The 10 Best ‘Saturday Night Live’ Hosts of All Time

No one has weaponized their own inability to keep a straight face like Ryan Gosling, SNL’s unofficial king of breaking. When he first hosted in 2017, every single sketch became a battle to see whether he could make it to the end without completely losing his composure. “Close Encounters,” in which he listens to Kate McKinnon describe an alien abduction, is essentially just five minutes of Gosling laughing at the phrase “slap a knocker.” Gosling broke in every sketch during his return visit in 2024, too. (Though in his defense, cast member Heidi Gardner broke way before he did in the viral “Beavis and Butthead” sketch.) But Gosling’s really at his best in a certain digital short, when he gets to be the brooding, dramatic star that he naturally is. “Papyrus” became one of SNL’s biggest sketches of the past decade because Gosling played it like an actual psychological thriller. That mix of total commitment and constant, giddy amusement at his own surroundings makes him one of the most fun hosts the show has ever had.

Tina Fey didn’t need to prove anything when she returned to SNL as a host. She had already reshaped the show from behind the scenes as head writer, revolutionized “Weekend Update,” and left to create 30 Rock, a series that played out like an elaborate love letter to Studio 8H. Even so, she still comes out swinging as a host, with many of her episodes delivering some of the best sketches of her career. Fey never leans too hard on nostalgia. She simply picks up where she left off and delivers sketches like “Meet Your Second Wife” that are dry, biting, and so smart they make everyone else look stupid.

Adam Driver is funny in the same kind of scary, funny way that Christopher Walken is—because you can’t really tell if he’s in on the joke. In Driver’s case though, it’s not because of his funny quirks, like the way that he talks; it’s because he’s a superintense dude. His performances are so serious that they slowly become hilarious. The best proof is “Undercover Boss: Starkiller Base,” in which Driver plays a disguised Kylo Ren, who is desperately trying and failing to relate to his employees. “Career Day” is another highlight, with Driver playing an evil “oil baron” character straight out of There Will Be Blood. By the time he shoves his cane into that poor crow’s neck, the only person in the sketch whose managed not to break into laughter is Driver. Funny? Yes. Scary? Also yes.

Even though Stone has hosted SNL five times, you never know what you’ll get when she shows up to set. Her bag of tricks is so big that she always brings something new to the table. It’s the opposite of someone like John Mulaney—who’s great, too, don’t get me wrong, but tends to rely on the same handful of go-to ideas whenever he hosts. Stone’s gifts as a host stem from her fearlessness. She’s clearly a believer of the old improv adage of “yes, and.” It feels as if the writers tell Stone they want her to play an out-of-work, overcommitted extra in a porno, and Stone replies by showing them how she’ll make it weirder. In that sketch and so many others, she proves herself an ace practitioner of another improv truism: always escalate the bit. Usually that’s the cast members’ job. Stone is such a natural at it, though, that she can’t help but contribute.

Anybody who has seen Melissa McCarthy’s performance as White House Press Secretary Sean Spicer knows that she’s got a knack for physical comedy. But if you want to truly understand McCarthy’s hosting powers, don’t watch her as Spicey. Watch her in the digital short “Outside the Lines,” in which she plays a college women’s basketball coach with major anger issues. The sketch shows McCarthy at her absolute best: when her talent for characters is in perfect balance with her knack for physical comedy. The end result is that by the time an absurd stunt like throwing a toaster at Cecily Strong comes along, it actually seems like something McCarthy’s character would do. Even in looser sketches like “Supermarket Shopper,” in which she attacks a piñata with enough force to break the stage, or “Taste Test,” in which she drinks an entire bottle of ranch dressing with unnerving sincerity, she finds something deeper than slapstick. Physical comedy is great. But physical comedy with pathos is a game changer. Just ask motivational speaker Matt Foley.

Credit where credit is due: No one has hosted SNL more than Alec Baldwin. He’s also rumored to have essentially carried the show through a few of its rough patches, with Lorne Michaels calling on him as if he were SNL’s personal phone-a-friend lifeline. Lucky for Lorne, Baldwin always took the call and gave SNL countless memorable moments over the years. There are the obvious performances—his Donald Trump, for better or worse, became one of the most defining impressions in the show’s history—but the deeper cuts like the “Brenda the Waitress” sketch prove how much range Baldwin actually has. Also, his Tony Bennett Show impression is one of SNL’s most underrated recurring bits, capturing all the warmth, swagger, and baffling pronunciation choices of the jazz legend. And then there’s “Schweddy Balls,” a simple, low-key holiday sketch about a public-radio cooking segment that wouldn’t have worked without Baldwin’s complete commitment to the bit. Many SNL hosts excel at one thing, but Baldwin can go big, go subtle, steal a sketch, or completely disappear into an impression. No wonder Lorne never stopped calling. The real question is why Baldwin, who spent decades as one of Hollywood’s most sought-after stars, always answered.

Most hosts feel like guests. John Goodman never did. Back in the ’90s, when he was on a hosting streak, he blended into SNL’s structure so naturally that after a while it felt weird when he wasn’t there. He could anchor a sketch (“Linda Tripp”), elevate an ensemble (“Da Bears”), or drop into the weirdest bit of the night (“Willem Dafoe Fragrance”) and make it work without breaking a sweat. He was a versatile team player, and I have to think that’s why Michaels kept bringing him back—13 times, to be exact. Clearly the cast and writers loved working with him, even if he wasn’t the star of every sketch. He was the rare host who made everyone else look better just by being there.

Christopher Walken is the opposite of Tom Hanks in that he doesn’t bend to SNL’s format. The show bends to him. He hijacks the show and makes it hilarious not because of anything the writers didbut because Walken himself is hilarious. But why? It’s how he talks. Walken delivers every line like he’s learning English in real time. He also can’t help but play every character kinda straight—even a gardener whose afraid of his googly-eyed plants. Even in the legendary “Blue Oyster Cult” sketch, he wasn’t hamming it up. He was dead serious about needing more cowbell. The absolute best part about Walken’s episodes, though, is that it’s never clear if he’s in on the joke. He’s not just funny to watch; he’s a little frightening, too.

Tom Hanks understands SNL’s rhythm better than some cast members, which is why his ten stints have never felt tired and his best sketches are so airtight. He simply always understands the assignment. It feels like he’s inside the writers’ minds, or at least falling asleep next to them while waiting for script revisions. Consider “Black Jeopardy.” Hanks’s MAGA-hat-wearing contestant worked because he wasn’t a cartoon—Hanks made him just likable enough to be unsettling. David S. Pumpkins is a sketch writer’s fever dream that shouldn’t have been memorable, but Hanks knew how to play it so it’d stick. And back in the ’90s, when SNL was practically an extension of “Wayne’s World,” Hanks showed up as a clueless roadie and somehow made himself the funniest thing in the sketch.

Steven Martin built the template for SNL hosts that other greats like Tom Hanks have followed. No one even knew what an SNL host was supposed to do until Martin revealed the role’s potential in 1976. A host could be a star and a player, the funny one or the straight man. Hell, he could even come back more than once if he made people laugh. And Martin did. His “King Tut” song? A sketch that had no business working yet somehow became a cultural milestone. His “Wild and Crazy Guys” bit with Dan Aykroyd? A sketch that still holds up after decades. But Martin’s legacy goes beyond one-off sketches. He was one of the first hosts to feel like a real cast member, blending into the Festrunk Brothers alongside Aykroyd with seamless chemistry and developing original characters that weren’t just built around his star persona. He made hosting look effortless, and his influence can be seen in the DNA of SNL itself. Monologues became more ambitious because Martin treated them like stand-alone performances. Recurring characters became a key part of the show’s rhythm because Martin proved they could work. Even the Five-Timers Club, a now-iconic SNL tradition, began with Martin’s frequent returns, each one reinforcing the idea that the best hosts weren’t just visitors—they were part of the show’s history. Modern SNL hosting wouldn’t exist without Martin. The rhythm, the structure, the idea that a host can shape an episode rather than just anchor it—Martin did it first. And he did it better than anyone.