WORLD’S MOST BADLY TIMED TV SERIES

But Ricky Gervais’ After Life somehow manages to haul humour from grief.

This is an unusual review – it’s of a TV series which can easily claim the title of the worsttimed in history. Because Ricky Gervais’ second series of After Life would have been a real challenge if viewed during the lockdown.

It started on Netflix on April 24, at the end of Level 4 but still in time for more stay-at-home inaction in Level 3.

It was terrific timing on one hand. On the other hand, it was terrible timing. There we all were, hiding from a potentially fatal virus but exposed to Gervais’ tragi-comic, no-holds-barred, nothing-is-sacred portrayal of a man – Tony – who has lost his wife.

He trudges through perils like suicide, depression, heroin, dementia and the pointlessness of life, lashing out at those surrounding him as he tries to cope with his loss.

The poor timing also applies because, in the middle of lockdown, we were greeted with this grieving man doing things none of us could do. He visited his father, suffering from dementia, in a rest home. Check. He worked as a reporter in a local newspaper office (the Tambury Gazette) in close contact with his fellow workers. Check.

He went to the pub and – in a particularly funny/sad/cruel episode from the second series – walked out on a yoga session with a particularly faux instructor. Check. All things we couldn’t do.

Sounds a laugh a minute, doesn’t it? Ghastly might be a better word – but the talent, some would say genius, of Gervais’ humour is he somehow manages to make you laugh, unexpectedly, even as he drags you through these layers of woe.

The recipe is pure Gervais, moments of pathos interlaced with biting humour and observations. If you don’t like bad language, this may not be the series for you, though Gervais uses his f- bombs and c-bombs cleverly and for major shock value.

As well as his black humour, Gervais also perfectly captures the zeitgeist of small town Britain. The attention to detail is great, not just with the cast of likeable losers but also with the town populace.

Many are keen to get into the local rag, with their dubious stories – like the guy who calls them because his leaking roof has left his wallpaper stained, he thinks, with the exact likeness of Shakespearean actor Sir Kenneth Branagh.

This gives rise to one of Tony’s weary questions: “So when did you first think your wallpaper looked like Sir Kenneth Branagh?”

Even better are the billboards, foisting the Tambury Gazette’s best efforts on an unsuspecting – and largely uncaring – audience. “Optician says he didn’t see parking restrictions”, blares one; “Police called as puddle clash victim seeks revenge” was another and – a personal favourite which absolutely captures the world of local newspapers: “Out of date scotch egg sold to teen”.

Tony, in his grief, is surrounded by a small force of likeable losers with whom he interfaces (translation: he slags them off and then feels bad). There’s the local sex worker, whose banter with Tony early on is clever stuff, the photographer at the Tambury Gazette and the postman, inevitably called Pat, with whom Tony has his typical love-hate relationship.

Series two will make more sense if you watch series one first; Tony attempts to be friendlier in the second show.

But advising anyone to binge watch this might be a bridge too far. It’s a gem – how humour can come from some of the worst things in life – but watching it all at once is not for the faint-hearted.

Like caviar, strong cheese, truffles and wasabi – it is best enjoyed in small doses.