Having only caught clips of the first two episodes, I sat down to watch Saturday Night Live UK’s third outing with trepidation. The first line of its caricatured Keir Starmer ‘cold open’–⁠“Good evening, happy Easter, and, in the strongest possible terms, hello”–⁠made me laugh. Was this the sign of a show in its stride, or a strategic placement of its strengths at the start? This kind of suspicion is what SNL UK has been up against from its inception; an almost automatic cynicism among the British public that comes hand-in-hand with the import of American culture. Adapted from Lorne Michaels’ Saturday Night Live, the weekly sketch show shares production DNA with that institution of US comedy, but boasts an entirely British array of lesser-known writers and performers.

There’s a generational dimension to my cynicism, too: as a Gen Z comedy fan, my tastes have been shaped by independent internet creators working from the ground up. Nothing made me more wary than the prospect of an enormous production company calling the comic shots, pandering to what a focus group had told them I would enjoy. Culturally and generationally, SNL UK faced an audience who had raised an eyebrow before the title graphics even rolled. Weekly TV, ever in flux, dodges definitive or overarching reviews. What we can judge is the success of the format’s transatlantic voyage, and the litmus test of laughter so far.

“The imperfections of speedily engineered comedy are in the spotlight”

The system of production at SNL is as famous as the show itself. Captured in countless documentaries, and even the subject of the 2024 film Saturday Night, the hectic schedule consists of rewrites, last-minute set construction, and sleep-deprived writers wrangling each week’s host. A significant portion of the original series’ appeal and excitement stems from its skeleton being laid bare. This adds a vulnerability to the newly evolving UK edition: whether or not viewers grant more leeway to the rough edges of skits, the imperfections of speedily engineered comedy are in the spotlight. The undeniable talent onscreen, though, is already shining through. A personal favourite cast member is George Fouracres. His comic chops from the Globe Theatre have transferred to a range of impressions, reminiscent of the impersonation skills of Bill Hader, a veteran of the US original in the late 2000s.

A carbon copy format draws attention to similarities and differences between the original show and its spinoff–⁠the most glaring difference being tonal and cultural clashes between UK and US comedy. Riz Ahmed, host of SNL UK’s third episode, joked in his monologue that Brits like it when things are “a little bit crap”. The punchline was followed by a repeated coda that this national trait was “great”. Having dipped into traditionally British self-deprecation, the monologue gravitated towards the cheery tones of its parent programme across the pond. The moment typified the show’s transatlantic stylings—in mood, if not pop culture references—which could easily be labelled as a jarring hangover of international adaptation. Bearing a Gen Z target audience in mind, though, the American flavour seems a little less strange; the Tiktok feeds shaping young senses of humour feature just as many US comedians as British ones. When The Office was adapted for US television, the template was injected with optimism, be it through the literal brightening of lights, or the lessening of cynicism in characterisation. That the reverse has not happened with SNL UK is in itself interesting, and something that I think marks a further step in the unification of mainstream British and American comic genres. Beyond this broad blurring, distinctly British modes of humour in the new series shouldn’t be ignored. A sketch in the most recent episode based on the board game Operation committed admirably to its blood-splattered conclusion, echoing the sort of 21st century black comedy Edgar Wright kickstarted with Shaun of the Dead.

“You would have to adopt a very grumpy outlook not to view the promotion of a new generation of British writers and performers as a promising development in the comedy scene”

Ultimately, SNL UK is earning its laughs. Any ongoing flaws in its comedy are not, in my opinion, the fault of its writers. Continuing the cue card system of its predecessor (a practical necessity given the speed of script turnarounds) means performers glancing off camera for their next line. It creates an energy better suited for zany chaos than dry, English deadpan. This year, the tautly scripted absurdity of a mockumentary like Twenty Twenty Six occupies one end of the British comedy spectrum, and the improvised nature of panel shows lives on the other. There is an ‘uncanny valley’ between the two that makes SNL UK’s live, cue card sketches less bulletproof than prerecorded skits, like Episode 4’s DadSwap advert, which allow for memorised lines.

Central to the success of television comedy in 2026 is an interplay with the internet—a relationship Sky still seems to be working out. As it stands, only selections of each episode’s sketches are uploaded to YouTube, contrasting the US SNL’s complete harnessing of an online audience with every sketch. The surreal song What Kind of Irish is your Grandad from SNL UK’s first episode went viral, but it was three weeks before the show’s YouTube channel, rather than unofficial uploaders, benefitted from it. Sky has imposed its own limit on the kind of internet traction its US version has been swimming in since Andy Samberg’s 2005 Lazy Sunday skit.

You would have to adopt a very grumpy outlook not to view the promotion of a new generation of British writers and performers as a promising development in the comedy scene. Compared to many adaptations of this ilk, the quality of episodes so far has been impressive. Internet and TV comedy should both be celebrated, and finding a dynamic between the two could be the key to SNL UK’s longevity. Online content is central to winning over a Gen Z audience, while live TV carries an inimitable fizz of excitement. I’m eager to see the rest of this series unfold.