‘SNL UK’ review: Tina Fey kicks off British version of sketch show

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?

After 50 years of being practically synonymous with New York City, “Saturday Night Live” has opened the door to London, with “Saturday Night Live UK,” following in the steps of “Law & Order UK” and possibly nothing else. Of all the cities in the world that might conceivably replicate the spirit of the NBC original, the British capital, with its urban dynamism, media concentration and 20,000 comedians, feels like the obvious, and perhaps only choice. (“Saturday Night Live Italia” might prove me wrong, if that day ever comes.) And, of course, we’ve been in a reciprocal comedy arrangement with Britain — or at least we have been nicking their ideas for shows — for years.

The show premiered in the U.K. this past Saturday on Sky One and NOW, and began streaming stateside Sunday on Peacock, with our own Tina Fey as the first guest host. (“It’s an absolute honor and kind of historic,” she said to studio audience. “Guys, I am the youngest person to ever host ‘SNL UK!’”)

As a “Saturday Night Live” star, writer and head writer; and the co-creator of “30 Rock” — her show about a sketch show set in the very same building as “SNL” — they couldn’t have appointed a better ambassador. Lorne Michaels doubtless has her on speed dial.

Here’s the short review: In the course of a single episode, “SNL UK” managed to feel very much like its parent show — which is to say, some of it worked well and some of it worked less well, but very little of it didn’t work at all. There were sketches that ran too long, or ended weakly, but were generally redeemed by a young(ish), confident 11-member cast that made the most of them. Some will already be recognizable to British viewers. Many have had notable, or anyway noticed, careers in stand-up; in the sort of stand-up that amounts to theater; in straight theater (including Shakespeare, naturally) and/or in television and film. Fey promised to “stay out of their way as much as possible,” but she came to play, and appeared in most every sketch.

The evening followed established protocol. Cold open. (Prime Minister Keir Starmer, played by George Fouracres, is afraid to tell President Trump, whom he regards as a sort of bad boyfriend, that he’ll send no more ships to the Strait of Hormuz: “I know how badly you want to start World War III, and that’s great. You absolutely do that but we can’t be part of it.”) Hammed Animashaun and Jack Shep accompanied Fouracres in the sketch and shared the glory of shouting, “Live from London, it’s ‘Saturday Night!’” They would continue to dominate the episode.

Next: Opening credits featuring the cast members out and about in the city. Monologue, with guest appearances from Nicola Coughlan, Michael Cera and Graham Norton. (The set is very much in the style of various American iterations over the years, clock included, with the band onstage.) Film bits and sketches. Musical guest. (Wet Leg, surly.) “Weekend Update.” More skits. Musical guest returns. More comedy. Whole cast onstage at the end, ready to party.

Among other things: A Shakespeare skit found the Bard (Fouracres again) returning to Stratford from London between plays, each time more affected, beginning with an earring and finishing with an electric scooter, sunglasses and a bag of ketamine. A Paddington Bear immersive experience, with an actual bear, turns bloody, recalling Dan Aykroyd’s 1978 classic Julia Child sketch. As a bra salesperson giving an ego boost to Fey‘s customer, Emma Sidi was funnier than the sketch she was in. (It did include a cameo by Regé-Jean Page, from “Bridgerton.”) In another, David Attenborough (Fouracres again, again), using “Jurassic Park” technology, hosts a “last supper” featuring great dead Britons including Winston Churchill, Isaac Newton, Agatha Christie (Fey), “Freddie Mercury, from Queen, Elizabeth the First, from being the Queen,” and Shep’s Princess Diana, pulling focus at Attenborough’s right shoulder; all they manage to discuss is how many starters to get for the table. It had the added bonus of getting the entire cast, and guest host, onstage.

The film bits were first-rate. (Not being live has its advantages.) One advertised an anti-aging cream — Undérage, with a soft “g” — “that works so well everyone will think your man is a nonce.” (That is, a pedophile.) “My skin looks so fresh,” says a happy customer, “my husband can’t go anywhere without being hunted by right-wing pedophile-catching militias.” “My husband lost his record deal and, some, but not all of his fans.” Another concerned a sort of command center where workers labored “to make the internet as bad as we can possibly get it.”

There are, to be sure, tonal differences to British and American comedy; just compare the respective versions of “The Office,” or “Ghosts,” or “Doc Martin” with its domestic remake, “Best Medicine”; the former tends to be darker, more cutting, more absurd. (A “Weekend Update” joke about the former Prince Andrew’s new home, Marsh Fair, “of course named after the nearby marsh where his body will be found.”) Despite that, and the old saw that Britain and America are two countries separated by a common language, the show translated well transatlantically. Apart from some local topical and cultural references, and an occasional unfamiliar word whose meaning was in any case obvious from context, and some swearing, most of it could have been played with few adjustments by the American cast.

“While we may not agree with everything America does,” Fouracres’ prime minister says at the end of the cold open, “we can still be civil and embrace their wonderful, unproblematic culture.” Back at you, buddy!

The season has been extended to eight episodes from the originally ordered six. (Riz Ahmed and Jamie Dornan are scheduled to host.) Why not 10?