The 50th Anniversary Saturday Night Live Special is Medicine

It turns out you can go home again. Home in this case being Studio 8H. Or for you and I, perhaps, the 50th Anniversary of Saturday Night Live sends us back in time to our childhood basement or the family room sofa or wherever we first tuned into the show for, as Robert DeNiro said tonight, “a frigging break from our world.” How very right that Paul Simon, who was such a welcome balm in SNL’s return to air after 9/11, opened the show. His duet partner was Sabrina Carpenter of all people, and their pairing on “Homeward Bound,” a song Simon said he first played with George Harrison back in 1978, which Carpenter cutely declared was before when she and her parents were born, was just lovely. Simon, 83, and Carpenter, 25, were the perfect visual pillars to capture SNL’s five decade stretch of generational influence. At the song’s emotional crescendo, Simon sang, “I need someone to comfort me.” Isn’t that why we keep going home to the show?

Steve Martin looked dapper in his tuxedo during the monologue. But it brought a sentimental tear to the eye to see the entirety of the band behind him decked out in white tuxedoes behind him. The best joke of his monologue was when Martin asked for the writers who carry the weight of each show on their backs to stand up and take a deserved bow. The camera cut to the lot of humble scribblers outside in the street, cordoned off from the pretty people behind a barrier. “That tribute to the writers was written by AI,” said Martin. He was joined by John Mulaney, who cracked that “894 people have hosted Saturday Night Live, and it amazes me that only two of them have committed murder.” Martin Short tried to slide into the spotlight but was promptly hauled off stage by ICE.

What a night to remember. Kristin Wiig played Kim Kardashian’s bum drums with her tiny plastic hands. Molly Shannon’s Sally O’Malley and Emma Stone kicked and stretched. Michael Che had a great joke about the show’s many honors over the years. “Ninety-five Emmys, one Grammy, and it has over 100 Tonys on the crew,” he said. “We congratulate them on their January 6th pardons. Welcome back fellas.” Bobby Moynihan brought back Drunk Uncle: “So I’m not musical guest Timothee Chalamet. Pfft. Yeah, I tried to tackle Paul Simon backstage, but I missed and now Sabrina Carpenter’s dead.” Vanessa Bayer and Fred Armisen whispered their explanation of how Lorne Michaels was rude to them when they helped him move. A somber Tom Hanks introduced the In Memoriam segment, but it turned out to be a tribute to the sketches and hosts that haven’t aged well or since gone to jail. (See, Adrien Brody as a Rastafarian; a sketch with Mike Myers in a tub with then child star Macaulay Culkin; folks like R. Kelly, Puff Daddy and Subway’s Jared Fogle mugging on stage.)

Tina Fey and Amy Poehler had great fun taking audience questions. In one of the best jokes of the night, they read a query from one lovitzfan89. “Why am I seated across the street in the American Girl store,” wondered Jon Lovitz, surrounded by dolls. Ryan Reynolds had the perfect response when asked how he was doing. “Great, why? What have you heard?” I could’ve watched an entire night of Julia Louis Dreyfus explaining the show to her service dog. “The intense energy you’re feeling to your left is Adam Driver,” she told the patient golden retriever. “He’s an incredible actor and right now he’s acting like he isn’t attracted to me.” Kevin Costner, still hot from Cher’s Friday performance, scored a seat next to her in the audience. “Cher, you have a question?” asked Poehler. “No, I don’t,” scoffed Cher. “I have a lot of answers.”

Best sketches of the evening? Black Jeopardy cooked. Whomever dreamed up having Tracy Morgan and Eddie Murphy playing Morgan should get one free pass to Lorne’s private bathroom.

Marcello Hernandez’s Domingo crashed a vow renewal, to the delight of bride Chloe Fineman’s soused parents played by Short and Shannon. An intentionally off-key Carpenter joined Hernandez in a tune set to Taylor Swift’s “You Belong to Me.” They were bumped from the mic by cuckolded Andrew Dismukes’ boys who did their own riff to “Espresso.” Pedro Pascal was divinely cast as Domingo’s big brother with a secret, with Bad Bunny popping up as Domingo’s hot brother.

Kate McKinnon returned with tales of another alien encounter, and this time, she was joined by her mother, played by Meryl Streep. “I’m getting winched skyward with my vagedy and my tragedy flapping in the breeze,” McKinnon explained to Aidy Bryant and Jon Hamm, before demonstrating how risqué things got by slapping Pascal’s pascal and sneaking up from behind Woody Harrelson’s undercarriage. Streep, who looked right at home manspreading in a mullet, had the best lines of the bit. “Like my daughter, I got an Into the Woods situation,” she said. “Underwear wise, the devil wears nada.” When Pascal complimented her maternal instincts, Streep looked over at him and purred, “Well, a good mother can also be a badddddd girl.”

This was a nearly three- and half-hour production, but it rarely lost its sense of rhythm and fun. Sure, I thought the old black-and-white film of Jon Belushi walking through the headstones of the first cast dragged a little. And Mike Myers didn’t seem to be having all that much fun reviving Linda for some coffee talk. I didn’t love Miley Cyrus and Brittany Howard’s take on “Nothing Compares 2 U,” which seemed to fall apart by the end. (Their voices blended much better covering Elvis Presley during Friday night’s phenomenal concert.) I do wish they’d held up a picture of Sinead O’Connor at the end of the performance—in elegy, not effigy.

Adam Sandler was the night’s emotional highlight. He was introduced by Jack Nicholson, who doesn’t get out much these days. His song was a love letter to the family of cast and crew whose lives were changed by the show. He called out Tuesday late-night pizza. The nurse Theresa who took care of them with Pepto Bismol. Drunk Wally holding upside down cue cards. Interns like Martin Scorsese’s kid or Nora Ephron’s kid or Randy Newman’s kid. Overserved writers at the afterparty opining that Jaws is overrated. A tradition of crank calling New York magazine critics. When Sandler got to the line about Chris Farley and Norm Macdonald, his voice caught in his throat. “Fifty years of one of us getting to say Live from New York, it’s Saturday Night!” he sang. “Fifty years of standing on home base, waving good night and goodbye. Fifty years of the best times of our lives.” The audience leapt to their feet in standing ovation. What a mensch.

Sir Paul McCartney brought the whole night to a rousing close with a performance of “Golden Slumbers.” A vital 82 years old, he’s a reminder of how old we’ve all gotten and how there’s gravitas and relevance and joy in the passage of time too. “Once there was a way, to get back home,” he sang. “Boy, you’re going to carry that weight a long time.”

Lorne Michaels looked proud and contained and tired on that packed stage at the end of the night. The specter of 80-year-old Michaels’ inevitable retirement came up throughout the night, without any clarity on what’s to come. What a home he’s built and sustained. May he sleep well tonight and every night. Finally, one last blessing to Laraine Newman and Jane Curtin, who were a part of that first cast fifty years ago. In the middle of home base, they held aloft a photo of their dearly missed friend Gilda Radner, who beamed over all the generations of her great, big family.