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As we mentioned last time when Sabrina Carpenter hosted “Saturday Night Live,” there’s no substitute for a host who fully throws themselves into “SNL.”

He may not have done double duty as host and musical guest the way Carpenter did, but Miles Teller appeared to fully embrace the challenge of returning to host for a second time (the first was in 2022). The “Top Gun 2: Maverick” star, who’ll next be appearing in the movie “Eternity,” gave a solid performance, appearing in nearly every sketch, including the cold open and two pre-recorded videos.

He first appeared as former Gov. Andrew Cuomo, a candidate for New York mayor, in the cold open with help from Ramy Youssef and Shane Gillis as opponents Zohran Mamdani and Curtis Sliwa.

After that, Teller played a hungover game show contestant recovering from Halloween, a hockey player shooting a public service announcement for the unfortunately named Nashville Predators and both twin Property Brothers in a video sketch about the current White House renovation.

Teller was also in a sketch about a TV newsroom that decides to show viewers what its background employees are doing, a Netflix promo for a true crime story about husbands who don’t know where their wives went, one about a police press conference that takes a turn and a show closer about a silly Italian restaurant in Nebraska.

Teller handled it all well; he’s good with accents and earned strong laughs, especially playing two characters at the same time in the “Property Brothers” sketch and as Cuomo in the cold open.

Musical guest Brandi Carlile performed “Church & State” and “Human.”

This week’s cold open was one of the stronger (or at least funnier) political sketches of the season so far, tackling the New York mayoral race. As hosted by Errol Louis (Kenan Thompson), “the least famous person to be impersonated on ‘SNL,’ ” the debate sketch portrayed Cuomo (Teller) as a sexually harassing (“Yadda yadda yadda, honk honk, squeeze squeeze) panderer to Jewish voters; Mamdani (Youssef) as a force-smiling, TikTok-flirting candidate who’s pretty sure he won’t be able to implement his promises; and long-shot candidate Sliwa (Gillis) as an “old-fashioned New York nut” with one traumatic story after another to recount. The biggest surprise may have been Gillis, who as Sliwa recounted stories about being hung by his testicles and getting assaulted by a Times Square Spider-Man. Where was this energy when Gillis hosted “SNL”? As has been the habit on many a cold open, President Trump (James Austin Johnson) interrupts the proceedings to mock the candidates and insert his own commentary. This time, that included singing a song from “Phantom of the Opera” to conclude the sketch.

Teller’s monologue was short and simple, relaying how as a kid who moved around most of his childhood, “SNL” was a constant. He shared a photo of himself and his sisters dressed up as the “Night at the Roxbury” characters from the show and then made up a list of memories from the show, like having his first beer in the audience and falling over after having a few beers. Teller mentioned that he and his wife lost their Palisades home in January’s Los Angeles fires. As such, he made sure to point out the fire exits for the audience.

Best sketch of the night: An extreme White House makeover

The Property Brothers Jonathan and Drew Scott (Teller times two) meet their toughest clients yet: Trump and First Lady Melania Trump (Chloe Fineman) who need help with their current renovation of the White House to make room for a new ballroom. Melania shared her skeleton and withered tree decorations (“They are for Christmas,” she said), and the couple complained that 55,000 square feet and 132 rooms just isn’t enough space. With a budget of “$350 million to infinity” the brothers get to work with the help of park rangers and astronauts working through the government shutdown. But when it comes to getting paid for their work, there’s a problem. “Aren’t you guys from Canada?” the president asks. Then he calls ICE on them.

Also good: Nobody asked for this much transparency in news

On a show called Newspoint, the host (Fineman) and her guest (Thompson) are trying to have a serious news discussion, but because the show has opened up its full newsroom to viewers, all the workers in the background draw attention. Among them are Mikey Day, who awkwardly notices the cameras are on him before spilling a carrier of drinks, Bowen Yang as a worker who gets electrocuted by a copy machine and Teller, who has manga erotica up on his work screen. It’s nice to see some physical comedy from Day in particular and the sketch’s visual gags work nicely.

‘Weekend Update’ winner: George Santos is back, untruthful as ever!

Andrew Dismukes and Ashley Padilla (who should be a full cast member at this point instead of a featured player) played a couple who just made out but are trying to discuss the government shutdown. But it was Yang as chronic liar George Santos who stole “Update” (and some jewels) after Yang missed an opportunity on the last “SNL” episode to play the former representative, whose prison term was commuted by Trump. Santos claimed he finished the New York marathon, which hadn’t happened yet, and kept interrupting his chat with “Update” co-host Colin Jost to take calls with prisoners with a jail window and phone he brought with him. He purported to speak with Ghislaine Maxwell, Luigi Mangione and Sean “Diddy” Combs before revealing that the key to making prison rice pudding is preheating the toilet to 350 degrees. Santos ended the segment by revealing the necklace he stole from the Louvre and insisting that he’d just won the World Series.

Among the small army of prospects who’ve eyed the California governorship, none seemed more qualified than Toni Atkins.

After serving on the San Diego City Council, she moved on to Sacramento, where Atkins led both the Assembly and state Senate, one of just three people in history — and the first in 147 years — to head both houses of California’s Legislature.

She negotiated eight state budgets with two governors and, among other achievements, passed major legislation on abortion rights, help for low-income families and a $7.5-billion water bond.

You can disagree with her politics but, clearly, Atkins is someone who knows her way around the Capitol.

She married that expertise with the kind of hardscrabble, up-by-her-bootstraps backstory that a calculating political consultant might have spun from whole cloth, had it not been so.

Atkins grew up in rural Appalachia in a rented home with an outdoor privy. Her first pair of glasses was a gift from the local Lions Club. She didn’t visit a dentist until she was 24. Her family was too poor.

Yet for all of that, Atkins’ gubernatorial campaign didn’t last even to 2026, when voters will elect a successor to the termed-out Gavin Newsom. She quit the race in September, more than eight months before the primary.

She has no regrets.

“It was a hard decision,” the Democrat said. “But I’m a pragmatic person.”

She couldn’t and wouldn’t keep asking “supporters and people to contribute more and more if the outcome was not going to be what we hoped,” Atkins said. “I needed sort of a moonshot to do it, and I didn’t see that.”

She spoke recently via Zoom from the den of her home in San Diego, where Atkins had just returned after spending several weeks back in Virginia, tending to a dying friend and mentor, one of her former college professors.

“I was a first-generation college kid … a hillbilly,” Atkins said. She felt as though she had no place in the world “and this professor, Steve Fisher, basically helped turn me around and not be a victim. Learn to organize. Learn to work with people on common goals. … He was one of the first people that really helped me to understand how to be part of something bigger than myself.”

Over the 22 months of her campaign — between the launch in January 2024 and its abandonment on Sept. 29 — Atkins traveled California from tip to toe, holding countless meetings and talking to innumerable voters. “It’s one thing to be the speaker or the [Senate leader],” she said. “People treat you differently when you’re a candidate. You’re appealing to them to support you, and it’s a different conversation.”

What she heard was a lot of practicality.

People lamenting the exorbitant cost of housing, energy and child care. Rural Californians worried about their dwindling access to healthcare. Parents and teachers concerned about wanton immigration raids and their effect on kids. “It wasn’t presented as a political thing,” Atkins said. “It was just fear for [their] neighbors.”

She heard plenty from business owners and, especially, put-upon residents of red California, who griped about Sacramento and its seeming disconnection from their lives and livelihoods. “I heard in Tehama County … folks saying, ‘Look, we care about the environment, but we can’t have electric school buses here. We don’t have any infrastructure.’ ”

Voters seemed to be of two — somewhat contradictory — minds about what they want in their next governor.

First off, “Someone that’s going to be focused on California, California problems and California issues,” Atkins said. “They want a governor that’s not going to be performative, but really focused on the issues that California needs help on.”

At the same, they see the damage that President Trump and his punitive policies have done to the state in a very short time, so “they also want to see a fighter.”

The challenge, Atkins suggested, is “convincing people … you’re absolutely going to fight for California values and, at the same, that you’re going to be focused on fixing the roads.”

Maybe California needs to elect a contortionist.

Given her considerable know-how and compelling background, why did Atkins’ campaign fizzle?

Here’s a clue: The word starts with “m” and ends with “y” and speaks to something pernicious about our political system.

“I hoped my experience and my collaborative nature and my ability to work across party lines when I needed to … would gain traction,” Atkins said. “But I just didn’t have the name recognition.”

Or, more pertinently, the huge pile of cash needed to build that name recognition and get elected to statewide office in California.

While Atkins wasn’t a bad fundraiser, she simply couldn’t raise the many tens of millions of dollars needed to run a viable gubernatorial race.

That could be seen as a referendum of sorts. If enough people wanted Atkins to be governor, she theoretically would have collected more cash. But who doubts that money has an unholy influence on our elections?

(Other than Kentucky Sen. Mitch McConnell, who spent much of his career fighting campaign finance reform, and members of the Supreme Court who green-lit today’s unlimited geyser of campaign spending.)

At age 63, Atkins is not certain what comes next.

“I’ve lost parents, but it’s been decades,” she said. “And to lose Steve” — her beloved ex-college professor — “I think I’m going to take the rest of the year to reflect. I’m definitely going to stay engaged … but I’m going to focus on family” at least until January.

Atkins remains optimistic about her adopted home state, notwithstanding her unsuccessful run for governor and the earful of criticisms she heard along the way,

“California is the place where people dream,” she said. “We still have the ability to do big things … We’re the fourth-largest economy. We’re a nation-state. We need to remember that.”

Without losing sight of the basics.

At the same time that federal immigration enforcement ramped up across the Los Angeles area this summer, calls for help to local police plummeted.

Emergency dispatch data reviewed by The Times show a major decrease in LAPD calls for service in June, during the weeks when sweeps by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement and other federal agencies were met by large street protests in downtown Los Angeles.

In a city where roughly a third of the population is foreign-born, the steep decline in calls adds to long-standing concerns from advocates that aggressive immigration enforcement leads to domestic abuse and other crimes going unreported because victims fear triggering deportations.

In the two weeks after June 6, when the immigration raids kicked off, LAPD calls for service fell 28% compared with the same period last year — an average of roughly 1,200 fewer calls per day.

LAPD officers responded to roughly 44,000 calls for service in that two-week span — versus nearly 61,000 calls during the same days in June 2024.

The calls include reports of serious crimes, such as home break-ins and domestic disputes, along with instances when the public has sought help with noisy neighbors, loud parties and other routine matters.

The data analyzed by The Times do not include all 911 calls — only LAPD calls for service, which are typically registered when a squad car is dispatched. Though multiple people may call 911 in connection with a single incident, in most cases only one LAPD call for service is recorded.

The decrease was especially noticeable for LAPD calls responding to suspected domestic violence and other incidents related to family disputes, which fell this year by 7% and 16%, respectively, after the ICE activity increased. Although family-related calls later began to creep back to 2024 levels, those for domestic incidents kept declining.

National experts said the findings reflect a crisis of public confidence that has followed other controversial incidents. Similar downturns in calls to local police occurred during the first Trump administration, after the 2020 murder of George Floyd in Minneapolis and following the fatal shooting six years earlier of Michael Brown, a Black 18-year-old, in Ferguson, Mo.

It’s hardly surprising that the same thing could happen even in a city where the police force is majority Latino and whose leaders have reaffirmed the city as a sanctuary for immigrants, said Vida Johnson, an associate law professor at Georgetown University.

“You’re going to see fear of law enforcement that is going to last generations,” Johnson said. “And that has the biggest impact on women, because women often are more likely to be victimized, and then more afraid to call for help than men.”

At least some of the decline during the initial two-week period can be explained in part by LAPD going on citywide tactical alert, which allowed the department to have more officers and resources at the ready to deploy to the front lines of the protests. During that time, the department prioritized responding to serious crimes such as shootings and robberies, leading to many other less urgent calls going unanswered.

But that doesn’t explain why calls for service remained down after the department returned to its normal operations. While police call levels began to rise again later in June and early July, they still remained down roughly 5% from the same period in 2024.

The decrease in calls was less pronounced in the nine police districts in South L.A., the San Fernando Valley and the Eastside where Latinos make up the majority of residents, but the data show a persistent dip in domestic violence calls in those areas that remained in the weeks after the immigration enforcement campaign began.

Police calls for service have been on a slow decline for years, a phenomenon that has coincided with a drop in overall crime. LAPD Chief Jim McDonnell and other leaders have tried to emphasize in public remarks that local cops are not allowed to enforce civil immigration laws and only work with federal agents to arrest criminal suspects or quell unrest that threatens public safety.

But Carlos Montes, a longtime organizer with the Boyle Heights-based immigrant advocacy group Centro Community Service Organization, said the sight of LAPD officers standing alongside the feds during recent operations has ensured that even more Angelenos will think twice about calling the police for help.

“In general, in the neighborhood we don’t want to call the cops because they’re not going to solve anything or they’re going to arrest someone, or beat someone or shoot someone,” he said.

LAPD Assistant Chief German Hurtado, the department’s immigration coordinator, acknowledged that it has been a struggle to reassure the public it’s safe to call the police.

“Police are also the most visible form of government, and right now people are not trusting the government,” Hurtado said in an interview last month. “People [are] scared to be deported, and that’s totally understandable. That’s something that we’re going to have to deal with and figure out a way to heal with the community.”

In response to what he called “negative publicity” around the LAPD’s actions in recent weeks, he said the department was stepping up its outreach efforts in various immigrant neighborhoods, with a series of planned listening sessions and other events aimed at educating the public.

The department recently launched a citizens academy for Spanish speakers, and senior lead officers have been out meeting with faith and community leaders trying to get them to reinforce the message that police need victims to cooperate in order to solve crimes.

Marielle Coronel, 24, co-owner of a boxing gym in Sylmar, said she worries about being profiled while being out and about, which has also made her think twice about calling police.

Even though she believes that at least some police officers are trying to help, she said the last few months have been unnerving. She recalled how her parents recently gave her a version of “the talk” that many parents of color have with their children about how to deal with police. Their fears have grown to include unidentified masked men posing as ICE agents, Coronel said.

Her parents insisted that she start carrying her passport with her everywhere she goes and that she not lower her window to anyone unless they clearly identify themselves. Tending to her gym’s front desk one recent afternoon, she said she has taken the advice to heart.

“Even if I am a U.S. citizen, you just don’t know,” she said. “We don’t feel like we have backup from the government.”