Forget Tyler Perry, beer-and-trucks bro-country, and faith-based movies starring Jim Caviezel. The biggest disparity between American and British pop culture has revealed itself to be Saturday Night Live.
On one side of the Atlantic, it’s considered a TV institution that has launched the careers of every notable comedian of the last 50 years. On the other, it’s an irrelevant relic that’s only been legally available to watch for the past six.
So last year’s announcement that Lorne Michaels was adapting it for the U.K. was greeted as if he’d literally spat in the nation’s face. (Even John Oliver described it as a “terrible idea.”)
Knife-sharpening naysayers predicted the show would hire the same straight white funnymen that already dominate the prime-time schedules. When a multicultural cast of relative unknowns was confirmed instead, they sneered, “Who?” And in a needlessly cruel piece that read like a leftover from the snark-filled 2010s, Vice virtually rubbed its hands in glee at its potential failure, even conjuring up 15 lame ideas they expected to see land with a thud. (Only “a wildly outdated reference to Brat Summer” came close.)
On top of all this, SNL UK isn’t screening on one of the big five networks but instead on the subscription channel Sky One (hence the ultimately slim overnight ratings figures of just 226,000).
U.K. TV comedy is practically on its knees: it hasn’t launched a hit sketch show this decade (last year’s Mitchell and Webb Are Not Helping was a revival). And it’s completely unaccustomed to the fast-paced, hugely collaborative SNL model: this year’s breakthrough—melancholic sitcom Small Prophets—was created, written, and directed entirely by one man.
The show didn’t help itself, either, with a toothless trailer kick-started by a tenuous mishearing of the phrase “pop it in.” When he premiere’s celebrity host Tina Fey—a major name for sure, but one that didn’t seem conducive to forging a new identity—gatecrashed rehearsals while dressed as (wait for it) Mary Poppins amid some distinctly un-British phrasing (“getting laid”) and cliched references (jellied eels, the Royal Family), it looked as though SNL UK may well be pandering solely toward those who grew up on SNL USA.
Last night’s premiere, which, like every episode, will air in America the following day on Peacock, faced a near-insurmountable task to win over the skeptical homegrown audience before a single punchline had been delivered. A tame cold open set in 10 Downing Street, which pretty much amounted to “doesn’t Keir Starmer have a funny nerdy voice?!”, suggested a rough night lay ahead.
However, with a true SNL icon at their disposal, the opening monologue settled the nerves—and in an inspired move, simultaneously tackled all the early criticisms head-on.
Why choose an American to kick things off, Fey asked herself? (“Because none of you f---ers would do it?”) Bridgerton star Nicola Coughlan, the first of several surprise guests sitting in the crowd, then succinctly explained why this was the case: “British people tend to root for the failures of others.”
As the energy in the room clearly started to build, Michael Cera popped up to revel in British TV’s more relaxed attitude to cursing before Graham Norton, whose colorful chat show studio has been repurposed as an SNL replica, entered the stage for some extra moral support. “I have a gift for making American celebrities likable to British audiences,” he helpfully explained.
Not that Fey particularly needed it. A hilarious rapid-fire run of British impressions, which ranged from classic sitcom creations (Hyacinth Bucket) and soap opera legends (Eastenders’ Dot Cotton) to advertising jingles (“Autoglass Repair, Autoglass Replace”) immediately earned her a glut of Brownie points.
Far from trying to impose America’s comedic values on the show, it soon became apparent that, as well as lending an air of legitimacy, Fey was determined to embrace her inner Anglophile.
If this didn’t calm fears that SNL UK was simply an exercise in cultural colonialism, then the first filmed sketch, a glossy faux-commercial for a skincare cream that can make middle-aged women look under the age of consent, should have put them to bed. It seems fair to say U.S. censors wouldn’t have allowed (much less understood) the tagline, “Everyone will think your husband is a nonce.”
Played by one of the opener’s two standouts, George Fouracres (see his truly surreal 45-second tribute to Irish grandads), world-weary David Attenborough then presided over a dream dinner party attended by Winston Churchill, Freddie Mercury, and Cilla Black, the late Liverpudlian whose foghorn vocals have recently been spun into TikTok nightmare fuel.
However, it was MVP Jack Shep’s pitch-perfect turn as a coy Princess Diana, complete with iconic black revenge dress, that provided genuine laughs (and, hopefully, the kind of viral moment the show needs to survive). As this first live sketch cut to an ad break, the typical British cynicism that had earmarked SNL UK as an all-time televisual disaster had shifted into a mood of, “Wait... is this actually good?”
Hammed Animashaun, arguably the most high-profile castmate as a BAFTA nominee for police comedy Black Ops, maintained the high standard as a movie vlogger whose press junket interview veers wildly from unashamedly sycophantic to brutally honest (“I watched this last night. It f---ing sucked”). As did the relatable skit situated within a tech HQ designed solely to wreck the internet experience.
Perhaps inevitably for such a hit-and-miss format, the second half of the 75-minute show (screened at 10 p.m. local time because U.K. late-night culture simply doesn’t exist) suffered in comparison.
A labored routine centered on a mother giving birth to an attention-seeking introvert felt like it lasted nine months itself. The Hamnet spoof, meanwhile, showed the U.K. writing team, which includes Welcome to Wrexham’s amiable toff Humphrey Ker, can be as inept at concluding sketches as their stateside counterparts.
Nevertheless, even these attempts showed glimpses of comic gold: the nurse surmising “an authentic shy person would not pop their puss in that manner” in the former, for example, or Shakespeare showing off his “c---y little earring” in the latter.
Only the finale, a bizarrely mirthless walkthrough of the department store bra-fitting experience, drifted into tumbleweed territory.
SNL UK, however, did find firmer footing with its version of “Weekend Update.” Co-anchors Paddy Young and Ania Magliano clearly enjoyed the opportunity to play near-the-knuckle newscasters, often struggling not to break as they joked of incest within the Beckhams, mocked Dubai influencers (“They went there to escape tax, now they have to evade incoming attacks”), and possibly got a certain problematic comedian speed dialing his lawyers.
Whether you found it all the height of hilarity or a new low in Anglo-American relations, SNL UK should at the very least be applauded for its ambition. It’s the kind of big swing that risk-averse execs rarely take. And with the six-episode run already extended to eight, there’s plenty of time to iron out its teething problems and give those who were sidelined last night more to do.
“SNL UK is born,” Fey declared as the credits rolled amid a palpable sigh of relief from all involved. Although a 50-year run like Lorne Michaels’ flagship operation might be too optimistic, it may well outlive what the vast majority expected.
