Glen Powell loves donning his little disguises. It’s a counterintuitive choice for such a straight-shot charm-offensive of a presence, a guy who doesn’t exactly shapeshift from role to role, but Powell really sells his willingness to go all-in on fake mustaches (even cheap ones, like the subject of an early gag in his version of The Running Man), elaborate makeup (like his professional-amateur “characters” in Hit Man, the movie that so far best puts across his whole deal), or wigs as seen in either of those movies and especially his debut episode of Saturday Night Live.
Obviously, wigs are a feature of every SNL installment. But rarely do they seem so much like an episode’s whole theme, the de facto (or actual) subject of multiple sketches. Weirder still, the show beat any accusations of cheaply wig-based comedy by leaning into it so hard, reaching its zenith towards the end of the night with a masterfully performed sketch with the extraordinarily unpromising premise of “lady gets a bad haircut.” No wonder MacGruber had to make a surprise return appearance; he’s easily the show’s best wig-based recurring character of the 21st century. Did Powell specifically request his return, I wonder?
Powell’s comfort with wigs provides whatever weird calculus is needed to explain why the night’s lead-off sketch, a clever concept with a topical hook, somehow didn’t play as well as any number of much sillier and/or flat-out dumber sketches later in the night. The idea of excitedly showing a grandmother pictures from her youth, animated by A.I. that introduces all manners of glitchy nightmares into her treasured memories, is rock-solid, if technically challenging for a live broadcast. And the sketch worked well enough as Powell, Mikey Day, and others mimed an uncanny-valley version of the past. It also lacked that final push into insanity despite priming the audience for it as soon as the idea is introduced; instead, it ended on the muted note of a runner where one of the grandchildren keeps making unrelated insensitive remarks. The problem, even beyond that ending, apparently: Not wiggy enough.
Because look, consider the movie-set sketch, topical only in the sense that it played like someone in the writers’ room read about (or perhaps fell asleep during?) Sentimental Value. Conceptually, it was a flop, with no central tension. As tedious as the take-ruining sketch structure can be, as much as it would be fine if SNL took a decade-long break from every having a sketch that’s predicated on someone yelling “cut!” with exasperation, at least there’s a built-in game to the scene. Having Chloe Fineman and Glen Powell play grim Norwegian dramatic scenes and then excitedly goof around together in between takes provided a funny contrast, sure, but the sketch didn’t really do anything with it, which only underlined that the director played by (who else?) Mikey Day can’t do anything but say, gee, that’s strange, not even especially bothered, because why would he be? The joke repeated a few times, and then James Austin Johnson rolled in to do one of the night’s several niche impressions, with his pretty decent Stellan Skarsgård. End of sketch. Bad, right?
And yet: not really. I mean, kind of bad or at least unfinished on a writing level, but it was, somewhat improbably, a lot of fun to watch Fineman and Powell doing silly voices and gestures in such giddy excitement over crushing their heavy scenes. It wasn’t just the wigs, obviously. (Even in terms of pure lizard-brain silliness, Jane Wickline’s outlandishly accented “take one” pronunciations made me laugh more than the actual wigs and costumes.) But there seemed to be something freeing about that cheap-disguise wackiness and the whole thing became weirdly electrified. That went double for the sketch about bob-driven division of the U.S. Army, which felt like a caffeinated tweetstorm come to life. (There’s no way that this was written without someone saying “fuck ass bob” in the room, even knowing it couldn’t make it to air.) It even violated Bowen Yang’s very sensible No More Slay edict from last season! (Not me violating my own edict!) And yet everyone was so, so into it, to the point where Sarah Sherman fully pulled off that unlikely look. If there was a greater satirical point beyond the juxtaposition of different types of “fierce” and a vague flip-off to Pete Hegseth, I didn’t catch it. But the near-parodic level of basicness here transcended with its sheer volume of cast members gaining power from their fake black bobs.
The episode culminated in another sketch that should have been beyond basic: Ashley Padilla playing a woman who shows up to dinner with a terrible haircut her friends struggle to praise, as she herself attempts to conceal her obvious disappointment. Here, Powell proved himself a team player, passing wig duty to Padilla, who never, ever let that horrific mix of bowl, buzz, and bangs do too much of the work. I have a feeling that praising Padilla might grow repetitive as quickly as the end of 2025, much less the end of Season 51, and I do think there’s a kind of comedy nerd that might (might) overemphasize her technical skill in a way that might (might) feel a little myopic in terms of what SNL actually does best. (Call it sketch-comedy fundamentalism, and maybe a necessary countermeasure to all of these hit-and-miss stand-ups.) But boy, can she act the hell out of a sketch like this; the confidence she has in holding back and letting the audience come to her, like in the moment where her character enters and just pauses before joining the group with a happy face, is masterful. (So is every other moment she’s on screen in this sketch, but that moment sets the tone.) And in a way, a funny wig can buy you that much extra ridiculous credibility. That’s why Powell works so well in disguise: It gets that initial laugh, and then with that time that laugh buys, the audience locks into the fullness of the performance: OK, this is what he’s willing to do.
What was on
An instant-classic sketch could have taken this episode to the next level from very good to great. (I love MacGruber, but his return basically nudged out the proper five-to-one slot.) Still, almost everything played in the moment, even if most of it won’t be replayed heavily in the future. The most complete piece was a too-rare music video, the country song about missing your ex’s dad. Usually these pieces aim for relatability; this one had a more niche concept (I don’t doubt some folks have had the experience of really vibing with their ex’s dad, but it doesn’t seem like an instance of the show putting a name to something with stealth universality, nor going full-on Lonely Island absurd). But it was so funny, and weirdly sweet, that it justified itself without needing to add some greater sociological dimension. And Powell’s ponytail was a small but significant sign of where the night was heading.
What was off
Putting the “almost” in “almost everything”: that Trump cold open. It was probably one of the better ones of the season so far by virtue of being short, straightforward, and at least a little more cutting. It really takes something as unambiguously slimy as the Epstein List to activate any kind of genuine disgust from Jost or whoever draws the short straw on those political cold opens.
Most valuable player
It should probably go to Padilla, but I will also use this space to give the sometimes-too-much Marcello Hernández his due and say that his intensely physical impression of Sebastian Maniscalco had its own masterful energy, and was funnier than anything I’ve seen Maniscalco do in his actual act. It was especially fun that he sprung that bit into a normal sketch and not a dreary impression parade where half the impressions are of the “I guess” variety. Also: More wig power!
Next time
Melissa McCarthy joins the, ah, six-timers club, and hosts for the first time in a frankly shocking seven and a half years. Does she count as the unofficial alumni and/or friend-of-the-show Christmas-season host? Usually that person hosts closer to the actual holiday, so maybe not, but I’m excited to see her back on the show regardless. With this episode, she’ll tie Drew Barrymore and Tina Fey, and be one down from Scarlett Johansson in terms of the show’s most frequent female hosts.
Stray observations
- • The show has seemingly downplayed celeb impressions as an important skill set in recent years, which is probably fine—gotta give those Celebrity Hosts a Talk Show sketches a break so there can be more restaurants and game shows!—but the rando impression line-up came roaring back this week, with versions of Sebastian Maniscalco (great, well-used); Jennifer Coolidge (fine, seen it before); Stellan Skarsgård (pretty good, one for the nerds); and Liam Neeson as Bryan Mills from Taken (not bad considering that it’s a dude from Texas doing the impersonating).
- • I don’t know if this was a national ad buy (probably?), but my NBC affiliate definitely aired an ad for Maniscalco’s Hulu special just before the block with Marcello’s impression. It was ridiculously perfect priming, not least because the extensive clips of Maniscalco prowling the stage contained precious few actual jokes.
- • Oops All Jokes! Weekend Update happened once last year, and it’s exactly the kind of subtle yet effective shake-up that can help vary the rhythms of the show in a surprisingly crucial way.
- • Olivia Dean is aiming for Amy Winehouse in a Good Mood but the danger of that is you land on Duffy. (Which is to say her songs were totally pleasant.)
- • MacGruber, unsurprisingly, is on the Epstein List. Like, a lot. Forte is an all-time cast member for me, so I would actually be fine with MacGruber handling the lion’s share of topical humor for the rest of the season.
