Sorry, but we're giving him your spot
Hey, it's been a while. I've missed you! But the world is kind of burning, I was busy attending a few comedy festivals, and honestly, I've had some trouble connecting to comedy in a way that feels worthy of sharing. But I always knew I wanted to bring oc back, and I've been working hard these past few months to push past that sense of dread and write. Thanks for still being a subscriber, and I hope you enjoy :)
Don't Mind Me, Just Dropping In
On July 23rd, backed by Radiohead’s “Karma Police” and welcomed with thunderous applause, Dave Chappelle walked on stage at the Chris Rock-Kevin Hart Madison Square Garden show as a surprise opener. Over the course of his 22-minute set, the comic performed his typical material — transphobic jokes, comments on cancel culture, and rehashing his recent LA attack — to a crowd of unsuspecting audience members.
This isn’t the first time Chappelle has done a surprise drop-in; in fact, he’s kind of known for it. He’s been doing drop-in sets at comedy clubs around the country for years. More recently, though, Chappelle also appeared as a surprise opener at a John Mulaney show in May. That appearance sparked a lot of backlash from Mulaney fans who weren’t expecting the problematic comedian to appear — considering his comedy directly clashes with the headliner’s — with many expressing their rage on Twitter after the fact. It seems that Chappelle himself knew that stepping on stage at a Mulaney show unannounced wouldn’t garner 100% warm reactions, considering he started off his set by joking, “Had to sneak my way in here.”
Chappelle’s recent appearances had me thinking about the idea of surprise drop-in sets at comedy shows. It’s hard to look at something that’s generally considered a fun and spontaneous institution of stand-up and see something so harmful instead. I’ve been to my fair share of shows with surprise drop-ins (I went to one last year that was one of the best shows of my life), but I have yet to be present for an unwelcome guest. I’ve thought about it a lot, though. Would I walk out and miss the headliner I had paid to see? Would I quietly excuse myself to the bathroom until their set was done, knowing they’ll probably reappear later? Would I stay in my seat and shoot daggers at the performer’s face with my eyes while hating on everything they say?
I don’t know. The thing is that no one should have to think about that in the first place. People should feel comfortable — not constantly on edge — sitting down for a show. The idea that you could have the intention of watching a non-problematic comedian do an hour of comedy, only to have to sit through offensive material first, certainly serves as a deterrent to potential audience members.
Drop-ins are a hard subject to talk about, because they’re completely out of the audience’s control. It’s not like a viewer has the ability to figure out the surprise opener beforehand — that’s literally the definition of “surprise.” Therefore, the entire weight has to be put on comics and their production teams, because they’re the only people who have the opportunity to approve or deny a drop-in. It’s the same kind of idea as when an actor agrees to play a problematic role; they and their team all had the ability to stop and think about it before accepting the role, so it’s fair to blame them for the wrong decision. Do you think Chappelle bullied Mulaney into giving him 22 minutes of stage time? Do you think Norm Dworman, the owner of The Comedy Cellar, was forced into letting Louis CK perform his first set after being “cancelled?” Of course not. It’s fair, then, to be angry at Mulaney or to swear off ever going to the Comedy Cellar.
Everyone with decision-making powers in these productions willingly (and probably eagerly!) let these problematic comedians drop in. I mean, how do you say no to someone with enormous name recognition? Not only will it give the headliner/venue clout, but it’s a major connection to make for those behind the scenes. But in all honesty, with the kinds of people I’m talking about, would you really want to make that connection? It’s kind of the whole issue in the comedy industry: ignoring major issues in favor of climbing the ladder of success. I can’t blame a comic for wanting to be more known, but I can blame them for how they get there.
There’s nothing inherently wrong about surprise drop-ins, though. What’s more, they’re actually one of the best parts of live stand-up shows (in my ~professional~ opinion). As an audience member, you get the experience of having a famous comedian — who you’d normally have to fight to get overpriced tickets for — perform a spontaneous set, which is more exciting than I can really put into words. Imagine you go to a bar to watch a show of local comedians, only to have your favorite well-known stand-up make a surprise appearance before the show starts. How else would you react but overly thrilled? As Paste Magazine illustrated in a 2016 article about a surprise set by Hannibal Buress: “Word of mouth spreads throughout the long bar leading into the small back room, attracting those who were only out for a quick drink or stopping by to pick up a to-go order. And the buzz among the crowd—their excitement about seeing Buress in person—comes from the sheer surprise of it all. In a line-up heavily skewed towards local names, Buress’s sudden appearance lends the evening a touch of surprise.”
That audience excitement is fueled by the drop-in comic’s energy as well. Doing a surprise set is a perfect way for big names to try out new material in a loosey-goosey atmosphere, since no one there bought tickets to see them or brought expectations. During drop-ins, comedians can try out new jokes, riff, and even bomb. The underlying buzz of someone famous regaling audiences with their presence is enough to make those watching love every part of it, even if it means hearing an unrefined joke or two. “It’s nice when people don’t expect you to be there and you’re there and it’s fun,” Buress told Paste. “These showcases are an opportunity to work out stuff with no real pressure.”
The thing is that there is some pressure, though. When a comedian decides they want to bring out a surprise opener — and they do consciously decide — they’re publicly announcing that they support this person, whether personally or professionally. That’s not always a bad thing; comics bringing friends or others they personally find funny on as a surprise set can lead to shows full of incredible stand-up. However, if a drop-in is a controversial figure, featuring them is placing your stamp of approval on their side of the controversy. When Mulaney brought Dave Chappelle on stage in May, he was effectively saying that he supports him and doesn’t believe there’s anything wrong with his problematic content and refusal to apologize. Whether it was Mulaney’s intention or not, he made a very loud and clear statement by allowing the comic to perform.
“y’all ever hear ~12,000 people laugh at a transphobic joke, while you’re a trans person in the audience who didn’t know the transphobic comedian would make a surprise appearance at the John Mulaney show?” reads a tweet from one audience member. Considering Mulaney has cultivated an image of an unproblematic comedian who is “not here to … make loud declarations about the state of the world or condemn all who disagree with him,” according to Decider, it’s shocking (and telling) to see him openly support a transphobic, homophobic misogynist. And to use the defense that Chappelle and he are “best friends?” Well, frankly, that’s even more telling. “I’m just a little disappointed in [Mulaney],” Morgan, another showgoer, told BuzzFeed News. “It hurts to know that Chappelle’s transphobia wasn’t enough of a deterrent to keep him off the show.”
The strongest argument I’ve seen for instances like Mulaney x Chappelle is that comedy is all about freedom of speech, so bringing on a problematic comic isn’t necessarily an endorsement so much as saying “I like this person, and I want to give them space to talk about whatever they want.” Personally, I think that’s bullshit. If we’re acting under the (baseline false) assumption that comedians can say whatever they want, the original comic is still bringing on someone with a drastically different view than theirs. It’s one thing to bring on a comic who disagrees with the headliner’s stance on, like, eating meat. But to bring on someone who disagrees with the headliner’s (public) stance and entire fanbase on, say, a human’s right to exist? It’s hard to believe that everyone who came to see the show would be okay with that.
And, of course, just as a comic reserves the right to bring anyone they want to on stage, the audience has the right to get up and walk out at any time — that’s a major point I’ve heard. And, sure! That’s true! But when you pay money to see a comic you like, saying “just walk out if you don’t like it!” is kind of a huge slap in the face. It’s basically admitting you don’t care about your audience; you’re a comedian for the fame and money. And further, what you can’t then do is turn around and get mad at those fans for leaving. You can’t get angry at their reaction when you were in the wrong to begin with — especially if you’re peddling the idea that they can just get up and leave when they want. How are you going to get mad at people doing exactly what you tell them to?
Neither Chappelle nor Mulaney responded to the backlash over the show, but this situation reminds me a lot of when Chappelle returned to his old high school for a Q&A session. The school’s spokesperson told Variety that, “During the conversation with students and staff, Chappelle specifically invited the voices of discontent to ask questions.” But later “[Chappelle’s spokesperson, Carla] Sims apparently told the website that [a] student who had left the room ‘couldn’t even entertain the idea of a conversation.’” It’s the same kind of vibe; you can’t get mad at people for reacting in totally normal and appropriate ways.
I want to reiterate here that I am not against surprise sets; in fact, I am very, very for them! Half of the reason I spend most nights at comedy shows is that there’s a slim chance I’ll catch one. There’s really something so magic about witnessing a drop-in. “There’s arguably a certain cultural cachet to such events, an aura pervading the surprise and excitement that doesn’t often arise in the way people consume culture these days,” the Paste article noted. “They reintroduce that unknown, intangible quality that tends to disappear from the planned nature of ticketed shows, or the accessible nature of TV and digital comedy specials.”
What I am against is the forcing of out-of-left-field comics on unsuspecting audiences. The responsibility falls on the headlining comedian themselves (and their applicable team) to make sure that comedy shows are a consistent space. If I go to see Jim Gaffigan, I am not expecting to see Louis CK. If I go to see Jimmy Carr, I’m certainly not hoping the opener is Bowen Yang. It’s why the backlash of Chappelle opening for Mulaney was significantly larger than when he opened for Chris Rock and Kevin Hart. People who go to see Rock and Hart most likely enjoy Chappelle’s content, so it’s not surprising to see him pop up. But when he opened for Mulaney, it was so inconsistent with the comic’s public appearance that it felt like a punch in the gut for a lot of fans.
It’s not that comedians are responsible for creating any kind of “safe space” or “echo chamber.” Instead, it’s that comics do have a responsibility to provide fans with what they paid for: comedy that they know they’ll like. It’s really not fair to fans, and I can only imagine it would put a sour taste in their mouths regarding buying tickets for future shows.
Because stand-up is a give-and-take between comedians and their audiences, both owe at least a bit of something to the other. Audiences owe comedians their attention and their open-mindedness. Comics owe their audiences material, effort, and thoughtfulness. And while comedians can make whatever decisions they want, it’s a bit selfish to just throw whatever opinions you want at your audience and expect them to enjoy it because they’re your fans.
If any comics/producers are reading this, I implore you to take time to evaluate everyone you book (even surprise book) for your shows. Don’t just take into account current controversy; care about your audience and know who you’re bringing on stage in general. Be sure you feel comfortable giving a platform to that person’s views, because even if you’re not intending to make a statement, giving time to someone problematic paints a very clear picture. Of course, not everyone is going to like every comic you bring on, but you shouldn’t be platforming people with harmful views. It’s not fair to place the responsibility on audience members to safeguard themselves from potential unwelcomed surprises, rather than expecting the people with power in the situation to protect them. (Not to be an anarchist, but people in all positions of power neglect this responsibility. Fight the power. Always question those with authority.)
Surprise drop-ins should continue, because you all deserve to see Brett Goldman perform a 15-minute set in a restaurant basement at 10 p.m. on a Wednesday — or whatever the equivalent of that is for you. But it’s important that those in the industry with power take the time to consider how they should continue. It’s not a great look if you’re bringing in drop-ins that are causing walk-outs or mass backlash — unless that’s the look you want. Though, for comics like Mulaney, I can’t imagine it is.
Interview with a Comedian: Ify Nwadiwe
The first time I was introduced to Ify Nwadiwe was on an episode of Um, Actually, Dropout's game show about nerdy things and being a nerd. I was taken with him immediately and had to seek out any other bits of his comedy that I could. I was so enthralled with the fact that he was able to take his comedy in so many directions — he could be nerdy, he could write story arcs, he could be observational and relatable.
That was when I was back in college, so it's safe to say that I've been a fan of Nwadiwe for quite a long time — though he's been in the comedy game for much, much longer. "One of my earliest memories is accidentally tasting hot sauce, and it being spicy, and then seeing everyone laugh," he told me. "That wasn't the best circumstances to get a laugh, but I remember enjoying that feeling. From there, I've always just kind of been a class clown." In senior year of high school, Nwadiwe joined "Comedy Sports" ("basically Whose Line Is It Anyway? style of improv"), which just ended up making him mad, because he "was like, 'Oh, if I knew this is what this was, I would have joined way earlier.'"
He continued doing improv through college and beyond, and after learning about the Upright Citizens Brigade from podcasts, he decided to attend classes — despite having a full-time job. "I was truly doing a Herculean task of sneaking out of work 30 minutes early so I can catch the Metrolink train that will get me to LA in time to get to the class," he said.
But that challenge only fueled Nwadiwe's ambition and drive. As he was preparing to quit his job, he decided it was time to try standiup — considering he'd soon have the chance to devote his full energy to it. That decision, combined with the opportunities that UCB gave him, paid off, eventually landing Nwadiwe The Community College Dropout, his own comedy album. Oh, and along the way he met a few important people doing a few important things, which landed him some TV writing gigs. No big.
I chatted with Nwadiwe about his time at UCB, what it's like to be a multiverse of a person, and the fact he thinks adults should stop eating sandwiches. Check it out below!
How would you describe your comedy?
Nowadays, I think it's kind of [an] observational, irreverent type of relatable humor, you know, talking about navigating this world, but still talking a lot about me and how I navigate this world with my point of view and still try to survive. I think it’s very observational, like, “Oh, you see that thing?” And, you know, if it strikes me at the time, it can dip into political humor.
You talked about your comedy "nowadays." How do you feel like it's changed since you started?
Someone told me this earlier on, and you really do kind of see it: When you start off with comedy, when everyone starts, the most common jokes you'll see are jokes about your parents and yourself, because that's what you know best. And, you know, to really get into telling jokes, it's really this bridge that you can be, which is like, “Okay, here's the things I know enough about to not only talk about, but to kind of make jokes about.” You know, take the piss out of this and that. And then you also are trying to figure out is this something that everyone can relate to? Is this something like a joke that I can just kind of dive into by just talking about it? Or is it something I have to set up?
You have a very strong improv background, but you also do stand-up! Hate to ask, but do you prefer one over the other?
I always give the underwhelming answer that I love them both equally because they target two different things. … Improv is like a sport where you practice. You practice, and you go out. Who knows what happens on the field, but everything you've practiced before is what you're putting out there. And stand-up is like a painting, where it's something you craft and you work on and then display it for people in your set.
I think, [it’s] because, too, improv is such a group effort that when I seem like I'm the funniest person, lots of times it's because everyone around me made me look good. I more so like it when they say someone else's funny, because … the moves I did made him look good. Whereas stand-up is the moment I get to be me. It's directly what I want to say. And I—I think you learned right now — I like talking. I have lots of opinions and things to say. Stand-up is that outlet for that. And I think improv is the outlet to be funny and goofy; there isn't necessarily a structure. That's neat. I mean, there's structure in the art form, but I don't have to think of the way I want to be funny. I'm just being these fun characters.
You joined UCB in 2012, which was a very... let's say interesting time in the company's history. There was a lot of conversation about diversity, toxicity, and fame. What was that like?
You're so right; you're more right than you even know. And I wish I uploaded it somewhere — I hope I can find it — but when I signed up for UCB, I remember distinctly that on my diversity scholarship application, I was like, “I think I should get the diversity scholarship because I'm looking at the talent page right now, and you only have four Black people and I think five or six people of color.” And that number is way larger now. … There was this boom; it's so weird to say. …
That was the cataclysmic event that kind of made people realize that, in these comedy spaces, there isn't that much diversity. Enter a team of six Black dudes when we were just we're eating, we're doing all the shows, but it was one of those things to where it didn't feel like it at the time. In retrospect, there was a lot of pressure, because you have the shows that we're giving … the opportunity [to put] this on display, because they're like, “Okay, we need diversity. Here's this team.” And we were good. …
We didn't even go into it thinking about this, but the onus was on us to be able to [say], “Yeah, no. You can have an all-Black team, and it's great, and they're all funny, and they're all very different. These are six Black dudes who are all very different; they have their own archetype. Now you're kind of opening your horizons, because that's, unfortunately, how it works. …
I often say there's like a language unit. … I feel like there's two comedy languages, right? We have the old school people who love like improv and comes from, like, National Lampoon, these institutions, where they have written these comedy rules and laws that I think are important to know so that you can come into rooms and spaces like this and speak that language — the language that they understand. For a lot of just people of color, there's just plain funny. If you go and look at BIPOC-coded TikTok comedy [or] YouTube comedy stand-up comedy, that's like, “Oh, that's Black comedy, and that's Filipino company. That isn't comedy for everyone. And they're following the [comedy] laws and all that stuff, but then there's just an element where it's just funny. … I think something will always elevate a lot of people [is] can you speak the comedy language? But also, can you just be funny in a way that can't be described?
You have your hand in so many different pots, from video games to TV shows, and you're into so many subjects. Do you feel like having spread-out your interest like that has been helpful in your career?
Well, at this point, I can say it has. But, I will say, going down this road, I was very unsure. You have people who just, especially in this industry, who just do one thing. We have people who are like, I'm just a writer, I'm just an actor, … I'm just a comic. And then, you have people in the nerd space who just do that, like, I host nerd shows, and maybe I might help on that. When you do all of that, and you're seeing your peers in those separate fields kind of moving faster and further because that is their main concern, … it does make you worry where you're at. Like, “Am I doing [being a] jack of all trades, you know?
It's so funny because we say “jack of all trades.” I remember I looked it up the other day, and the saying is “jack of all trades, master of none, but more often than not, better than a master of one.” That's the whole thing. In the end, the jack of all trades [is] a good thing, but we all stop at master none. Truly, I feel that way now because I get to have this toolkit when I come into these different jobs. As the guy who is very open about his sexuality, relationships, and stuff online, I go into a show like Grand Crew, and I have tons of ideas about relationships, things that are different than what you see on TV. I'm currently working on a show that's based on a video game, and as a video game nerd, I'm coming in here with the knowledge of not only the stuff that your everyday TV viewer wants to see but stuff that a fan of this franchise would like to see. It's allowed me to just expand into jobs that I didn't even know were jobs. By being a funny person who also was good at Dungeons and Dragons, I was able to be on a Dungeons and Dragons show on G4. …
But now, at this point in my career, because I do so much, not only am I way ahead, … but you have these other skills, and now it's finally starting to pay off. Because you are spreading yourself thinner, so you're not able to fully focus, and you will see your peers go further. But … it gives you a little more flexibility and more options in a job that an industry that nothing's really promised in.
You're an LA native, so I have to bother you with this question: How would you describe the LA comedy scene? As a New Yorker, I have my own opinion about it, but I think hearing from someone who grew up in it can give a better picture.
I think the LA comic scene now is still very—the best way I'd say it is it's open-ended. I feel like there's many types of comedy, and it blends together and people like to see it come together. You have the clowns, and the stand-ups, the old stand-ups, the club comics. It's all just this beautiful melting pot of comedy stylings and people who are just trying to be funny. And I feel like, you know, and this is just from an outsider's perspective, but the New York scene feels segmented, where it's like, if you're an improviser, you're doing the improv track and all that stuff. You can do stand-up, but then, you know, that's a stand-up track. You don't have the shows kind of mishmash together. … The New York scene has the people who are showing up for comedy shows, and I do think LA, you'd have to work a little harder to get butts in seats. Growing up in LA, everyone's like, … ”No one cares about this.” No, it's not that, it's just that there's so much going on in LA that you are competing with everything. The same night you want to do your comedy show, there's probably like three banger concerts with some of the biggest acts ever, or like a screening. And if you like comedy in LA, lots of times you like comedy actors. You really are competing with so much, especially in the LA space. Now, it just feels like it's been more open, because I feel like, when I started, … people who knew me as a stand-up didn't really know I did improv, or if they did, they knew me as the improv guy. I was asked to pick a side. Now it just seems like all of it's coming together. It's like, “Oh, everyone kind of knows each other, because we're all cooking.”
What’s a joke you love that either never lands or lands really inconsistently?
I truly stopped telling this joke, because it just didn't work. Barbara Gray has a great show called “50 Worst Jokes,” and I did it there, and like everyone agreed. But I had this joke where I was like, “As adults, we shouldn't make sandwiches anymore. You know, we just make spaghetti. Spaghetti is way more fitting of an adult meal than a sandwich. You put in the effort for spaghetti.” I think it never worked, because I think people like sandwiches more than spaghetti. It was a dumb joke, but for some reason, I really remember when it came to me that year, and I was like, “This is it!” And it never would do well, and the comedy would always come from me defending this point that no one agreed with. Maybe I should just bring it back and agree and just double down.
What's the best piece of comedy advice you've ever received?
One of the biggest pieces of advice I've kind of lived with comedy is if you find it funny, like you're not an island. … You're not a weirdo who is the only person in the world that finds it funny, so it's your job to explain why it's funny. You can say something and no one laughs, but it doesn't necessarily mean that it's not funny. It can mean that, but before you kind of just throw it out the window, [consider] the idea of “Oh, maybe they don't understand why it's funny.” Because if you think of everything we say, there's so many steps to get there. I mean, think of every inside joke. That's so hard to explain, because it comes from years of you and your friends doing things. And if you explain every step, and the person listening had the patience to go through every step, then yeah, it'll be funny. … I think when you really think about it, it's because it's just this interesting thing where the part of us that laughs and the part of us that understands a joke are two different areas of the brain. The laughing is a social quirk that humans have picked up to connect to know that. You're not even laughing because you get the joke; you’re laughing to tell me, “I understand the joke.” We're all in this weird comedy hive mind. When you think of it that way, then it makes it even more clear that you got to let us all be in this hive mind so that we're all laughing because we know what [comedians] are talking about.
To keep track of upcoming shows and nerdy things in general, follow Nwadiwe on Instagram and Twitter. You can catch his writing in season 2 of NBC's Grand Crew and the upcoming Twisted Metal TV series, as well as the video game Apex Legends.
This interview has been edited and condensed for clarity.
Saturday Night Dead?
Will SNL Exist After Season 50?
Saturday Night Live is just around the bend from its 50th anniversary in 2025. That’s a whopping five decades of sketches, musical guests, and hosts of varying degrees of quality. And despite (or perhaps because of) its longtime run, the future of the show is up in the air — high up.
We've looked at the so many aspects of the show, both good and bad, in order to answer why the show is still around. But in order to answer why, we kind of have to admit that SNL can end in the first place. And that's exactly what may happen sooner than you'd think.
Although Lorne Michaels hasn’t officially announced his departure after that season, he has hinted at it (re: essentially admitted to it), meaning the 50th season will be when the future of SNL will have to be assessed. “I’d like to see [the 50th season] through, and I have a feeling that it would be a really good time to leave,” Michaels told Gayle King in a 2021 interview. That’s important to the future of the sketch show because, as we all know, Michaels is the show. Because of that, no one is really sure where the show will go — or if it will continue at all. In that same interview, Michaels noted that they had plans in order for a successor, but refused to elaborate, as it was still years away from the 50th season.
However, in a recent interview with Charlamagne tha God, longtime cast member (and the person I would bet money was offered the role of Michaels’ successor) Kenan Thompson spoke about the 50th season in a way that felt, well, like it would be the show’s last. “There could be a lot of validity to that rumor, because 50 is a good number to stop at,” Thompson said, speaking about the “rumor” that Michaels will leave after season 50. “It's an incredible package.”
I think it’s really important to point this out, as it seems to me that Thompson understands that Michaels isn’t the top-tier judge of comedy so many people laud him as. He’s just a guy whose judgment role could easily be replaced. What can’t be replaced, though, is Michaels’ privilege of a theoretical grandfather clause: He’s been around so long — and he’s so ingrained in NBC, SNL, and the industry of comedy as a whole — that he’s able to skirt around rules and budgets that are imposed on shows like SNL nowadays. Without that ability — and not his comedy sensibility — implies Thompson, the show cannot continue.
Over the course of this column, we’ve talked a lot about both the good and bad of SNL, from covering up sexual assault to progressing the field of comedy. The conclusion of all of this is that SNL is still on the air because it’s become way too big to fail. It’s got a legacy that’s inimitable and runs deep, and any arguments against its existence are silenced by the loudness of its perceived importance in the comedy industry. However, Michaels is a part of that, and I feel confident saying (and have said) that one of the reasons it's still around is also because of the mythology of Lorne Michaels. It’s irresponsible (and plain stupid) to consider whether SNL can continue without considering whether it can continue without Lorne Michaels.
Of course, as I’ve argued before, Michaels should not have controlled the show for as long as he has, so to me, at this point, no — SNL won't (and, *sigh*, can't) continue without him. Not because I think he’s someone that can’t be replaced, but because everyone who came after would be trying to live up to the “Lorne Michael years.” And that would just make it suck. We already saw this happen when Michaels left in the ‘80s. Sure, the show changed drastically, but it was because the new producers didn’t want it to be anything like Michaels’ show — even though it was working. It was all to spite Michaels, because you can’t talk about SNL without talking about him. The show should operate as its own entity that can continue without being tied to one person, but let’s be real — it doesn’t.
We’re just going in circles here.
Obviously, there’s no way to say for sure whether the show will or won’t go completely off-air when the 50th season wraps. But in my honest opinion, I think Michaels is too connected for the show to go on post his exit. It pains me to say that — I mean, I’m a huge fan of the show, and I can’t imagine not having SNL as a part of my cultural consumption. But the truth is that, after Michaels leaves, whoever takes over will run it to the ground. Even if it’s someone incredible, like Thompson, there are going to be so many changes behind the scenes that the show will absolutely decline in quality for one reason or another. Or, maybe the producer does suck, and the show just becomes, well, terrible. No matter the reason, in my head, it’s inevitable.
What’s the point of this edition of the column? Partially, it’s to tell you something you already know: SNL may be staring down the barrel of its last season. Its contributions have made it a giant in not just the comedy scene, but the entire cultural scene. It changed the way TV operated and the way people looked at being funny. But, on the flip side, it has also become the be-all-end-all of comedy and being funny, has protected comics from (rightfully earned) harm, and has become so “for the masses” that it’s lost its progressive edge. But in looking at whether the show will continue, you have to look to the future just as much as the past and present. The current cast is already changing how the show operates and what’s funny, and it’s going in a direction that’s exciting and seems to actually care about being more than bad political sketches. Who knows what future casts will do four years or more down the line if given the opportunity?
Knowing whether that opportunity is worth the risk is the whole problem, but in my opinion, I think SNL will be nothing more than a legacy in only a few years' time.
Do you think SNL will continue after season 50? Vote here
The Comedy Showcase
1. ‘It comes down to taste’: how the Edinburgh comedy awards find tomorrow’s funniest stars
2. What’s the Deal With Water Bottles? (I am obsessed with this article)
3. If you can stand comedy that's more cringe than you can imagine (and then quadruple that) but that has an introspective message and a fascinating way to get it across, you've got to check out The Rehearsal.