Saturday Night Live was dying in the early 1980s. Seriously, it was a wreck. Lorne Michaels was gone, the original cast was a memory, and the show was basically a ghost ship floating through late-night television. Then came a nineteen-year-old kid from Roosevelt, New York. Eddie Murphy didn't just save the show; he hijacked it. And of all the characters he brought to Studio 8H, none were as bizarre, controversial, or flat-out hilarious as his take on Buckwheat. When we look back at Eddie Murphy Saturday Night Live Buckwheat performances, we aren't just looking at old clips. We’re looking at the moment a superstar realized he had the power to kill off his own creations before they became parodies of themselves.
The Birth of a New Kind of Satire
Buckwheat was originally a character from the Our Gang (Little Rascals) shorts. He was a product of a specific era of Hollywood—one that wasn't exactly known for its nuanced portrayal of Black children. By the 1980s, those shorts were still running in syndication, fueling a weird kind of nostalgia. Eddie Murphy took that nostalgia and weaponized it.
His version of Buckwheat wasn't just a tribute. It was a commentary on how the media packages "wholesome" imagery. The first time the audience saw him, it was a revelation. Murphy nailed the speech impediment, the wild hair, and that chaotic energy. But he added a layer of adult absurdity. Seeing Buckwheat sing "Wookin' Pa Nub" (Looking for Love) was funny because it was wrong. It shouldn't have worked. It was high-concept silliness grounded in a very real cultural touchstone.
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People forget how much of a risk this was. Murphy was playing with fire by riffing on a character that some found offensive and others found endearing. But he did it with such charisma that the audience couldn't look away. It was lightning in a bottle. Honestly, the show's writers—guys like Barry Blaustein and David Sheffield—knew they had a goldmine. The character became so popular that people would scream "Otay!" at Murphy on the street.
Why Eddie Murphy Saturday Night Live Buckwheat Sketches Were Different
Most SNL characters just keep appearing until the audience gets bored. Not this one. Murphy realized early on that the public's appetite for Buckwheat was bordering on obsession. He started to feel like the character was overshadowing his other work. It's a common trap for comedians. You create a monster, and then the monster eats your career.
The sketches were structured as parodies of late-night "As Seen on TV" commercials. You know the ones. Cheap graphics, a scrolling list of songs, and a pitchman trying to sell you a record for $9.99. In "Buckwheat Sings," Murphy butchered the hits of the day. "Bette Davis Eyes" became "Bette Davis Tize." "Three Times a Lady" turned into "Fee Tines a Mady."
It was pure linguistic slapstick.
But underneath the laughs, Murphy was poking fun at the commercialization of nostalgia. He was showing us how easy it is to sell garbage to the masses if you wrap it in a familiar face. The brilliance of the Eddie Murphy Saturday Night Live Buckwheat era was that it worked on two levels: as a dumb joke for kids and as a sharp critique for the adults who knew better.
The Day Buckwheat Died
By 1983, Eddie Murphy was done. He was becoming a movie star with 48 Hrs. and Trading Places. He didn't want to be the "Otay" guy for the rest of his life. So, he did something unprecedented in SNL history. He demanded that the writers kill the character off.
This led to the "The Assassination of Buckwheat" sketch. It was a masterpiece of television satire. It didn't just parody a character; it parodied the way the news media handles tragedy. The sketch was framed as a breaking news report. Buckwheat is shot while leaving a studio. The footage is played over and over again—a direct jab at the relentless coverage of the Reagan assassination attempt and the death of John Lennon.
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The "killer," a man named John David Stutts, was played by Murphy as well. The absurdity reached a fever pitch when they showed a second shooter—a guy in a rabbit suit. It was dark. It was cynical. It was brilliant. Murphy used the death of a beloved character to mock the sensationalism of the 1980s news cycle.
Even after the character was "dead," Murphy wasn't finished. He came back the next week in a sketch where Buckwheat’s ghost appeared. The meta-commentary was everywhere. He was telling the audience, "I know you want this, but I'm moving on."
Cultural Impact and the "Cringe" Factor
Looking at these sketches in 2026, there’s an unavoidable conversation about race and representation. Some modern viewers might find the Buckwheat character uncomfortable. That's a fair point. However, to understand the Eddie Murphy Saturday Night Live Buckwheat phenomenon, you have to look at who was doing the joke.
Murphy was a Black man reclaiming a stereotype to mock the industry that created it. He wasn't the butt of the joke; the image of Buckwheat was the joke. He was exposing the ridiculousness of the trope. As cultural critic Nelson George once noted, Murphy’s power came from his ability to navigate these spaces with a wink to the Black audience while still making the white audience laugh—sometimes for different reasons.
It’s a tightrope walk. Murphy didn't just walk it; he ran across it.
The sketches also paved the way for future SNL legends. Without Buckwheat, do we get David Spade’s Hollywood Minute? Do we get the abrasive meta-humor of Norm Macdonald? Murphy proved that you could be bigger than the show. He showed that an actor could have agency over their creations.
The 2019 Return: A Legend Reclaims His Crown
For decades, fans wondered if they’d ever see the character again. Murphy stayed away from SNL for a long time, partly due to a rift caused by a joke David Spade made about his career. But in December 2019, Eddie finally came home.
When he stepped onto that stage for his monologue, the energy was electric. But the real highlight was the "Masked Singer" parody. Suddenly, a giant corn-on-the-cob starts singing. The voice is unmistakable. The mask comes off, and there he is: Buckwheat.
He started singing "Can't Help Falling in Love," or rather, "Caint Hep Fawin In Nub."
The audience lost it. It wasn't just a nostalgia trip. It was a victory lap. Murphy showed that he still had the timing, the voice, and the fearlessness that made him a star forty years prior. He didn't lean on the character out of desperation; he did it as a gift to the fans. It was a reminder that while the world changes, some things—like a perfectly timed "Otay"—are timeless.
Assessing the Legacy
If you want to understand why Eddie Murphy is a GOAT, you have to watch the Buckwheat sketches. They represent the bridge between the old-school variety show humor and the modern, self-aware comedy we see today.
- Subversion: He took an outdated, arguably racist caricature and turned it into a weapon of satire.
- Media Critique: He used the character's "death" to roast the 24-hour news cycle before it even fully existed.
- Star Power: He proved that a performer could be more popular than the institution they were a part of.
The Eddie Murphy Saturday Night Live Buckwheat sketches aren't just funny. They are a case study in how to handle fame. Murphy saw the ceiling and decided to break through it rather than bump his head against it for ten years.
Actionable Insights for Comedy Fans and Creators
If you’re a creator, or just someone who loves the history of entertainment, there are a few things to take away from this era:
Don't let a "bit" define you. The reason Murphy is still relevant in 2026 is that he knew when to quit. He killed Buckwheat at the height of his popularity. If you have a successful project, don't be afraid to move on before it gets stale. Growth requires leaving the comfortable stuff behind.
Study the source material. Murphy didn't just "do a voice." He understood the history of the Our Gang shorts. He knew exactly what he was parodying. If you're going to satirize something, you have to know it better than the people who love it.
Context is everything. When watching old SNL, don't just look for the jokes. Look at the year. Look at what was happening in the news. The "Assassination of Buckwheat" makes way more sense when you realize it was a direct response to the way the media was obsessing over real-life violence at the time.
Watch the 2019 SNL episode (Season 45, Episode 10). It is a masterclass in how to return to your roots without looking like you're stuck in the past. Pay attention to how Murphy uses his physicality even at 58 years old. His timing hasn't slowed down a bit.
Explore the writers' room history. Look up the work of Barry Blaustein and David Sheffield. They were the architects of many of Murphy’s best bits. Understanding the chemistry between a performer and their writers is key to understanding why some eras of SNL work better than others.
The story of Buckwheat is really the story of Eddie Murphy's autonomy. He was a kid who refused to be a puppet. He took a character from the past, used it to conquer the present, and then buried it to secure his future. That’s not just comedy. That’s a career strategy.
Whether you’re watching the grainy 1980s clips or the 4K revival, the genius is obvious. Buckwheat was a mess of messy hair and mangled words, but in the hands of Eddie Murphy, he was a revolutionary.
Next Steps for Deepening Your SNL Knowledge:
Research the "Saturday Night Live" transition between the Jean Doumanian era and the Dick Ebersol era (1980-1981). This context explains why the network was so desperate for a star like Murphy. Then, compare Murphy’s "Buckwheat" to his other iconic characters like Gumby or Mr. Robinson to see how he used different styles of satire to capture the American zeitgeist of the early 80s.