When it was announced that Saturday Night Live would be expanding to the UK, my immediate thought was, Aren’t we suffering enough? I can’t remember the last time I watched an episode of the American version and laughed even once. Possibly not since the Gosling UFO bit. Generally speaking, SNL is unfunny because it is mostly toothless, safe comedy that tries to walk a ‘bi-partisan’ line.

Yet the UK version is proving to be everything that the American original has lost. Weekend Update is biting and smart—the recent mockery of Ed Sheeran and Robert Kraft is better than any of the Colin Jost and Michael Che reviews in some time. It wasn’t overly aggressive; it just wasn’t scared of offending a conservative audience.

The thing about the liberal idea of ‘playing it safe’ in entertainment as to not offend anyone in a right-wing country is that the moderate position on speech—and, well, everything else—increasingly moves toward conservatism if it isn’t pushed back against. American values have always leaned into white supremacy, but waving Nazi flags at public events doesn’t even make the news—though it would have been nationally admonished not 20 years ago.

The result is self-described independents running for office who largely represent conservative values, but from an earlier, 20th century vision. Less obvious racism, but no ambition for social policy that would help the underclass—and certainly no criticism of modern American foreign policy and the nature of being a superpower.

Shows like SNL are reflective of where the United States is at, because like liberal politicians, it still attempts to attract a large swath of the country, no matter how disgusting their values might be. So it should not be a surprise when there is a barbarically stupid monologue by a talentless oaf kicking off the show, because they’re trying to appeal to the demographic that defends the Cornell rapists.

Some might argue that the content of a 50-year-old comedy show and the current state of extremist right-wing politics are disproportionate in importance, and I agree there—but that doesn’t mean they aren’t connected. The way we represent ourselves, the dialogue that occurs within the context of media that can stir a national conversation, can absolutely steer public opinion.

Governance, like comedy, is trending toward punching down, focusing hatred on women and minorities, appealing to the worst stains of ideas within the greater social fabric, and represents a national embarrasment as representative of a dying empire and its influence both politically and culturally remains steep in decline.

In many ways, protest art doesn’t really make sense now. While one would think the rise of fascism would make for ample space for artists to respond, the truth is the parody Donald Trump and his cohort have made of media in general makes it difficult for any kind of traditional creativity to resonate. The ether of media has become a battleground where lines are drawn around political affiliation and people disregard or appropriate art for their own personal interpretations and could give a shit about the rest. Look no further than Elon Musk promising a ‘historically accurate’ AI version of The Odyssey.

Another recent case in point is Godspeed You! Black Emperor’s No Title As Of 13 February 2024 28,340 Dead, which cited the ‘official’ death toll in Gaza—at which point people supportive of Israel would go around ‘correcting’ the album. (Other modern ironies are conservatives who listen to Rage Against The Machine to the point where Tom Morello had to explicitly tell them the music was not intended to support their perspective, or pro-police ilk adopting the Punisher skull without understanding its true history.)

I think Olivia Laing said it best in Funny Weather—

Can art do anything, especially during periods of crisis? In 1967, George Steiner wrote a famous essay in which he observed that a concentration-camp commander could read Goethe and Rilke in the evening and still carry out his duties at Auschwitz in the morning, regarding this as evidence that art had failed in its highest function, to humanise. But this makes art sound like a magic bullet, which should reorganise our critical and moral faculties without effort, while simultaneously obliterating free will. Empathy is not something that happens to us when we read Dickens. It’s work. What art does is provide material with which to think: new registers, new spaces. After that, friend, it’s up to you.

It is true that once a piece of art is finished, you can’t really control how it is interpreted by the audience—and while that has always been part of the beauty of creativity, in times when people use art in ways that are distinctly antithetical to its obvious intention in order to promote oppressive messages, it makes it increasingly difficult to portray an idea of dissent. Even as political affiliation has become entrenched in personal identity, people still don’t want to feel excluded from culture—however when your view of the world includes domination through violence, it’s tough to find art that supports that outlook.

Like everything else in the world currently in flux, it remains interesting to see how art responds to the progressively contentious political environment (and the world of art being increasingly intertwined with the capitalist systems that are obviously right-wing). Journalism has all but completely failed to hold the state accountable for its actions, and most art feels like it’s right there too. When all is said and done with this era, how art critics and historians write about what is happening now will surely be a good read.