Saturday Night

Director: Jason Reitman
Starring: Gabriel LaBelle, Rachel Sennott, Cory Michael Smith, Ella Hunt, Dylan O' Brien, Emily Fairn, Matt Wood, Lamore Morris, Kim Matula, Finn Wolfhard, Nicholas Braun, Cooper Hoffman, Andrew Barth Feldman, Taylor Gray, Nicholas Podany, Kaia Gerber, Robert Wuhl, Tommy Dewey, Catherine Curtin, Jon Batiste, Willem Dafoe, Paul Rust, Tracy Letts, Matthew Rhys, J. K. Simmons, Brad Garrett, Josh Brener
Running Time: 109 min.
Rating: R

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★) 

While certain obstacles accompany making a film about the 1975 premiere of Saturday Night Live, few compare to the challenges faced by the original cast and crew who got the show onto NBC, where it's resided for the past 50 years. Saturday Night co-writer/director Jason Reitman had to know this when committing to recreate a special brand of backstage chaos filled with actors chosen to pass as the most respected comedians of all-time. But they didn't start out on top. It was SNL that made them household names.

That's why it's so fitting Reitman stacks his cast full of young unknowns on the cusp of stardom, attempting to replicate the backstory of this bizarre show that didn't quiet resemble anything else on television. The running gag is how its frazzled but determined creator Lorne Michaels can't explain to executives something no one's seen yet. And he's right. But that doesn't mean what eventually airs in the midst of walkouts, firings, fires, threats and other production mishaps will even resemble the vision he has in mind. Flying by the seat of his pants, he'll be lucky if the network even lets him go through with it at all. 

For decades, critics and audiences would label each new SNL season and cast as its worst while overlooking how many huge talents it spawned. And this ensemble has the unenviable job of stepping into their shoes for one ridiculously stressful, debaucherous, profanity filled night that launches all their careers. But despite moving at a breakneck pace, certain faces do stand out long enough to make an impression as Reitman constructs one of his best recent efforts, and maybe the first that seems addictively rewatchable.  

It's October 11, 1975 and producer and creator Lorne Michaels (Gabriel LaBelle) arrives at NBC's New York City studio to prepare for the live airing of his new variety program, Saturday Night, which has the reluctant backing of increasingly nervous network boss Dick Ebersol (Cooper Hoffman). But disingenuous executive David Tebet (Willem Dafoe) is less optimistic, threatening to pull the plug and replace it with a rerun of The Tonight Show With Johnny Carson. 

The dysfunction Tebet witnesses does little to change his mind, as Michaels, comedy writer wife Rosie Shuster (Rachel Sennott) and head writer/actor Michael O' Donoghue (Tommy Dewey) try to wrangle their ambitiously makeshift cast of Chevy Chase (Cory Michael Smith), Gilda Radner (Ella Hunt), Dan Aykroyd (Dylan O' Brien), Laraine Newman (Emily Fairn), John Belushi (Matt Wood), Garrett Morris (Lamorne Morris) and Jane Curtin (Kim Matula). As show time rapidly approaches, everything that can go wrong does, putting the pressure on Michaels to prevent his dream from being shattered before it even airs.

Clocking in a tight 109 minutes, Reitman keeps things moving so fast it feels like twenty, letting viewers experience the crunch of how little time remains before the show goes live. And with relentless editing and rapid Sorkin-style dialogue, we're fully immersed inside this tumultuous backstage atmosphere with hardly a moment to breathe. On top of its impeccable, era specific production design, the whole film almost plays like a single continuous tracking shot, traveling from the street into the studio's halls, through the dressing rooms and onto the sound stage. Around every corner is another problem for Michaels to navigate, whether that's cutting sketches and performers with minutes to go, placating the stringent network censor (Catherine Curtin), or dealing with dissatisfied, coked up host George Carlin (Matthew Rhys). 

Michaels has to massage a lot of egos, and while history counts Chevy Chase as the most contentious cast member, it's actually Matt Wood's catatonic Belushi who proves completely uncontrollable, straddling the line between addict and eccentric genius. Wood, along with Cory Michael Smith's Chase and Dylan O' Brien's mustachioed Dan Akyroyd leave the biggest impressions of the main players, shunning any attempt at imitation to instead capture the freewheeling attitudes of super talented party animals who already consider themselves stars. 

Smith is particularly strong as Chase, establishing himself as the glue that holds this show together, impressing executives even while rubbing certain guests and castmates the wrong way. He'll get his comeuppance in a memorable confrontation with the gruff, ornery Milton Berle (a movie stealing J.K. Simmons) who humiliatingly cuts the cocky Chase down to size in front of girlfriend Jacqueline Carlin (Kaia Gerber). None of this likely happened, but the idea it could have is where the fun's at, as Reitman and co-writer Gil Kenan send up the stars' controversial reputations.

There are also other small moments in the midst of all this pandemonium that really click, like Garrett Morris's insecurity over his big break or actor Nicholas Braun's depiction of an ignored Jim Henson, who's captured with eerie specificity. And in a clever parallel to the spontaneous nature of SNL itself, Braun pulls double duty as Andy Kaufman, whose ubiquitous presence leads to a big payoff that doesn't disappoint. Gilda Radner, Laraine Newman and Jane Curtin aren't given much face time, at least in relation to how their contributions are viewed. But given the sheer amount of ground covered, it's inevitable certain players are shortchanged, which is also an accurate reflection of this show over the years. 

The casting of Dickinson actress Ella Hunt as Radner might be Reitman's only questionable call since those expecting the outsized personality of the comedic legend will be taken for a loop by Hunt's sweeter, more tender take. This isn't to say Radner didn't also possess those qualities, but it's easier  imagining co-star Rachel Sennott knocking that role out of the park. Instead, she proves invaluable as show den mother Rosie, who protects Michaels and the rest of the cast from their own worst instincts. Still, Reitman deserves praise for a a touchingly prophetic scene between Radner and Belushi that resonates in all the right ways as all these characters head into the final stretch.

Having already played a variation on another iconic creator in Steven Spielberg's The Fabelmans, Gabriel Labelle carries this picture on his back, leading the charge as Michaels wards off the constant stream of bad luck and a network itching to see him fail. He's always been described as generally low-key so it's interesting to watch how LaBelle's performance doesn't really contradict those accounts, even under the craziest of circumstances. A human punching bag who absorbs each successive blow, he'll soldier on, determined to see the show judged on its own merits. He knows what he has, even if putting it into words for the suits can get a little tricky. 

That NBC had no interest in ever airing this endeavor makes the film's closing scene hit that much harder, as everyone anxiously waits for a reaction signifying they've somehow pulled it off. Michaels is frequently warned against referring to the show as a "revolution," but after hearing late night's most famous intro for the first time, it's impossible not to understand what he meant. By capturing this in all its chaotic glory, Saturday Night shows how the most effective comedy can't just merely be described. When you see it, you'll know.                                                        

The Fabelmans

Director: Steven Spielberg
Starring: Gabriel LaBelle, Michelle Williams, Paul Dano, Seth Rogen, Julia Butters, Judd Hirsch, Jeannie Berlin, Robin Bartlett, Keeley Karsten, Sophia Kopera, Sam Rechner, Oakes Fegley, Chloe East, Jame Urbaniak, David Lynch, Greg Grunberg
Running Time:151 min.
Rating: PG-13

**The Following Review Contains Plot Spoilers For 'The Fabelmans'**

★★★ ½ (out of ★★★★)

Considering how everyone's story often looms larger than life in their own minds, that impact must feel heightened for Steven Spielberg, whose childhood has so informed his work as a filmmaker that the idea of a movie inspired by those memories may seem like a self-indulgent formality. But because it's been frequently alluded to through the years, there's a curiosity factor in seeing how his parents' divorce influenced the director who'd go on to make future classics like Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Raiders of the Lost Ark and E.T. 

It's not a coincidence those three aforementioned titles spring to mind while watching The Fabelmans,  as each combine that childlike sense of wonder prevalent in Spielberg's filmography with his recurring theme of broken families. While the latter motif has either consciously or unconsciously permeated his films, this marks the first time as an audience we get front row seats to watch him sit on the psychologist's couch as he processes it. You can almost feel through the screen how personal and raw it still is, as if we've been given unrestricted access to details only those closest to him should know. And yet, there's still that universal appeal present that's categorized so much of what he's previously done. 

To Spielberg's credit, he goes all in and rarely pulls punches, further solidifying our belief it's more than "loosely inspired" by real events.  Jumping off the little we already knew, these feel like things that would have happened, but also how you imagine he'd present it. The family dynamic is universally messy enough to feel relatable, before the story to some fascinating places in the second half, retaining the idea that a series of events at a key point can set someone on a trajectory, regardless of whether they're ready. Clearly, the divorce carried life-altering consequences, but what's most interesting is how the implosion of a traditional marriage meant something far different in the 50's and 60's than it does now, making it that much easier to see how this event would so dramatically affect him.

It's 1952 in Haddon Township, New Jersey when pianist Mitzi Fabelman (Michelle Williams) and her computer engineer husband Burt (Paul Dano) take their eight-year-old son Sammy (Mateo Zoryan Francis-DeFord) to see his first film, Cecil B. DeMille's The Greatest Show on Earth. Traumatized by the train crash scene, Sammy can't sleep or get it out of his head, determined to restage it with the toy train set he got for Hanukkah. With his mother's permission, he shoots this crash with an 8mm camera, which leads to him make movies starring younger sisters Reggie, Natalie and Lisa. But when Burt gets offered a new job at GE in Phoenix, the family relocates, with Burt's best friend and co-worker Bennie (Seth Rogen) also coming along. 

As a teen, Sammy (Gabriel LaBelle) continues making films with his Boy Scout troop, before shooting a family camping trip, the footage of which leads to a heartbreaking reveal about mom Mitzy. While an angered and distraught Sammy stews over this shocking discovery, Burt gets promoted, causing another move to California, this time with Bennie being left behind. Facing bullying and anti-semitism at a new school, Sammy temporarily abandons filmmaking and begins dating classmate Monica (Chloe East), a devout Christian who quickly falls for him. But with his family crumbling, the urge to pick up a camera remains, as does his dream of making movies in Hollywood.

This contains so much family shenanigans early on that you have to assume it was directly drawn from the Spielberg's memories since it's simply too crazy to believe otherwise. Running a robust two and a half hours, the film leads with lighter, comedic material (one including a pet monkey), that frame the picture of a family whose happiness is on borrowed time. It also marks a rare instance of the director going way over the top to make a point we're not sure he'll get around to. For a little while we wonder if he has one, until the surprise arrival of former film industry vet uncle Boris (Judd Hirsch) to berate and inspire Sammy, prophetically laying out the sacrifices ahead of him in having to choose between family and art. Hirsch's brief, electric performance has been rightfully praised, but works best when viewed as setting the groundwork for a more memorable encounter Sammy experiences later.

Sandwiched between a practical, scientific father dismissive of his filmmaking "hobby" and an artsy, free spirited mother encouraging him to reach for the stars, Sammy's soon hit with the realization all isn't what it seems with his parents' marriage. Spielberg and Tony Kushner's script isn't subtle about Mitzi and Burt orbiting different planets as spouses, and while some criticism has been leveled against Michelle Williams' flighty, occasionally downright bonkers portrayal of Mitzy, that was likely the intention. And if it's supposed to be an exact facsimile of Spielberg's actual mother, all you can really do is commend him for actually going there since Mitzy is...a lot. And it's safe bet that parts of this character will be recognizable to many, emotions flailing as the rest of the family anxiously await her next cringeworthy public display.

Spielberg probably felt he had to cast Williams' since it's unlikely anyone else could navigate a part this tricky and unflattering, filled with highs and lows. It's a better performance than most think, and given how it supposedly skirts the line between lead and supporting, eats up enough time to claim the movie mostly belongs to her. Dano disappears into the brilliant, but straight-laced Burt, whose disinterested demeanor and milquetoast personality subtly feeds Mitzy's inferiority complex. And yet you feel for him, realizing he's doing his best with all that's on his plate. Ironically, Seth Rogen's one of the film's more subdued aspects, bringing a goofy charm to Bernie, who we recognize as possibly providing Mitzy more of what she needs than her own husband.

There are some really powerful scenes, such as a family member's death, another involving daughter Reggie's (Julia Butters) embarrassment at her mom's exhibitionism and a handful charting Sammy's reaction to Mitzi's seemingly unforgivable transgression. The idea that Sammy filters everything that happens through movies begins with his restaging of the train crash but becomes even more pronounced when he splices together the single worst moment of his young life. If it seems as if the  anti-semitic bullying comes out of nowhere, that's because these things often do. And not only is it the strongest section of the film, but arguably the best narrative stretch Spielberg's had in years, in no small part due to newcomer Gabriel LaBelle's performance. 

We've seen many failed attempts from directors at casting their onscreen surrogate, but LaBelle's the real deal, undeniably great at conveying just the right amount of awkwardness, humor and angst as he single-handedly carries the remainder of the picture. And toward the end, the actor even begins to physically resemble the shaggy haired Spielberg we've seen in photos and footage from that period. Sammy's whirlwind relationship with the very religious Monica supplies the film with some of its biggest laughs, but what hits hardest is this unexpected arc with school bullies Logan (Sam Rechner) and Chad (Oakes Fegley). His filming of senior Ditch Day leads to the understanding of just how much power he wields behind the camera to tell the story he wants, while maybe even also earning a certain degree of begrudging acceptance. Watching, you wonder if Spielberg intended this as a dig at critics who have long cited the director's populist sensibilities as blunting the full creative potential of his output.  

Whether Sammy makes the choice he does to be liked or simply because it was right for the project is a question even he can't completely answer. But it leads to the film's best scene, a school hallway confrontation that crackles with a verbal and physical intensity we haven't seen from the director in years. The sequence frames everything preceding it to mean more in totality, as does an ending that sees Sammy meeting his hero, legendary director John Ford, played with cantankerous bluster by an ingeniously cast David Lynch. It's a cameo that needs to been to be believed, and even then, you still may not believe it. And it's all capped off with a clever visual gag that deserves mention as the one of the more indelible final shots of Spielberg's career.

Subverting expectations and playing better the longer it sits, the film avoids sappiness and is even a little messy, which comes as a relief considering the director's reputation for playing it safe. After Schindler's List there was no going back, almost as if Spielberg realized that delivering crowd pleasing blockbusters to the masses no longer held the interest for him it once did, as he moved toward historically based, character driven dramas. But whether it's the nostalgia of digging into his own past or again working with kids, you kind of feel that spark return here, combining the best of both Spielbergs. And by now tackling the one issue that's colored his entire journey, we're left wondering whether The Fabelmans can even be judged on its own terms, or is best evaluated as a reflection of the man who made it.