The Language of Hollywood

Wesleyan College and Coursera offer an exciting MOOC (massive open online course) for film lovers. Titled "The Language of Hollywood: Storytelling, Sound and Color," it's led by Scott Higgins and is a free course examining the history of storytelling with sight, sound and color from the Silent Era to the present day. Here's a look at the films included in the class:

Street Angel
Starring the near-perfect Janet Gaynor and her costar from "7th Heaven," Charles Farrell, this is Frank Borzage's melodramatic love story with a simple plot about a young woman named Angela (Gaynor) who is forced on the street to become a "street angel" in order to pay for a proscription for her ill mother. Angela's run from the law finds her in the loving arms of Gino (Farrell), who is determined to provide for her. One of Higgins' motivation for including the film in the syllabus is Borzage's exuberant visuals, which had the purpose of "externalizing emotions." This is perhaps best demonstrated in the exciting climax in which Gino, bitter about losing his love for reasons he does not understand, lights a match to the face of every woman he encounters; inevitably, he comes across Angela, whose once hopeless face now matches the brightness of the flame. Gino, however, glares back, and the match extinguishes. The film briefly becomes a horror movie. Note the stupidity in such a situation -- we are forced to believe that these two characters happen to both be walking out at night and both happen to be in the same spot in Naples at the same time, and yet we do. Higgins has a theory for this: Silent pictures (especially Borzage's) are emotionalized and abstract, like an opera, whereas sound films have increasingly been grounded in reality. This allows for a heightened sense of melodrama, which critics often complained about. But Borzage's response was that life was melodramatic. This belief guided his rule for movie making: make the audience sentimental, so the players don't have to be.

The Docks of New York
A bit shorter than the previous film and much less melodramatic, "The Docks of New York," from the same year as "Street Angel," takes place in a much smaller, tighter, colder, less romantic, more specific, stronger, and more grounded world. The world is the docks of New York, and more specifically the saloon and hotel. The saloon is not a vast area of lighthearted romance, but a small, degenerate bar with a rowdy group of people searching for sex. The Stoker (George Bancroft) is a big, gruff man, who, despite his affection for one-night stands, falls in love with a woman (Betty Compson) he's rescued from drowning herself. They marry in an orgy of decadence; as Higgins puts it, it's an arena where the saloon patrons find marriage to be a dirty joke. The movie certainly starts with a lot more excitement but bores as it progresses, ending in a similar preposterous manner of "Street Angel." This does not make "The Docks of New York" a bad film, however, it does require a bit more patience.

Applause
Now we're in the era of sound, with "Don Juan" showing the world that film can be accompanied by an orchestral score, "The Jazz Singer" showing us that there can be (a few) audible moments, and "Lights of New York" demonstrating that movies can be all-talking (though Higgins doesn't recommend viewing the film because of the low quality of its content). So we have a 1929 Paramount film called "Applause," by Rouben Mamoulian, and starring Helen Morgan. It cannot be doubted that Mamoulian had a talent for innovation, but the limitations of the technology at the time are too distracting; sound projection and synchronization were tremendous obstacles for early cinema pioneers like Thomas Edison and William Dickson, and yet even by 1929, the sound was so dismal that it seems like barely half of what was being spoken can be interpreted. (Before 1930, there were no blimped cameras, boom mics or sound editing equipment.) Joan Peters as Morgan's daughter looks the part but provides such horribly Transatlantic diction that the annoyance is only surpassed by the awful voice of Fuller Mellish, Jr. as the story's villain. I understand why the acting is so atrocious, but that does not mean I have to like the film, nor does the fact that its technological innovations and feminist viewpoint improve my opinion of it very much. In my mind, it should be stricken from the syllabus.

Monkey Business
The class moves into specific genres, starting with comedy, or more specifically, vaudeville. Set almost entirely on a cruise ship until they have exhausted just about all they could do with the specific situation, Grouch, Chico, and Harpo -- the Marx Brothers -- and their less shticky brother, Zeppo, star in their third film. "Monkey Business," from 1931, has aged a bit; Professor Higgins remarks that the situation comedy is sort of a "law of diminishing returns" with respect to each situation involving less for the brothers to do, but it also features fewer returns in the sense that the over-the-top slapstick hasn't aged so well. Still, it is a humorous change of pace for the course. Grouch's verbal barrage, Chico's piano scene, and Harpo's pantomime and harp scene, all practically self-contained acts that are gag-centered and feature practically no logic, are all delightful (though the racism and anti-women moments are all creepy). It's a very labor-intensive production by these four, particularly the three more recognizable Marx brothers. (Zeppo didn't continue to pursue the vaudeville-style film performances, but eventually became a millionaire through his work in film engineering.) There's such anarchic bursts of energy throughout it all as they run around the ship in a "world of straight men," tearing up the scenery, sometimes literally.

Scarface 
While just about everyone has seen Brian DePalma's 1983 remake, less folks have seen its source: the original, from 1932, produced by Howard Hughes, directed by Howard Hawks, and based on a story by Paul Hecht. Sold as sort of a societal film (that at times comes across as too unnecessarily preachy), it is nevertheless quite stylized with great sound effects and dark expressionistic lighting; just as the oranges in "The Godfather" four decades later, the cinematography in "Scarface" featured at least one letter X whenever a character was about to be killed. Paul Muni, who would go on to win an Oscar and a Tony, puts in a pretty stellar performance of the title character, though he sometimes overdoes it (perhaps influencing the bombastic yet iconic performance of Al Pacino in the remake sixty years later). Also supplying decent performances are George Raft, Karen Morley, Ann Dvorak and Boris Karloff, who a year earlier shot to stardom with Universal's "Frankenstein." Fans of "Some Like It Hot" might recognize Raft poking fun at his coin-flipping image from "Scarface." With all due respect to the remake, I think I might like this one better.

The Ghost Ship
Another genre explored is horror, although Higgins admits immediately that this could hardly be defined as a horror film. It's more of a psychological thriller, produced by the Val Lewton low-budget unit at RKO films. Lewton, whose more famous low-budget horrors include "Cat People," "The Body Snatcher," and "I Walked With a Zombie," and director Mark Robson are more interested in suggestion and utilize a lot of sinister, low lighting. Taking place almost entirely in a claustrophobic ship led by a captain (Richard Dix) suffering from the onset of insanity, "The Ghost Ship" was a hit in 1943, but a lawsuit by two playwrights caused it to be pulled from theaters and not shown for another fifty years, and it wouldn't be discovered again until it entered the public domain. Despite a genuinely eerie start and a thrilling sequence involving a giant hook, "The Ghost Ship" soon becomes a more boring version of "The Caine Mutiny," and at a length of just over an hour, it barely is saved in time. Higgins, though, does an effective job at explaining why the film is important, and he claims that the way it uses sound to create such an unsettling atmosphere for perhaps the first time by a Hollywood film is why "The Ghost Ship" deserves to be studied.

The Trail of the Lonesome Pine
The second three-color film ("Becky Sharp," opening to harsher reviews, was the first), "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine" from 1936 is considered the first to set aesthetic standards for films in color. Despite the limitations the crew had in requiring more lighting than black-and-white films, "Lonesome Pine" is a "film of restraint," filmed with a lot of neutrals (grays and browns) that surprisingly still looks gorgeous. That said, despite its technological advances, this film, while not as torturous as "Applause," bores more often than not. Its cast is mostly sufficient -- Sylvia Sydney, Fred Stone, and Beulah Bondi (James Stewart's mother in four films, including "Mr. Smith Goes to Washington" and "It's a Wonderful Life") are pretty good, but its male leads, Fred MacMurray and Henry Fonda, two of the 20th century's most respected actors, mostly disappoint. MacMurray laughs and smiles a lot, while Fonda mostly looks angry; neither of the two provide much else. Just about every viewer, though, will delightfully recognize two actors: George McFarland (Spanky in the "Our Gang"/"Little Rascals" series) and Clara Blandick, who appears in a small role in one scene, and whom most viewers would easily recognize as Aunt Em in "The Wizard of Oz."

The Adventures of Robin Hood
Most likely the most well-known of Higgins' list of films in his syllabus, "The Adventures of Robin Hood" was filmed on a budget of $2 million at a time when the average production cost per film was several hundred thousand dollars. The costs largely paid off, and despite the ostentatious laughter throughout, "The Adventures of Robin Hood" is quite good fun. Originally to star James Cagney, it instead reunites Errol Flynn with his "Captain Blood" co-stars Olivia de Havilland and Basil Rathbone, and it was Disney's "Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs" that inspired Warner Bros. to film it in Technicolor. Its color palate is much denser, according to Higgins, than "The Trail of the Lonesome Pine," with many more colors, almost like a mosaic. The primary vehicle for this is its extravagant costume designs. Its cast includes Claude Rains, Eugene Pallette, Melville Cooper, Una O'Connor, and Alan Hale, Sr., who appeared here as Little John, and also did so in 1920 alongside Douglas Fairbanks, and then again in the role in 1950, making it one of the longest character spans in Hollywood history. But the real star is Rathbone, who is terrific in every scene.

All That Heaven Allows
Next to "Applause," Douglas Sirk's "All That Heaven Allows" is the worst film included in the course. True, this is a beautiful color design by Sirk and his cinematographer, Russell Metty; to be drained of color, Higgins tells us, is to lose life in a Sirk movie. There are great uses of matte paintings, including the farm scenes. The film's leads, Jayne Wyman and Rock Hudson, do a mostly decent job. But "All That Heaven Allows" is, on the whole, quite boring. Its impressive use of color doesn't erase this fact.

Punch-Drunk Love
Fortunately, Paul Thomas Anderson's "Punch-Drunk Love" from 2002 not only fantastically uses color, but also tells a great story. Calling this Anderson's least presumptuous film (because it's a 90-minute rom-com starring Adam Sandler), it tells the story of a man named Barry, tortured by his many sisters growing up and who probably has some kind of personality disorder. He falls in love with a friend of his sisters, but must protect her from being harmed by a violent group of men hunting him down for blackmail money due to Barry's one-time use of a phone sex operator. "Punch-Drunk Love" is half the length of "Magnolia," Anderson's previous film, and yet "Punch-Drunk Love" has aged so much better than "Magnolia" (which does suffer a bit from presumptuousness). It's one of Anderson's best films, certainly Sandler's best, and is the best film in the class. The best was saved for last.


There isn't too much to complain about this course. I've already mentioned that some of the films are less than impressive, and some of Higgins' lectures get a bit too carried away when discussing color. But Higgins has a plethora of film knowledge, and his course is a recommendable course, one that will likely teach you a lot about movie making.

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SNL40

BLTN

"Tonight Show" host Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake opened the 40th anniversary special of "Saturday Night Live" with a practically comprehensive rap of memorable moments of the most important comedy institution in American history. Energetic and zany, the right mood was set immediately. And then the man himself -- one half of the Wild and Crazy Guys, King Tut, a.k.a Steve Martin -- entered the center of Studio 8H, as he has done 15 other times over the past four decades, to formally introduce the show. Martin made sure the show wouldn't lose its edginess, mentioning to his audience (the SNL family at their seats and the estimated 23 million people at home) that the anniversary feels like a high school reunion, "a high school that is almost all white," ribbing the show for its controversial lack of diversity. Tom Hanks, usually not one of the funniest but certainly one of the most likable hosts in the show's history, and Alec Baldwin, the man who currently holds the record for hosting appearances, both joined Martin. So, too, did Billy Crystal, who was set to appear on the very first episode back in 1975 but was cut for time and eventually hosted and then joined the cast, helping to fill a post-Eddie Murphy void in the mid-80s.

But then, in addition to these four, came Chris Rock, who was better later on in the evening giving a heartfelt tribute to Murray, his idol, and then came Melisa McCarthy, Peyton Manning, and Miley Cyrus in what quickly became SNL celebrity-crowding at its worst; not even Paul McCartney and Paul Simon making their way to sing "I've Just Seen a Face" in wonderful harmony could save this sinking ship. But saved it became. Six minutes of montage clips -- featuring, among many others, the Blues Brothers, Gumbi, Schweddy Balls, and a man living in a van down by the river -- chronologically showcased SNL's golden moments, and should do more than enough to remind everyone of the significance of this New York -- American -- tradition. But was this telecast really three hours long? Yes, it was. Unnecessarily so, and frankly, "Saturday Night Live" over the years often has felt like it could have done better with a little less rather than a little more. Why was it necessary to have Kate McKinnon as Justin Bieber, Baldwin as Tony Bennett, and Tarem Killam as Christoph Waltz in the "Celebrity Jeopardy" sketch when Will Ferrell as Alex Trebek, Darrell Hammond as Sean Connery, Jim Carrey as Matthew McConaughey and Norm Macdonald as Burt Reynolds sufficed? Kristen Wiig and Bill Hader's comedic perfection wasn't enough to rescue the never-ending, yet delightfully sophomoric, "Californians." (Taylor Swift and whatever accent that was shoved in the killing knife.) Emma Stone was funny several years ago singing about her broken arm, but impersonating Gilda Radner's Roseanne Roseannadanna was simply awkward.

But the show was mostly wonderful, funny and tearful, politely yet unabashedly reminding the world why it is still needed. We were shown clips of original auditions of cast members -- Jon Lovitz, Jay Pharaoh, Will Forte, Radner, and others -- and some whom producer Lorne Michaels surely regrets not hiring, like Carrey, Stephen Colbert, and Zach Galifianakis. Jack Nicholson reminded the audience of what America was like in 1975 -- the last Americans were leaving Vietnam, Watergate was still fresh on everyone's mind, and President Ford, according to the New York Post, felt NYC should "drop dead." SNL in those days responded with furious gusto, allowing a tall, handsome comic who shared virtually no physical similarity to Ford convince Americans that a few stumbles equaled complete clumsiness and stupidity. Perhaps no other show has done more to shape how Americans have viewed their political leaders. (Bush even called his meetings "strategery meetings," and Tina Fey turned Sarah Palin's explanation of Russia's proximity to Alaska into "I can see Russia from my house.") The show did not refrain that night either. Original cast member Jane Curtin joined fellow former "Weekend Update" anchors Fey and Amy Poehler to note that she used to be the only pretty blond presenting fake news; "now, there's a whole networked devoted to that."

After the re-airing of the hilarious "Colon Blow" fake commercial in its entirety, Martin Short (whose one season of SNL, with Crystal and others, turned him into a household name in America) and Maya Rudolph as Beyonce introduced several returning members to recreate some of their memorable musical performances -- Ana Gasteyer and Ferrell as Bobbi and Marty Mohan singing their version of "Uptown Funk," Joe Piscopo as Frank Sinatra, Adam Sandler's Opera Man, and Bill Murray as lounge singer Nick Ocean, who added lyrics to the "Jaws" theme, accompanied by Paul Shaffer. This wasn't simply a several-hour series of clips, as the anniversaries in 1989 and 1999 were, though it would have been appreciated to see more of the non-live clips the show does, like the hysterical "TV Funhouse" cartoons Robert Smigel, Louis C.K. and others wrote. We were, though, treated to a brand new Digital Short of Andy Sandberg's, featuring his co-star from "That's My Boy" and fellow SNL alumn Adam Sandler. One near-final moment was the touching, Oscars-style in memoriam for its crew and cast members who have passed away; it was a very touching tribute to Jan Hooks, Don Pardo, Tom Davis, Andy Kaufman, Michael O'Donaghue, and many others. Bill Murray closed with saying that he had to include one final bit of news, and in the spirit of his fellow cast member, Garrett Morris, told the audience that Francisco Franco is still dead.

Fans of one of the most memorable sketches, Wayne's World, might have had to stay up pretty late to see Mike Myers and Dana Carvey reunite to party on (perhaps in tribute to the fact that the skit was nearly rejected initially and only given the dreaded last slot of the night). Myers remarked of the 40-year stretch that is the show, to which Carvey asked, "Do you mean this show has been going on for 40 years?" After mocking the apparent lack of originality in some of the show's critics and doubters during the not-so-good years who asked if the show should be called "Saturday Night Dead," the two sported their dueling Lorne Michaels impersonations, and Myers', in particular, should remind movie-watching audiences of a certain character.    

I suppose I have to mention what seemed to so very much upset viewers: Eddie Murphy's brief, admittedly awkward, return to the show that made him famous. By now, just about everyone knows his famous rise on the show; how, after the departure of Michaels and crew (and the disastrous sixth season), Murray almost single-handely carried the show, or, as "Live From New York: The Uncensored History of Saturday Night Live" co-author James Andrew Miller has said, "saved the franchise." But after supposedly becoming livid after cast member David Spade dismissively called him a "falling star" in the 1990s, it has been no secret that Murphy had had no intentions of ever returning or even discussing his time on the show. Was I disappointed by the brevity of Murphy's appearance? I suppose. Would I have liked to have seen him appear as Michaels originally wanted him to appear? Not really. Was it the worst part of the show? No. Is he still a legend? Yes. Did he still save the show? Obviously. Was it incredible to see him there? Definitely. Do I hope and have faith that he will one day appear as host? That's not even a serious question.  

Of all the numerous amounts of ink that have recently been spilled about this iconic show, none have been as fascinating to read as Rob Shefield's article in Rolling Stones magazine ranking all 141 cast members of the show's history. (Coming in at dead last is a cast member from the 11th season named Robert Downey, Jr.) Look at some of those in the top ten: Chevy Chase (the man who "took one season to define the franchise"), Gilda Radner ("the most beloved of the original cast members"), Amy Poehler (who "could do warmth," yet was "always buzzing with a real don't-mess-with-me hostility never far from the surface"), Phil Hartman (the "grown-up in the room" and "'the Glue' for holding the show together"), Dan Aykroyd (the cast member with "biker-intellectual intensity"), John Belushi ("the first rock & roll star of comedy"). Certainly an argument could be made that the world would not be witnesses to decades of laughter from these individuals if not for the man who put them on the show: Lorne Michaels. Michaels, who for forty (technically thirty-five) years led the show through high and low, is a Canadian who created an American institution, one that, as Paul Simon sang near its closing moments of its 40th anniversary, is still crazy after all these years. Perhaps it still will be for the next forty. Here's hoping.

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The Best of SNL--Part 2

The final part: the Best of SNL--Part 2...

14. Canteen Boy (1994)

Criticized for being too raunchy and controversial for suggesting pedophilia, Alec Baldwin's role was as a creepy Boy Scout Scoutmaster attempting to seduce his young Scout, Canteen Boy, played by Adam Sandler. After being teased by the fellow Scouts, the Scoutmaster, played by Baldwin, insisted that the boys leave Canteen Boy alone and that they return to their tents to sleep. After Canteen Boy insisted that their taunts were simply "sticks and stones," the Scoutmaster's arm was thrust around Canteen Boy's shoulder, and there was an immediate recognition of the situation. Ripping off his shirt, the Scoutmaster claimed--"Whoops, my shirt fell off." Wine spilled on Canteen Boy's sleeping bag, so it was insisted that Canteen Boy share the sleeping bag of the Scout Master, then to rub bug repellent on his chest (though Canteen Boy points out that it is February and the bugs must have hibernated). The skit was controversial enough to persuade SNL to clearly state the next time that Canteen Boy was in fact a twenty-seven-year-old man.

13. Coffee Talk (1992)


Though heavy on the Jewish stereotypes, "Coffee Talk with Paul Baldwin" and later "Coffee Talk with Linda Richman" (both starring Mike Myers in the title role), featured a number of traits, such as a passion for Barbara Streisand and historical topics, like "The New Deal was neither new nor a deal--discuss" and "the Progressive Era was neither progressive nor an era--discuss." The most memorable moment was when Streisand herself made an unexpected appearance. Myers was joined by guests Roseanne Barr and Madonna (both also as stereotypical Jewish women--large, hard hair and periodically licking the teeth). The three of them (two actually, for Roseanne's character was a bit distracted and "gassy") were disappointed to the point of crying in lieu of the multiple nomination's Streisand's film "The Prince of Tides" received--the disappointment came in the omission of a Best Director nomination for Streisand. They became chocked up--or feklempt--but were disrupted by Roseanne's story of a man whose gallbladder exploded. The skit continued. A caller mentioned it would be a good idea for Barbara to do a duet with Madonna, to which Madonna's character, though expectedly, dismissed it as a bad idea. "She's a tramp--every day with a different boyfriend." Myer's Linda though mentioned that her legs were like "buttah." Finally, they repeated: Barbara's movie was "like buttah" (Madonna), "like buttah" (Myers), "like a big stick-ah buttah" (Barr). Then, unexpectedly, approached Barbara, who mentioned that with all the talk of food, she was getting hungry. The three of them--and the audience--burst into applause. Apparently, only Myers knew of her appearance ahead of time.

12. The Ambiguously Gay Duo (1996)


Always bound to inspire laughter, Robert Smigel's "TV Funhouse" cartoons featured the hysterical "Real Audio," in which dialogue from celebrities (usually politicians) would be animated to create bizarre situations. The real gem from Smigel was his "Ambiguously Gay Duo" of Ace and Gary, a take on the Batman and Robin archetypes. Smigel capitalized on the ambiguous nature that was clearly evident in superhero comics (particularly Batman--keep in mind this was not the seriousness of the 1940s period but instead the "nah-nah-nah-nah-nah Batman! and before the Frank Miller/Tim Burton/Christopher Nolan period), Ace and Gary were two crime-fighting and highly-friendly heroes, animated in the style of cartoons from decades ago. Voiced by Stephen Colbert and Steve Carell (neither were SNL members, but they were members of Second City, "The Dana Carvey Show" and "The Daily Show" together), the two characters happily saved the city from the villainous villains, only to have friend and foe unlike be perplexed by the, well, ambiguity of their actions: patting each other, climbin on each other, and driving a peculiar car. It didn't help the two that their episode titles were also ambiguous, like the one titled "A Hard One to Swallow."

11. Clinton-Bush-Perot Debate of 1992 (1992)


While interesting enough of an actual debate to watch, 1992 featured not only the first televised debate featuring three candidates, but also a hilarious spoof on SNL. While Phil Hartman was Bill Clinton, Dana Carvey played both Perot and Bush, which allowed the audience to see the contrast in his calm, wimpier-John-Wayne voice of Bush with the hyperbolic and staccato annunciation of Perot. The funniest moment was when each was allowed a final response. The camera would zoom in on an opponent, and the audience would see what that candidate was thinking. So when Clinton gave his final thoughts, Bush envisioned the Arkansas governor as a 1960s radical, pot-smoking hippy; when Clinton focused on Bush, he saw an old lady from the World War II-period. Finally, for Perot, both Clinton and Bush saw the Mayor of the Munchkin City.

10. The Ford/Carter Debate of 1976 (1976)


By the time this faux-debate came about in 1976, Chevy Chase had already established Gerald Ford as a bit of a goof, falling down frequently. As it has been stated often, even on the show, Chase looked and talked nothing like Ford, but he capitalized on the fact that Ford had a tendency to fall down and trip. The highlight of this skit was when the moderator, Jane Curtain, began a rather long question for the president. "Mr. President, you said that the Humphrey-Hawkins bill will cost a possible six billion dollars. But isn't it true that the jobs provided by the bill will create up to a hundred and fifty billion dollars in increased production--using Walter Heller's figure that for every one percent unemployed, there is a resulting thirty-nine percent billion dollar loss in GNP. Now, at the present rate of taxation of GNP of thirty-nine percent, doesn't this come to about the same sixty billion dollars in increased revenue?" The whole time Curtain had delivered the question, the camera slowly zoomed in on Chase's face, as the sweat on his forehead became more and more obvious. Finally, he said, "It was my understanding that there would be no math during the debates."

9. Land Shark (1976)

A spoof of "Jaws," with John Williams' score and everything, Land Shark detailed a conning shark (even claiming to be a dolphin) who eventually tricked his victims into opening the door for him (voiced by Chevy Chase) to devour. There is hardly anything to write, but perhaps no skit sums up the absurdity of SNL's humor better than the Land Shark.

8. Julia Childs Cuts Herself (1978)

Fans of the recent Meryl Streep film "Julie & Julia" would have noticed a scene where Amy Adams' character and her boyfriend watch a scene from "Saturday Night Live" with Dan Aykroyd as Julia Childs. The sketch would have sufficed had Aykroyd simply been in drag and a high-pitch Childs-esque voice and manner, but the stakes were raised when the character cut herself while cutting chicken. Aykroyd hardly looked or sounded like Childs (see above regarding Chevy Chase and Gerald Ford), but it was the gratuitous amount of fake blood that sprayed about the set that elevated his performance. The advice to "first, stop the bleeding" was good enough only to spare perhaps a drop of blood. Eric Idle, who hosted the show in the 1970s, said that Aykroyd, for his ability to write and act in these skits, made him the only SNL cast member worthy of being a member of Monty Python.

7. Schweddy Balls (1998)


The skit already started as pure gold--Anna Gasteyer, Moll Shannon and a guest (usually Alec Baldwin) somehow kept a straight face as they lampooned the incredible monotony of the radio voices of NPR. Shannon's character mentioned that she would be asking Santa for some rat traps to help her with the "excessive" rat problem she was having, while Gasteyer's character mentioned that she always leaves out tap water and rice for Kris Kringle (Shannon's could not leave out food due to the excessive rat problem). It only became better when host Alec Baldwin as Pete Schweddy brought out his special food--in the case of the first time, it was his Schweaty Balls. "Tell us about your balls, Pete." With the amount of laughter from the audience, especially the double entente after double entente, it was truly testimony to the ability of these three actors to keep a straight face. "No one can resist my Schweddy Balls."

6. Celebrity Jeopardy (1996-2002)

The absurdity was simple: celebrities playing Jeopardy. The categories were also simple, a bit too simple: months that end in "tober," presidents who are on the one dollar bill, countries between Canada and Mexico, and members of Simon and Garfunkel. Jimmy Fallon usually had great impersonations, as did Norm McDonald as Burt Reynolds, but while Darrell Hammond would usually play different celebrities--from Michael Donohue to John Travolta---once he settled comfortably into an impersonation of an unlikely player named Sean Connery, a Sean Connery who constantly annoyed the host Alex Trebek (Will Ferrell), did the skit really take off. Connery usually would challenge Trebek's authority, and Trebek desperately tried to keep his composure as he was dealing with idiots. What seemed to annoy Trebek the most (in addition to the Bond-like quips Connery threw at them) was his sophomoric, probably-intentional ability to incorrectly pronounce the categories (like "anal bum cover" instead of "album cover"). There were also accusations that he slept with Trebek's mother. Another thing that seemed to make this skit work was the existence of videos on the internet of the actual Trebek being rather annoyed (Trebek himself made a cameo during one of these sketches). Supposedly, according to Macdonald, the skit was created only for him to do his Burt Reynolds impersonation, and Reynolds actually enjoyed the skit, so much that the show planned for Reynolds to crash the set, punch Macdonald, and finish playing the game with answers even dumber than before (with Macdonald being fired from the show, that never came to be).

5. The Joe Pesci Show (1996)

So many things were magical about "The Joe Pesci Show," chief among them the bizarre idea of Joe Pesci, the actor who portrayed such violent characters in "Goodfellas," "Casino," and "Home Alone" having a talk show. The sketch usually featured the host, Pesci, with a spot-on impersonation from Jim Brewer, and an SNL host (frequent hosts Alec Baldwin or John Goodman, for example) as guest Robert De Niro, and usually climaxed into an angry assault by Pesci and/or De Niro on the guest(s). One highlight was when the actual Pesci and De Niro showed up, in perfect deadpan, and turned the tables. But the greatest moment was when host Jim Carrey (a natural from his days on "In Living Color") appeared as Jimmy Stewart. Hunched over and frequently shifting his jaw in Stewart fashion, barely finishing his poem about a fish he caught but released due to sympathy (a spoof of Stewart's poem to his late-dog on "The Tonight Show"), Carrey was perfect. The skit got better as Pesci's second guest was none other than Jim Carrey (Mark McKinney). McKinney's impersonation was good, but the pricelessness of the situation was the angry look on Carrey/Stewart's face. "Smoke a lot of dope, do ya?" an annoyed Stewart asked. McKinney/Carrey then did an impersonation of Stewart, but was one-upped as Carrey/Stewart slowly rose to his feet to return the impersonation: "I'm Jim Carrey! I'll do anything for a laugh. I need attention twenty four hours a day. Look at me! Look at me!" He then proceeded to imitate a donkey. As expected, Pesci assaulted McKinney/Carrey with a baseball bat, and Carrey/Stewart protested that he did not agree with "gratuitous violence," which provoked Pesci to whack him in the head. But James Stewart, a veteran of World War II, did not go quietly, as he nabbed the bat from Pesci and wreaked havoc on the set.

4. The Katie Couric and Sarah Palin Interview (2008)


Sarah Palin was a good enough joke before SNL took advantage of the situation. Recall that when John McCain picked her as his running mate in August of 2008, SNL had not yet returned for a new season. But everyone noticed Palin as looking remarkably similar to Tina Fey, a former cast member and writer for the show. Not letting a perfect opportunity go to waste, Fey returned to open the next season as Sarah Palin, noting that she could "see Alaska for my house" (which helped define the narrative of Palin). But that skit featured Amy Poehler as Hillary Clinton, and while Poehler's impersonation of Clinton was never really good, it also seemed to distract the skit for the sake of being fair. The next time, however, SNL could not resist but to decimate Palin. The disastrous interviews Palin did with CBS's Katie Couric, in which Palin could not cite a moment of McCain supporting financial regulation while he was a senator (though moments early she said he had a record of it) and where she could not recall which newspapers she read, provided such an opportunity. The perfect moment was Fey/Palin's explanation of the "ill" bailout, using big words like "ultimately" and "deficit" while juxtaposing it somehow with health care reform and "shoring up" the economy and small business and "reining in spending" with a heavy emphasis on "reining." The real painful reality, though, was that, as numerous videos on the internet have demonstrated, Fey's impersonation of Palin seemed to be a word-for-word mimic of what the latter had actually said, confusion and all.

3. Gerald Ford Dead Today (1996)

The idea was perfect: Tom Brokaw (Dana Carvey) of NBC was ready to go on vacation. As a precaution, NBC ordered Brokaw to film any potential stories that might occur while he was away. The hypothetical was tragic--Gerald Ford dead. "Gerald Ford, well he's in good shape." But they wanted to just make sure. Then the other, less-likely hypothetical situations came: being shot (Ford was actually shot at twice in one week), suicide, drug overdose, and my two favorites--eaten by wolves and strangled to death by the corpse of Richard Nixon. Brokaw became angrily skeptical, but was reassured when it was explained that "it happened to Taft."

2. King Tut (1978)


The king of SNL's sophomoric nature was Steve Martin's rendition of a musical homage to Tutankhamen. While starting as what seemed to be a sincere tribute to the late king evolved immediately into a bizarre dance that was perfected by the absurdist behavior that has defined Martin's sense of comedy over the decades. Wildly shaking his arms and bizarrely singing about Tut's consumption of a crocodile and the fact that "he gave his life for tourism," "King Tut" has been a defining moment for "Saturday Night Live."

1. More Cowbell (2000)


I will concede that my number one and number two choices are essentially a tie as I believe that both do the best job at visualizing what "Saturday Night Live" has been these past thirty-five years. In this skit, starring one of SNL's greatest hosts, Christopher Walken, the audience was explained the behind-the-scenes story of the Blue Oyster Cult's "(Don't Fear) The Reaper." What probably was conceived as SNL's explanation for the odd-sounding cowbell in the song, Will Ferell played a long and overbearing (and offended) cowbell player who conflicts with the direction of the cowbell's sound with other band members. It was Walken, as Bruce Dickenson ("yes, the Bruce Dickenson") who insisted that there must be more cowbell. The confrontations increased, but Dickenson demanded more--"I gotta have more cowbell, babe!" Walken has been one of Hollywood and the theatre's best actors for the past thirty years, but it was SNL (and Quentin Tarantino's casting of him in "Pulp Fiction") that introduced the world to a more humorous Walken. He utilized every aspect of that persona in those sketches. Walken has mentioned in interviews that people will randomly approach him and request a bit more cowbell. "Guess what? I got a fever. And the only prescription is more cowbell!" And thus was spoken SNL's immortal line (that, and "live for New York, it's Saturday Night!").



There were of course some that did not make the list but of course deserve recognition. In 1982, Frank Piscopo and Eddie Murphy gave a perfect duet as Frank Sinatra and Stevie Wonder respectively (was that word really needed?). Martin Short and Billy Crystal's characters and sketches were both left out, but both delivered quality performances. A favorite actor of mine, Tim Curry, hosted the show in the early 1980s and performed "the Zucchini song" with suggestive lyrics. Current senator from Minnesota Al Franken had great moments not only as a writer but also as his Stewart Smalley character (Franken's enemies of the right still refer to him as Senator Stewart Smalley). Did you know that Robert Downey, Jr., Anthony Michael Hall, and Ben Stiller were at one point cast members? Or that Sarah Silverman and Conan O'Brien were once writers on the show (the latter was the one who wrote the infamous "penis sketch")? Perhaps it was the biggest crime on my part to have not seriously discussed Gilda Radner's role in the show.

"Saturday Night Live" is, simply put, a remarkably important part of American pop culture and even history. If nothing else, it is the funniest show on television, certainly with regards to longevity and consistency. There were the periods of doubt (notice that not much of the early 1980s is represented? This was the period when producer Lorne Michaels had left the show), but for the past thirty-five years, hearing that "live from New York, it's Saturday night," has been an essential.

SNL, Alec Baldwin, Canteen Boy, Mike Myers, Adam Sandler, Saturday Night Live, Clinton, Bush, Daily Show, Jaws, Jeopardy, Sarah Palin, Joe Pesci, Tina Fey, Steve Martin, Christopher Walken, Tim Curry

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