At least now we know what the SNL writers think of Jonah Hill: poo-poo. And screaming. And getting kicked in the nuts by the worst fake horse since I Google’d “fake horse” and found this. Last night’s episode was an example of the broad comedy NBC desired for all three seconds a couple of years ago, during the Animal Practice dark days. There were sketches based around taking dumps on top of other dumps, Infant Penis Syndrome, and that aforementioned fake horse. Occasionally, one would land — the ex-porn stars might be too weird to be considered “broad,” but EVERYONE can enjoy The Bangs of New York — but this wasn’t much of an SNL to remember.
Except for the dog lawyer, always the dog lawyer.
So, all male figure skaters are gay? Timely stuff there. This cold open felt like it could have been written for any of the past five Winter Olympics, and that lack of topicality made for an indifferent start to the episode. Jay Pharoah struggling to skate was an amusing visual gag, more so than the slight irony of Kate McKinnon playing a straight woman in a sketch ostensibly about gay people, but even that couldn’t save this sinking ship.
(Sorry, still have Titanic on the brain.)
It’s weird, I completely forgot that Jonah Hill has hosted SNL before (twice, actually) until he mentioned it in the cold open. Then Adam Grossman happened, and all the memories came flooding back. The six-year-old doesn’t bug me as much as he does others, with his Catskills resort comedy, mostly because Shell Silverstein is a solid name for a turtle, but I wasn’t exactly clamoring to see him again, either, especially without Bill Hader playing his father. No offense to Vanessa Bayer, but without Adam trying to score a date for his dad, there’s something lacking, and Adam comes across as more of a loudmouth jerk than helpful son. Then again, HE’S SIX.
“The Hit” appeals to the specific kind of SNL viewer who loves gun violence AND Carole King. Hopefully you’re that person (it also helps if you like bunnies), because it was very funny, if a bit too long.
Huh. I actually think I liked “Couples Quiz.” No, that’s too strong of a statement: I didn’t hate “Couples Quiz” when I probably should have. There are SO many game shows on SNL that I enjoyed how varied it was from all the different iterations of Family Feud. Which is to say, there were a lot more dump jokes. Always appreciated.
Weekend Update: Olya Povlatsky
Hear me out: Orphan Black, but with Kate McKinnon as nine Russian clones. I’d never not watch that. McKinnon’s Olya, or really any of her Eurasian women, might be my favorite Weekend Update character, save for perhaps Drunk Uncle. I love the way she goes from calm and cool while Seth’s talking to bug-eyed when it’s her turn to explain how IN YOUR FACE, DOG LAWYER. (That’s my “if I travel back in time” yearbook quote.) If SNL wants to do any more Olympics coverage, make sure Olya is involved, and cloned multiple times.
Evan and Seth’s Superbad sleepover got weird when the camera wasn’t rolling. There have been at least eight “Him” parodies of Her this week, so it was smart of SNL to tweak the format slightly with Me, even if the joke never went beyond its narcissistic premise. I’m curious how many people understood what was being mocked or why Jonah was wearing Clint Eastwood-level high pants — Her‘s made only $17 million at the box office so far — but joke’s on them if they can’t understand why Michael Cera showed up as Jonah’s sexual surrogate. An even better choice than Leo.
Was that sweat or water dripping down Jonah’s face? Either way, the biggest laughs here came from Jonah’s drenched, blush-heavy deer-in-headlights look when he returned to the dinner table, unaware that everyone could hear him screaming about banging the black guy’s wife, wearing makeup, and Infant Penis Syndrome. (It was a Chris Farley sketch without Chris Farley.) And now someone who searches for real medical advice about “Infant Penis Syndrome” is going to come here, and be VERY confused. Sorry, sir and/or depressed wife.
Hey, at least it wasn’t the Californians. Kyle and Beck’s “Inside SoCal,” based on a sketch of the same name, was a devastatingly accurate portrayal of Southern Californian residents, but the jokes, or lack there of, never supported the ripe-with-potential premise, outside of the inherent humor found in parodying the most vacuous of Hurley-wearing bros. I desperately wanted to love “Inside SoCal,” but it was more accurate than hilarious.
The Bangs of New York, Raging Boner, The Departed (Hymen), and The Wolf of Wall Street, obviously, but let’s not forget about The Age of Innosex, Open Her Island, and my personal favorite, Huge-O.
Bastille is what happens if you took DNA from Maroon 5, fun., and the Killers, and turned it into one band, minus the ability to write a catchy melody.