welcome back to the deep dive so today we're
gonna try something a little um a little different
yeah i want to start by setting a scene a really
specific scene i want you to just mentally transport
yourself okay where are we going back to late
2003 early 2004. think about the context you've
probably got a motorola razor you're listening
to hey yah on like A first gen iPod. And on Saturday
nights, you're actually sitting on a couch waiting
for a show to start at a specific time. It really
is a different world. We're talking about a pre
-YouTube, pre -social media landscape where,
you know, appointment viewing was still a real
thing. Exactly. And that's the appointment we're
looking at today. Saturday Night Live. Specifically,
it's 29th season. I've been going through this
stack of notes you sent over and it's. It's honestly
blowing my mind. It's a fascinating comedic time
capsule, isn't it? It is. We're not just looking
at random skits. This is the birth of huge cultural
icons. This season gave us Debbie Downer. It
basically launched Justin Timberlake's entire
comedy career. And it's full of these bizarre
niche experiments they had, like completely blocked
out of my memory. Well, when you analyze the
sources from that period, October 2003 to May
2004, you see a show in the middle of a huge
transition. They're balancing these high -energy
musical parodies with these quieter, almost strange
character studies. It feels like a blueprint
for how comedy was evolving in the early 2000s.
I think that's a perfect way to put it. So our
mission today is to unpack that blueprint. We're
going to look at the blockbusters, the disasters,
and the sheer weirdness of it all. And I think
we have to start with the biggest surprise of
the season. Let me guess. The moment the world
realized a boy band member could actually be
the funniest person in the room. You're talking
about the Justin Timberlake episode, October
11, 2003. Yes. And this is historically significant
in the SNL canon. It completely shattered that
musical guest stigma. Usually they come on, they
do a stiff line or two, and then they sing. Right.
But Timberlake came in and basically took over
the entire show. And he did it while wearing
a giant foam costume. We have to talk about the
mascot sketches, or as I call them, the... bring
it on down to daveville saga this is a perfect
example of a repeatable comedic formula the premise
is so simple timberlake plays a street advertiser
in a ridiculous costume and he's upstaging a
rival vendor but the commitment level is just
it's insane that first one omeletteville He's
dressed as this massive yellow plastic looking
omelet. And he's not just standing there. He's
dancing with full pop star choreography while
poor Chris Parnell is next to him dressed as
like a sad plate of bacon and eggs. And that's
the structure, right? It's a musical parody.
He uses a boombox to play popular songs from
that year, but changes the lyrics to be about
eggs or soup. And he always lands on that same
catchphrase. Bring it on down to Omeletteville.
Every time. And the notes list so many reasons
of this, it proves how much the audience loved
it. Later, we got Homelessville, where he is
a cup of soup battling Will Forte's Santa. Which,
when you say it out loud, sounds a little dark.
It does, but on screen it was hilarious. It became
a staple. Years later, in 2011, they did Liquorville,
where he was a beer bottle, and they brought
in Lady Gaga to play a bottle of wine. Wow. But
the secret sauce is that Timberlake was willing
to look completely foolish. If he tried to look
cool doing it, the whole thing would have failed.
My favorite detail from the research has to be
Veganville. He's dressed as a giant block of
tofu fighting Bobby Moynihan as an Italian butcher.
Just picturing it is funny. Yeah, a global superstar
dressed as a block of soy product dancing on
a sidewalk. It's just pure joy. And he knew it
was his brand. I mean, even in season 34 when
he wasn't hosting, he popped up on Weekend Update
just to say he would have done Turkeyville for
Thanksgiving. He was signaling to the audience,
I know what you want from me. But that same episode,
that same night in October 2003, also gave us
another duo that defined the era. We can't skip
the Barry Give talk show. Oh, that's the heavy
hitter. That sketch established the chemistry
between Jimmy Fallon and Justin Timberlake that
we still see today. Yeah. The dynamic is just
electric. You have Fallon as Barry Gibb, and
he is dialed up to 11. He's screaming, hitting
that high falsetto. The open chest hair, everything.
And then you have Timberlake as his brother Robin,
just sitting there, totally stone -faced. And
that contrast is the whole comedic engine. If
they were both manic, it'd be too much. If they
were both low energy, it'd be boring. Right.
But having Timberlake sit... in silence until
it's time to harmonize, it creates this tension
that just releases every time they sing the theme
song. It's iconic. But okay, let's shift gears.
We've talked about the polished musical hits.
I want to look at something that felt a little
more chaotic. I think I know where you're going.
A dynamic that was less about the script and
more about just messing with each other. I'm
talking about Caitlin and Rick. Yes. May 2004.
This is a masterclass in physical comedy and
in character breaking. You have Amy Poehler as
Caitlin, this hyperactive, nose -breathing preteen.
Oh my God, the voice. Rick, Rick, Rick. I can
hear it right now. Exactly. Yeah. And then you
have Ratio Sans as Rick, her incredibly patient,
indifferent stepfather. The game of the sketch
is that Caitlin is an unstoppable force of annoying
energy and Rick is an immovable object. She's
literally hurtling over the couch. And he just
sits there. But reading about the production,
it seems like the real game was for Amy Poehler
to torture Horatio Sanz until he broke character.
That was absolutely the meta layer. The audience
quickly realized the script didn't matter as
much as watching Horatio try not to laugh. The
sources mention one moment where Poehler presses
her face directly against his cheek. Oh, I remember
this. Like nose to cheek and just croaks Rick,
Rick, Rick. Yeah. And this frog voice. You can't
train for that. That's just one friend trying
to destroy another on live television. And that's
why it works. You feel like you're in the studio
with them. And they even tried to double the
chaos in the final one by bringing in Molly Shannon
as Caitlyn's mom. Oh, right. And she played the
mom exactly like Caitlyn. So suddenly poor Rick
is trapped between two of them screaming at him.
It was just sensory overload. Speaking of sensory
overload, I want to talk about a sketch that's
maybe a little less high art, but was a huge
part of this season. It started in January 2004,
and it leaned hard into some very specific stereotypes.
Appalachian Emergency Room. Oh, this was a recurring
sketch they went back to again and again. The
premise is right there in the title. An ER in
a rural redneck setting. And it really relied
on this parade of... grotesque characters. It's
a real rogues gallery. You've got Seth Meyers
as the receptionist in a mullet, and he's basically
the only sane person there. He's a straight man.
And then you have Daryl Hammond and Amy Poehler
as Percy and Nettie Bodance. Percy is always
injured, usually blaming it on their druggie
son, and Nettie has that very specific slow shuffle
walk that Amy Poehler perfected. But the standout,
the one that defines the sketch, has to be Tyler.
Yes, Tyler, played by Chris Parnell. He's in
almost every one. The receptionist asks, What
is it this time, Tyler? And the answer is always
that he has something incredibly specific stuck
in his rectum. The writers really... They really
challenged themselves with the specificity. It
wasn't just a bottle. No. The one that killed
me from the notes was the canister of Axe body
spray. And Tyler has this line where he explains
that if he moves his hips a certain way. He can
still make it spray. He can still make it spray.
It's horrifyingly creative. Or the jar of 20
cotton balls. But they were in a jar, so he thought
it was safe. The logic is so warped. And you
had Fred Armisen as Willie Tater, who is always
burning himself doing something ridiculous like
using curling irons as lightsabers. It just feels
like a vehicle for the cast to come in, do a
weird voice, explain a gross injury and leave.
I mean, Jack Black showed up once to do a farting
contest in a live nativity scene. It was lowbrow.
But they committed. And it shows the sheer variety
of humor this season. You go from the slick production
of Timberlake to a fart joke in an ER. Yeah.
But then you pivot to something completely cerebral,
like the character Billy Smith. This one I had
totally forgotten, but reading the description
sounds fascinating. Another Fred Armisen character.
Right. Yes. From October 2003. Armisen plays
a Native American stand -up comedian. But the
humor isn't the jokes themselves. It's anti -comedy.
Right, because he'll start with a classic setup,
like, why did the chicken cross the road? And
then, instead of a punchline, he veers into this
incredibly obscure, serious reference to Native
American culture or local politics. So the silence
from the crowd is the joke. Precisely. The humor
comes from the failure of expectation. And then
he has to awkwardly explain the reference to
the confused audience. It's a very different
comedic muscle than Omeletteville. And speaking
of Fred Armisen and different cultural flavors,
he was really driving the international sketches
this season. We had showbiz grande explosion.
A parody of those big variety shows like Sabado
Gigante. Horatio Sanz was the host, Manuel Pantolones,
and Armisen was Ferrecito, the Venezuelan nightclub
comedian. Ferrecito had that catchphrase, everyone
starts saying, adios mio, and you do that sad
face, then immediately snap back and say, I'm
just kidding. It was basically Spanglish. But
then they took it even further with Besos While
Agreemas, a full -on telenovela parody. And the
boldest part of that sketch, no subtitles. None.
They performed the entire thing in Spanish. That
is a huge risk for network TV in 2004. You're
just banking on the audience getting the joke
without understanding the words. But they did
get it. Because the writers leaned into the universal
language of melodrama. The slapping, the crying,
the dramatic stares. You didn't need Spanish
to know the tropes. Visuals are a big thing,
too. We have to talk about The Prince Show. If
you watched SNL in 2004, this image is burned
into your brain. Everything on screen was purple.
The set, the costumes, the smoke. It debuted
on Valentine's Day 2004. Armisen as Prince and
Maya Rudolph as Beyonce. And the dynamic is so
weird, Prince barely speaks. He just whispers
into Beyoncé's ear and she acts as his translator.
And she translates these bizarre, mystical demands.
But the best running gag was Prince's elusiveness.
He would just vanish mid -sketch. Like physically
leave the set? No, he'd just slip away. The guest
would ask where he went and Beyoncé would point
to a tiny monitor and you'd see Prince doing
something totally mundane, like sculpting a bust
or painting a fence. There's a great story about
this in the research. Apparently, later on, the
real Prince was the musical guest when Steve
Martin hosted. A classic what -could -have -been
moment. The writers wanted the real Prince to
appear in the sketch. The gag was going to be
Fred Armisen looking into a mirror and seeing
the real Prince as his reflection. That would
have been amazing. And Prince refused. Of course
he did. That is the most Prince thing to do.
He didn't want to make fun of himself, so they
just used a regular mirror. But Steve Martin
did end up playing Prince's personal chef, so
we got something out of it. Okay, what about
the industry satire? This season had a lot of
meta commentary on fame. You had Spyglass, which
felt like a British -access Hollywood. Right.
Seth Meyers and Amy Poehler again. The gimmick
was the clash of styles. Seth Meyers played a
presenter who only spoke in terrible puns. We're
keeping an eye on London. Exactly. And Amy Poehler's
characters seem to be reporting on celebrities.
But as she talked, you realize she was actually
just stalking them, you know, digging through
their trash, hiding in their bushes. It's so
interesting to see them building that rapport.
You can see the seeds of their weekend update
partnership right there. Definitely. But for
my money, the best industry satire was Abe Scheinwald.
Oh, Rachel Drash. She is so good at playing these
gross little characters. She played Abe, this
senile old school film producer. And Seth Meyers
played his grandson, Brad, who's trying to take
over the family business and make art. And the
tragedy is that the grandson realizes his inheritance
is gone because Abe passed on every major hit
of the last decade. The list is just painful.
Abe passed on Titanic, The Matrix, Lord of the
Rings. Why? Because he didn't think they had
enough sex appeal. He wanted to make exploitation
films. That was his motto, right? His motto was,
and I quote, It's so crude, but watching Seth
Meyers die inside while Rachel Dratch delivers
that line with total conviction, it's just comedy
gold. And speaking of Rachel Dratch, we've arrived
at the moment we cannot ignore. Season 29 gave
us one of the biggest recurring characters of
the decade. debuting May 1st, 2004, Debbie Downer.
It's shocking she appeared so late in the season.
I feel like Debbie Downer is part of the show's
DNA. It was an instant classic. The premise is
universal, right? Yeah. Someone who... ruins
a perfectly good vibe by bringing up horrific
news. But it's the execution that sells it. The
camera snaps into that tight close -up on her
face. She looks directly into the lens, and you
hear that sound effect. The wah -wah muted trumpet.
It's Pavlovian. We have to be honest. Part of
why this sketch became legendary wasn't just
the writing. It was the breaking. Oh, absolutely.
The very first sketch. At Disney World is famous
because nobody could get through it. Dratch brings
up feline AIDS and the entire cast just dissolves.
It's contagious. When they laugh, the audience
laughs harder. It's that live wire energy you
only get on SNL. Before we wrap up, I want to
pivot to one last sketch that I think is just
delightfully weird. Pat and Patty Silviak. This
one is a tongue twister. It's a linguistic challenge
disguised as a sketch. It wasn't about a plot.
It was about seeing how many times they could
use the ax sound. So you have Horatio Sanz and
Maya Rudolph playing Pat and Patty, and everything
rhymes. They run Pat and Patty's Backpack Shack.
Which is located in Hackensack. Right next to
the dog track. And the employees. Who could forget
Maddie and Jackie Halderback? Or Jack Hackensack?
It's so silly, it's barely a sketch. But it shows
the writer saying, can we sustain a three -minute
segment just using one vowel sound? And the answer
was yes. The notes even mention the website they
promoted was BackpackShack .ac. That is dedication.
It is. And look, not every experiment worked.
There was Jorge Rodriguez, another Rachel Sands
character, this aloof guy looking for his friend
Pepe. I'm looking for Pepe. That was the whole
thing. It didn't quite have the staying power
of Debbie Downer or Barry Gibb, but it shows
that throw -it -at -the -wall energy of the season.
So let's bring this all together. When we look
at this whole season, from Timberlake in a tofu
costume to the ac sketch, what's the big takeaway?
Well, this season really solidified an era of
SNL that relied heavily on recurring characters
and catchphrases. Think about it. Barry Gibb,
Appalachian Emergency Room, The Prince Show,
Caitlin and Rick. These weren't one -offs. They
were franchises. And they were consistent formulas.
You tuned in knowing exactly what you were going
to get. Exactly. You tuned in waiting for Tyler
to say what was in his butt. You waited for Tibberlake
to say... Bring it on down to it was Comfort
Food TV. It really reflects the pop culture of
2004, too. We were obsessed with these big personalities,
J -Lo, Prince, Timberlake. And the show was reflecting
that back at us, but through this like distorted
funhouse mirror. And it was a crucial transition
point for the cast. You see the baton passing.
Fallon is established. But Poehler, Myers and
Armisen are really carving out the spaces that
would define the show for the next decade. It's
a snapshot of a comedy generation finding its
footing. And honestly, this deep dive just makes
me want to go back and watch Justin Timberlake
dress up as a cup of soup again. It remains a
surprisingly enduring image. Before we sign off,
here's something to think about. We talked a
lot about how these sketches were strict formulas.
Tyler's injuries, Caitlin's running, Prince's
whispering. They did the exact same thing every
single time. It raises an important question
about modern comedy. We live in the TikTok era
now, where if a video doesn't surprise you in
the first three seconds, you just scroll past
it. Do we still have the patience for that kind
of repetitive formula? Or was that patient recurring
character model a unique feature of the early
2000s that we might never see again? That is
a great question to chew on. Can a bring it on
down to Omeletteville survive in 2026? I'm not
sure, but I'm glad we have the tapes from 2003.
Thanks for listening to this deep dive. We'll
catch you on the next one. Goodbye.