Saturday Night Live, with a good cast, has entered yet another Year of Terrible Writing.
I've got Saturday Night Live credentials that are so solid that they're embarrassing. I've been watching since it began on a cold, winter's night in 1947. I hung on after Uncle Milty stepped down as host. I persevered through the Jo Anne Worley years, through the two years when Yoko Ono directed it, and even through the Half Decade of Mime. I've watched it when it was a generational touchstone and when the peak of the season was a sketch about a Roman vomitorium. I'm going to keep watching this year, too, but it's becoming clear: SNL is deeply into suckitude.…
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