‘Saturday Night’ review: chaotic, inspiring but where are the laughs?

Is there anyone more annoying than an improv comedian who’s always ‘on’? How would you like to hang out with a whole cast of them, backstage, in real-time, as they riff on new material, bicker and – sigh – work out contracts? Meanwhile, the clock is counting down to their debut performance on Saturday Night, a brand-new live broadcast that will invite the whole of America into their madcap world. There are only a few snags: they don’t have a running order; key players are AWOL, high or both; and the set keeps catching fire. Oh, and no-one – not even the producer – seems to grasp what its actual concept is.

We now know the result as Saturday Night Live, a sketch show institution that celebrates its 50th birthday this year, having acted as a petri dish for some of the West’s greatest comedic talent and become that thing you occasionally see clips of on Instagram. In October 1975, though, its intrepid goofballs can’t even give away tickets on the streets of New York, as one poor stagehand (a bizarrely underused Finn Wolfhard) soon discovers.

Upstairs, in the studio, aforementioned producer Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle) is trying to wrangle the likes of Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith), Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O’Brien), Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn) and John Belushi (Matt Wood) into shape. Can the talented but untested, unknown cast pull it out of the bag when the big red light comes on?

Spoiler: yes. This isn’t actually a spoiler, though, unless you’ve never heard of Saturday Night Live, in which case why are you watching the film in the first place? There is some dramatic tension added two-thirds through its runtime, though that’s obviously too late, so this is an against-the-clock race to a conclusion we already know about. So was Titanic, you might say. Well, this film isn’t as funny as Titanic.

It does have its moments, mind. There’s an outlandishly memorable scene in which cheeseball TV legend Milton Berle (J.K. Simmons) comes close to challenging Chevy Chase to a literal dick-swinging contest, while Willem Dafoe oozes panto menace as David Tebet, the beady executive who – we’re somehow supposed to think – might can the whole production. For some reason Nicholas Braun (AKA hapless Cousin Greg from Succession) plays both surreal comedian Andy Kaufman and browbeaten puppeteer Jim Henson. He’s better as the former, though it’s telling that Saturday Night’s biggest laugh is a straight recreation of Kaufman’s famous Mighty Mouse sketch.

The film lacks narrative drive and genuine comedy, then. As it barrels towards its inevitable conclusion, though, a funny thing happens. Out of the chaos emerges a rather inspiring ode to making it up as you go along, living in the moment, saying ‘yes’ and hoping for the best. You may wind up with a “half-assed rat-fuck donkey show”, as Dafoe fabulously seethes at one point, or you may create history. It’s this that – just about – makes Saturday Night worth watching. As any improv comedian could tell you: stick with it and you’ll stumble upon gold.