Travel Man: 48 Hours In…

While some parts of modern life are returning to a semblance of normality, particularly if you already avoided all human contact, one area of sunshine in our otherwise pointless existences has come back with an added layer of jeopardy.  What used to be called going on holiday, but is now defined as a hobby under the smugger term of “travelling”, is fraught with the risk of your foreign destination falling foul of arbitrary quarantine rules mid-sojourn.  It might have been officially safe to go there, but you could end up coming back from somewhere dangerous, required to submit to an honesty box-enforced personal lockdown of two weeks, just for burning your skin and eating full Englishes in Marbs.  Luckily, TV has many options when it comes to vicarious holiday-making.  I’ve already covered Cruising With Jane McDonald, much to the ambivalence of my loyal reader(s).  But this week I’m going to be telling you all about my recent obsession with Travel Man.

Everyone loves Richard Ayoade.  He was crucial to the charm of The IT Crowd and has gone on to make a living as a professional silly sausage, which schtick is only enabled by his conversely erudite true nature.  For those of us whose lifestyles are more than a little inspired by the teachings of Asperger, he’s a ruddy hero.  Like me, he’s guilty of the approach to travelling where, on the day you’re required to leave, you’d do anything to be able to stay at home instead.  Once away, you may well have a lovely time and forge treasurable memories, but you’re never gladder than the moment you cross the threshold back into your own abode again.  An entertaining choice, then, for a travelogue series.  Let’s run through, to borrow Ayoade’s own frequent references, the format points:

Travel Man always goes with a pal

Each episode focuses on a different predominantly European destination, to which Ayoade is accompanied by a predominantly comedic companion.  It’s a who’s who of British televisual light entertainers, though some Hollywood heavyweights do steam in, introduced to us with all their hyphenations: writers, actors and, ubiquitously, broadcasters.  But what really is a broadcaster?  Am I broadcasting now?  I don’t know.  The show has been opened with a madcap monologue where Ayoade soliloquises from multiple incongruous locations on the pitfalls of modern weekends away: what if it’s a bit rubbish?  The showbiz pal then sets us up for the second earful, demanding to know why they have been brought to Porto/Bergen/Athens etc.  Cue a street jive-inspired yet still deeply ironic beginner’s outburst to the place in question.  The guest tourists are often reduced to foils for Ayoade’s self-confessed glibness, with any showing off swiftly halted, but there is always enough chemistry for the viewer to yearn for an accompanying ticket.

Travel Man is on a budget, a massive one

Prices for sundries and excursions pop up in jaunty bubbles onscreen, with an overview of the cheapest possible trip to our destination given early on.  However, this is often run roughshod over in the very next scene when inordinate funds are spaffed on the most extravagant of hotels.  It’s wasted on Ayoade, who cares only to toss his retro luggage on the king size before dashing off.

Travel Man is tight on time

There’s a lot to be forced into 48 hours, ideally three activities either side of the break plus travel and extra filming time.  As such, Ayoade is constantly badgering his co-voyager to hurry up, resulting in a trail of unfinished drinks and food being left in their wake.  I always find this funniest when his celeb pal wants to chill in the hotel on arriving and Ayoade must insist upon them meeting him downstairs immediately in order to stick to their itinerary.  Relaxing this ain’t.

Travel Man can’t be arsed with the food or indeed any other affectation

Whether trying odd local dishes, or sitting through a 14-course Michelin-starred tasting menu, Ayoade is ever the everyman in only ever being able to assess things as “fine” or “OK” – he’ll often refuse additional bites if he deems one mouthful sufficient for analysing flavour.  Fuss and fancy are instant turn offs, often dismissed on the spot, much to the disappointment of obsequious wait staff and barkeeps.  I unknowingly channelled this approach on a media jolly to San Sebastián when I inadvertently told the maître d’ at Arzak that I didn’t like the monkfish.  Whoops.

Travel Man is nourished by facts

Our guest follows Richard on a schlepp to the city’s nearest highpoint, using a bird’s eye view to orientate themselves and discuss Ayoade’s vertigo.  Before, during and after, they are showered with openly Wikipedia-procured nuggets of varying relevance, often responding with their only viable reaction: bemusement.  On occasions, even hired tour guides seem to know less than our Richard.  It’s all deliciously awkward.  Of note is when UNESCO World Heritage Site status is pointed out, as we do realise at one point that nobody knows what this means.

Travel Man has other foibles

He makes outrageous sartorial choices.  He has a real passion for funiculars (and you will too).  He finds it outrageous when artisanal workshops do not conclude with appropriate certification.  He is vivid in his descriptions of tummy bugs.  He treats guides facetiously by asking them to stay in touch.  But most of all…

Travel Man gets travel sick

Across the nine series and counting, the producers push Ayoade into every mode of transport imaginable, from speedboats to helicopters, from camels to toboggans.  Each and every one triggers his motion sickness.  As a fellow sufferer, I identify with this more than I can convey here.  In fact, I have developed sympathy sickness which comes on whenever Ayoade looks queasy.  Which is often.

Nevertheless, this show is now a firm favourite of mine in light of its lightness and entertainment.  I feel as though I’ve been on a farewell grand tour of my beloved EU with a host of new pals.  Its irreverent tone really takes the gap yah out of someone else’s holidays, transcending the traditional tedium of online showing off by never taking anything that seriously.  Best of all, its brutal honesty really peaks at the very end when Ayoade is itching to get home and shut the doors.  Should they have come?  It doesn’t matter if you have speedy boarding.

Dark (Dunkel)

Yes, everybody, here we are: the hundredth post of Just One More Episode.  When I started this blogging business about two years ago, I had high hopes for the unprecedented and life-changing success it would bring me.  My content would be syndicated on national news sites, I’d be an in-demand podcast guest, maybe even a talking head on some sort of Channel 5 schedule-filling tat about the top 50 moments on TV when someone fell over.  Needless to say, none of that has happened.  I’m still a professional email-typer and open-plan office-dweller.  People do shout at me now across the vestibule occasionally though, proclaiming to like my blog while walking off in the other direction.  More often than not, they talk of having seen my promotion of the blog and take pains to tell me they haven’t read it.  So that’s good.  At least the half-hearted Instagram account has eight followers.  And there was the lady in New Zealand who really like my tweets about Bromans.  Even my life hasn’t changed that much – still an eternal renter while I await a completion date on my (a lot of) Help To Buy newbuild flat.  My solicitors are busy being ineffective.  But this isn’t about the banal details of my actual life (it mostly is), but about good telly.  So, what show merits the accolade of taking this blog into triple digits?  Dark.

Dark has probably haunted your Netflix menu persistently over the years.  Its lead image, a yellow-cagouled figure disappearing into a verdant cave, promises mystery and intrigue, but its position among so much else competing for your attention makes it a hard choice to pursue.  I chose to watch it because it’s in German and, I don’t know if I’ve mentioned, but my education culminated in me achieving near-native fluency in that language (as well as a passable ability to understand the odd word in French rap songs).  That reason is also significant enough in my life that I’ve picked this programme to occupy the position of blogpost number 100.  I don’t suppose this has been an appealing factor for a lot of you, especially as Dark seems, at first glance, to be a synthesis of many other shows.  The motif of a brightly coloured item of clothing brings to mind Jean’s anorak in fellow European fare, The Rain.  Making a wet and rainy climate look cinematic places it broadly in a league with The End Of The F***ing World.  The setting of a single town gripped by strangeness reminded me of The Returned (Les Revenants).  And finally, that strangeness of course draws comparison with Stranger Things.

Question: is Dark just a German Stranger Things?  Answer: a little bit, but it’s more than that.  I’ve recently been taking pains to point out to my intermittent readers that Just One More Episode doesn’t reveal any spoilers.  I’m careful not to let slip anything more than can be seen in a show’s trailer or basic synopsis in a TV guide.  There’s always enough inanity that you can share in the pure joy of my self-indulgent prose, even if you’ve had better things to do with your time than watch, for example, Riverdale or Jack Whitehall: Travels With My Father.  What becomes clear very early on is that Winden has a problem with missing children (a bit like Hawkins in Stranger Things). Episode one is a triumph in weaving together a cast of characters big enough to populate a whole town (because it’s basically the whole town), giving you enough about their past and present relationships to hook you in, and then setting up the jeopardy that starts us off from one riddle to the next.

Accompanying the furrowed brows of all these actors is a soundtrack that chimes in specifically to heighten the tension.  It has the rhythm of stomach rumbles, reminding you to concentrate on what’s unfolding before you: something important is about to be unearthed.  You can tell what type of thriller this is by whether people say thanks and goodbye at the end of phone calls.  They don’t.  A real-life chat typically concludes with a series of byes and see yous but, in Dark, the receiver simply drops from the actor’s face, while their expression conveys contemplation and mystery as they stare into the middle distance.  You might find yourself looking similarly vacant when a whole new cast appears in episode three.  A crucial element of Dark’s ambition (without giving away anything about its story) is that the action unfolds on three temporal planes, with the third instalment taking us to 1986 for the first time (cue nostalgia satisfaction for Stranger Things fans then…)

But let’s move on from that, before I inadvertently reveal more than I ought.  Each time the world of Winden expands, the quality of the drama prevents any dilution of your commitment.  Any ultimate resolution to Dark’s mysteries only ever seems further away, with each step towards it unlocking further nuggets to solve, yet there is no frustration, just intrigue.  You might, however, wonder why it rains so often and so heavily.  The cast are almost always soaked.  Maybe it’s to do with the imposing presence of the town’s nuclear power plant.  For fans of GCSE German among you, enjoy yourselves listening out for mentions of the Atomkraftwerk, essential vocabulary from the environment chapter of any language textbook memorised by people in their early thirties now, as part of a curriculum-bending effort to stop pollution by knowing how to talk about it in a foreign language.  Not sure that’s worked then, as the sea is full of your crisp packets (Blue Planet II) and the climate crisis rages (Our Planet).  Either way, pray the planet lasts until June 21^st when series two of Dark is promised to us by our Netflix overlords.  Don’t worry about the rising oceans giving you damp socks though; catch up on series one now and the whole thing will feel like an interactive experience as you view each rain-drenched scene with your own wet ankles.