The Democrats had a great Saturday night. First, the Selzer Poll dropped a dream scenario in which Vice President Kamala Harris was three points ahead of the former president Donald Trump in Iowa, of all places. Then news broke that Harris would make a surprise appearance Saturday evening livewhich was probably bad news Joe Rogan.

During the episode’s cold open, Maya Rudolf‘s Harris privately longed for guidance during the final stretch of her campaign. “I wish I could talk to someone who has been in my shoes,” she said, before sitting in front of a “mirror” in which the beaming vice president sat. The audience’s laughter overcame Harris’ first attempt at a line delivery, and then both women sat looking at each other in wonder, waiting for the audience’s nearly minute-long ovation.

If the pretender Harris needed a pep talk, she got one. “I’m just here to remind you that you got this,” the real Harris said. “Because you can do something that your opponent cannot. You can open doors.” (For women, for history, for garbage trucks.) Oh, these two had a good old cackling laugh. “Now Kamala, take my palm-ala…” Rudolph said. Something genuinely tender and warm flowed between these two during their wonderful exchange, as if Rudolph was pouring all her reserves of energy and goodness into the 60-year-old candidate to take on this final leg. “Keep Kamala and carry on,” they promised each other. Then Harris joined Rudolph onstage, and the two women stood arm in arm, in matching black blazers and loose curls and very understated, very thoughtful two-strand necklaces. Rudolph couldn’t have played a better role, and Harris couldn’t have had anyone play her better.

SNL had bunches of low-hanging fruit from which to contrast the athletic joy of Harris’ campaign with Trump’s increasingly cirrhotic final days. James Austin Johnson Trump played in his orange vest as he weaved at a MAGA rally about his right to protect women from themselves. “That’s right, when you’re famous, they let you be protected,” he said. Johnson captured Trump’s distaste for having to work, with his crowd, with his schedule, with the Midwest, with the microphone he couldn’t decide whether to bed or knock out. “The last time I hated a microphone so much I tried to have it killed. Pence!” he roared. “What the heck, you don’t care, no one cares.”