The Long Road to Reconciliation: How a Cutting SNL Joke Led to a 25-Year Rift Between Comedy Icons Eddie Murphy and David Spade
For decades, the comedic worlds of Eddie Murphy and David Spade seemed to orbit in separate spheres, a silent testament to a lingering Hollywood misunderstanding. Now, the full story of their 25-year estrangement, sparked by a seemingly innocuous joke on “Saturday Night Live,” has come to light, revealing the profound impact of words and the eventual triumph of forgiveness. What began as a sharp jab on national television evolved into a quarter-century of distance, only to culminate in a quiet reconciliation that underscores the complex tapestry of professional relationships in the entertainment industry.
The genesis of this storied rift dates back to the mid-1990s, a period when David Spade, then a rising star and a fixture on “Saturday Night Live,” delivered a memorable, albeit ill-fated, segment on the show’s iconic “Weekend Update.” Known for his acerbic wit and often biting celebrity critiques in his “Hollywood Minute” segment, Spade turned his comedic gaze towards one of his personal heroes: Eddie Murphy. The target of Spade’s humor was Murphy’s 1995 horror-comedy, “Vampire in Brooklyn,” a film that, despite featuring the legendary comedian and being directed by horror maestro Wes Craven, had struggled at the box office.
Spade, in his signature deadpan style, quipped, “Look, children, it’s a falling star. Make a wish! You make a Hollywood minute omelet, you break some eggs.” The line, delivered with a smirk, was classic Spade – a quick, punchy observation on a celebrity’s perceived career stumble. For many viewers, it was just another laugh in a night of satire. For Eddie Murphy, however, it was a deeply personal slight, a public humiliation from the very institution that had launched his stratospheric career.
David Spade recently recounted the enduring impact of that moment on his “Fly on the Wall” podcast, co-hosted with fellow “SNL” alum Dana Carvey. He confessed that it took him a staggering “25 years” to mend fences with Murphy. “It was weird going from being a super fan to having him hate me overnight, and to try to win him back for the last 25 years,” Spade revealed, painting a vivid picture of the emotional whiplash he experienced. He described the immediate aftermath as having “some bumps in the road along the way, early on.” The most significant “bump” was a direct confrontation. “I was on ‘Weekend Update,’ on ‘SNL,’ new to the show, making fun of all the celebrities and I made fun of him and it didn’t go well. And he called me and we had it out.” During this intense exchange, Spade admitted he “didn’t really fight back” because he felt “guilty” about having spoken ill of his “hero” on such a public platform. The weight of his words, and their profound effect on a figure he deeply admired, clearly resonated with Spade for years to come.
From Eddie Murphy’s perspective, as detailed in his recent Netflix documentary “Being Eddie,” the incident was less about David Spade personally and more about a profound sense of betrayal by “Saturday Night Live.” Murphy, who single-handedly revitalized “SNL” in the early 1980s and became one of its most celebrated alumni, viewed the show as his creative home. For a joke mocking his film to pass through the show’s approval process and be aired felt like a betrayal from within his own family. “The joke had went through all of those channels that the joke has to go through, and then he was on the air saying, ‘Catch a falling star,'” Murphy recounted. His anger wasn’t directed solely at Spade. “So I wasn’t like, ‘Fuck David Spade.’ I was like, ‘Oh, fuck ‘SNL.’ Fuck y’all. How y’all going to do this shit? That’s what y’all think of me? Oh, you dirty motherfuckers.’ I was like that. And that’s why I didn’t go back for years.” This powerful sentiment explains his long-standing boycott of the show, a significant absence from the institution that had cemented his status as a comedic legend.
To fully grasp the depth of Murphy’s reaction, it’s essential to understand his unique legacy at “Saturday Night Live.” In the early 1980s, after the departure of original cast members and creator Lorne Michaels, “SNL” was in a critical and commercial slump. It was the electrifying talent of a young Eddie Murphy, alongside figures like Joe Piscopo, that pulled the show back from the brink of cancellation. His iconic characters like Gumby, Mr. Robinson, and Buckwheat, and his groundbreaking stand-up bits, captivated audiences and made “SNL” appointment viewing once again. He was not just a cast member; he was a savior. For the show to then allow a joke that seemed to diminish his standing, especially during a perceived career downturn, felt like a public disavowal of his contributions and his enduring star power.
“Vampire in Brooklyn” itself, while not a critical darling or box office smash, represented an interesting turn in Murphy’s career. Coming off a string of highly successful action-comedies and family films, Murphy, who also produced the film, was exploring different genres. Teaming with Wes Craven, a master of horror known for franchises like “A Nightmare on Elm Street” and “Scream,” suggested an ambition to blend his comedic prowess with a darker, more genre-specific narrative. The film, a mix of horror, romance, and comedy, saw Murphy playing a charming vampire searching for a half-human, half-vampire woman in New York. Its mixed reception and modest box office performance, however, made it a vulnerable target for the sharp-tongued humor of “Weekend Update.” The sting of a public jab, especially one implying a decline, would have been particularly acute for an artist who had consistently delivered blockbuster performances and reshaped the landscape of comedy.
The “Weekend Update” segment, and particularly Spade’s “Hollywood Minute,” occupied a unique space within “SNL.” It was designed to be provocative, to skewer celebrity culture and its foibles. New cast members, eager to make their mark, often embraced these roles with gusto. Spade’s comedic persona was built on this kind of observational, slightly cynical humor. The challenge, however, lay in navigating the delicate balance between satire and perceived disrespect, especially when the target was an “SNL” legend. The show, known for its irreverence, sometimes pushed boundaries, and in this instance, it inadvertently created a lasting schism between two generations of its own talent. The unwritten rules of comedy, particularly when dealing with revered figures, became strikingly apparent in the aftermath of Spade’s joke.
For 25 years, the silence between Murphy and Spade spoke volumes. While Hollywood is a small town, direct encounters can be avoided, and lingering resentments can fester. David Spade’s acknowledgment of trying to “win him back” for so long suggests a sustained, perhaps subtle, effort to bridge the divide, even if it meant simply waiting for the passage of time to soften the edges of the past. The intervening years saw both comedians continue to forge successful careers, with Murphy experiencing a resurgence with family-friendly hits and acclaimed dramatic performances, and Spade cementing his place as a beloved comedic actor and personality.
The long-awaited resolution finally arrived on a fitting stage: the “SNL50” celebration. This landmark event, commemorating 50 years of “Saturday Night Live,” brought together an unparalleled assembly of past and present cast members, writers, and hosts. It was a reunion of epic proportions, a moment to celebrate shared history and collective achievement. In this atmosphere of camaraderie and nostalgia, old wounds could finally begin to heal. “I’ve seen him once or twice,” Spade noted, referring to previous, perhaps still awkward, encounters. “And then I saw him at the 50th and we talked a little bit and everything’s fine. And then they asked him about it and he said, ‘Yeah, we’re all good.’ So yeah, we’re all good.” The simple affirmation, “we’re all good,” from both parties, signaled the official end of a decades-long freeze.
This story of a joke, a betrayal, and a quarter-century of silence offers a fascinating glimpse into the human element of celebrity. It highlights the profound impact of words, particularly in public forums, and how perceived slights can linger, shaping relationships for years. It also speaks to the power of time and the importance of forgiveness, even in the high-stakes, often ego-driven world of entertainment. For women navigating their own professional landscapes, the tale of Eddie Murphy and David Spade resonates deeply. It underscores that even seemingly small remarks can have far-reaching consequences, and that true reconciliation often requires patience, humility, and a willingness from both sides to move past old hurts. The ultimate lesson from this comedic clash is a timeless one: while humor can be cutting, grace and understanding can ultimately bridge even the longest-standing divides, proving that even in Hollywood, healing is possible.
