The 25 best Saturday Night Live cast members of this century

Bowen Yang’s casting alone made SNL history: He is the first Chinese-American cast member and only the third openly gay male to appear on the show. After a breakout second season, which saw Yang brilliantly oscillate between the sobering (a “Weekend Update” reflection on the rise of anti-Asian hate) and the downright silly (his instantly iconic performance as the iceberg that sank the Titanic), he also became the first SNL featured player ever nominated for an Emmy. And given how subtly but substantially radical his comedy has been since—bits like that saucy Sara Lee meeting and his Chen Biao “Trade Daddy” rant are unabashedly queer and undeniably funny—we have no doubt there’s plenty more where that came from. [Christina Izzo]

He’s one of the biggest comedy stars to ever come out of Studio 8H—a decade after his exit, he’d follow in the iconic footsteps of Jack Paar, Johnny Carson, and, er, Jay Leno as host of The Tonight Show—but much of Jimmy Fallon’s SNL legacy has been retroactively reduced to the comic’s tendency to break during sketches. (Seriously, did he and Horatio Sanz ever get through a skit together?) But when he wasn’t suffering from poorly-timed giggles, Fallon was regularly offering up some seriously skilled musical impersonations, from Barry Gibb to Dave Matthews to, most excellently, Mick Jagger. [Christina Izzo]

Has anyone on SNL ever exploited their own smile to such hilarious effect as Vanessa Bayer? That mile-wide beam has been skillfully manipulated into the shy, expectant grin of Jacob the Bar Mitzvah Boy, the toothy spectacle of a young Miley Cyrus, and the disquietingly “sunny” disposition of a Totino’s Pizza Roll mom, straining to conceal all manner of inner turmoil within. Bayer always lets a shadow of awkwardness and anxiety sneak through all that dental shine, whether she’s playing a porn star, a put-upon housewife, or actual poultry trying to ignore the fact that she’s been invited to a Thanksgiving dinner. [Christina Izzo]

Fun fact: Chris Parnell is the only cast member in SNL history to get fired not once but twice by Lorne Michaels, though that double dismissal had nothing to do with Parnell’s prowess in sketches and shorts. (Blame budget cuts and overloaded casts.) His stone-faced sangfroid was legendary among contemporaries like Tina Fey, who revealed that Chris was nicknamed “The Ice Man” while on the show for keeping deadpan composure even in the face of the funniest absurdities. Rewatch that famous “More Cowbell” sketch and you’ll see that Parnell is the only one who doesn’t break under Will Ferrell’s bell-banging slapstick. It’s a seemingly impossible feat, but one Parnell pulled off again and again, a command so nice, they hired him twice. [Christina Izzo]

Powered by a seemingly unending energy source, Bobby Moynihan’s boundless physicality and penchant for the absurd made him a go-to for portraying rambunctious kiddos, badly behaved politicians (Canada’s disgraced Rob Ford, Jersey’s disgraced Chris Christie), and, yes, incredibly intoxicated family members. A regular of “Weekend Update,” his “Drunk Uncle” was the sloppy standout of Moynihan’s original characters, but he brought that same freewheeling intensity to real-life subjects, from Guy Fieri to Danny DeVito to Snooki. [Christina Izzo]

Though she didn’t get the airtime of Cheri Oteri or the attention of Molly Shannon, Ana Gasteyer was one of the most versatile and valuable cast members of the Ferrell era. A variety-show talent that could smoothly pivot from straight-woman to oddball (her The Delicious Dish host Margaret Jo McCullin was a delightful bit of both), Gasteyer distinguished herself with her spot-on celebrity impersonations, from Hillary Rodham Clinton to Barbra Streisand. Where some celebs balk at being the subject of an SNL impersonation, Gasteyer’s were so great that Martha Stewart invited her to appear in-character on a 2000 holiday special, and Celine Dion pulled her onstage for a chest-thumping duet during a New York concert. [Christina Izzo]

It’s not a shock that the “A Closer Look” segments on Late Night With Seth Meyers have been so successful, both in terms of comedy and commentary. They’re basically just long-form versions of the smart-silly stuff Meyers was doing for 13 years on Saturday Night Live as the longest-serving anchor on the “Weekend Update” desk. And though, like his “Update” predecessor and fellow head writer Tina Fey, Meyers excelled at that desk-side cultural critique, he was far from a slouch as far as sketches were concerned. Seek out his randy Ron Weasley, googly-eyed at Hermione’s cleavage; Dan Needler, half of the “couple that should be divorced”; and the former French Vogue photographer who’s stuck snapping suburban family photos at Sears. [Christina Izzo]

If there’s a single character that encapsulates Jason Sudeikis’ eight-year stretch on Saturday Night Live, it’s Satan. No, not because the performer has an evil streak, but because his version of the prince of darkness played up the duality of Sudeikis’ comic sensibility: He had the easy appeal of a square-jawed suburban dad, but with a silly, subversive edge that was always this close to the surface. He could do jerky (as one-half of “The A-Holes”), joyful (his “What Up With That?” running man), and Joe Biden. His is still the show’s best and most unhinged version thus far, a then-VP with a love for ice cream cones, aviator shades, and washing his muscle car shirtless in the driveway. [Christina Izzo]

You wouldn’t take in the cherub-sweet face and bubbly disposition of Aidy Bryant and immediately think, “Now that person would be perfect as a cornrowed Ted Cruz.” And yet it worked, thanks to the assured skills and infinite adaptability of Bryant. She regularly subverted that baby face of hers with saucy-silly characters like her aptly-named hip-hop altar ego Lil Baby Aidy, an exceptionally horny Mrs. Claus, and Melanie, a hyper-flirtatious tween who thirsts after her friends’ dads. Her infectious combo of cheekiness and commitment was the undoing of not only viewers but also, frequently, her scene partners, from celebrity hosts to fellow players like Kate McKinnon. Aidy is fun to watch, and that apparently applies even when you’re performing opposite her. [Christina Izzo]

Sure, Molly Shannon feels more like a ’90s-era SNL icon than a post-millennium matinee idol, but frankly any best-of list feels incomplete without the fan-favorite funnywoman. Shannon had already debuted quirky breakout characters like the high-kicking quinquagenarian Sally O’Malley, Schweddy Ball-loving NPR cohost Terri Rialto, and Catholic-school misfit Mary Katherine Gallagher by the turn of the century, but it took until 2000 for Molly to get some much-deserved award recognition for her laugh-out-loud efforts, earning an Emmy nod for Outstanding Individual Performance in a Variety or Music Program. [Christina Izzo]

Some SNL performers aim to pull a disappearing act when it comes to their characters and impersonations. That’s not Tracy Morgan: Every one of his original conceptions—whether unaccredited zoologist Brian Fellow or 007 wannabe Lamont Bond or guitar-strumming Astronaut Jones—have a fundamental sense of “Tracy Morgan” about them. That’s not to say that Morgan isn’t an exceptionally gifted comic. Rather, he’s one of those rare SNL stars who’s able to make the grueling look effortless via his inherent likeability, inviting warmth, and wickedly sharp wit. “I didn’t have to do nothing but be funny,” Morgan told about joining the late-night institution. “But more than that, I just had to be me.” And Saturday Night Live was better for it. [Christina Izzo]

Of course, Lorne Michaels doesn’t publicly play favorites, but it does seem telling who gets a big, emotional goodbye upon their exit from 30 Rock. Cecily Strong’s grand finale after a decade on the show–making her the longest-tenured female cast member in SNL history–featured an in-sketch farewell speech from costar Kenan Thompson (“Honestly, I don’t think Radio Shack could’ve survived this long without Cecily”) as well as a literal swan song from host Austin Butler, serenading Strong with “Blue Christmas.” Altogether, it was a hilarious and heartfelt tribute worthy of the veteran performer who, along with being a pro impressionist (Melania Trump, Jeanine Pirro), was one of the show’s finest actors, able to wring gravitas out of the goofiest premise. [Christina Izzo]

When Don Pardo passed in 2014, it was apropos that Darrell Hammond would be the one to take up the mantle for the legendary SNL announcer, lending his voice to that booming weekly welcome of “Iiiiiit’s Saturday night!” The masterful impressionist had already been using his sonorous gifts to honor, and heckle, great men before him during his 14 years on the program. His list of impersonations is long—with 107, he’s second only to the still-chugging-along Kenan Thompson—and his level of precision is legendary, whether the exasperation of Regis Philbin, the buffoonery of Donald Trump, or, most wondrous of all, the sheer outlandishness of his Sean Connery, using his every Celebrity Jeopardy appearance to offer up some of the franchise’s filthiest, funniest quotes. (“That’s the sound your mother made last night!”) [Christina Izzo]

She’s responsible for arguably the most famous cast break of all time: the first appearance of Rachel Dratch’s Debbie Downer, which sees the famously glum gal moaning about terrorist threats and train explosions over a Disney World breakfast feast. The sheer escalation of Debbie’s depressing topics—each punctuated with a sad trombone blow—combined with the over-the-top cheeriness of the setting first cracks the composure of Jimmy Fallon, then Amy Poehler, and soon Dratch herself, until Rachel’s cry-sob of “I can’t have children” has guest host Lindsay Lohan banging the table beneath her and Horatio Sanz wiping his tears away with a Mickey waffle. Dratch had plenty of consummate performances on the show, from brassy Bostonian Denise to “Wake Up, Wakefield!” tween Sheldon, but no one made fucking up look funnier. [Christina Izzo]

Creating MacGruber alone puts Will Forte in the conversation for one of the best of the post-2000 era—he would go on to reprise the perpetually time-strapped special agent on the big screen in 2010—but the Groundlings alum was so much more than just his standout MacGyver spoof. Never one to shy away from the outsized and outlandish, Forte regularly offered up intriguing oddballs from Greg Stink to Tim Calhoun to the Falconer, but most emblematic of the comic’s lovably bizarre sensibilities was the legendary “Potato Chip” sketch, in which he plays a rageful NASA recruiter who is very particular about his crisps. [Christina Izzo]

Here’s a staggering stat for you: Fred Armisen appeared in more than 850 sketches during his eleven years working at Studio 8H, numeric proof of the funnyman’s comic stamina and chameleonic range. Armisen optimized his own ambiguity to tap into any race, gender, and age: The astonishing scope of his celebrity impersonations—from Barack Obama to Lou Reed, Prince to Queen Elizabeth II—is bested only by the absurd diversity of his original characters (Regine, Garth, Nooni, Stuart, Fericito, Mackey… the list goes on and on and on). [Christina Izzo]

If there was one singular cast member who piloted Saturday Night Live into the digital age, it’s Andy Samberg. Sure, there were pre-taped bits and bobs long before the cultural boom of the Lonely Island, his comedy-music group with childhood pals Akiva Schaffer and Jorma Taccone. But in revolutionizing the way SNL was watched—the stunning viral success of 2005’s “Lazy Sunday” helped to legitimize a little site we now know as YouTube—Samberg & Co. made the long-running comedy show more relevant than ever. You could simply list video titles as proof of Samberg’s greatness: “Dick In A Box,” “I’m On A Boat,” “I Just Had Sex,” “Jack Sparrow.” But that would discredit the performer’s live-sketch bonafides, as seen in unique creations like Blizzard Man or uncanny impersonations of Nicolas Cage. [Christina Izzo]

When rumors began swirling that Lorne Michaels would step down as SNL showrunner following the late-night show’s historic 50th season, one name quickly circulated as a suitable successor, even by Lorne himself: “It could easily be Tina Fey…[she’s] brilliant and great at everything,” he told earlier this year. And he’s right: Fey really was great at everything, whether firing off sharp zingers from behind the “Weekend Update” desk, peacocking in “mom jeans” during silly faux-mercials, or drawling alongside her BFF Amy Poehler as the Bush sisters. (Her most famous political impersonation, Sarah Palin, would come two years after she left the show.) Fey’s contributions as SNL’s first female head writer meant that she wasn’t on-camera as often as her counterparts like Poehler and Maya Rudolph, but when she was, she always made it count. [Christina Izzo]

There’s a reason Kenan Thompson has been on SNL longer than anyone else: He was born to do comedy on TV. He had already been doing it for years before joining NBC’s venerable comedy institution, playing wacky characters like French teacher Pierre Escargot on All That and the straight man to Kel Mitchell’s human wrecking ball on Kenan & Kel, making him perfectly well-suited to whatever SNL might throw at him in a given week. There’s also something to be said about the fact that he was the center of one of the greatest recurring sketches in SNL history. And it’s just a shame “What Up With That” never had time for Lindsey Buckingham. [Sam Barsanti]

No SNL cast member has utilized their natural-born musical talents—she’s the daughter of iconic crooner Minnie Riperton and composer Richard Rudolph—quite like Maya Rudolph. She became a mononymic star in her own right with her pitch-perfect interpretations of music’s biggest divas like Whitney, Liza, and Beyoncé. (“Yoncé. Queen Bey. Beh. Ohh bey-bey. Bah humbug!”) Beyond her vocal dexterity, Rudolph also clearly relished in the over-the-top ridiculousness of cultural queens like Oprah Winfrey and Donatella Versace. But even her biggest, most boisterous swings felt skillfully rooted in reality. [Christina Izzo]

Anchoring the show—literally, as “Update” presenter alongside Tina Fey and later Seth Meyers—in its girl-power glory days of the mid-2000s was the sweetly snarky, MVP presence of Amy Poehler. Looking back, it’s actually kind of mind-boggling just how excellent Poehler was at so many elements of the show: She was agile both behind the anchor desk and in composed sketches and was as confident playing ensemble support as she was outright scene-stealer. Her impressions always managed to be both ludicrous and warm—Michael Jackson’s rollercoaster glee, Hillary Clinton’s maniacal giggle—but her character work is where she really shined, from Bronx Beat’s Betty Caruso to manic kiddo Kaitlyn. [Christina Izzo]

The closest thing Saturday Night Live had to an outright superstar since the Wiig days, Kate McKinnon was a comedic juggernaut during her entire decade tenure. Blessed with a preposterous range, she juggled more political and celebrity impersonations than seemingly anyone: Justin Bieber, Ruth Bader Ginsberg, Ellen DeGeneres, Lindsay Graham, Jodie Foster, Angela Merkel, Penélope Cruz, a Leonard Cohen-crooning Hillary Clinton. And yet, she still somehow managed to find time to unleash some of the wackiest character work the show had ever seen. McKinnon scored an Emmy nomination for nearly every year she was on SNL, winning twice, and with uproariously kooky creations like lesbian cop Les Dykawitz, Russian peasant Olya Povlatsky, horny barfly Sheila Sauvage, and—her pièce de résistance—alien abductee Colleen Rafferty, she more than earned all that love. [Christina Izzo]

It’s no disrespect to her fellow castmates, but for a good chunk of Kristen Wiig’s seven-year run, it felt like the comedienne was an SNL cast in and of herself. That’s because Wiig unleashed such a dizzying parade of recurring weirdos during her time on the series: the scan-happy Target Lady, the scampish schoolgirl Gilly, the surprise-loving Sue, the supremely foreheaded Dooneese. With all of those broad creations, it can be easy to overlook how great of an impressionist Kristen was—sure, her yogurt-eating Jamie Lee Curtis or lamp-switching Liza Minelli (“Will a Fosse neck do it?”) may not have been the most technically meticulous, but they were fully formed and fearless fun. “She’s a rainbow,” Mick Jagger fittingly crooned during Wiig’s teary final show. A rainbow, indeed. [Christina Izzo]

Ferrell only made it two years into the aughts before leaving the show to become one of the biggest comedy movie stars ever—but boy, did he ever have an impact over that short time. From the aforementioned “More Cowbell,” in which his Gene is instructed to “explore the space” while playing the least demanding instrument in Blue Öyster Cult’s “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper” to his turn as “Old Prospector” Gus Chiggins in a 2001 gem that somehow didn’t make it to air (and might hold the record for the most people breaking in an SNL sketch), there are almost too many now-classic moments to list. But I’d like to single out Adam McKay’s brilliantly dumb (and brilliantly soundtracked) 2000 short “The H Is O,” in which a bro (Ben Stiller), who claims he can get anyone in bed with a just few lines, sets his sights on the Eagles’ Glenn Frey (Ferrell). It is, in my opinion, the greatest thing the show has ever produced and just one of many testaments to how no one can do it—whether in deadpan or macho-loudmouth mode—quite like this guy. [Tim Lowery]

Irreverently funny, indispensably gifted, and infinitely versatile, Bill Hader could—and did—do anything required of him during his eight-season tenure. He was as capable playing the perpetual straight-man behind a game-show podium as he was a Party Monster-esque city correspondent promoting New York’s hottest clubs (“This place has everything: lights, psychos, Furbies, screaming babies in Mozart wigs”) or Pacino, a blustery, big-voweled impersonation that Bill boldly dropped in his debut episode. Hader’s impression work is unparalleled in the annals of SNL history, masterfully navigating every vocal twist and physical quirk of subjects as varied as Alan Alda, Keith Morrison, and Vincent Price. But the comedian brought that level of precision and personality to every character he played, whether Herb Welch or Vinny Vedecci. He was a rarity walking the halls of Studio 8H: a total shapeshifter and a singular force, and one of the absolute best the show has ever seen. [Christina Izzo]