In a recent episode of “The History Factory Podcast,” author Susan Morrison framed her new biography, “Lorne: The Man Who Invented Saturday Night Live,” as a book that Harvard Business School could have published—and she’s right. If you’re an SNL fan, or just curious about the inner workings of a cultural institution and the founding force behind it, her insights and stories from a decade’s worth of interviews with seemingly everyone who’s been part of the SNL universe are worth a listen.
Lorne Michaels may not be a name that immediately comes to mind when it comes to great leaders, yet he has not only produced a TV show but also led an organization in one of the most cutthroat industries for half a century. Most impressively, he has stewarded an entertainment product that, while no longer the singular cultural event it once was, remains a pop culture and political bellwether and an entertainment mainstay. Few shows become institutions. Fewer still endure. The very excellent music documentary “Ladies & Gentlemen… 50 Years of SNL Music” captures this legacy and the cultural gravity Michaels has helped maintain. If you haven’t seen it, this will give you a taste. As a capstone to SNL’s 50th season, a few reflections about Lorne Michaels drawn from my very fun discussion with Susan offer timely insights for anyone managing a team.
The underrated power of balance: Michaels’ leadership is defined by a quality that is undervalued in business and in life: balance. In fact, at History Factory, we believe balance is so essential that it’s one of our core values. In the 1990s, Lorne Michaels nearly lost his job after SNL hit a rough patch in its critical reception and internal network support. For the first time, NBC top brass and TV critics were aligned in their dissatisfaction, largely because Michaels was staffing the show with younger Gen X comedians like Adam Sandler and David Spade whose sensibilities clashed with the tastes of the baby boomers in power. The fact that this story is an outlier rather than the norm speaks to the resilience of his leadership and his ability to keep a live, unpredictable show relevant and institutionally protected across generations. Michaels is also known for being a trusted confidant who nevertheless remains deliberately aloof. Cast members and writers often describe him as a mentor who offers quiet support and long-term loyalty yet rarely delivers direct praise or clear feedback. His presence is constant but indirect. These balances—between the past and the future and between being close enough to influence and distant enough to revere—are part of what keeps SNL’s creative engine and culture running.
Limiting and losing battles to win the war: Perhaps most relevant to executives and founder-leaders is Michaels’ instinct to focus on the long game. He’s worked with hundreds of comedians, writers and musical guests—many of them brilliant, volatile and fiercely ambitious. As demonstrated via Chevy Chase’s early exit and the combustible genius of John Belushi and Chris Farley, Michaels has managed the full spectrum of artistic ego. He knows how to let talent experiencing stardom for the first time go through their “jerk phase” without overreacting, and he rarely makes battles personal. Back to that low point in the 1990s: NBC executives pushed Michaels to fire Sandler and Farley. He didn’t publicly resist. He let it happen. But two years later, those same executives were calling him and asking for Sandler to entertain their kids. That was the long game. By yielding in the moment, Michaels protected the show, preserved his leadership and ultimately helped launch two of the most beloved comedians of their generation. Many leaders—especially founders—struggle to let go. Every decision feels existential. But Michaels shows us that staying power comes not from controlling every moment but from knowing which ones truly matter.
The conductor: Michaels’ influence isn’t loud or obvious. It’s orchestral. As Morrison put it, “You pick the horse; you let it run the race.” Michaels rarely micromanages. He listens more than he talks. He ensures that junior staff and interns speak up at pitch meetings. A raised eyebrow or silent pause often carries more feedback than a full note session. On show nights, after a week of observing, he makes final calls—cutting sketches, reordering the show—only after others have had their say. Even during the COVID-19 pandemic, Michaels didn’t panic-manage. He stayed in St. Barts, guided the team by phone and let “SNL at Home” come together without hovering. In the era of the celebrity CEO, Michaels is a conductor at a time when every leader seems to want a solo. He’s not a charismatic keynote speaker or visionary showman. He doesn’t post, tweet or skeet. He doesn’t have regular or recurring appearances on NBC program siblings such as “America’s Got Talent” or “The Tonight Show Starring Jimmy Fallon,” where his keen sense of comedic talent and instinct for the cultural zeitgeist would be a natural additive. And while his understated approach is deeply tied to his own disposition, the principles behind it are transferable: Foster trust, resist the urge to control everything, and create a culture where people feel ownership.
Michaels’ low-profile ways don’t protect him from SNL satire. He exists not just behind the scenes but also as a character within the SNL universe itself. Over the years, cast members and guest hosts alike have lampooned him in sketches as an enigmatic puppet master and inscrutable boss perched behind a desk and issuing cryptic pronouncements with a raised eyebrow and a wry pause. These caricatures often portray Michaels as a blend of an omnipotent godfather and an aloof bureaucrat, someone who speaks in riddles and withholds praise like it’s a sacred currency. These send-ups aren’t entirely off-base. Michaels is remote. He does keep people slightly off balance. And these characteristics explain in part how he’s led “Saturday Night Live” through five decades of cultural and generational change.
Subscribe to The History Factor.