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They claim to be from France. Specifically, Remulak, a small town in the French suburbs—if you ignore the fact that they have three-foot-tall, flesh-colored domes for heads and consume entire six-packs of beer and bags of potato chips in a single, vacuum-like gulp. The coneheads saturday night live skit shouldn't have worked. On paper, it sounds like a rejected B-movie pitch from the fifties. Yet, when Dan Aykroyd, Jane Curtin, and Laraine Newman first stepped onto the Stage 8H floor in 1977, they didn't just create a recurring bit; they defined the weird, high-concept DNA that Saturday Night Live still tries to replicate today.
Beldar, Prymaat, and Connie weren't just aliens. They were the ultimate immigrants.
If you look back at the late seventies, television was dominated by "fish out of water" tropes, but nothing felt quite as visceral or as deeply strange as this. The brilliance wasn't in the makeup—though that was iconic—it was in the commitment. They never winked at the camera. They never admitted they were extraterrestrials. They were just your average suburban family from "France" trying to navigate the mundane horrors of American bureaucracy, dental appointments, and high school proms.
The Secret Origin of the Dome
It started with a trip to Easter Island. Dan Aykroyd, the mastermind behind the concept, was fascinated by the giant stone moai statues. He started thinking about a race of people with elongated heads. It was weird. It was specific. It was exactly the kind of thing that Lorne Michaels initially wasn't sure about.
The first coneheads saturday night live skit aired on January 15, 1977. It featured Steve Martin as a IRS agent. Think about that for a second. You have the biggest comedy star of the era playing it straight against three people with giant prosthetic heads who are "consuming mass quantities." The contrast was electric. It tapped into a very specific type of post-Watergate anxiety about fitting in, being watched, and the absurdity of the "American Dream."
Most people forget that the makeup was actually quite painful. The actors had to endure hours of application, and the latex caps were notorious for trapping heat. Laraine Newman has mentioned in various retrospectives how the physical constraint of the costume actually helped the performance. You couldn't move your neck normally. You had to rotate your entire torso to look at someone. This physical limitation birthed the stilted, robotic "Remulakian" movement that became the characters' trademark.
Why "France" Was the Perfect Cover
Why France? Why not Canada or just "Europe"?
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In the seventies, France represented the height of "sophisticated" foreign culture to the average American viewer. By claiming to be French, the Coneheads leveraged a built-in cultural excuse for their bizarre behavior. Oh, they drink entire bottles of dish soap? Must be a French thing. They talk in a rhythmic, monotone drone? Well, you know how those Europeans are.
It was a brilliant piece of satirical writing. It poked fun at American provincialism. We are so unaccustomed to foreign cultures that as long as someone says they are from a recognizable country, we’ll ignore the fact that their skull is a giant cone. This subtext is what gave the coneheads saturday night live skit its legs. It wasn't just a gag about costumes; it was a gag about us.
Breaking Down the "Mass Quantities" Routine
If you want to understand why this skit became a cultural phenomenon, you have to look at the dialogue. Howard Shore, the legendary composer who was then SNL’s musical director, actually helped develop the "Mebs!" sound they made.
The vocabulary was highly specific:
- "Consume mass quantities" instead of "eat dinner."
- "Parental units" instead of "mom and dad."
- "Greetings" instead of "hello."
- "Grinding of the teeth" for sex.
It was linguistic genius. By stripping away the emotional weight of everyday English and replacing it with technical, almost biological descriptions, the writers (including Tom Davis and Al Franken) highlighted how weird human rituals actually are. When Beldar describes a high school dance as a "social gathering for the purpose of rhythmic body movement," he’s not wrong. He’s just too right.
The Dynamics of the Cast
Dan Aykroyd was the engine. His Beldar was authoritative, slightly menacing, and intensely focused on maintaining his cover as an appliance repairman. Jane Curtin played Prymaat with a domestic stoicism that grounded the absurdity. She was the glue.
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And then there was Laraine Newman. As Connie, the teenage daughter, she had the hardest job. She had to play the "rebellious teen" trope while wearing a giant cone. Her chemistry with the various "human" boyfriends—most notably played by Chevy Chase or Bill Murray—provided some of the funniest moments in the series. Watching a normal guy try to make out with a girl whose head is twice as tall as his is the kind of physical comedy that doesn't need a punchline. It's just funny.
From the Small Screen to the 1993 Feature Film
Usually, when SNL tries to turn a five-minute sketch into a ninety-minute movie, the result is... let's call it "mixed." It's Pat or Stuart Saves His Family didn't exactly set the world on fire. But the 1993 Coneheads movie is a strange outlier.
It wasn't a massive critical darling at the time, but it has aged surprisingly well. Why? Because it leaned into the world-building. We actually got to see Remulak. We saw the Highmaster (played by Michael McKean). The film expanded the lore without losing the dry, observational humor of the original coneheads saturday night live skit.
The casting was a "who's who" of nineties comedy: Chris Farley, David Spade, Adam Sandler, Phil Hartman, and even a young Michelle Burke taking over the role of Connie. It solidified the Coneheads not just as a 1970s relic, but as a multi-generational comedy staple. Even now, if you put on a traffic cone at a party, people know exactly who you're supposed to be. That's staying power.
Addressing the Misconceptions
People often think the Coneheads were a weekly occurrence. They weren't.
They only appeared in about 11 sketches during the original "Golden Era" of SNL (1975-1980). Their rarity is part of why they stayed fresh. Unlike some modern sketches that get beaten into the ground every other Saturday, the Coneheads were an event. You waited for them.
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Another misconception: that the cone was just a hat. It wasn't. In the internal logic of the show, it was their actual skull. This led to some of the darker, weirder humor—like when they would get "honed" or when the cone would be used as a sensory organ. It was body horror played for laughs, a precursor to the kind of "alternative" comedy that would flourish decades later on networks like Adult Swim.
The Cultural Legacy: Why We Still Care
Honestly, the Coneheads paved the way for every "weird" alien comedy that followed. 3rd Rock from the Sun owes its entire premise to Beldar and Prymaat. ALF, Mork & Mindy, and even The Neighbors utilize the "outsider looking in" perspective that the Aykroyd-penned sketches perfected.
The coneheads saturday night live skit succeeded because it was a perfect storm of technical execution and sharp writing. It wasn't just about the visual gag. If the writing had been lazy, the cones would have been a distraction. Instead, the cones became a secondary detail to the brilliant parody of middle-class American life.
Whether they were trying to win a game show or dealing with a persistent census taker, the humor always came from the fact that the humans around them were too polite, too self-absorbed, or too stupid to point out the obvious. It’s a stinging indictment of social norms wrapped in a silly sci-fi package.
How to Revisit the Coneheads Today
If you’re looking to dive back into the Remulakian lifestyle, don't just stick to the movie. The original sketches are where the real gold is hidden.
- Watch the IRS Sketch (1977): This is the blueprint. See how Aykroyd handles the technical jargon.
- The "Family Feud" Parody: Seeing the Coneheads interact with Richard Dawson (played by Bill Murray) is peak 70s television.
- The 1993 Soundtrack: Weirdly enough, the movie soundtrack is a banger, featuring Soft Cell and the Red Hot Chili Peppers. It captures that strange, eclectic energy of the franchise perfectly.
The best way to appreciate the work is to look at the practical effects. In an age of CGI, there’s something genuinely charming about seeing the seams in the latex. It reminds you that comedy used to be a physical, tactile craft. It required actors to sit in a chair for four hours just to tell a joke about eating fiberglass insulation.
The Coneheads remind us that the best comedy often comes from the most absurd places. It’s about taking a ridiculous premise and playing it with 100% sincerity. So, the next time you find yourself "consuming mass quantities" at a Thanksgiving dinner or a summer BBQ, give a silent nod to Beldar and Prymaat. They did it first, they did it better, and they did it all while pretending to be from France.
Actionable Insights for Comedy Fans
- Study the "Straight Man" dynamic: If you're a writer, notice how the "humans" in these skits are essential. The humor doesn't come from the Coneheads alone; it comes from the world's reaction to them.
- Embrace specific jargon: The Coneheads proved that creating a unique "voice" or vocabulary for characters can create an instant cult following.
- Physicality matters: Notice how the cast's restricted movement added to the characterization. Use physical limitations to find new ways for a character to express themselves.
- Watch for the subtext: Always look for the "second story." The first story is about aliens; the second story is about the absurdity of being an immigrant in a suburban wasteland.