Fifty seasons of Saturday Night Live is an impossible milestone to follow. The show that once defined live sketch comedy now carries the weight of half a century of television history—and, these days, an entire culture war’s worth of scrutiny. So when global music superstar Bad Bunny walked onto Studio 8H to launch season 51, the expectations were dizzying.

The Puerto Rican artist, fresh off news that he’ll headline the Super Bowl halftime show, entered a moment as loud as it was fraught. Cable pundits were already turning his name into fodder for grievance—“He doesn’t even sing in English!”—and SNL itself faced pressure over how boldly it would handle politics in the Trump-dominated new cycle. The episode that followed reflected both storms: uneven sketches, flashes of charm, and a host game for anything, even when the writing couldn’t quite keep pace.

The Host With Two Jobs

Bad Bunny, born Benito Martínez Ocasio, made clear from the top that he wasn’t shying away from the moment. His monologue doubled as a wink at the critics and a declaration of self-confidence. “I’m doing fine,” he said, before thanking the audience in un-subtitled Spanish and teasing English-only viewers that they had until the Super Bowl to catch up.

Jon Hamm popped in for a quick cameo, translating in deliberately awkward fashion. The exchange landed as a warm in-joke between two SNL alumni, one who built his fame on English-language satire, the other who’s conquering America on his own linguistic terms.

Hosting live sketch comedy in a second language would rattle almost anyone, but Bunny approached it with a mix of nervous energy and boyish excitement. He threw himself into every premise, often alongside castmate Marcello Hernandez, who served as a bilingual anchor in several sketches. Their chemistry carried the night—even when the sketches didn’t.

Highlights (and Head-Scratchers)

The best-received piece was a Jeopardy! spoof that wisely let Bunny play confusion for laughs. Andrew Dismukes’ deadpan Ken Jennings tried to coax proper phrasing from contestants while Bunny gamely mangled the “answer-as-a-question” format. The bit wasn’t revolutionary, but it was confident, fast, and charming—a reminder that sometimes a simple structure is enough.

Far shakier was the high-school-conference sketch, in which Bunny played the father of a disturbingly artistic teen. The premise—administrators excusing grotesque drawings because the student’s dad is handsome—felt half-finished. Still, it gave newcomer Ashley Padilla a chance to show promise as a straight-woman performer with impeccable timing.

More successful was the absurd brunch piece where Bunny sulked through breakfast because his friends refused to watch the nonexistent anime-style series K-Pop Demon Hunters. The escalating nonsense—complete with musical numbers, blood-spitting demons, and a possessed Sarah Sherman—was the kind of over-the-top weirdness SNL occasionally nails.

Later, Bunny resurfaced as an overly eager sperm donor in a restaurant scene opposite Sherman, Chloe Fineman, and Kenan Thompson. His bizarrely polite offer—“You can use my stuff, in the front, in the back, wherever”—showed off the performer’s instinct for turning awkward phrasing into comedy gold. The sketch itself overstayed its welcome, but his commitment saved it from collapse.

Building a Bilingual Rhythm

Pairing Bunny with Hernandez wasn’t just practical; it was smart television. The two riffed in English and Spanish with the easy flow of cousins trading jokes at a family barbecue. Their faux-historical “invention of Spanish grammar” sketch played like a miniature Drunk History, explaining why oceans are masculine and spoons feminine (“because they stir the pot”). When Benicio del Toro wandered in for a surprise cameo, the energy jumped another notch.

That chemistry hints at SNL’s opportunity to evolve. For years, the show’s Latino representation has been sporadic. Seeing two Puerto Rican performers command the stage—switching languages without apology—felt like a quiet milestone, one that might encourage the writers’ room to meet them halfway with material that isn’t confined to accents or stereotypes.

Weekend Update: Still on Cruise Control

If the sketches showed ambition, Weekend Update mostly coasted. Colin Jost and Michael Che remain expert at cracking each other up, but the rhythm feels mechanical. Their jokes touched on Gaza cease-fire rumors, Trump’s legal woes, and book bans, but rarely bit deep enough to sting. The anchors’ self-aware smirks increasingly suggest two comics trapped in a format that once defined satire but now struggles to justify itself.

New featured player Kam Patterson delivered a desk segment addressing the controversy around his hiring—some fans objected to his edgy stand-up clips. His piece walked a tightrope between contrition and provocation, needling Jost about SNL’s history with race. The material wasn’t explosive, but Patterson’s charisma was undeniable; he might be one to watch.

Bowen Yang, meanwhile, stole the Update spotlight as a prosthetic-laden Dobby the House Elf skewering J.K. Rowling’s anti-trans rhetoric. His frantic delivery and gleeful weirdness brought the night’s biggest laugh break—a welcome burst of unapologetic absurdity amid otherwise cautious commentary.

The Cold Open: Playing With Fire

The premiere’s opening sketch tackled the Trump administration’s latest scandals, with Colin Jost stepping out from behind the Update desk to play former Fox News host–turned–Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth. Jost’s frat-bro energy fit the caricature perfectly. When James Austin Johnson’s Trump entered to freeze time and narrate his own chaos, the bit briefly soared—part political roast, part meta SNL critique.

Still, the satire stopped short of true edge. For a show once celebrated for skewering presidents, the modern SNL tends to poke rather than pierce. In an era when Trump and his allies are openly hostile toward media institutions, that restraint reads less like even-handedness and more like fear.

Reading the Political Room

Season 51 arrives in a climate where comedy and politics collide more violently than ever. Colbert’s Late Show faces cancellation, Kimmel only recently returned from suspension, and the White House’s relationship with network media has turned icy. SNL, now over half a century old and helmed by the cautious Lorne Michaels, seems determined to keep its head down.

That strategy might protect the brand, but it risks irrelevance. Viewers once tuned in for biting satire that crystallized the week’s absurdities; now they often find sketches that gesture toward controversy without landing a blow. The season premiere’s structure—an edgy cold open followed by apolitical fluff—suggests a show hedging its bets.

Cast in Flux

The premiere also spotlighted a reshuffled ensemble. Veterans Kenan Thompson and Mikey Day remain reliable utility players. Chloe Fineman continues her parade of celebrity impressions, now with more room after the exits of Heidi Gardner and Ego Nwodim. Featured players Ashley Padilla and Jane Wickline are still fighting for screen time, though Padilla’s principal role hinted at breakout potential.

Among the newcomers, Patterson’s Update debut and Ben Marshall’s transition from the dissolved Please Don’t Destroy trio generated curiosity, even if neither yet defined the season’s tone.

Music and Moments

Doja Cat’s performances doubled down on theatrical spectacle—proof that SNL still knows how to stage live music better than almost anyone. And a tongue-in-cheek cameo from Jimmy Fallon plugging a K-Pop Demon Hunters “exclusive” reminded viewers that NBC’s late-night ecosystem is one big, self-referential playground.

By the 10-to-1 slot, the show leaned into full surrealism with “The Kid from Number 8,” a slapstick homage to classic Mexican sitcom El Chavo del Ocho. For non-Spanish-speaking audiences, it likely felt like a fever dream; for others, it was a delightful nod to Latin American television history. Either way, it encapsulated the night’s dual identity—chaotic, cultural, and unapologetically global.

Final Grade: C for Cautious

Bad Bunny’s charisma carried the evening, but even his star power couldn’t disguise a creative unease. The writing oscillated between inspired and indifferent, and Weekend Update remains on autopilot. Yet the episode’s bilingual flair, eclectic sketches, and willingness to experiment show glimmers of a fresher direction.

The challenge ahead is clear: if SNL wants to thrive into its next 50 years, it must choose whether to be fearless or merely familiar. Bad Bunny’s premiere proved the show can still surprise—now it just needs the courage to risk more than a safe laugh.