dreyfus' first big showcase: "Snookie," casting her as a woman who uses a stuffed teddy bear to communicate her emotional and sexual desires to her date, played by Tim. It's a strange, slice-of-life sort of piece, but Julia is so good at having an underlying mania in her eyes, flickering between her character's aloofness and the teddy bear baby-talk, while Tim, as usual, plays a perfect, befuddled straight man attempting to win a game that he refuses to get to the level of. (He eventually wins by coaxing her into hooking up with an impromptu sock puppet, which is a nice out.) Also: The New Joe Jackson Band kinda slaps?? Joe Jackson blasts through two solid performances including his biggest hit, "Steppin' Out," a strange pop concoction that borders on hyped-up loungecore and somehow features both synth and a xylophone—it's like pop music from a split in the timeline that atrophied as soon as it started, but I dig it. The rest of this episode, though, is disappointingly not up to very much at all. (Penned 3/08/22)

GRADE: C+.

11/13/82: Robert Blake / Kenny Loggins (S8 E06)

The Robert Blake episode SNL has a very special sort of reputation, for a lot of reasons. For one, it's hosted by Robert Blake, and there's always a strangely unnerving atmosphere to episodes that are emceed by murderers. And even predating that, the stories of his abhorrent behavior backstage—most notably wiping one of Gary's sketch scripts with his ass—make this one feel particularly tense, like a balancing act of letting Robert just fulfill his hosting duties but also trying to spend as much time away from him as humanly possible without that misery being too obvious. But perhaps most interestingly about this episode is the fact that, for decades, it remained one of the most elusive episodes in the show's history, and due to the extent that Ebersol gutted it for reruns, some of its material was thought to be lost forever... until 2021. I have the great fortune of being able to view, courtesy of Daren O'Toole and Bronwyn Douwsma, reconstructed copies of episodes from this era, and they've offered me a chance to see the show as it originally aired, a luxury that few people have and which I am eternally grateful for. In other words: I hold the immense privilege of having gotten to see "The Best Little Whorehouse On the Prairie" and can confidently say: it was, like, fine!

Truthfully, if it weren't for Blake's unsettling presence or the mythical quality of this episode' lost material, it wouldn't be particularly notable at all, which is a shame, because I do still feel some deeper obligation to really discuss it. I'll say this much: for everything that it has against it, this episode is honestly not the worst that the show has to offer. Within the context of Season 8, it's definitely the weakest outing we've had yet, but as with the rest of the season, there's still something inherently watchable about it, perhaps even breezy, compared to how last season struggled with bouts of interminable deadness. The lowest the episode gets are when Blake is on the screen and the show struggles to figure out how to insert him. "Whorehouse" isn't terrible, and it makes the best use of him all night, but it's also a bit dull in spite of its provocative premise, however livened by some fun details and performances. ("It has been a good year... our daughters haven't gone blind lately!") Elsewhere, he plays himself in the cold open with all-too-dead-eyed machismo before punching Julia in the stomach—charming fellow!—and leads off a Little Rascals reunion for the monologue, perhaps just an excuse to trot Buckwheat out again but charming as a whole. 

There's a bit more snap when Blake isn't around. I liked the space shuttle sketch, for instance, despite how dangerous the premise of Eddie's astronaut being romantically in love with Joe is; it's the very matter-of-fact way that Eddie portrays his character, and how Joe attempts to mediate rather than defaulting to more predictable gay panic, that allows it to feel a cut above similar premises from this time period. I similarly got some guilty enjoyment out of the "Masterful Theatre" piece, even if it was a mess. These years seem very interested in trying to emulate Python-esque absurdity, all too often to wince-inducing effect, but there's something to how this one is just firing in all directions in a very anarchic manner that actually, almost works (barring the awkward shoe-horning of Blake's character). Eddie walks away with the most successful pieces from the episode, though, a reggae-fueled outing for Tyrone Green as he sings about killing all white people and a satirical editorial about how he doesn't actually hate white people while discussing the neglected impact they've had in our culture. 

Ultimately, the enjoyable moments from this episode keep it from being a complete disaster, but it certainly teeters. If nothing else, it's a testament to the improvements that Season 8 has been making that it never succumbs to being anything truly dreadful. (Penned 3/12/22)

GRADE: C.

11/20/82: Drew Barrymore / Squeeze (S8 E07)

While the show is quick to poke fun at Ebersol's fascination with gimmicks and questionable decision-making in this episode's cold open, I feel like I should be quick to point out that I absolutely adore them. It's hard to describe Ebersol's vision, but it feels almost detached from the zeitgeist; he's the sort of programmer who forgoes bringing in exclusively ringers from the last era in favor of an array of hosts that include comedy legacy acts like the Smothers Brothers next week and Sid Caesar, newsman Edwin Newman, mayor Ed Koch, or the co-hosting gig of Michael Palin and his mother. It's through that same interest in bold experimentation that he decided it would be a good idea to have Drew Barrymore host the show, fresh off of her role in E.T., at the age of seven—the youngest person to ever host the show up to that point, and since. 

Now, does that make for a good episode of SNL? That's a question that's very much up for the debate, but y'know what? It's just... cute! And I would say that makes it a successful experiment, if an irreplicable one. This is by no means a normal, functioning episode of the show, but it shouldn't really be expected to be; it's basically just an opportunity for us to watch a little girl having a really fun week, and there's charm to that. While I immediately leapt to making a parallel between Drew's episode and Jodie Foster's from Season 2, there's no denying that Jodie is a more functional host who is able to actually play at the level of the show's usual writing; Drew, on the other hand, is very much cradled to the finish line, but there's a sweetness that emerges from how gamely everyone in the cast plays along with her. It's sort of like the rule in improv that your number one priority is making everyone around you look good, and it stands as a testament to how quick everyone is on their feet that they protect their young host without ever treating her as a liability. She's a participant, just like the rest of them.

My favorite parts, in fact, were the moments that paired her up with Tim, who basically served as her spiritual chaperone across the episode. One of his most underrated qualities as a performer is his ability to find a rapport with anyone or anything, regardless of how cooperative they are, and while we mostly see that emerge in the "I Married A Monkey" sketches, that same charm comes through in the pieces he performs with Drew. The monologue, with him reading questions to Drew from index cards, works better than it should simply because there's a warmth to how he jokes with her, playfully scolding Drew every time she peeks at his cue cards and ad-libbing over her occasional moments of hesitation. Watching Drew dress Tim up like a woman and have a wire hanger swordfight is similarly charming, because even if the show isn't in pursuit of big laughs, it just wants you to smile. Drew is naturally a lot more wobbly in the pieces that ask her to deliver punchlines, like the cold open or the obligatory E.T. sketch, but the writing still plays to her favor—because one-liners about how Drew killed E.T. are naturally pretty entertaining—as do the performances of those around her. (Eddie breaking character as Mr. T in the latter sketch to tell her "Very good" when she momentarily flubs a cue is probably the funniest moment in the whole episode.)

This also an episode that wisely devotes a decent chunk of its time to another gimmick, featuring the infamous call-in stunt regarding whether or not Andy Kaufman should ever be allowed to perform on SNL again. It's a clever follow-up to last season's Larry the Lobster experiment, and while it lacks the newness of that concept, it makes up for it with the stakes. Andy is at the most polarizing that he has ever been, and you can tell from the way the audience cheers and jeers with every update on the vote tallies that even if Andy's idea will ultimately hoist him by his own petard, they're eating out of the palm of his hand, exactly how he would like it. It's a shame we won't see him on the show again, but what a way to go out.

Between those two things, this episode is certainly an odd one, but ultimately enjoyable. (The two killer Squeeze performances also certainly don't do any harm.) It'll never end up being one for the highlight reels, but it feels like a special, charming little moment in time, and it's rare for SNL to feel this endearing. For that, it gets a pass. (Penned 3/09/22)

GRADE: B.

12/04/82: The Smothers Brothers / Laura Branigan (S8 E08)

I was very enticed by this episode when I saw it, scrolling through Season 8. It's not that I'm a huge Smothers Brothers fan necessarily; despite generally knowing about their place within the counterculture and how influential and controversial they were, I merely understand them within that historical context and have never really been exposed to their comedy. Even so, though, it's a cause for excitement, as it always is for me, to see such a venerable act take the SNL stage, and this feels like an especially fun instance. It's clear that SNL holds them to a venerable regard, giving the two sketch comedy icons plenty of room to incorporate their classic double act into the program, but true to their humble and nonchalant brand, it never feels like the Smothers Brothers are above the show or those that they have to work with. It doesn't even feel like watching the new kids playing with their heroes, either; it just feels like the Smothers Brothers being on SNL is as big of an honor for the show as it is for them, and there's something incredibly endearing about that synergy.

It's also nice that they feel like more a part of the proceedings than, say, Peter Cook and Dudley Moore did. They're just kinda palling around, sometimes making brief appearances in sketches focused on other cast members, and other times being an equal member of the ensemble. I enjoyed, for instance, the sketch casting Tom Smothers as the patriarch of a television-obsessed family that struggles to reconcile with the concept of the real world when their television goes out. It's a somewhat hackneyed premise in modern times, but the performances work and the tension builds into cacophonous outrage quite nicely. There's also the ledge sketch, boasting both wonderful camera trickery and a stellar performance from Eddie as a man whose entire support system commits suicide after realizing that their lives suck while trying to talk him off an edge; it's packed full of great little character moments, and Eddie proves to be a great anchor for it with some hilarious bits of dialogue, but the funniest bit is Tom randomly wandering along the edge and retreating when he realizes Eddie's already taken it. (They're also generous enough to step back from the show and cede the time for some solid, cast-only pieces, including a particularly affecting Pudge and Solomon installment.)

Since this is a Smothers Brothers episode, though, we also get a handful of really fun little pieces of their act, and unsurprisingly they work well. The monologue is pretty much just an opportunity for them to do some of their shtick, but it's a solid shtick, with Dick Smothers attempting to describe what a song means to him while Tom guilelessly nods along and dodges the line of questioning that threatens to reveal how lost he is in the moment. A later bit, with Dick doing a PSA advocating for condoms by stressing they help families have only one child instead of risking a second one as stupid as Tom, is even more fun and succinct. None of this material is really new ground for them or their comedic personas, but it's just fun to see them given the credit they deserve and the room to be themselves; as they joke during the goodnights, they're relieved to discover they survived the night without driving it to cancellation. Simply put, this episode is a well-deserved victory lap for the two, and there's quite a lot of joy to be had. (Penned 3/10/22)

GRADE: B+.

12/11/82: Eddie Murphy / Lionel Ritchie (S8 E09)

And so, we reach one of the most famous episodes of the Ebersol era: Eddie Murphy's inaugural hosting gig. I was worried going into this one, simply because there is so much potential for that curiosity factor to be the death knell of this episode. It is, after all—in addition to the only time SNL has only been hosted by an active cast member—an episode bred from unfortunate and last-minute circumstance. This one was originally supposed to be hosted by Eddie's 48 Hours co-star, Nick Nolte, but when Nolte was knocked out by a sickness in the last minute, SNL had to scramble to rewrite almost all of what had been planned. Now this is a struggle that, shockingly, is not particularly new to the Ebersol writer's room, but it's also a struggle which has brought about some of the most sluggish emergency back-up material (think back to Donald Pleasance or Tim Curry's episodes); it's safe to say that there would subsequently be the concern that this show would feel particularly cobbled-together. It's miraculous, then, that this episode cruises along so assuredly, circumstances be damned, and while it's not a classic, it's a pretty great time.

In a lot of ways, it's an episode that mirrors its impromptu host. The significance of Eddie cannot be overstated within the history of the show, though many people try to overstate it anyway: it's obvious, when he appears on the screen, that the studio and the show lights up. He's the sort of effortless performer who can will anything into working just that little bit more, an ability that Ebersol is quick to exploit. With that being said, though, it doesn't feel like this episode throws Eddie out to carry weak material on his back. Instead, he gives all the material an extra spring in its step. I'm hesitant of prolonged Christmas special sketches, for instance, which tend to drag relentlessly for me, but "Merry Christmas, Dammit!" flies by through the strength of Eddie's Gumby impression, subverting the expected jolliness with his crotchety, arbitrarily-Jewish candor. Appearances from Joe's reliable Sinatra (crooning cartoon themes, of all things) and a wild make-out scene between Julia and Gary as two Osmond siblings make for strong assists, but there's nothing better than Gumby kicking a child out of his house and making her walk to Andy Williams' Christmas special through the blistering cold.

That's definitely the peak of the night, and a well-deserved one, but I found most of the other material pretty likable as well! There's maybe some questionability to the premise of "Dance Theater for the Blind," with Joe and Julia observing a distressing ballet production where the dancers inelegantly traipse through their routine, but it works simply on the strength and commitment of the performances (Gary takes an amazingly shocking fall, just another reason I love him so much already), and the twist ending is devilishly superb. Eddie also delivers in his monologue, which I've been told is basically a condensed version of every joke from Delirious that Eddie would be able to tell on NBC, but hey, jokes about getting in a fight with Stevie Wonder are always gonna be winners! Other pieces are more minor, but at least offer something to appreciate: the cold open is a nice way to frame the historical significance of the episode, the "Herpes Complex" sketch is slight but well-performed, and the debut of the Eddie's flamboyantly gay hairdresser character, Dion... was inevitable! (Hopefully he'll return to better effect.)

Even if this isn't as strong of an episode as people may believe it to be, it's one that's packed with charm and good spirits. Hell, it ends with Steve fuckin' Martin storming onstage during the goodnights and ranting about how he wasn't called in as an emergency host—the amount of joy I got in that moment alone more than makes up for the occasional tribulations of this evening. It's those little things that give this episode a special aura, and even if it maybe doesn't live up to the hype, that doesn't mean it isn't a wonderful time. (Penned 3/19/22)

GRADE: B+.

1/22/83: Lily Tomlin / Pervis Hawkins (S8 E10)

As time has gone on, Lily Tomlin as an SNL host has felt weirder and weirder to me. I used to frame her as being almost too good for the level that the show was playing at, maybe because her first two hosting gigs came about at a time where the show was still in its relative infancy, but now that we're into the show's eighth season and its format feels more solidified... it feels as if the way she treats the show hasn't changed. To Lily, SNL is a chance to reprise all of her characters and for the show to get to her level, rather than becoming a cog in the pre-existing machinery, and the result here is an episode that feels more like a Lily Tomlin comedy special that the SNL cast got to participate in than an episode emceed by a gracious host. While that's not strictly bad, it also leaves SNL feeling borderline unrecognizable.

There's also that all of Lily's characters have a broadness stemming from a different period of comedy, and it feels sort of like it exists in an uncanny valley school of performance. Lily is very, very good at what she does, and these characters are generally fun, but they also feel obsolete and jarring to bear witness to in the 1980s. At best, a sketch is strong enough that you have to reconcile with and embrace the way with which she inhibits her characters, though fortunately this is the case most of the time. It's fun to see her pretaped appearances as her housewife character, Judith Beasley, demonstrating cost-effective ways to sneak a free meal out of the grocery store ("Don't pluck more than a wing," she says after pulling one off of a rotisserie chicken, "since this would be stealing, which I am morally against."); she similarly brings a spark to her appearance as her brash telephone operator Ernestine, playing dirty to win back a family that has unplugged their company-owned phone. At worst, though, the show just doesn't work, a fact most underlined by Lily's baffling musical performance as "Purvis Hawkins," dressed in pseudo-blackface and performing some awkward, Marvin Gaye-esque spoken word with an unearned swagger. In those moments, it's hard to feel like Lily is anything beyond a force of nature, a compliment as much as a criticism.

Whenever Lily is willing to make room for the cast around her to shine, the episode is at its best, though these moments are few and far between. My favorite piece was seeing her little girl character Edith Ann paired up with Julia, with the two using imaginary tales to bicker at each other; even if the performances are overly-animated, the two have such a strong rapport, and it feels like one of the rare moments where Lily is both playing by her own specifications and letting the cast accompany her. Still, the fact that even some of her appearances in cast-led pieces felt like they swallowed up everything around her—she makes, most notably, a disjointed appearance in the otherwise enjoyable "Fantasy" sketch as a lounge singer persona who completely deviates from the direction the sketch is going in—makes this episode a bit hard to assess. I'd say that it's ultimately okay, though I wish that like the Smothers Brothers before her that she'd have been more game to entertain the show's whims. As it stands, this is almost strictly a vanity project, but thank God Lily is likable enough that it's watchable. (Penned 3/11/22)

GRADE: B.

1/29/83: Rick Moranis & Dave Thomas / The Bus Boys (S8 E11)

As the fates would have it, it seems like it's time for another episode that I can tell is of a certain quality, but which I simply can't get into! (We need at least one per season, it's an essential part of my personal bingo card.) It's perhaps damning, for someone in my position, to say that they have very limited familiarity with SCTV, but the truth is the truth, and an awareness of what Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas do is sort of an essential factor in being able to connect with this episode. More than anything else, it serves as an extension of their SCTV tenure, allowing them to bring back some of their most popular characters for another fun go-around, to the delight of their SNL audience. Unfortunately, for me to not be attuned to that headspace means that the night very frequently left me with a lack of essential context, if one that I at least hope to rectify in the future.

Where I can award them credit is the fact that they are two remarkable performers, and especially comparing their style to our previous host, Lily Tomlin, it feels like night and day. Whereas Lily gets lost in the caricatures of her characters as she inhibits them, there's something more organic and observational about Rick and Dave's sensibilities, and they feel far more properly fitted into SNL's tone. Rather than taking over the show and forcing it to operate at their will, they're far more willing to give some credit to the talented performers around them. The two remain obvious anchors throughout every piece, but there's also the room for fun intersectionality. I liked seeing Joe's Sinatra woven into the cold open between Rick's meek Woody Allen and Dave's mafioso Bob Hope, and it was interesting to see Tyrone Green woven into the Dick Cavett game show sketch which, while not particularly strong, featured some good chemistry between Rick and Eddie. (I also just enjoyed seeing Rick's take on Cavett, someone whose smug lethargy is well-deserving of a minor hit job.)

Unfortunately, this is also an episode composed of two prongs that I just can't really get into: pop culture contemporary to the time period, and characters of Rick and Dave's that I do not know. The latter at least left more room for enjoyment because I could admire how much they dug into their personas, but I'd be lying if I said I got much out of seeing them as, say, the McKenzie Brothers. I enjoyed seeing them conduct the monologue as their characters and then throw to a pretape of the two navigating the city, but it felt, if not phoned-in, like a segment reliant on the natural excitement of just seeing these characters back, which is something I lack. The material I enjoyed the most, then, was the material that didn't necessitate a ton of background information. "Hell Bent For Glory" was a funny enough meta-deconstruction of war movie cliches, with all of the supporting characters responding in outrage at the ways that their fates are sealed; meanwhile, Rick anchored two pretty solid solo pieces, one as Gerry Todd (another SCTV character, I know, but one that was easy to get a grip on) showcasing bizarre television channels, and another as a rabbi discussing the lost books of Moses. 

Basically, if you know and like what Rick and Dave do, this'll be a fun outing of the show. If not, it'll just feel like you're on the outside looking in. (Penned 3/18/22)

GRADE: B-.

2/05/83: Sid Caesar / Joe Cocker & Jennifer Warnes (S8 E12)

I recently did something of a dive through the history of comedy, and of all of the people whose work I familiarized myself with, few struck me as much as Sid Caesar. There's something about him as a performer that I immediately found very captivating. He's certainly someone with shtick of a different era—an era driven, seemingly, by ethnic stereotypes and deeply physical performances in alternation—but it's also shtick executed with such a technical proficiency by Sid that it remains impressive. It's miraculous, too, that rather than feeling antiquated to see Sid digging through his old bag of tricks some thirty odd years later, this is no second coming of Milton Berle. Rather, it's a harmonious night, bridging the gap between sketch comedy past and present, where the cast's reverence is only outmatched by Sid's graciousness. In other words, it's absolutely lovely.

I mean, right from the start, it's sort of impossible to hate this episode: as soon as Sid emerges in the cold open, the entire audience gives him a standing ovation while he warmly smiles, the cast gathered around him like children listening to his immaculate wordsmithing with legitimate adoration and awe on their faces. In spite of his insane pedigree, Sid is absolutely humbled to be there and to get a chance to play around with the new kids of sketch comedy, and the best moments from this episode find him and the show meeting in the middle. And that's so much more fun to see than an exercise in ego-massaging! The best piece of the night is also one of the most surprising, finding Sid's businessman walking in between a 1950s and modern-day hotel room lusting after one of his co-workers; while he's meek to Mary's domineering, contemporary woman, at one point yelling for him to take of his clothes and aggressively licking his chest, his attempts to bat around the subject matter play as aggressively blunt with Robin's mid-century counterpart, so frightened at how Mary has ripped his shirt off that she recoils every time he enters the room half-naked. While the sketch makes sense, perhaps, as a way to bridge Sid's heyday to the present, it's also a piece that feels uncompromisingly SNL, and seeing Sid submit himself to it and showing off some legitimate, dramatic chops rather than ever needing to wink at the camera or fall back on his old toolkit (Milton...) made it even more enjoyable. Even if it's to a lesser effect, too, Sid brings his physical abilities to the latest Whiners sketch as a vegetative patient overcome by bloodlust at the sound of Doug Whiner on the opposite side of the hospital room. Still a bit sucky, but a little less so than usual. It's small wins with the Whiners.

There were also several instances of the show working to present Sid with material that played to his established strengths, though, lending the episode a rather committed and thoughtful sense of idolatry. There's no greater example of that than the night's centerpiece, the 13 minute long "Crime and Self-Punishment" silent sketch, casting Sid as a boy-turned-adult genius struggling against a childhood trauma of spilled beverages. It's a bit of a hard piece to figure out what to do with but it's surprisingly sturdy all the same and, of course, it features some wonderful physical acting from Sid and the cast. (Sid's ability to make the visual of him reading a book funny is a testament to his enduring charms.) He also gets an odd, disconnected SNN segment as Professor Helmut von Biffed-word-from-Brad-Hall, effectively just a chance to trot out his skills at double-talk, but it works well enough as he reenacts foreign soap operas, and the audience is so into it that they help create a very infectious energy.

The episode ends with the cast surprising Sid in the goodnights with a plaque declaring him an honorary cast member, and dammit if it didn't give me the biggest smile on my face. It makes me sad to know that Sid would never return to 8H again, but seeing that he had the time of his life is an excellent consolation prize. Good vibes and great strength—undoubtedly one of the season's best. (Penned 5/28/22)

GRADE: B+.

2/19/83: Howard Hesseman / Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (S8 E13)

It's not surprising to see why Howard was tapped to host twice in the same season. Sure, as Don Pardo announces during the goodnights, Marvin Gaye was allegedly slated for double-duty, but Howard is a smart choice for emergency back-up; he's a consummate pro who clearly loves the show, knows how to play to the crowd, and values being a member of the ensemble above anything else (no doubt a mentality stemming from his improvisational background). There's definitely a sense from this episode that things didn't come together as thoughtfully as usual because of Howard's need to step in, but it's a testament to how he conducts proceedings that it's a fairly smooth and enjoyable fair, even if not up to the par of his other hosting gig earlier this season.

At the very least, SNL once again cedes Howard the monologue slot to do whatever the hell he'd like, which is always a good proposition, and he takes the opportunity to perform probably his most memorable moment as a host: having a framed picture of Reagan wheeled out, and proceeding to rally at-home audiences into mooning the image alongside him. I'd argue that it's less substantive than the chilling piece he did earlier this season, but he carries the thin, clapter-adjacent bit forth with the sort of effortless charm that makes him such an enjoyable presence. There's something to be said of his willingness to go all out and be so outspoken, recognizing the sort of position that SNL offers him to contribute to ongoing cultural conversations; it's a sort of subversiveness that this season has been lacking, and which I greatly appreciate being able to see. Aside from that moment, though, Howard is mostly led along a standard, if enjoyable episode, always adding as much to a scene as he's allowed. Unfortunately, though, those opportunities are few and far between, though I did greatly enjoy him in the "Holiday Inn" sketch, a rather thin piece enlivened by bombastic performances from Howard and the PTC gang who present an underwhelming "fiesta cheese platter" in melodramatic, mariachi/matador regalia. It's slight, but guiltily enjoyable for sure.

Perhaps the strongest piece of the night was the "Mad Magazine Theatre" sketch, skewering Mad parody conventions with a labored and characteristically hacky parody of The Winds of War entitled "The Windbags of War." It's the sort of sketch where, even if I have no idea what to make of some of its specificity outside the vacuum of its creation, there's a gleefulness to how scathing the pastiche is which makes it work, beating knowingly-tired punchlines into submission. Outside of that, it's a very mixed bag. Eddie gets two showcases, trotting out a decent Elvis impression and bringing back Dion for a more slice-of-life styled piece, but neither really hits because they feel like somewhat thin vanity projects. (The latter at least gave Mary a chance to do a different characterization than usual, though it was sort of sandbagged by Eddie's very insincere attempt at acting "gay.") Howard also only gets to helm one piece in the night, an ad for a prank store to fuck with your obnoxious vegetarian friends, but it ends up being more a testament of his charisma in the face of rocky writing more than anything else. 

I would've hoped for more for another Howard Hesseman hosting gig (and sadly, his last), but what we got was just fine. (Penned 3/23/22)

GRADE: B.

2/26/83: Beau & Jeff Bridges / Randy Newman (S8 E14)

Well, we we overdue for a bad outing this season. I sort of knew, going into the Beau and Jeff Bridges episode, that it was one of the season's weakest, though I think it's interesting to observe why, especially in comparison to what have made other unsuccessful episodes struggle; it's not that there's a lack of energy or effort so much as that this episode alternates between being aggressively dated and even more aggressively mean-spirited. It sort of ends up embodying everything one would expect '80s SNL to be, but which it thankfully, so rarely is. Unfortunately, on such an occasion as this, we're left with a real nasty pile-up that was weak when it aired and is even weaker now.

First of all, I don't really have an issue with SNL being mean-spirited in its comedy, and there have been plenty of sketches in this era that have managed to work for me in spite of the line that they straddle (see: "Uncle Teddy's Little Theater"). The issue with this episode is that its weirdly antagonistic sketches either lack a perspective or have one, but it's fucking awful. There was definitely something to the sketch where Julia is a doomed teenager with a massive zit on prom night, and the game of things getting perpetually worse for her with the flow of people going in and out of their house should have worked, but it's the sort of premise that needs a reprieve from the negative energy that it's fixated upon; it almost gets there, too, with the heart-to-heart between Julia and the Bridges brothers, but immediately undoing that beat by having Eddie emerge and reveal how disingenuous they were really shoots the whole scene in the foot. That pales in comparison, though, to the scene buried in the back-half of the episode, where Gary's neighbor and cop make fun of him for being a battered husband... and that's the only joke! Isn't domestic abuse funny? Golly, men are such pussies if they get beat up by weak girls!! Fucking bile.

If I can give the episode the vaguest bit of credit, it's nice to see how incorporated Beau and Jeff Bridges are across the episode, appearing in almost all of the material... but the material's also tepid at best. There's a little bit of fun in their monologue, with the two engaging in a boxing match spurred by the manipulation of their father Lloyd, and they do a cute little spoof of his show as well, but both are rather slight. Perhaps their big showcase sketch for the night as a duo is the uncomfortable massage sketch, with Jeff playing an ambiguously homoerotic masseuse making advances on Beau, and it's a piece with both a nauseating gay panic theme and the baffling, incestuous context of the two being brothers as Jeff basically slides his hand into Beau's crotch and feels up his ass. Kudos for doing it, for some reason?

Basically, the fact that I had to rely on Randy Newman for a chance to catch my breath in the episode is a damning statement. I guess I thought the "Texxon" sketch was pretty solid and scathing, and someone who isn't me could probably get enjoyment out of the weird, long ski resort Casablanca parody, but this one doesn't work. (Penned 3/20/22)

GRADE: C-.

3/12/83: Bruce Dern / Leon Redbone (S8 E15)

I have been foiled by my expectations yet again! It was difficult not to be excited about this episode, in large part due to being aware of the certain centerpiece that has put it on the map, but for however triumphant one sketch may be in an episode, there's still at least 50 more minutes of content to fill. In a season where I've always been pretty content but rarely wowed, too, it's hard to know where to set my expectations anymore. To the credit of this latest Bruce Dern hosting gig, there's definitely a unique and generally exciting energy, but to what end? Well... a mixed one.

This episode is chaos in a lot of ways, some better than others. It feels like, for instance, that Bruce Dern's presence helps enable the show to approach a level of darkness that we rarely see. I really enjoyed the cold open as the climactic summation of this season's ongoing backstage narrative about Gary being perpetually cut out of the show, for instance. It's a great crescendo that Gary commits to with some fine acting—Bruce, in fact, advised him to play his suicidal state as realistically as possible—and all of the great, apathetic details sprinkled about (Tim was interviewed by his hometown newspaper, and his parents came to watch the show from Eddie's dressing room) give it a particularly dark punch. We also get pieces as insane as Bruce's monologue, where he relishes in the audience's primal obsession with graphic violence, or "The Home for Disgusting Practices" sketch, where Bruce mediates over a group of sociopathic mental patients. It's the glimmer in the eyes of the performers, getting to engage in something so gleefully transgressive, that gives such material a spark. On the other hand, though, we get a pile-up of Joe and Eddie's most ego-massaging junk. Aside from the Jerry Lewis class sketch, so abrasive and dumb that it tickles me, the one-two-three punch of the racial stereotype beer commercials that murder the back-half of the show are truly pitiful, culminating in the two doing the most degrading "Chinaman" routine I've seen in some time. (Keep the buck teeth to the Jerry Lewis impressions, please.) 

The bulk of this episode's legacy, though, rests in the legendary "Buckwheat Gets Shot" arc that gets set up here, surely the most ambitious and well-remembered idea to come out of the Ebersol era and one of the most memorable stunts in SNL's history. What better way to use an audience favorite character that you're tired of bringing back than having a special report disrupt the live show, informing the audience that they've been assassinated? And moreover, the way that this episode uses an idea that insane as a tool for sneaky good satire, skewering media sensationalism by finding every possible excuse to milk the footage of Buckwheat's assassination (shown, each time, in progressively slower motion) all while NBC and advertisers find ways to profit off of it, is as scathing as it is innately funny to see Buckwheat get slain, repeatedly, by his assassin. It's a deservingly legendary segment, and I cannot wait to see how the narrative continues to develop over the next two episodes!

But ultimately, it's a bit of a bummer that the rest of this episode doesn't maintain those heights. This isn't a bad show, but it's one with dizzying heights and dreary lows that ultimately amount to a pretty middle-in-the-road affair. At least there are things worth bragging about. (Penned 3/24/22)

GRADE: B.

3/19/83: Robert Guillaume / Duran Duran (S8 E16)

Sometimes you get a host who certainly isn't bad, but also just isn't... right, and Robert Guillaume is one such host. I was somewhat intrigued about what this episode could offer simply because Robert was originally slated to host in Season 6 after Bill Murray, a factoid that goes forgotten amidst the sudden gutting and retooling that forced the season off of the air for a month, but seeing him host at long last makes me think that there wasn't much of value lost on his part. It's not that Robert lacks the enthusiasm or the energy (he saunters on-stage with a nice, groovy boogie), and he's on the verge of being great, and yet he's not. Across this episode, he feels far too stilted and, in his nonchalance, disconnected from the world around him in his sketch performances.

I say this not as if he's the sole reason this episode doesn't quite cohere, but there's also a sense that a tighter host might've been able to have more fun with what was offered. You can feel that strain in the Old South sketch especially; it's a sloppily-written piece that seemingly just exists to give Eddie a showcase, but it's also a sketch that asks for Eddie to be matched by an equally locked-in performer. Robert just can't fulfill that mold, and the sketch meanders as he flusters about, not necessarily out-of-character so much as out-of-humor. He's not used well in anything else that he's offered, though his loose, naturalistic energy at least feels like it somewhat makes sense in the latest "Pudge and Solomon" piece, and one of the better installments for the two already-great recurring characters. Robert isn't asked to do hardly anything but be there and give a fairly straight performance as Solomon's gynecologist nephew, and he's perfectly capable of that, letting Eddie riff all over him if not necessarily inviting him into that world.

Elsewhere, the night is a very mixed bag. It hits its peak right at the start with the second installment of the Buckwheat trilogy, a lesser-known entry about Buckwheat's killer that is, nevertheless, even better than the first. All the scathing satire is still there, casting Eddie as John David Stutts, a serial killer who doesn't deserve to be glorified and yet receives a full video package about his early life with testimonials from the people around him about how unsurprising it is that he shot Buckwheat. It's also one of Eddie's funniest and most uncharacteristic SNL performances ever, playing Stutts with a dopey and disconnected affectation—when asked if he shot Buckwheat, he simply purrs "Suuuure," and when he's shot by another assailant, he lets out a deadpan non-welp of "Ooooouch, I'm shot" that gets funnier with every single repetition. Robin also gets a pretty decent spotlight sketch in the form of "The Mrs. T Birthday Special," which is perhaps formless and features Mary in a frustrating, random blackface role, but there's a simple joy to watching Robin be given the room to just go insane and command the stage in a way that she has the insanely-untapped ability to. On the downside, though, we get another parody record-a-thon with "Heil Hits," featuring dull, Nazi-fied takes on popular music, and perhaps the most infamous iteration of "I Married A Monkey," if in all the wrong ways; following an outburst during dress where the chimp placed Tim in a near-fatal headlock, ripped off his diaper, and started violently pleasuring itself, the poor thing was drugged out and his teeth were pulled for the live show. I'm gonna say that's not worth it, however controversially.

In the end, this is an episode that borders on being just good enough, featuring some pretty enjoyable highlights, but they're balanced out unfortunately by the episode's dead spots and a less-than-ideal host. That's just how it goes sometimes. (Penned 3/29/22)

GRADE: B-.

4/09/83: Joan Rivers / Musical Youth (S8 E17)

There's as much excitement as there is fear to approach episodes where the host is a force of nature. To have a host serve as a nucleus that threatens to disorient the natural flow of an SNL episode is the sort of proposition that goes one of two ways: either it becomes an all-hands-on-deck effort to celebrate the idiosyncrasies of their guest for the evening, or said guest ends up being thrown into proceedings like another cog in the machine. And from there, too, the branches continue to break off, because yes, a case of the former can be very bad (Andrew Dice Clay), or a case of the latter can be very good (Sid Caesar). Fortunately, though, Joan Rivers' episode turned out to be the best possible outcome: not only does it let her be the most defiant version of herself, but the episode soars all the more for it.

Make no mistake: this is not a night that will demonstrate Joan's versatility, but when you have someone like Joan Rivers, that's hardly an issue. She imbues the night with a special, frequently acerbic energy, always intent to either destruct or deconstruct. I would be remiss to pretend that it always works, so I might as well just get it out of the way up top so that the good times can roll: yes, sadly, there are some corners of the episode where Joan's Joan-ness proves itself to be on the wrong side of history. Her incessant regurgitation of Liz Taylor burns culminates in a dreadful, hacky bit with Joan impersonating her in a fat suit, scarfing food down her throat and ripping her pants with every slight movement, and it's a frustrating nadir that the episode has to dig itself out of so early into the night... but then, how many episodes of SNL are really perfect? Fortunately, too, the same acidity that brings us a bit as bad as that brings us something as delightful as Joan dueling against Joe's inexplicably-flawless Joan Rivers impression, the two exchanging their nastiest barbs and self-owns while riffing on each others' material. It's not a complex bit, but it's so raw and their chemistry is so strong that it's intoxicating.

Joan also finds a remarkable scene partner in the form of Eddie in perhaps the most surprising delight of the night, a slice-of-life scene casting the two as demented, elderly versions of each other living in an old age home, two people that time has since forgotten. I'll always be a sucker for sketches with this sort of premise, and this might be one of SNL's finest explorations of the idea; there's a deep melancholia to Joan's disoriented attempts at invoking her old catchphrases ("Can we talk?" "She says that all the time, I guess it was funny back then..."), and that sadness runs through the entire piece to rather touching effect, but the entry of Eddie as his inexplicably-Jewish, elderly self becomes an opportunity for the two to sweetly reminisce on their peak years. Of course, too, if you just want some more classic Eddie goodness, this episode also contains one of the most beautifully chaotic pieces in the show's history, "Club Dolittle," a stilted advertisement for a nightclub that gets derailed by a sudden, unscripted cake fight between Joe and Eddie. It's one of those perfect, serendipitous moments—you just cannot write anything as good as Eddie getting knocked so far off-script that he has to duck in and out of frame and scream "THIS IS LIVE TELEVISION!" at the top of his lungs while cake is flying at his face. Classic fuckin' shit.

Honestly, it's amusing that this is an episode with so many wonderful highlights that it's easy to forget that it also contains the conclusion of the three episode-long Buckwheat saga, though perhaps that's also just because this is the most inessential. It's not bad, per se, but compared to how well the previous two satirized how much media fetishizes the culture of celebrity death and celebrity murders, having our third installment focus on the exploitation of Buckwheat's image by showing a clip of him acting like a sleazeball and then trotting out some tribute impersonation acts feels a bit like a return to sketch comedy training wheels. (Yes, it's fun to see Buckwheat push a lit cigarette into the hand of a member of his entourage and say "No more 'mokin, 'tay?" I'll give it that.) The rest of the episode similarly floats around that amicable region, though nothing actively detracts and there's usually something to appreciate: the Oscars sketch is perhaps rather cutesy, for instance, but I admire some of the more absurd puns and character details to it, and "Carribean Gyno" is another fun chance to let Eddie just do his thing while offering Joan a chance to be more of a team player in a sketch for once. Can't be too angry about that.

Is this a perfect episode? No. But dammit, sometimes it doesn't matter how perfect an episode is if it's fun, and you'll find few episodes with as much a sense of fun permeating around every nook and cranny as this one. You've done well, Season 8. (Penned 4/01/22)

GRADE: A.

4/16/83: Susan Saint James / Michael McDonald (S8 E18)

Susan Saint James, as a host, is a bit hard for me to get a grasp on. It's not that I don't know why she's here, hosting for the second time: her first episode clearly endeared her to more than just the cast, considering she claimed Dick Ebersol as her new hubby afterwards. (It's honestly surprising that she didn't host more after this because of it.) She's just the sort of odd host for this era who neither detracts nor adds much, all while being maintained at the episode's center as if she exudes more strength than she actually does. I'm glad she's palpably happy to be back, at least, and she helms an outing for the show which alternates between modest success and failure.

Whereas Susan is merely an amicable host, I want to spotlight that there's a certain conceptual nature to a lot of the material in this episode which gives it a unique flavor. Sure, none of these sketches reach any particularly dizzying heights, but in a season that often feels like it minimizes risk and sticks to what it knows works, no matter how staid (hell, we get a random Velvet Jones reprisal here, a year after his retirement), it feels refreshing to see something as silly as a game show called "Sit On It!" all about celebrity contestants having to guess famous statuettes with their rumps, or the sketch reimagining a ladies' restroom as an idyllic, feminine hinterland that Joe and Tim encroach upon. The most successful of these sketches, and my favorite of the night, was the magical fish sketch, casting Eddie as a storybook fisherman who, skeptical of the wish offers of a magical fish, brings his attorney in for negotiation. Again, it's no season highlight, but there's a delightful blend of absurdity (Eddie rattles off some great lines in his deadpan: "I hope I catch a fish. Otherwise, my wife Bubbles will hit me with a spoon.") and deadening realism (Tim as attorney Mike Rodell is perfect) that really tickles me. It's also fitting that stand-up Stephen Wright makes his debut here, furthering the episode's cerebral headspace with his effortlessly brilliant one-liners—I eagerly anticipate his return, as he brought me the hardest laughs I got all night.

However, there's also the issue of this episode being dragged down by some horrible lows, some of which border on harrowing. Once again, SNL picks the bones of its song parody obsession with some James Watt-inspired ditties that land even less than before while going on literally twice as long as usual. For however much of a soul-sucking enterprise as that might be, though, it pales in comparison to the Deng Xiaoping sketch that rounds out the night, casting Tim as Deng who, alongside Brad and Julia, submits some truly horrifying hack accent work. I love Tim, I really do, but learning this was actually a trunk piece of his from Second City... it's just another reminder that there are some things we should leave in the past. There are few sketches I've seen from SNL which have felt more degrading of my cultural identity, so I naturally can't wait to see the Ebersol era continue to dig into this can of worms as much as I've been told they do.

The tug-and-pull of what's good about this episode versus what's bad is a rather difficult one for me to make a definitive judgment on, but in the end, I think it just barely doesn't get over. Those unforgiveable lows are a bridge too far to cross, and it's a shame that they would sour this episode's successes, but alas, sometimes the '80s just have to be the '80s. (Penned 4/27/22)

GRADE: B-.

5/07/83: Stevie Wonder (S8 E19)

I expect dorky dad energy from a host like Ralph Nader, someone who eventually got the chance to host SNL and reveal his personality after years of work in the nerd-riddled field of consumer advocacy. I don't expect that, however, from Stevie Wonder, the best-selling, three-time Grammy Record of the Year-winning "regional sales manager of soul." Lo and behold, that was probably this episode's greatest revelation: Stevie is the goofiest ham you could ever meet. These sort of hero/legacy host episodes tend to have a bit more of an aloof or reverent, "we're not worthy!" sensibility to them—I think back to Johnny Cash, or Ray Charles from the previous era—and while it does very much feel like Stevie's hosting gig is a particularly enchanting week for the cast, there's never a moment where Stevie, in his intense goobering, allows himself to be placed on a pedestal. He's just here to have a really fun time and play around with everyone, his status be damned! This maybe isn't the greatest episode as written, but it's certainly one of the cutest.

This is, truthfully, the sort of episode that I always have the most difficult time talking about, because it's more about good vibes than legitimate strength. Like, for as breezily as it goes by, I hesitate to consider any best-of-season material. At the same time, though, there's nothing wrong with sketches like "The Stevie Experience," casting Stevie as a dorky (surprise!) Stevie Wonder impersonator who couldn't do a good impersonation to save his life. ("People say I sound just like Stevie, but with one exception: you can understand every single word," he self-deprecates.) All of that is a thin excuse to have Eddie and Stevie do dueling Stevie Wonder impressions, and it's a legitimately heartwarming bit of silliness, but it's not a strong piece of writing. It's also the most successful of their pair-ups, which were no doubt one of the biggest selling points of this hosting gig; they also team up to pitch a cotton-picking tourist destination to relieve whites of their guilt (no doubt the sharpest sketch of the night, writing-wise) and dredge up Dion to give Stevie an attempted hair appointment. 

Throughout the rest of the night, too, the fun is built off of performance triumphing over written material. Tim carries a rather aimless sketch about Hitler's secret diary entries like a champion, scoring laughs with his nebbish loser characterization of the Führer, and Joe leads another piece as a horribly disfigured busboy who gives Tim and Julia a horrible, sopping-wet dining experience with the sort of commitment/indulgence that cements his veteran status. (Funny how you only needed three seasons to cement that back then, huh?) If I wore more cynical, I would say they're compensating for lacking material, but I prefer to see it as a testament to how strong this cast is and how unique all of their abilities are. And truthfully, too, if there were any episode of the show to have more of a carefree party atmosphere where fun is the most important trait, it should be this one. Stevie, through it all, is an absolute delight, grinning from ear to ear in all of his sketch appearances and his expectedly legendary musical numbers, cherishing every second. If you're hoping for a strong episode of sketch comedy you may want to look elsewhere, but if you just want a good, wholesome time, this one's got your back. (Penned 5/31/22)

GRADE: B+.

5/14/83: Mayor Ed Koch / Kevin Roland & Dexys Midnight Runners (S8 E20)

A friend of mine, who shall remain nameless for the sake of his gratuitous ego, described this episode as a "greatest hits of Season 8" episode, which I don't think is incorrect, but I might use a slightly more damning term: this feels like a Season 8 composite. Ebersol as executive producer strives for a stable show, and to his credit, he's gotten good at producing exactly that. It's unfortunate, then, that for as relatively pleasant as they are to watch, they seldom offer any great surprises. With Ed Koch, SNL closes out the past season with an appropriately underwhelming capper.

Koch, to his credit, is pretty damned funny here, and any failures of this episode couldn't be pinned to him. He's no actor, and he'd be the first to tell you that, but there's a joy to his willingness to roll with the punches and let everyone around him skewer how well he's doing as the mayor of New York. That gameness helps give an extra punch to the rather so-so material he was offered, too. For instance, no, we didn't need a sequel to the fun ledge jumper sketch from earlier in the season, but having Koch be the person trying to talk Eddie down by showing all of the best parts of his city—only for each and every one to backfire and create a regrettable body count—is as good of a way to spice up the game as you could muster. ("How am I doin'?" "I'm about to jump off this ledge, you're gonna ask me how you doin'?") He's similarly entertaining in his other big role, letting Joe smear some viscous, goopy "hair growth serum" all over his bald head and quick-changing into a Don King wig. 

Elsewhere, the episode delivers a mix of its staples, some reliable and some... less so. Mister Robinson is back for the first time since the second episode of the season, very much offering the same stuff as always, but at least it always works to some extent. It's sad that we've pushed past the point of being able to find fun new twists and reinventions within the conceit in favor of autopiloted rewrites, but Eddie is charming as always—the "WHO IS IT?!" will never not work. Unfortunately, Eddie is able to do less to salvage the Late Night with David Letterman reprisal, a series of sketches that I really... don't fully get? Maybe part of that is because Gumby is a character who has seldom been as funny as I feel like he should be, and his material here, showing some overdubbed "blooper" clips from his classic cartoon series, is bizarrely dire. These sketches also try to play mean and dirty with Letterman, but the audience is always too reluctant to respond with much enthusiasm, and the resulting attempts at character assassination just feel out-of-touch on SNL's part. Fortunately, said audience wakes up for the latest Whiners sketch, though it's somehow even worse than they usually are with the inclusion of some hacky-ass yellowface routines from Tim, Brad, and Gary. Comedy is pain...

There's not a ton of really original sketch material this episode, with the sole non-recurring sketch being probably the best of the night, casting Tim as an exhibitionist who goes around posing as a male stripper to enliven chaste women's clubs. It's not amazing by any means, but (almost) any chance to watch Tim just go off is worth it. (Robin also has wonderful delivery of her line, "Very well, young man, take your clothes off.") In the end, though, this was an episode that offered disappointingly few surprises while serving as a reminder that while Season 8 has successfully cut out all of the interminability of the season before it, it's also lost the creative edge. Hopefully the next two seasons will be able to find a happy medium. (Penned 5/02/22)

GRADE: B-.

Cumulative Season Rankings:

1. Joan Rivers / Musical Youth (A)
2. Sid Caesar / Joe Cocker & Jennifer Warnes (B+)
3. Howard Hesseman / Men At Work (B+)
4. Stevie Wonder (B+)
5. Eddie Murphy / Lionel Ritchie (B+)
6. The Smothers Brothers / Laura Branigan (B+)
7. Louis Gossett Jr. / George Thorogood & The Destroyers (B)
8. Bruce Dern / Leon Redbone (B)
9. Chevy Chase / Queen (B)
10. Drew Barrymore / Squeeze (B)
11. Howard Hesseman / Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (B)
12. Lily Tomlin / Purvis Hawkins (B)
13. Robert Guillaume / Duran Duran (B-)
14. Susan Saint James / Michael McDonald (B-)
15. Mayor Ed Koch / Kevin Rowland & Dexys Midnight Runners (B-)
16. Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas / The Bus Boys (B-)
17. Michael Keaton / The New Joe Jackson Band (C+)
18. Ron Howard / The Clash (C+)
19. Robert Blake / Kenny Loggins (C)
20. Beau and Jeff Bridges / Randy Newman (C-)

FAVORITE SKETCHES:
10. "Snookie" (S8E05 / Michael Keaton)
9. "Merry Christmas, Dammit!" (S8E09 / Eddie Murphy)
8. "Old Age Home" (S8E17 / Joan Rivers)
7. "Buckwheat Buys the Farm" (S8E15 / Bruce Dern)
6. "Naked Wake" (S8E04 / Howard Hesseman #1)
5. "Joan vs. Joan" (S8E17 / Joan Rivers)
4. "Hotel" (S8E12 / Sid Caesar)
3. "Club Dolittle" (S8E17 / Joan Rivers)
2. "Video Victims" (S8E01 / Chevy Chase)
1. "Buckwheat Dead" (S8E16 / Robert Guillaume)

Other great sketches: "Mister Robinson's Neighborhood" and "Mr. and Mrs. T's Bloody Mary Mix" (S8E02 / Louis Gossett, Jr.); "Tyrone Goes Reggae" (S8E06 / Robert Blake); "Ledge," "TV Family," and "Pudge and Solomon" (S8E08 / Smothers Brothers); "Ballet for the Blind" (S8E09 / Eddie Murphy); "Funeral in a Cab" (S8E12 / Sid Caesar) and "Crime and Self-Punishment" (S8E12 / Sid Caesar); "Texxon" (S8E14 / Beau and Jeff Bridges); "Backstage Cold Open" (S8E15 / Bruce Dern); "Magic Fish" (S8E18 / Susan Saint James); "Kannon AE-1" (S8E19 / Stevie Wonder)

FAVORITE MUSICAL PERFORMANCES:
8. Queen (S8E01 / Chevy Chase)
7. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers (S8E13 / Howard Hesseman #2)
6. Lionel Ritchie (S8E09 / Eddie Murphy)
5. Kenny Loggins (S8E06 / Robert Blake)
4. Kevin Rowland and Dexys Midnight Runners (S8E20 / Mayor Ed Koch)
3. The New Joe Jackson Band (S8E05 / Michael Keaton)
2. Squeeze (S8E07 / Drew Barrymore)
1. Stevie Wonder (S8E19 / Stevie Wonder)

WEEKEND UPDATE: Brad Hall mercifully takes over Update from Brian Doyle-Murray, once again imbuing the segment with some necessary energy, but it remains the dead anchoring point of every episode where my greatest hope is that it'll be mercifully short. I feel bad for Brad; it's clear, at the start of the season, that he's going for a more distinct, satirically-charged persona as an anchorperson, but that side of things went away quick, inevitably a result of network interference that guided him back to the sort of sluggish picture jokes that this era of the show is, for some reason, very obsessed with. His greatest pro is that he can sometimes offer delight simply indebted to his boyish (if fallible) energy, and he gives a rough joke a fighting chance of registering compared to Brian's endless, soul-sucking drones. 

The saving grace of these Updates (or Saturday Night Newses, if we really wanna call them that) remain the correspondents, which remain a vast improvement over those of the original era. There's still a general lack of variety, but at least these bits continue to work to decent effect and highlight cast members who I legitimately enjoy. Tim is always reliable to be trotted out as whatever character, even if this season incorporates his awkward brownface routine as Havnagootiim Vishnuuerheer into the rotation; likewise, Mary's frequent appearances as herself "spittin' mad" can become a bit white noise-y but at least give her the room to further endear herself with the audience in a way that last season didn't. Julia rounds things out as an occasional presence at the desk, though her bits are merely okay, mostly interesting just to see the future star in the early stages of her comic persona.

I assume that next season, SNN will remain more of the same, which... is just something to be reconciled with. We'll see. As it stands, we're at least taking steps in the right direction.

SEASON GRADE AVERAGE: B-.

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