Gavin & Stacey

Regular readers of the blog (of which there are about five) will know that I’m constantly torn between wanting to be ahead of the curve at discovering new boxsets (The Handmaid’s Tale), and shirking popular choices by not watching landmark shows until they are years past their prime (The Wire).  And so it is with great pleasure that I have finally made my way through all three series of Gavin & Stacey eleven years after it first broadcast and eight years since its final episode (though IMDB has a question mark over the possibility of a fourth season).  Every charming minute of this comedy-drama is available on BBC iPlayer, which meant I could binge myself silly via my phone while travelling all around London as part of my urban drone lifestyle (though I did also watch some on flights to and from Dublin).

This did sometimes mean that everything was chopped up into small segments, depending on how long each journey was.  There was also a lot of pausing where the Victoria line was too loud for me to hear properly what was going on through my pathetic earphones.  There’s a stretch between Pimlico and Victoria where the train whines on its tracks, drowning out Nessa’s sardonic harsh truths or Uncle Bryn’s awkward intentions, but luckily the iPlayer app always shifts you back a few seconds whenever you press play after a pause, so please rest assured that I didn’t miss a minute and am therefore fully qualified to prattle on here with my thoughts on this timeless piece of British comedy.

Let’s take it back to series one, episode one, where the premise of the whole thing is set up.  Gavin, at work in Essex, has been talking at length over the phone (an actual landline, everybody) with supplier, Stacey, at work in South Wales.  We join them as they put the final touches to their arrangements finally to meet in person for the first time.  Nerves abound for our long-distance lovers, and, I have to be honest, they abounded for me too.  What if I didn’t like this show?  What if I couldn’t join in with nostalgic praise of this BBC classic?  Would I be chalking up something else on the list of things that don’t live up to their hype, such as Barry’s Bootcamp and espresso martinis?

But like our Gavin and our Stacey, I was in love almost straightaway.  Though it’s not all perfect.  The truism of this couple’s love for each other is a constant throughout the show, but there’s never really much explanation of what they like about each other.  And, given their wholehearted embracing of noughties’ fashion choices (for some reason lads wore cardigans a lot; I know I did), it can be hard for the viewer to deduce this too.  But offering great contrast to this is the complicated tryst between the best friends of the show’s namesakes.  Nessa and Smithy’s repulsion at one another is never far from true affection, especially after any quantity of alcohol.  James Corden and Ruth Jones’s performances perfectly capture the characters’ conflicting emotions with greater subtlety than we see from our central pair, but, as the show’s writers, they have clearly given themselves the opportunities to have the most fun with it.  I’d do the same.

Trumping all this, though, as my favourite relationship, is the adorable marriage of Mick and Pam, Gavin’s mum and dad.  They are the parents everyone wants, loving nothing more than their idolised son’s friends using their home as a hotel and restaurant, welcoming Stacey’s extended family in under any circumstance and generally always up for a drink and some sausage rolls (with vegetarian options for those that want).  Contrasted with the acidic (and very recognisable) spikiness of their dear friends, Dawn and Pete, we can instantly believe in Mick and Pam’s decades of happy marriage.  A new life goal is to be able to saunter in through their French window at the back and to have Pam (played by the delicious Alison Steadman) call out “Hello dullin’” before offering me all manner of refreshments.  I don’t even mind if Dawn and Pete are there, as Dawn is played by a lifetime hero of mine, Julia Davis (whose Nighty Night you should go and watch immediately if you haven’t already).

Now I’ve joined the ranks of those that love this show, I ought to put my finger on what lies behind its charm.  For me, it’s the accuracy of all things British, things we take for granted but that actually define our little British existences: wet pavements, rubbish makes of car, depressing seaside resorts.  Nothing is sexed up to make it more entertaining and so it all feels beautifully plausible, though I wonder if the Shipman and West neighbours in Billericay and Barry mind the fact that every vehicle’s arrival is heralded with horn tooting – the kind of dramatic behaviour that guarantees you tuts and curtain twitches.

The storylines gently tinker along, with the odd cliff hanger, but this doesn’t stop the narrative from dwelling on patches of dialogue that act almost as prolonged comedy sketches.  We’ll spend just as much time delving into why Nessa and Smithy don’t share food (amen) or hearing about Doris’s sexual escapades (complete with geriatric potty mouth, as there’s nothing funnier than an OAP saying twat) as we will exploring Stacey’s insecurities about moving to Essex.  I can’t say if it’s a show about love or Anglo-Welsh relations or growing up or popular culture or all of the above and more.  It doesn’t really matter, as it’s all lovely.  And by the final series, ten million of us were tuning in to bask in that loveliness.

So, yeah, I may have missed out on office chat circa 2009 when everyone wanted to discuss the new series of Gavin & Stacey premiering.  But, in 2018, come at me if you want to discuss this worthy entry into British television’s hall of fame.  I’m only sorry I’m so late.

Nighty Night

After so many American boxsets, I really want to focus on a good old piece of BBC comedy.  And in high contrast to the whitened straightened teeth and sunny scenes of Hollywood’s finest comedies and dramas, Nighty Night’s darker-than-dark humour and parade of grotesque imagination is the perfect antidote.  No other show has inspired so many in-jokes or turns of phrase among groups of my friends.  Both series aired between 2004 and 2005, before I hammered the DVDs into obliteration following their home entertainment release.

But why is one obscure BBC sitcom so significant?  There must be many reasons, but I can’t really put my finger on any of them.  Instead, I will tit about with the things about it that I like, because I can do whatever I want.  Firstly, the setting.  Nighty Night is set in the worst place imaginable: a suburban British cul-de-sac.  Statistics I have made up show that over half of all middle-class Brits start their lives in these sorts of soulless wastelands, with the other half aiming to move into these sorts of soulless wastelands at a later point in their life journey.  So close to home was Nighty Night’s setting, that some of the outdoor scenes were recognisably filmed in Dorking, a crap town down the road from my own, Leatherhead, rated the crappest of all towns.  Take that, New York and other such glamorous locations.  Places I have been in have been on telly.

Secondly, the lead character is evil.  It’s normally hard to root for a baddie, but this one has a West Country accent.  Therefore, even the shadiest statements sound cheery and reasonable.  Julia Davis, who also created and wrote the show, plays Jill Tyrell.  You might recognise Julia from the background of loads of different British comedies, which is really bad as I only like it when she is at the front.  She was even in Gavin And Stacey (which I have never watched, purely because everyone used to watch it and that put me off, when normally it makes me want to watching something).  While the rest of us ignore or suppress our selfish side, Jill embraces hers.  So much so that, when new neighbours Cath and Don arrive, she wastes no time in making Cath’s life hell in order to live out her fantasy of seducing Don (or any of their sons; she’s not that picky).  I should point out that Cath has MS and is in a wheelchair.  I should also point out that Jill removes her own husband from the scene by checking him into a hospice for the terminally ill, despite him being fighting fit.  Nothing can deter Jill from her goal.  In fact, Cath’s inability to stop being British and polite is what allows Jill to walk all over her. 

And not just walk all over her, but drive her around until she vomits after hearing she gets travel sick, put on a meaty buffet despite knowing Cath is vegetarian, slam a door in Cath’s face leaving her alone in the garden while pretending someone has called her back in the house, “Pardon?”, have her dog jump all over her after finding out she had a run in with an Alsatian as a girl.  There is simply so much that going through it all here, while hilarious, would not do it any justice.  The main life teaching from this is that if someone lets you take advantage of them, then go for your life.  It’s their own stupid fault.

Finally, the supporting characters are worth their weight in gold.  From Ruth Jones’s asthmatic Linda, to an awkward Angus Deayton as loverat Don himself, not to mention Mark Gatiss as the repulsive Glen.  Jill horrifically manipulates each and every one of them in the cruellest way and in the vilest scenes, but somehow watching it is pure bliss.

Do not watch this if you are easily offended.  Do watch this if you need to cut loose from beautiful people in beautiful situations.  Do watch this is you can laugh at anything and live with the guilt, or better yet, not experience the guilt at all.  Do watch it if you want to be reminded of how risky the BBC used to be with its comedy.  My only warning for those that do watch it is not to do with the offensive content, but the fact that, after the dating agency scene, you will never be able to say “thank you” the same way ever again.