On October 11, 1975, time was ticking. A new show was scheduled to hit NBC airwaves in just 90 minutes, but the seats had yet to be filled, the costume changes had not been worked out, a row of lights almost fell on actors, the script hadn’t been finalized, and John Belushi had yet to sign his contract. In Jason Reitman’s mythological retelling of one of the most legendary nights in comedy history, the first broadcast of “Saturday Night Live,” the show must go on or it may never go on at all. At the center of this three-ring circus in Studio 8H, stands an ambitious 30-year-old named Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle). He’s doing his best to navigate comedian-sized egos, rogue writers, executive expectations, as well as his own anxiety over the show’s debut. If his show–then called “Saturday Night”–was to succeed, it could revolutionize TV and make stars out of the motley crew known as The Not Ready for Prime Time Players. But first, he has to get Belushi to sign his contract.
Director Jason Reitman and co-writer Gil Kenan plunge the audience into the deep end of the chaos with just 90 minutes to go before showtime. Reitman and cinematographer Eric Steelberg keep the camera in motion alongside Michaels, trailing him almost constantly at a dizzy speed, running through the hallways past llamas, flying dress racks, and NBC pages. The movie itself was filmed on 16mm (not the magnetic tapes the show was filmed on in its early days) which gives the ’70s color palette a deeper hue and texture, sometimes making the background wood paneling and dressing room lights look especially warm and inviting. But don’t get too cozy, no scene lasts too long before Michaels is once again on the move to calm executives’ apprehension or look for missing cast members. However, in the fast-paced rush to pull the show together, sometimes the lighting doesn’t catch up to the characters, leaving them in the dark or underlit, similar to how Gordon Willis shot “The Godfather.” It looks too dramatic for what the movie is going for, and it loses some of the actor’s comedic reactions when we can’t see their eyes or face. Much of the film’s aesthetic is dedicated to playing up the tension leading up to showtime, and its frenetic pace is unrelenting.
Arriving ahead of the show’s 50th anniversary next year, “Saturday Night” is dripping with nostalgia, filled to the brim with references to then-upcoming sketches and stars. In addition to Michaels, there’s the first cast of “Saturday Night Live”: the already arrogant Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith), a mercurial John Belushi (Matt Wood), fast-talking Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O’Brien), bubbly Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt), glamorous Jane Curtain (Kim Matula), resourceful Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn), and a frustrated Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris), who notices he’s reduced to playing stereotypes as the group’s only Black performer. Because the first episode of the show was so packed with special guests, other figures roll in and out of scenes just as easily as the performers, including writers Michael O’Donoghue (Tommy Dewey) and Lorne’s wife Rosie Shuster (Rachel Sennott); comedians George Carlin (Matthew Rhys), Valri Bromfield (Corinne Britti), and Billy Crystal (Nicholas Podany); musicians Billy Preston (Jon Batiste, who also scores “Saturday Night”) and Janis Ian (Naomi McPherson); future David Letterman bandleader Paul Shaffer (Paul Rust); Nicholas Braun plays both Jim Henson for a much maligned appearance of The Muppets and as Andy Kaufman performing his unforgettable “Mighty Mouse” routine; as well as behind-the-scenes network figures like the longsuffering Dick Ebersol (Cooper Hoffman) and a stern faced David Tebet (Willem Dafoe), who looks like he might put an end to show before it begins.
Yet, in this already packed cast, the story makes room for a few more names who likely weren’t present during the show’s maiden taping, like the voice of Johnny Carson, who calls Michaels to insult his show and Mr. Television himself, Milton Berle (J.K. Simmons), who would later go down in “SNL” history as one of the show’s worst hosts. Both men were titans of the industry in their time and become symbolic villains of the kind of conformist, safe comedy Michaels and his merry band of misfits wanted to disrupt in Reitman’s telling. It’s played for a laugh, but it’s one of a number of heavy-handed metaphors the movie belabors, like when Michaels insists on laying down a brick floor on the stage an hour before showtime; it’s not until the last few minutes that the cast and crew pitch in to help, proving that through teamwork, they might just give Carson a run for his money.
Because many of these performers are so famous, so ingrained in the history of American comedy, it’s impossible not to notice how some impressions are more successful than others. For instance, Smith as Chase and Wood as Belushi commit wholeheartedly to the outsized personalities of their characters, and O’Brien captures the breathless delivery that made Aykroyd a staple in the cast. However, Belushi’s infamously bad behavior does seem played up for comedy, and the movie portrays him as a tempestuous savant. LaBelle holds onto Michaels’ trademark unflappable sense of humor but also taps into the exhilarating anxiety of what it must have felt like 49 seasons ago to helm an unproven comedy sketch show staffed with relative unknowns. Rosie Shuster gets an overdue appreciation for her contributions to the show, and Sennott matches LaBelle’s frantic but determined demeanor as his cool partner who knows just how to calm Belushi’s outbursts and punch up jokes on the fly.
However, the trio of Radner, Curtain, and Newman are often relegated to a giggly chorus with little actual input on events. Hunt’s performance feels flat considering Radner was such a vivacious physical comedian in the troupe and was one of the show’s earliest breakouts. Hunt’s Radner has her longest scene talking with Belushi about nostalgia and coming back to 30 Rock with their kids mere minutes before showtime. This saccharine moment feels especially maudlin, as neither Belushi or Radner would have the chance to return to their workplace with their kids because of their early deaths–not to mention the first episode had yet to air. Who knew it would survive the next few years, let alone 50?
Despite its shortcomings, “Saturday Night” works as a crowd pleaser for those who watched Chevy Chase take command of the Weekend Update desk, John Belushi tear up a stage with his intensity, or Dan Aykroyd and Gilda Radner crack up the audience with their absurd characters. Audiences unfamiliar with “SNL” lore may not have as much fun as those who perk up over every callback peppered throughout the film, designed to tickle the nostalgic funny bone. “Saturday Night” functions best when taken not as a factual record of that fateful night but a fictionalized version of events. Awash in the glow of a not-too-distant past, “Saturday Night” transports audiences back to a time when George Carlin would wax on about baseball and football on national TV, The Muppets had yet to star in their own show, you could count the number of channels on two hands, and the show still had a scrappy, anti-establishment ethos that at one time did feel rebellious. It was a time when launching a comedy TV show could feel revolutionary, and what a time it was.
This review was filed from the Toronto International Film Festival. It opens on September 27th.
