“Saturday Night Live” has announced its host for this season’s finale and it’s America’s special occasion china, Justin Timberlake.
Yep, time to break out the middle extender on the dining room table of American TV, “SNL” has wrangled the most likeable, entertaining man this country can find to round out hosting duties for the 36th season.
It’s almost unfathomable that it’s come to this. America’s most universally-loved pop idol is a former teen pop star from a band that made it compulsory for any male between the ages of 12 and 23 in the state of New Jersey to dye one eighth of his hair blond.
But I wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s the friend across the street with spacey parents that you secretly want your parents to adopt. He’s naturally quick and funny, but not at anyone’s expense. And he’s good looking, but not too good looking.
You’d kind of hate how well he can dance, maybe, if you were sure he was actually dancing. This might just be the way, you think, someone this cool lets sadness out.
But maybe you can’t get over the dancing. Maybe you accidentally dyed your hair with WD-40 and it totally ruined your prom.
Let’s briefly review the other options for his slot as the American gold standard:
Frank Sinatra: Dead.
James Franco: Practically dead.
Michael Jackson: Lots of things, but also dead.
John Mayer: Was fine for a while, but then everyone found out that he’s never been turned down by a woman. Never trust a man who has never been turned down by a woman. They’ll start making blues albums your uncle the stockbroker likes.
Lady Gaga: This woman is a walking caveat.
Miley Cyrus: She’d have a chance at this, but—if we’re continuing the “coming over for a family dinner” analogy—her creepy dad is in a tree on our lawn looking in through the window while we’re cutting up the ham. We’ve got to do something about that.
Justin Bieber: He may be the closest thing to the answer, but grown men aren’t allowed to even feign acceptance without being immediately arrested by the FBI.
Brad Pitt: Jawline of a finely-chiseled modern art sculpture. Charisma and comic timing of a finely-chiseled modern art sculpture.
That’s what most of the problem is here: It’s not that John Mayer or Brad Pitt wouldn’t succeed singing “D**k In A Box.” It’s that their nice jawlines prevent them from stooping and being someone who can say lines like this, completely convincingly:
“I was pushing a washing machine up a hill when my fashion sandal got caught on a decorative yard pick.”
That’s not Justin Timberlake right there. That’s an old lady complaining about her sandal.
That’s why when he shows up on “SNL” in May, you’ll pull up a chair at your extended dining room table, and you’ll be happy Justin Timberlake isn’t anybody else.