'Love, Gilda' review: Entertaining documentary about original 'SNL' member Gilda Radner

Gilda Radner, the funniest woman on television in the 1970s, got hired by Lorne Michaels for what was originally called “NBC’s Saturday Night” before anybody else - before John Belushi, before Chevy Chase, before Dan Aykroyd, before Jane Curtin, Laraine Newman, Garrett Morris.

Those who watched the show in 1975 or a year or two later, when it was getting huge and starting to change the culture, had their favorites. But the Detroit-born Radner was the one everybody cherished. She brought a huge smile, a wryly forlorn quality around the eyes, and a fearless attack to every sketch, lame or inspired. Radner naturally gravitated toward the midpoint between chameleons like Belushi and Aykroyd, and more easygoing improv aces such as Bill Murray, who filled the Chevy Chase slot once Chase left to become Hollywood-famous.

Most of the men tried. None of the women got the same chances.

The documentary “Love, Gilda” works different ways for different viewers. For older fans, it’s a welcome excuse to reminisce. For newcomers it’s an entertaining primer on the life, times, demons and famous inventions of Radner, who died of cancer in 1989.

Chief among those inventions were “Weekend Update” contributors Roseanne Roseannadanna and sweet, addled Emily Litella, wondering why everyone’s complaining about all the “violins” on television.Director Lisa D’Apolito throws no stones in “Love, Gilda.” It’s a quick, breezy, tactful account. Current and recent “SNL” performers including Maya Rudolph, Amy Poehler and Melissa McCarthy appear in the movie, reading excerpts from Radner’s journals, and speaking from the heart about what Radner’s presence on “SNL” meant to their younger selves. (Poehler acknowledges that her own early “SNL” contributions tended to be “weak, 2.0 versions” of characters Radner created decades earlier.)

“Being funny got me famous,” Radner once wrote. “And being famous is almost as bad for dating as being funny.” She loved the attention and resented the intrusion. “Being an underdog and a voyeur,” Radner once said, “makes comedy possible.” Where does celebrity fit into that?

If “Love, Gilda” stays on the surface, the surface is nonetheless compelling, and sad. And not only sad. Its subject was lit from within, and too busy going for broke in hilarious ways, one creation and interaction at a time.