No laughs here as a great show meets its fate

When Detectorists rambles off forever in a few week times, it’ll be like saying goodbye to dear old friends. Fans of this beloved cult sitcom will understand my bittersweet conflict when it returned for a third and final series last week. Lovely to have it back, but I don’t want it to end.

Mackenzie Crook, who writes, directs and co-stars, should be applauded for creating a charming little fictional universe which, for all its underlying melancholy, offers sun-dappled respite from the escalating madness of our brutal world.

If you’ve somehow committed the baffling error of never having watched it, a swift precis. Diffident Andy (Crook) and fastidious Lance (Toby Jones) are best friends and metal detector enthusiasts

based in picturesque rural Essex. The defining image of the series is the pair of them gently trawling a large field in search of life-changing treasure. They never give up.

The pace is leisurely and comforting. The humour is low-key droll with occasional traces of absurdity (Andy and Lance’s buffoonish rivals resemble Simon and Garfunkel).

Our laconic duo chat about their frequently complicated lives while metal detecting or over a pint in the local pub. A winning cast of supporting characters mill around them amiably.

Haunting English folk music glistens on the soundtrack, conjuring ancient ghosts from this green and pleasant land (the latest episode even paid explicit homage to M.R. James’ classic ghost story Whistle And I’ll Come to You).

That, in essence, is all there is to it. And yet Crook, without strain or pretension, conjures something quietly bewitching from this simple template. Detectorists is gentle but never bland, poignant but never saccharine. Lance and Andy are fully-rounded, funny characters, it’s been a pleasure spending time with them.

I look forward to seeing what the talented Crook comes up with next.

There was no hope at all in Motherland, a new sitcom from Sharon Horgan, Holly Walsh, Graham Linehan and his wife Helen. It’s ruthlessly engineered to make parenthood look like an unbearable waking nightmare, especially if you’re comfortably middleclass and white.

I’m all for downbeat comedy when done well, but Motherland is so gravely intent on exploring this subject matter with a total lack of sentiment, it ends up coming across as faintly depressing.

Outnumbered, which covered similar territory, was never sentimental either, but it was full of wit and charm.

Linehan, Horgan and Walsh have all written good, funny sitcoms in the past – their collective credits include Father Ted, The IT Crowd, Pulling, Catastrophe and the underrated Dead Boss – but Motherland is surprisingly flat and unlikeable.

It revolves around an aggravating central performance from Anna Maxwell-Martin – an actor whose work I’ve enjoyed elsewhere – as Julia, a permanently stressed and angry mother of two young children. You don’t always have to sympathise with sitcom characters to find them funny, but Julia’s clenched cynicism and intense exhaustion are exhausting to watch.

Episode one lumbered her with that hoary old sitcom standby, the disastrous children’s birthday party. There’s something quite self-satisfied about the way in which Motherland digs parents in the ribs with its pedestrian first-world observations: “I bet you recognise this mad scenario, don’t you?” Well, yes. Maybe. What do you want, a BAFTA?

The only enjoyable aspect of Motherland is the deadpan performance by Diane Morgan (aka Screen Wipe’s Philomena Cunk) as Julia’s best friend. She provides a few smiles. It’s a curious disappointment otherwise.