My quick rating – 7.0/10. Yes, Saturday Night, not to be confused with the feverish kind involving disco balls and Travolta hips, but rather the type that redefined late-night television and turned sketch comedy into an American institution. This 2024 behind-the-scenes dramatization of the chaos leading up to the very first broadcast of Saturday Night Live is part historical homage, part controlled trainwreck—and somehow it works.
As someone who’s been riding the SNL rollercoaster longer than I’ve had a bedtime, I went into Saturday Night with the kind of skepticism reserved for reboot trailers and “Best of” compilations that snub Phil Hartman. Hell, I still remember peeking from behind the recliner and watching Steve Martin perform King Tut the first time. That was 1978. But this film? It earns its laughs—and its anxiety sweats.
We’re dropped into the heart of 30 Rock at 11:30pm on October 11, 1975, where a young Lorne Michaels (played with neurotic finesse by Gabriel LaBelle) is trying to hold together a sketch show with the structural stability of a gingerbread house in July. His wife Rosie (Rachel Sennott, still riding the quirky paranoia wave from Holland) adds some marital spice to Lorne’s backstage meltdown. They argue, they stress-smoke, they emotionally spiral—just like the real SNL writers’ room, probably.
The standout here is Cory Michael Smith as Chevy Chase, who struts around like he’s already America’s Sweetheart and knows it. His exchange with Milton Berle (J.K. Simmons) was absolute gold. His smugness is so potent, you’ll feel the urge to roll your eyes on behalf of Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt). The rest of the cast channels the energy of comedy titans in their “before they were famous” phase, and while it’s admittedly weird watching people pretend to be Belushi or Aykroyd, it’s all handled with enough care and charm to sidestep uncanny valley territory.
What truly sells Saturday Night is the frenzied pacing and on-point aesthetic. The costumes are polyester perfection, and the editing captures that live-TV-on-the-verge-of-collapse feeling. It’s not a smooth ride, but it’s not supposed to be. This is a film about chaos birthing brilliance. The vibe is: “What if Uncut Gems had punchlines and bell-bottoms?”
Accuracy-wise, who knows? Some moments feel gloriously exaggerated, but honestly, if even 40% of this madness is based on fact, then Lorne deserves a lifetime supply of Xanax and Emmys. It’s not a perfectly even film, but it earns its place in the pantheon of love letters to comedy.
Saturday Night doesn’t try to cover all 50 years (thankfully), but instead zooms in on the beautiful, terrifying mess that was the beginning. And really, isn’t that what great sketch comedy is all about?