Why talk of TV comedy’s death is greatly exaggerated
The naysayers are wrong – this genre has never been more creative, says Michael Hogan
There is a lot of talk nowadays about how TV comedy is in the doldrums. A perpetual carping from a minority who say: “Things were better in my day, when laughter was canned and so was luncheon meat.” But is this really the case? Because from where I’m sitting – which is on my sofa, laughing loud enough to worry the neighbours – TV comedy is in rude (often very rude) health. In fact, reports of its death have been greatly exaggerated.
This has been a tough 12 months for comedy, with tours cancelled, clubs closed and TV productions shut down. Yet even in the midst of the pandemic, mirth-makers have managed to amuse us. On the BBC, we’ve chuckled at haunted-house hilarity in Ghosts, parenting comedy
Motherland, the much-maligned but perennially popular Mrs Brown’s
Boys, plus the gorgeous swansong series of rural mockumentary This
Country. Restrictions were worked around by luvvies-in-lockdown series Staged and The Vicar of Dibley’s
Zoom sermons. There have been audio specials from Alan Partridge and Peter Kay’s Car Share.
Channel 4 has done its bit with Friday Night Dinner, Back and Feel Good. Sky chipped in Breeders, Brassic and The Trip to Greece.
Aside from sitcoms, there are other shows such as Gogglebox, Gone
Fishing, Taskmaster and Would I Lie to You? which are all guaranteed to lift the gloom. Meanwhile, many comics have pivoted to social media platforms, podcasts and viral videos, spawning a new generation of talent.
Even under the most trying of circumstances, funny people have found ways to tickle us. It is true that comedy has had a rough ride recently: commissioners are cutting budgets, while the genre has been particularly susceptible to “wokewashing”, with offensive content warnings slapped on everyone from armchair philosopher Jim Royle to dear old Major from Fawlty Towers.
But thankfully, none of this has affected the quality of new comedy on the small screen. The naysayers have long argued that the sitcom is dead on its feet, but I would argue the genre is bolder, more ambitious and a more creatively powerful force than ever.
Our contemporary writers and performers can wring brilliant comedy from all manner of unpromising subject matter. Take two of the most acclaimed comedies of recent years: Phoebe Waller-Bridge’s Fleabag and Daisy Haggard’s Back to Life. On paper, both sound about as funny as a tax accountant’s funeral in the rain.
Fleabag was about a young woman devastated by grief after her best friend’s suicide, self-medicating with casual sex and alcohol – yet it gripped the nation (remember Hot Priest mania?) and became an award-winning global phenomenon. Back to Life is about a murderer trying to rehabilitate after serving an 18-year jail sentence for killing a teenager, but the end result was something simultaneously poignant and gut-wrenchingly funny. It has also won fans on both sides of the Atlantic. Both rank right up there with the best TV of the century so far.
Indeed, finding humour in the most unexpected corners of life seems to be a particular strength at the moment, like Home on Channel 4, about a Syrian refugee, and BBC Two’s Bafta-winning
There She Goes, about a non-verbal child with a learning disability.
But there is also contrast. It’s not just dark, edgy fare commissioned by execs with an eye on pleasing critics. Comedy with mass audience appeal is also alive and kicking. The Gavin &
Stacey Christmas 2019 special was the most-watched scripted programme of the decade. Two Doors Down, King
Gary and Not Going Out are similar throwbacks with domestic settings.
As well as the old-style studio-based sitcoms, there are also on-location comedies with a vivid sense of place. Viewers can currently laugh their way to a sleepy Cotswolds village ( This Country), a Cork council estate ( The
Young Offenders), Birmingham’s Asian community ( Man Like Mobeen) or a Hounslow pirate-radio station ( People
Just Do Nothing, a cult hit currently being turned into a feature film). Today’s TV comedy travels through time, too – to the Elizabethan era of Bard-com Upstart Crow or Troublesera Catholic school of Derry Girls.
Can any of these stand alongside the greats of the past? Let’s take off our rose-tinted goggles and be honest. We tend to glorify the old days, but the truth is that enduring classics such as Porridge and Fawlty Towers were few and far between. A huge output of mind-numbing rubbish has long been wiped from the collective memory. I doubt anyone recalls (or even wishes to recall) John Inman’s Odd Man Out, about a middle-aged man inheriting a rock factory, or Yus, My Dear, a vehicle for the dubious talents of Arthur Mullard. The standard 40 years ago was essentially very low, knockabout domestic set-ups with weak punchlines and no edge, or workplace sitcoms which seemed intent on perpetuating stereotypes. Nowadays there is a rigour and a depth like never before.
What about the naggingly persistent idea that TV comedy is risk-averse nowadays for fear of offending snowflakes? As the BBC’s
From Motherland to Ghosts, comedians kept us laughing in spite of Covid
We tend to glorify the old days, but in truth, classics were few and far between
comedy controller, Shane Allen, has said: “Our job is to push boundaries. If you don’t get complaints, you’re not doing your job properly.”
Admittedly, in certain quarters, comedy seems to be in terminal decline. ITV has more or less given up, with next to no new series being commissioned. The sketch show, sadly, is an endangered beast. With pursestrings being pulled tight, this necessarily expensive format looks like it has been thrown in the skip outside Broadcasting House.
But our comedy industry remains an extraordinarily fertile breeding ground for world-class talent. The likes of Armando Iannucci, James Corden, John Oliver and Sacha Baron Cohen cut their teeth on home-grown comedy before going on to conquer Hollywood. For a small nation, we punch well above our weight.
Allen dreads telling people what he does for a living because people feel so strongly about comedy. “It’s great that comedy gets traction,” he said. “You don’t get that passionate about a nature documentary, do you?”
Indeed, the fact that we Britons spend so much time debating what’s funny and what’s not is proof that comedy is in our blood and close to our hearts. Long may the laughs, and the arguments, continue.