Saturday Night Live Did Sydney Sweeney Dirty
Watching Sydney Sweeney host Saturday Night Live was a bit like watching Barbie before her existential crisis. The Euphoria star was cheerful surface company. Her boobs were on full display and referred to often; her hair fell in mermaid waves. I don’t actually know if she’s funny because all the show had her to do was be young and beautiful.
Her monologue started off okay. “You might have seen me in Euphoria or Anyone But You,” Sweeney said, an eager smile on her face. “You definitely didn’t see me in Madame Web.” From then on it was a rushed stream of one-pitch jokes about how she's been packaged. “People only see me as the girl on TV who screams, cries, and has sex.” Or about how she keeps her Jessica Rabbit figure: “I run, avoid sugar, and do Ozempic.” Or, when she showed a PowerPoint presentation explaining how she planned to make it in Hollywood. Her Plan B: “Show boobs.” Jesus, writers, help a girl out.
At one point, Sweeney tried to debunk the rumor, planted cannily around the time of Anyone But You’s production and release, that she and her co-star Glen Powell were romantically involved. When she asked the camera to pan to her real-life fiancé, it landed on the actor himself instead, mugging in the audience.
The best sketch of the night starred—brace yourself, Shane Gillis fans—Bowen Yang. It began with Sweeney confessing to Ego Nwodim and Heidi Gardner that she had an itsy-bitsy crush on a cast member. “Who?” asked Nwodim. “Lenny Pickett.” (Best laugh of the night, and that’s no disrespect to the legendary saxophonist and musical director.)
But no: Sweeney was sweet on Yang, her type being “gay-presenting Asian podcasters,” whom the women reveal to her is actually straight as an arrow. (“Boygenius?” he sneered to his entourage. “I was like, y’all are giving Girl Dumbass.”) “Bowen just plays gay on the show because it’s a shortcut to laughs,” explained Gardner. We watched Yang strut around with chin thrust high, popping Marcello Hernandez in the nuts. “Hey baby girl, where’s my smile?” he demanded of Sweeney. He made out with Gina Gershon and Sweeney, before jetting off to Paris with two dames in leopard-print furs.
Charlotte the pregnant stingray—you might not know about her, but your kids definitely do—was a special guest on Weekend Update. Nwodim, enveloped in what looked like a giant tortilla adorned with nameplate earrings, announced that Michael Che was the daddy: “Mr. Weekend Update and his ‘latex allergy.’” Che begged to differ, positing the theory that this was an immaculate conception. Her response: “Yeah, it was immaculate, in that you immaculated, and then I immaculated three times back-to-back. I would say you broke my back, but I ain’t got no bones.”
Sweeney and Chloe Troast appeared in a sketch about a pair of soulless interior designers who’ve taken the AirBnb world by drowsy storm. They specialize in in Live Love Laugh and You Glow Girl wall hangings, as well as Temu-purchased prints like Albert Einstein with his tongue out and Black and White Child Holding Red Balloon. Not to mention “politically ambiguous artwork”: lives matter.
Sweeney, sigh, showed up in a Hooters sketch. A bit where her cheerleader tried to seduce a dog. As a 22-year-old girl with a thick, drowsy voice in a situationship. As a woman who breaks up with her boyfriend on date night because she cheated on Andrew Dismukes with her boss. “Hey baby cakes,” said Glen Powell, reappearing at the restaurant as her new flame.
It was a long night, and a forgettable one. There’s so many Barbies in this town. I know how ungenerous I sound towards this young actress, and I do wish her success. But some day, probably sooner than she thinks, she might find herself asking, What was I made for? I hope it’s more than anyone expects.
