Why Eddie Murphy’s Outdated SNL Sketches No Longer Work For Black America

Excited! Intrigued! Curious! All words to describe how I felt during the days, hours, and minutes leading to Eddie Murphy’s return to Saturday Night Live, for the first time in 35 years. They billed his appearance as the return of a comedic legend, whose back the weekly sketch comedy show was built upon.

Rarely do I watch SNL; however, this is Eddie Murphy, a comedic and major motion picture icon, whose style of comedy transcended race, socioeconomic status, and other systemic methods of oppression. Black, White, Hispanic, Asian, etc would all agree that he’s one funny guy. From the Nutty Professor and Beverly Hills Cop series to my personal favorites, Dr. Doolittle and Daddy Daycare, he was a living legend, the epitome of black excellence. With SNL, Murphy was returning to his comedic roots, decades after the stand-up successes of his controversial one-man shows, “Raw” and “Delirious,” and only months after his critically acclaimed performance as Mr. “Way down in the jungle deep, a sanctified monkey…” himself, Rudy Ray Moore better known as Dolemite, in the film “Dolemite Is My Name”. Myself, and per Forbes.com, 9.921 million people were ready.

The clock read 11:30 pm est. Enter stage center, Eddie Murphy. The pop from the audience was amazing as if it were the “People’s President”, Barack Obama, or the beloved yodeling Walmart kid, Mason Ramsey. We all waited with bated breath for this icon to deliver a flawless, hilarious monologue, and boy did he deliver. He doled out quick hitters, most notably his awkward, yet accurate, comparison of himself and Bill Cosby who’d most likely find themselves in precarious situations given their public reputations and historical brand of comedy. If given a truth serum, the public would agree with Murphy’s assertion that he’d most likely be incarcerated and Cosby would be known as the “American Dad”. He was right, and he was rolling.

Embracing the historical moment, he’d share the stage with those he undoubtedly inspired. Enter Tracy Morgan, followed by the legendary, Chris Rock, both SNL alums. He’d then bring out the now-not-so-enigmatic, Dave Chappelle, followed by current SNL great, Kenan Thompson. Having these 4 iconic black comedians come out to take part in his moment, showed humility, respect, and recognition that SNL isn’t really a show black folk tune into because of a lack of representation, so we’re bringing everybody to the cookout, minus the amazing black women comedians who’ve also opened doors, but that’s another topic for another day. Murphy nailed it and we were ready. He’d primed the viewers, especially those of us on the east coast who sacrificed sleep, for what’s coming, or so I thought.

Murphy reprised his role as “Mr. Robinson” in “Mr. Robinson’s Neighborhood,” a satirical sketch of Mr. Rogers. Intriguing was the idea of how he’d spin the sketch to fit today’s climate of political correctness, compared to the late 1970s when this sketch first emerged. Starting strong, he’d address the gentrification of inner-cities by white people, which spoke to a very real shift in dynamics many are experiencing in “urban” areas across locally and nationally. However, that’s where the insightfulness stopped. He’d fall victim to writing riddled with stereotypes of black people, such as him maintaining occupancy of his home because of “squatter’s rights,” him stealing his white neighbors’ television and daring them to accuse him because he’s the only black person in the building. To conclude the sketch, he’d play to one of the oldest stereotypes of black men that exist, the absentee father, as he’d shirk paternal responsibility of his son who’d arrived at his door, climbing out the window to avoid contact. The segment ended.

Disheartened by the same-old categorization of black people portrayed in entertainment, I turned it off. Internally, there was an inherent conflict brewing, between my desire to be entertained and my blackness, whereas the imagery displayed prominently across my television screen troubled. As I’ve become more keenly aware of my blackness, an increase in awareness related to the impact of stereotype perpetuation has also occurred. However, with my desire of wanting to be in the know trumping my desire to be what some will describe as “woke”, I disregarded what I was feeling, returning to the program.

Enter another historical Murphy character, Velvet Jones, a pimp turned author, who’d appear on “Black Jeopardy,” a satirical spin-off of Jeopardy, where responses are given in “black colloquialism” and often include black tropes. After Murphy’s first “pimps and hoes” reference, I turned the television off, permanently.

Sitting in reflection, I pondered whether I was taking my newly developing blackness too serious. Was I engaging in respectability politics, caring more about the image of black people, as opposed to actual black people? The aforementioned question is one many black people face as we embark on this journey of self-actualization. James Baldwin’s once said, “To be a Negro in this country and to be relatively conscious is to be in a rage almost all the time.” As one evolves mentally, emotionally, and spiritually, one must reconcile why they’re feeling what they’re feeling.

In watching Eddie Murphy reprise these stereotypical characters, I cared less about how we look to white people, who are the predominant viewers of shows such as these, but about those black and brown folk who are being displaced because of gentrification, who are coping with the effects of having an absentee parent, and who society typecasts into these stereotypical roles via poverty, failing educational systems, mass incarceration. Their well-being is no laughing matter.

Historically, we’ve had to use comedy to cope with the mental, physical, emotional, and spiritual anguish because of the raw deal we’ve received in society. However, as we evolve, exercising the power that’s intertwined within our resilience, we’ll recognize that we cannot afford to watch television, listen to music, watch movies, or any other form of media passively, as it’s us who endure the stereotypes being reinforced. The line of demarcation between “it’s just comedy” and “real life” is thinner than the skin of those of us offended and rightfully so.

Overt and covert isms aren’t funny when they injure real people, not even from our greats. Even in our critique, there’s still an opportunity for grace towards Eddie and those alike. As brilliantly put by Philly WURD radio host, Envy Mckee, “Eddie was trying to honor his legacy on the show and reach new audiences. He was essentially singing his hits. Meanwhile, many of us grew up.” Grew up indeed.