Mock The Week

I’ve just done a quick check, and I don’t think we’ve done a panel show before.  Unless you count University Challenge as a panel show, and you shouldn’t, because it’s not one.  It’s actually a quiz.  It differs from panel shows because people are actually trying to give the right answers to difficult questions.  Though panel shows are also quizzes of sorts, it’s more important to give a hilarious answer instead of a correct one.  And the questions are easier.

The reason I’ve not talked about one here before, though, is because I don’t really watch them.  Like chat shows, they seem to be a bit of a waste of time.  Chat shows are just people plugging their new book with rehearsed anecdotes while a former comedian swoons over them – I can get this sort of content from podcasts without having to use my eyeballs.  In my millennial office life (and by office, I mean working from home) nobody ever makes an appointment to view a panel show.  Lots of them are broadcast on Friday nights when we’re all at after-work drinks (not me), and now we’re not allowed to do that anymore, we’re too deep in season two of The Boys (no thanks) or the end of Schitt’s Creek (already completed it) to tune in.  In short, panel shows aren’t the kind of boxsets you can show off to your friends with.

When I still lived at home, Have I Got News For You was a firm family favourite.  Little did we know we were choosing our future PM based on who was the most discombobulated panellist (well, I didn’t vote for him, but it was f***ing one of yas – dezguztan!).  My parents still relish how the show’s humour makes a farce of British politics, but for me the subject matter is already too much of a farce to be funny anymore.  I once spent a whole train journey to Cornwall for work (shout out Eden Project) watching Never Mind The Buzzcocks on my phone and laughing so loudly that fellow passengers worried for my sanity.  But will we ever get Simon Amstell back?  I may save this for a future edition, as is my plan with Celebrity Juice, so we’ll try and focus on the show in hand.

The reason I’m picking Mock The Week is that I’ve come to admit begrudgingly it’s actually rather good.  Of an evening, around 10pm, as I disconnect the telly from Netflix or Amazon Prime or Sky Boxsets, I’m hit with a brief glimpse into live terrestrial telly.  The channel is never set to BBC1 or ITV, as my life is too worth living ever to sit through either station’s ten o’clock news – I am not going to bed angry.  Invariably, it’s BBC2, which means, on a certain night of the week I have thus far not ascertained, Mock The Week is in full swing.  Whether it’s a repeat, or a more recent edition with fun-ruining plastic dividers and social distancing, I will typically lose between ten and twenty minutes of delicious sleep because I’ve become distracted by the hilarity on screen.  But it’s worth it.

The idea is to laugh at things that have happened in the last seven days.  That’s where the name comes from.  Mocking the week.  Got it?  Good.  And we all know we could do with a laugh these days.  Given my fractional viewing, I’m not too sure of the rest of the format.  Dara Ó Briain ably chairs proceedings, a characterful man who combines erudition with, my personal favourite, plenty of silliness.  He once called me a c**t at a live show in response to my answer to his question regarding what job I do.  So I consider him a close personal friend.

The two teams of three that make up the rest of the panel are a revolving retinue of comedians, all taking part willingly in the weekly mockery.  More recent episodes have seen a great big shift upwards in the diversity of backgrounds here and if this doesn’t excite you then please stop reading now.  I’m up for banning white men from all TV and politics for the next five years (especially me) and seeing how we get on.  What’s the worst that can happen?  Sadly, this would cost me some of my favourites: Ed Gamble and his dry delivery, James Acaster and his perpetual face of confusion (let’s all agree to watch his Netflix specials please) and Tom Allen, taking a break from slagging off cakes but in a charming way on Bake Off: Extra Slice.

Sometimes our panellists sit around, sometimes there’s a microphone on a stand that they have to dash towards from little raised platforms and it’s fun wondering if they’ll bump into each other.  Sometimes you wonder how people can be so quick-witted, sometimes you wonder if they’ve had time to prepare their best lines.  Either way, there are plenty of chuckles to go round for everyone and, of course, nobody cares who actually wins.  I couldn’t even tell you if scores are kept – that’s just how little research I do for these posts.  And so, Mock The Week, let us salute you as a pandemic hero – you’re making me want to watch you in spite of myself.

The IT Crowd

People often ask me what do you do with yourself when you’re visiting Rome with pals but some of them have come over from China and therefore need afternoon naps to cope with the jetlag but you don’t sleep in the day because you wear contacts and are a machine?  The answer is simple: I watch The IT Crowd on the AirBnB’s Netflix account.  Part of my aversion to day-sleeping comes from a quality instilled in me by my mother that all time must be productive, otherwise I might have indulged in the slumber too.  In fact, given my penchant for early starts (5.30am on weekdays everybody) my body does shutdown if I am inactive for 45 minutes or more.  This makes afternoon meetings at work a huge no go, unless it’s me doing the talking, otherwise my plan just to shut one eye at a time so I’m only half giving into hibernation routinely results in nearly missed faceplants on company furniture.  Luckily I’m known for looking bored in all meetings, so this behaviour is part of a professional reputation I’ve spent over ten years building.  Secretly, I hear and remember all things (thank you, Asperger’s).

But yes, this well-loved sitcom (that ran 2006 to 2013) which I had never really seen before, despite getting halfway through the first season several times, proved to be one of the highlights of Rome.  Don’t worry – I had been before in 2005.  We did all the things, even spotting the then Pope (the former Nazi one, which reflects all my views on organised religion perfectly), not to mention me being stopped by elderly Austrian ladies while leaving a restaurant so they could tell me I looked like Hugh Grant’s younger brother.  Thanks.  This meant that my 2019 return was a chilled affair.  The non-Netflix highlights were my successful digestion of Roman gluten in several kilograms of pizza and pasta and a guided tour of the Forum by the talkative Giancarlo, whose palpable disappointment at his young charges actually being in their mid-thirties was exceeded only by his delight that one of my friends knew more than him about ancient Rome and ecclesiastical trivia.

Over a couple of afternoons, while it rained outside (mostly), I made my way through the four series and additional special of The IT Crowd, soothed under the apartment’s air conditioning, which made up for the major flaw which all AirBnBs subtly carry until you notice it on checking in: the third bedroom (mine) was actually a bed in a cupboard.  But let’s not dwell on the fact that I eventually commandeered the living room as my man pad and actually get into the telly bit of this week’s blog.  Back in 2006, every company’s IT department was endowed with majesty and mystery.  Nobody knew how their work computer functioned, yet a whole team existed to fix any bugs, viruses and digital runny noses that would occasion to happen (especially if you opened dodgy emails).  I’m pleased to report that, in 2019, things are exactly the same.  The Office perfectly captured the condescending IT geek whose one time to shine was while chastising the common worker for overheating their hard drive.  But the, er, crowd of The IT Crowd are a million times more lovable:

Roy

He of the ironic t-shirt and asking helpdesk callers if they’ve tried turning it off and then turning it on again (a joke that never gets unfunny, even in real life), Roy’s anger and impatience are a joy to behold.  This is because everything sounds delightful in Chris O’Dowd’s Irish accent.  Some of his best moments are in The Work Outing, when a toilet use misunderstanding is ensued by deeply offensive yet hilarious consequences, but I can’t get enough of him complaining about being kissed on the bottom by a male masseur in Something Happened.  Like me, O’Dowd is an actor who looks worse the younger he is.

Moss

This character at first seems like a caricature, but ends up with inordinate mileage and depth.  I think I enjoy him most in The Final Countdown when the amazing Richard Ayoade gets to deliver the immortal line: “I came here to drink milk and kick ass. And I've just finished my milk.”  His every attempt to be normal only makes him more unusual, and that’s why he’s so special.

Jen

Played by Katherine Parkinson, who I would like on my screens more often please, Jen has one of my favourite voices in television, let alone comedy.  One of the key conceits is that Jen doesn’t know a thing about technology, despite being head of the IT Department.  But she can front anything, even without knowing what the I and the T stand for, or while thinking the internet is a black block given to her by Roy and Moss.  Her funniest moments are in Italian For Beginners when, in a delicious send-up of woman-on-woman workplace passive aggression (a situation that arises when women fight each other for dominance rather than taking on the chauvinist men-pigs holding them down) Jen pretends she can speak Italian and ends up translating for a visiting businessman by reeling off various Italian brands and sounding genuinely convincing.

Alongside our three heroes in the basement of Reynholm Industries, we are treated to occasional appearances from Richmond (Bake Off’s Noel Fielding) and almost constant appearances from series two onwards of Matt Berry as Douglas Reynholm himself.  I won’t extol the virtues of each here, as, if you don’t already recognise their genius, you can close this window and buy a tabloid newspaper (such is your level).

While some jokes have dated as attitudes have modernised and sensitivities adjusted, The IT Crowd, while guaranteeing an average of five LOLs in a decent episode, provides a lot of commentary on elements of our collective culture that are still relevant today: the impact of the internet, how we behave on social media, inequality, sexism, nepotism, unchecked privilege and turning computers off and turning them on again in order to make them work.  Let this be added to the guidebooks alongside the Trevi Fountain as one of the wonders of Rome, but please rest assured this can be watched in other places as well.

Great British Bake Off (Channel 4 version)

It’s not a boxset, but it was probably one of the biggest televisual things to happen this year.  After a huge amount of coverage in the news and an even greater level of concern from die-hard fans, Tuesday this week finally saw the new-look Bake Off emerge into reality.  At last, we could all cast our judgments.

And it was fine.  A big tent.  Some baking challenges.  It was more the same than it could ever have been different.  Yet I was surprised by this.  Surely it couldn’t be anywhere near as charming without Maz Baz, god love her.  But, the more sympathetic good cop to Paul Hollywood’s nit-picking was a role aptly filled by Prue Leith.  Her plummy accent leant her real credibility and, throughout, she did her upmost to prove she was up to the judging: “Nice sponge,” “Good sponge,” and “Lovely sponge” all being uttered on repeat.

Part of the relaunch’s genius comes in finding hosts with the potential to be as beloved as Mel and Sue.  Sandi Toksvig, taking her bomber jacket inspiration from Mary Berry in 2012, was safe in the knowledge that nobody can look cool slagging off Sandi Toksvig.  She is a brilliant individual even before she starts titting about with the contestants’ mini rolls.  At the same time, Noel Fielding, still easing into the role, injects exactly what we were expecting from him: irreverent humour, a good nature and many surprise chuckles.  I could be heard laughing out loud from two flats away at that marigold going in his mouth.

The office consensus the next day was a unanimous: “It’s the same.”  Looking for drama in our humdrum lives, we had all violently lamented the end of our favourite show as we knew it.  We wouldn’t be able to go on living.  Things just wouldn’t be the same.  But they were, and we shrugged our shoulders and got back to whatsapping our friends at our desks while our inboxes filled with passive-aggressive sludge.

Nevertheless, we had all decried the intrusion of adverts into our BBC haven.  How dare they?  But there were no excuses here either.  A delayed viewing start allows everyone with the right tech to fast-forward through the ads, though I in fact took a squiz at them out of curiosity.  Two such apt sponsors for a show about cake could never have been found, but eBay and their awful new creative were unable to hide behind their very strange use of talent in their dreadful advertising premier.  I won’t even mention Stork Butter.

I’m a-tingle with excitement for next Tuesday’s instalment, safe back in the knowledge that the televisual hug I needed so much from the show’s previous iteration is still available to me.  My only slight concern is that the showstopper challenge has already gone big with week one’s illusion cakes (or, if you are Prue, ill-yoo-sion cakes).  What gasp-worthy creations can possibly be left for the remaining instalments?  But then, this razzle dazzle was clearly a shrewd ploy to show the format at its best, and it’s certainly worked on me.

Great British Bake Off (BBC version)

On the day that the new Bake Off debuts on Channel 4, it seems only right to look back at what made the BBC version so special.  Luckily enough, Good Food seems to be endlessly repeating early seasons, which give you a taster of how the show looks when chopped up brutally with adverts.  It’s also a violent and unwelcome flashback to how the programme looked before it had the whole nation’s full attention.

The formula took a while to mature and develop over the first few series: casting the contestants, doing away with the stern male voiceover, not really dwelling on where the marquee was pitched and slowly phasing out the backstory VTs to the more obscure recipes.  Indeed, as time went on, the technical challenges became curiouser and curiouser until I was convinced someone was making them up and claiming their origins in far-flung countries and centuries that nobody would check (Tudor Week, anyone?).  But, harmonised with this honing of its flow and structure, the society in which it was broadcast also knew a greater need for the warm fuzzy feelings only a friendly baking challenge could elicit.

This was a show where people didn’t get cross with each other.  There was no swearing or conflict.  There was nothing sexual beyond chucklesome innuendos (cue reference to tarts and buns – tee hee).  The worst thing that could happen was a bit of burnt sponge or some raw pastry.  Maybe someone would put in too much ginger.  If only this was all that mattered in the real world.  What of course never mattered was the amount of butter and sugar being poured into each mix.

And so, each midweek episode saw us rushing home for the televisual equivalent of a hug, with Hollywood the stern (and slightly vampiric) dad, and Mary the grandma we all wanted to please, with nothing but nice things to say to those that were struggling.  On a food shoot I had to attend with work, I got chatting to a girl who had looked after Mary during Bake Off production.  With the marquee proving chilly in the British weather, Mary was allegedly kept under blankets and by a heater in the nearby stately home, awoken and brought out only to take determined toothy bites and to soothsay contestants.

As with all good shows, it became must-see viewing for any office drone.  Coming into work not knowing the results of the previous night’s episode was dicing with conversational death to say the very least.  Only by screaming and running out of the room could those yet to catch up ensure nothing was ruined for them.  Young and old alike could discuss in depth every familiar portion, from the signature bake to the showstopper, recalling every Mel and Sue double-entendre and their favourite cheery line from Mary Berry.  In fact, it was the only show I was able to watch together with one of my weirdest housemates (a forty four year-old Australian lady who once took herself to A&E on a Saturday night because she had constipation).

So many have tried to copy the format in order to apply a bit of competition to other seemingly banal household tasks; there was a Great British Sewing Bee and something about pottery (pottery?!).  I half expected for there to be something about my favourite domestic task, cleaning bathrooms.

I would like to take this opportunity to review some of my favourite contestants from the various seasons:

• Selasi from series seven: nobody cared less than he about the outcomes of his bakes
• Paul from series six: a man who tried to be cheerful but whose fury was betrayed by his very red face.  He seemed utterly embarrassed to be there, which made watching him bake strangely compelling
• Norman from series 5: who didn’t see the need to impress anyone or change anything he had been doing the whole time
• Flora from series 6: probably because, by the age of 19, she had achieved more with her life than I ever will at 32, I thoroughly enjoyed it when her bakes went wrong.  I need to sort myself out
• Kimberley from series 4: clearly hated the stupidity of everyone around her as they weren’t as smart, but gave nervous chuckles in order to hide her murderous intentions against the competition.  Everyone freaked out about having to make tuiles.  Cut to Kimberley: “I actually made these last week so smug smug smug.”  Loved her
• Nadiya from series 6: such character and hard work, yet we all were convinced that she had some awful husband controlling her life from home.  And he turned out to be an absolute babe when we saw him in the final and we all realised that we still harbour ridiculous prejudices, despite claiming to be liberal

While the Hollywood Handshake will still be a possibility over on Channel 4, we will never again hear Mary claiming she could take a bit more booze in her bake, or enjoy a good Mel and Sue pun when declaring the number of minutes left in a challenge.  Strange to think that a show can become such a part of our comfort system.