You’d think that the cast of NBC’s Saturday Night had run up against every possible brand of insanity known to modern video man. A gang of virtual unkowns (at least to the tube public), they ventured into the vast wasteland at its most deserted hour, Saturday night at 11:30, a time slot usually reserved for crusty Brian Donleavy and Stephen Boyd B movies, maybe a few Attack Of The (fill-in-the-blank) regurgitations. They faced the most ridiculous set of odds not only in trying* to establish themselves, but also in putting on a real, live, ninety minute program, each week.

With the censors continually peeking over their shoulders, they’ve managed to slip in some of the most outrageous dialogues and sketches ever seen on national television (ah, the charming historical tale of young Anna Freud siL ting on papa Sig’s lap, describing her dream from the night before, “All these men were sitting on my bed and they all had beards and each one offered me a. banana but I wasn’t hungry until you offered me one. Papa, and yours was the biggest and nicest banana I’d ever seen.” Daddy’s hand nervously hovers over Anna’s nubile little pre-pubescent * chest. “Don’t tell Mama about this dream, Anna, it’s nothing, just a , dream. It doesn’t mean anything. Now go to bed like a good little girl and Papa i will come and tuck you in later.”).