Themes of the TV series Buffy The Vampire Slayer. By Laurence Buxton, 2018

Themes of the TV series Buffy The Vampire Slayer. By Laurence Buxton, 2018.

One of the joys of Buffy The Vampire Slayer, other than its quickfire dialogue and character development, was the strength of its themes across seasons as well as episodes, which elevated the show even in its (in my opinion rare) lapses in quality, and give it extra rewatch value. I’ve therefore written this article to explore these, as this is something I’ve tried to instil in my own work.

The show’s initial conceit turned the table on the whole ‘helpless blonde girl stalked by a powerful threat’ cliché by its initial ‘victim’ – Darla – turning out to be a predatory vampire , and its heroine, Buffy, revealed as physically stronger than any other human. This theme was strong enough to sustain it for its first season, particularly as it was just 11 episodes long. Unsurprisingly the show’s initial run does look dated by today’s standards, betraying its origins in late 1990s: the screen image is blurred and the picture contrast often limited; the acting of some of the supporting cast (including, to some extent David Boreanaz) is yet to fully convince; there’s not yet the emotional depth of later seasons and episodes such as the internet-themed I Robot You Jane seem a little obsolete.

Yet the chemistry between the three best friends is undeniable. Anthony Head also conveys quiet authority as Giles (the equivalent of Donald Sutherland’s role in the TVM), Mark Metcalf gives a touch of relish, theatricality and unexpected pathos to his role as The Master, and there’s a number of standout episodes – Nightmares explores the inner fears of the protagonists in a more light-hearted way than would be the case later on; The Pack is a particularly nasty episode, with the liberal Principal Flutie being written out in gruesome fashion and Nicholas Brendon convincingly callous when Xander is possessed; The Puppet Show cleverly mixes horror film creepiness with side-splitting humour whilst also introducing Flutie’s stern replacement Snyder, and the story Angel gives Boreanaz a chance to take centre-stage for the first time, impressing as the enigmatic stranger’s dark secret is revealed.

If there is a theme it is of the strength of not fitting in or accepting the role society has defined for you : Buffy, who as the Slayer fails to fit in with the ‘weak, helpless blonde girl’ image rejects Cordelia’s shallow group for the genuine friendship of Xander and Willow, whilst they decline to accept they are helpless in the face of powerful odds. The Master and his set-up represents an ‘old guard’ which Buffy & co challenge. Buffy also keeps her spirited attitude to slaying which contrasts with what Giles would initially prefer.

Fan opinion tends to rate seasons 2, 3 and 5 as the show’s best. In many ways the second season starts off much like its first, with ‘monster of the week’ stories and the increasingly-developed Buffy-Angel romance giving the show its heart. But there’s a nasty sting in the tale this time, with the consummation of their relationship leading to the loss of Angel’s soul and the return of Angelus: the sadistic, spiteful and powerful vampire that Angel once was. Boreanaz absolutely excels in this darker role and Sarah Michelle Gellar is also at her best. There’s also the addition of a brilliant English vampire double-act: the punk-like Spike and the crazy, rambling Drusilla, their romantics acting a kind of ‘Sid and Nancy’ parallel to Buffy and Angel’s and causing further complications when Angelus pursues Drusilla principally to torment Spike. James Marsters in particular, as Spike, became a fan favourite with his Billy Idol-like attitude, and the character would go on to have a huge part to play in the rest of the show’s run.

Similarly to last season’s Teacher’s Pet Xander got his ‘own’ episode, with the genuinely funny Bewitched, Bothered & Bewildered finding the hapless student’s spell to reclaim Cordelia backfiring. Willow, still pining for Xander, got her own boyfriend, the taciturn and deep-thinking Oz, who would turn out to have a side hidden even from himself. Theme-wise the main storyline noted the battle between responsibility and pleasure – the (unaware) Buffy turns Angel into a monster by giving into her feelings, and the knowledge that she is the only one who can put this right, particularly after the murder of fellow slayer Kendra. Two other couples, Cordelia/Xander and Oz/Willow, also face clashes between doing the right thing and acting on their inner personal desires. Meanwhile the arrival of the mischievous, chaos-worshipping Ethan Rayne (played by the late Robin Sachs) also highlights this dilemma: his amoral, though not necessarily out-and-out evil, attitude is markedly different to his old friend Giles’ more idealistic behaviour. Ethan’s weak and cowardly nature is also compared directly to Giles’ hand-to-hand skills and inherent bravery.

Season 3 kept the show’s standards high. Whilst lacking the emotional devastation of last season’s climax it successfully replaced Spike and Drusilla with two equally successful antagonists – the genial, parochial Mayor Wilkins and the rogue slayer Faith, portrayed superbly respectively by Harry Groener and Eliza Dushku. A more morally ambiguous season, with the ‘good’ characters often clashing over the ‘right’ course of action, s3 developed the Mayor-Faith relationship into a surrogate father-daughter bond which contained genuine mutual affection and served as a twisted parallel to that of Buffy/Giles. Marsters did make a guest appearance in the excellent Lovers Walk, and the character showed his ability to cut through the delusion and self-deception of not just Buffy & Angel but humanity in general. There were more ‘what if’ stories, with Hannigan excelling as the warped, sexually ambiguous and repacious vamped Willow in the dark It’s A Wonderful Life-style The Wish – which introduced vengeance demon Anya – and the more light-hearted episode Doppelgangland, where ‘vampire Willow’ shows a disturbing attraction to ‘human Willow’.

Through the season Joyce, now aware of Buffy’s true calling, tried to display more understanding of her daughter’s dangerous lifestyle, but this attempt to bond would lead to simply putting Buffy in even more peril when she & other concerned parents were manipulated by dark forces in the unsettling anti-vigilantism tale Gingerbread. The season climaxed literally with a bang, with Sunnydale High being blown to bits by the heroes in their fight with the Mayor, whilst Buffy’s reward for her heroism was to lose Angel once again. Throughout moral dilemmas were the season’s main theme – notably Buffy and Angel’s disagreement on whether he should stay for romantic as much as professional reasons and Wesley’s and the Watchers’ councils’ profound differences with Buffy, Giles and the Scoobies about the right tactics to face the Mayor and Faith.

By the fourth season there were a number of changes, and not just to the clarity of the picture. The arrival at university saw Buffy clearly out of her depth, more than in season 3’s opener Anne where Buffy had run away from home and had to cope with a humdrum life in Los Angeles. The titular heroine had to cope with annoying roommates, sweet-talking love-rats, patronising professors and homesickness, despite living close enough to return to The Bronze, her home and to Giles whenever she wished, as for the first time she found her friends were not always there for her. It turned into perhaps the show’s quirkiest season yet, with a slightly weak central story arc (the show was hindered by actress Lindsey Crouse departing unexpectedly which seemed to skew the direction of the main plotline, whilst the Frankenstein’s Monster-like Adam proved fairly unpopular as did Marc Blucas’ leading man Riley. The character was essentially Angel’s replacement and, whilst Whedon & Co should be applauded for not making him Angel Mark II, with his crisis of masculinity he essentially came across as a more serious, old-fashioned version of Xander, and their relationship didn’t fully convince.

Although some of the playing with the show’s, and television’s, conventions worked – Superstar gave Danny Strong’s hitherto insignificant Jonathan a chance to become the central figure and the incredible Hush robbed the protagonists of the ability to speak for much of the episode – the show’s messages occasionally became more blatant, such as in the seemingly-deliberately stupid Beer Bad (an anti-alcohol episode pretty much devoid of threat widely cited, along with the same season’s repetitive and unfocused Where The Wild Things Are, as one of the show’s least popular). Yet despite the series becoming more episodic and farcical there was still a theme, this time about social isolation. For whilst Buffy struggles more than Willow to fit into college life Xander, still living at home and struggling through unfulfilling jobs, feared relegation to the outskirts of the group which had been predicted in season 3’s The Zeppo. Similarly Giles started to worry he had become unnecessary, descending into occasionally drunken, aimless confusion and coercion (such as A New Man, featuring his old friend and nemesis Ethan Rayne) and even Spike had to adjust to being unable to hunt humans and to how he now fitted into life in Sunnydale. Season closer Restless was a dream-based story which whilst popular was an arty and fittingly bizarre way to finish an oddball season. But the memorable departure of Oz and his replacement in Willow’s affections by shy, stammering Wiccan Tara also pointed to choices and consequences, a recurring theme in the show since season two. Willow’s discovery of her sexuality would not only provide two of the strongest episodes of the season (Wild At Heart, New Moon Rising) but would be a major breakthrough for LGBT characters on TV, and after initial resistance from some of the fanbase Tara would, like Spike, become a fan favourite.

Season 5 had a distinct theme: that of taking responsibility. It started with a slightly camp knockabout (Buffy vs Dracula) but still gave hinted at the theme of responsibility and loss of control, particularly with Willow. The series villain (the self-absorbed Glory), robs Tara of her sanity, but whilst Buffy remains in control – even when the arrival of ‘little sister’ Dawn is offset by her mother Joyce becoming terminally ill and dying – Willow slowly becomes addicted to black magic. Identity also becomes a recurring theme in s5 : Glory is essentially the ‘Hyde’ to Ben’s Jekyll, as the two struggle to share the same body. Spike continues to struggle with his current ‘neutered’ state (due to the chip in his head which prohibits him from attacking humans) in comparison with his slayer-killing past, Xander is split into two versions of himself in The Replacement, with the confident and incompetent versions of the everyman highlighting his concerns over his ‘usefulness’, whilst Tara voices worry about how her role in her relationship might be at risk from Willow’s ever-increasing magical abilities. These concerns would carry over into the following season too.

The more serious tone of the show was reflected in the message about the importance of family; the arrival of Dawn and the loss of Joyce completely changes Buffy’s role in the Summers household by putting her as eldest sister, with Willow and Tara acting as adoptive parents to Dawn and even Spike taking the role of roguish but deeply protective uncle to the newcomer. The impression gained from all this is that the freedom of earlier seasons is clearly over. Meanwhile the stark classic The Body deals directly with Buffy losing her mother, and contrasts dramatically with s4’s Emmy-nominated standout Hush – the music-less episode is show’s toughest episode to watch yet perfectly conveys the sense of numbness and shock of losing a loved one, before in typical Buffy fashion the arrival of a vampire confirms to her that her life must continue.

The next season was arguably the darkest of all, particularly its latter half. Tara’s death, after her partner’s ill-advised meddling in dark magic to manipulate her friends, saw Willow descend into becoming the season’s ‘Big Bad’, and a showdown with her oldest friends. Even the beginning of the season saw Buffy snatched not from Hell, but Heaven, and forced to battle increasingly-irritating foes (such as the misogynistic Warren) as well as work in a job she hates and with people she despises, notably the increasingly-lovelorn Spike. If season 5 had been punctuated with shocking moments of melancholy and disturbing scenes of mental breakdown among Sunnydale’s population there was a truly tragic tone to s6, with the lead characters’ flaws leading to self-destruction of an almost Shakespearean fashion.

The once-perky Buffy herself seemed a particularly despairing figure, entering into a seedy affair with a character she has decidedly mixed feelings for. Throughout there was a universally bleak message, that sex without love (Buffy-Spike but also Warren-April/Katrina) has serious consequences yet the death of the beloved Tara and the breakup of Anya/Xander seemed to indicate that apparently happy relationships were also doomed, apart from the briefly returning Riley and his new wife. There was a theme of unhealthy addiction, clearly referenced in episode titles as blunt as Gone, Smashed and Wrecked : Buffy’s desire for cheap sex simply to force her feelings, Willow’s enjoyment of black magic echoing a hard drug habit, and a concurrent theme of isolation from friends and family – check out Dead Things, where Spike seduces Buffy whilst encouraging her to distance herself from her friends on the dancefloor; Normal Again, where a spellbound Buffy is made to feel her friends are not real, and Older And Far Away, where Dawn makes a wish that no-one can leave Buffy’s birthday party – critics often deride this run for being depressing and disillusioning, yet it also tied into the feeling from some that the show should not be continuing. Perhaps this series’ most famous episode is the musical Once More With Feeling, yet even this proved quite an introspective character piece which probed the protagonists’ inner turmoil.

The final season might have been expected to be even more downbeat, particularly in a show about the regular threat of the world being destroyed. Yet one of season 7’s themes, seemed to be of not so much endings as about the need for a new generation to continue the fight, and those who were once young and innocent like Buffy (and needing leadership from characters such as Giles) now needing to provide leadership themselves: suddenly Buffy was a General as much as a warrior. There was also a theme of redemption which its spin-off Angel had dealt with regularly, with the guilt-ridden Willow trying to make amends for her descent into world-threatening destruction. The now--resouled Spike also strove to become better, eventually being forgiven by the vengeful Principal Wood whose mother was the slayer the English vampire killed in 1977, and Spike himself would make the ultimate sacrifice. The returning Faith also attempted to turn back to the ‘good’ side by helping take charge of the Potentials. Facing this army would be The First, a non-corporeal primal evil which could take the form of those who have died to manipulate and demoralise the heroes, and the show’s ultimate optimism in the face of life’s torments would be the success in those who have erred so badly in redeeming themselves through actions rather than guilt, a theme reaching back to Angel’s character.

Like seasons 5 and 6 there were dark moments along the way, when the battle against evil seemed overwhelming – one Potential would be driven to suicide by the First’s mind games, the apparently cheery episode Dirty Girls would see poor Xander punished for his sex obsession in the most unsettling way possible, and the episode Help would act as s7’s version of The Body, with Buffy unable to prevent the seemingly ordained death of a student. This final season was criticised as the show became overloaded with Potentials, some of whom would be better characterised and acted than others, whilst their bossiest individual, Kennedy, replaced Dawn as the character least popular with the fanbase. Yet at least the final scene of the Hellmouth’s destruction, with a smiling Buffy in the sunshine, was considerably more optimistic than the surviving protagonists of Angel facing seemingly certain death against overwhelming odds in a dark, rainy alleyway. Finally Buffy, who had struggled to convince her ‘army’ of her required superiority to them in Empty Places, no longer has the weight of the world on her shoulders – there are successors to her and she can lead an ordinary life.

To some extent I regret that the show has continued in comic book form as it risks undoing much of the narrative continuity, just as Spike’s sacrifice at the end of Buffy’s final season was slightly compromised by his return in the final season of Angel. Yet the show’s thematic depth remains almost unmatched in television shows, and means that its enjoyment can actually heighten rather than lessen over time. The program therefore remains a vital reference for anyone looking to instil themes into story arcs as well as individual stories, be it in literature or television.

IN PRAISE OF THE CORNETTO TRILOGY

IN PRAISE OF THE CORNETTO TRILOGY.

It’s only on completion of the Cornetto trilogy (2004's Shaun Of The Dead, 2007's Hot Fuzz and 2013's The World's End ) that it becomes clear how important these films are, both to British comedy and the comedy scene in general.

At the time box-office humour had become dominated by American men/women behaving badly, with gross out movies like Bridesmaids and unsubtle fare like Anchorman generally becoming the most prominent. This trend even saw acting greats like Robert De Niro mining for (and missing) comedy gold; meanwhile parody films referenced movies which were themselves self-aware (such as the Scary Movie franchise ripping off the likes of Scream and I Know What You Did Last Summer) and, much like the Austin Powers series, to ever-diminishing effect. But if this reversion to a kind of Porkys/American Pie frat boy humour was unedifying British humour was also failing to translate to the big screen. TV adaptations of successful shows like Keith Lemon and Mrs Brown’s Boys were getting critically savaged, whilst 1970s farce revivals like Run For Your Wife took the kind of media mauling that the legendarily bad director Ed Wood would have thought let him off lightly in comparison.

Where to go for intelligent, well-observed material, that took a fresh approach to subjects that were overdue for lampooning and including a touch of crude humour, horror and gore, whilst not sinking to the level of unimaginative rip-off? Well, as it turned out it would be to co-writer/director Edgar Wright, co-writer/star Simon Pegg and Pegg’s best mate/co-star Nick Frost, who kicked off the Cornetto trilogy with Shaun Of The Dead. For non-Spaced fans the appearance of the film initially seemed like a blatant piss-take of the same year's similarly zombie-themed Dawn Of The Dead; whilst sexy, brooding vampires dominated the post-Buffy/Twilight TV and film schedules now it was the ravenous, rotting flesheaters. But unlike other then-recent horror films with British involvement such as the underrated but strange Robert Carlyle and Guy Pearce movie Ravenous (1999), which dealt with cannibalism in long-ago America, this would be a slice of comedy-horror which would resonate with anyone in contemporary Britain. Shopping malls and freeways were replaced as settings by bland appliance stores, corner shops and arguments with the in-laws.

Straight away Pegg and Frost’s double-act grounded the film in an amusing but oddly poignant world. Pegg’s Shaun is a downtrodden product of soulless, aimless city life, whilst Frost’s lazy, sofa-bound slob Ed rejects even this, clearly happier crashing permanently at his best mate's house with his ‘pissed at 4am’ lifestyle than becoming a wage slave. Yet in many ways the zombie attack – whilst amusingly missed by our protagonist until it literally arrives on his doorstep – is the wake-up call he needs to prove his assertiveness and to avoid wasting his life. In many ways Shaun has himself become a zombie (referenced through his bleary-eyed, slouching and groaning morning routine) and it is only through impending disaster that he finds his inner resolve, fights for his loved ones and becomes the leader he has struggled to be in his working life. The film took a well-worn genre and mined it for laughs whilst showing an affection for it, and putting a healthy slab of self-effacing character humour and poignancy into it too.

The humour comes from the use of recognisable British locations (notably the beloved Winchester pub) in a quasi-apocalyptic setting, physical gags that would run through the films (the fence-jumping stunt), references to classic and less-regarded pop culture (Pegg & Frost’s characters debating which vinyl records they can sacrifice by using as missiles against the encroaching undead) and Wright’s use of flashy, pop video-style jump cuts. There's even the occasional breaking of the fourth wall, such as in the sequence where Shaun debates the best way to save his loved ones and holing up “to wait for all this to blow over”. However the story is kept flowing, there's a real sense of pending doom undercutting the comedy and the threat of the undead is shown as very real – the moment late on where one self-serving character is torn to pieces is shocking in its explicitness. Much like the Monty Python films – which themselves battled the decline of British cinema in their time – the film didn’t need an appreciation of the sitcom which preceded them to be enjoyed, though one episode of Spaced ("Art"), where Pegg’s character played the survival-horror classic video game Resident Evil 2 and, similar to many who did (such as me) starts to get hallucinations and think the threats in the game are real – inspired the idea. Overwhelmingly positive critical reaction indicated that Pegg & Wright’s creation had registered as much more than just a mickey-take of the similarly-titled American movie that had just come out, and opened the way for further entries in the series to have higher budgets and tackle new genres and themes.

The second movie, Hot Fuzz, attempted something even more ambitious than Shaun. It aimed to cock a snook at not just the quaint, genteel settings and tropes of the likes of Agatha Christie’s Hercules Poirot and Miss Marple mysteries and their subsequent ‘offspring’: long-running ‘murder in paradise’ shows like Midsomer Murders, but also at the locked-and-loaded 'jump sideways in slow motion whilst firing two handguns' clichés of American cop films like Bad Boys 2 and the homoeroticism of fellow action classic Point Break. The need for these extremes to be blended into a more conventional narrative led to a slightly muddled tone, as the movie had to balance the fish-out-of-water plotline of Pegg’s urban overachiever in a seemingly-sleepy Gloucestershire village with not just an OTT action finale but also with excessively gruesome death scenes, conspiracy theories, gothic imagery and creepy Hammer horror themes. The death of one character, for example is eerily reminiscent of the notorious ‘impaling’ scene from The Omen, albeit deliberately overplayed for icky laughs. The film also occasionally suffered from being so stuffed with genuinely hilarious quickfire gags that it risked becoming one of the few comedy movies to suffer from being TOO funny, if such a thing were possible. Even on repeat viewings though it’s noticeable the film doesn’t really stop for breath, which makes it perfect for the DVD/blueray era.

Yet Pegg proves his adaptability by convincing as the ultra-professional Sergeant, who unlike the laid-back Shaun is wound too tightly, and contrasts with Frost’s bumbling, brilliantly-named Danny Butterman, and the two rub off each other to positive effect as the film goes on. Furthermore a fine cast (Jim Broadbent, Edward Woodward, Billie Whitelaw, Paddy Considine and Paul Freeman, amongst others) populate the village with memorable busybodies and oddballs, and keep the film from descending into total anarchy. Particularly of note is a fantastic performance from Timothy Dalton as Simon Skinner, the prime suspect who oozes both charm and menace in equal measure. The movie gets great fun out of its settings, basing its most noisy, scenery-shattering fights and shootouts in the Somerfield supermarket (run by Skinner) and the nearby model village; the incongruity of the English eccentricity with American-style vulgarity and disregard for property is often side-splitting. One of the police recoils upon getting a facefull of Dolmio sauce, with a friend and colleague naturally assuming from his appearance and reaction that it’s blood; gunfights are punctuated by corner-shop door alarms and fruit machine jingles, whilst much of the damage done is to potted plants and Olde Worlde pubs. What the movie lacks in realism or coherent narrative it makes up for in its ability to make the ridiculous consistently hilarious, and perhaps this explains why it’s the highest-grossing of the three films to date.

The final movie, The World’s End, was the most symbolic and metaphor-laden of the trilogy and, perhaps unsurprisingly from its title, its darkest; subsequent reviews were more mixed than those for the first two films and reflected confusion at the changed tone. The movie saw Pegg’s atypically arrogant, self-centred lead – more of an anti-hero – lead his reluctant old schoolmates on an attempt to complete a pub crawl that fell short back in their teenage years, only to find that their old town has been populated with android versions of their old contemporaries. With a more combative dynamic between Pegg and Frost’s character this time around, for all the usual jokey banter, inspired physical comedy – notably by the surprisingly agile Frost – and funny flights of fancy (who would ever have thought A Winter’s Tale and Yogi Bear could combine to create a catch-phrase?) there was more of an edge to the gags, as the members of the old gang voiced their distance from their old personas and, as the film progressed, from their new personas too. King’s old schoolmates deride him as lacking their emotional growth, yet they still inherently accept he is still their ‘leader’. After just a few hours in his company, and after noticing that their old town’s inhabitants have been replaced by ‘blanks’, Body Snatchers-style, they have the choice of helping Gary fight back against assimilation or themselves be replaced by more compliant facsimiles.

From the start it’s clear that Gary King has many problems – his alcohol and drug dependency, and his inability to grow up, to the point that he still drives the same car and listens to the same music from his college days. Indeed the alien invasion is followed by a dark age due to his actions, yet the film still doesn’t present him as the villain of the piece, and even suggests that he is capable of bettering himself: the final scene has him conquering his drinking issues and fighting intolerance in the new era. His stubborn individualism presents him as a leader when faced by crushing conformity, and perversely a force for good – he is apparently nonchalant when suspecting one of his old friends may have been replaced by a blank, and for all the desperate battles with the replicas he is content to hang out with four of them (the college-age versions of his friends) in the film’s conclusion so he can continue to have his loyal friends and servants alongside him. His friends’ surnames (Knightley, Prince, Chamberlain and Page) reflect his superiority to them and indeed there’s meaning everywhere in this movie – look at the pub’s names reflecting the action taking place within as we travel around Newton Haven with our heroes. In terms of depth and analysis this arguably makes this film the most dense and rewarding for repeated viewings, particularly for those who like layers, even within a comedy film. Unlike the protagonist of Shaun Of The Dead who finds a maturity and responsibility within himself, Gary King triumphs because, in many respects, he does NOT grow up.

What’s impressive about the Cornetto trilogy is that the three films each took a different genre – red, blue and green(despite the blanks’ blood confusingly being blue), much in the spirit of the rather more high minded Three Colours movies, and told a different story in a different way, whilst being uproariously funny each time. Rather than merely take the skin of a genre movie and putting foul-mouthed modern slacker humour into it (such as the medieval-themed Your Highness) each of the Cornetto films blends slapstick, comic exaggeration, character comedy, the aforementioned incongruity – and is still potty-mouthed enough to appeal to a new, younger audience. Theme-wise there’s little similarity between the ‘Walking Dead in the suburbs’ of Shaun Of The Dead, the buddy-buddy aesthetics of Hot Fuzz and the 70s sci-fi paranoia of The World’s End, but one thing that connects the films is Pegg and Wright’s insistence that they are not parodies. In the case of Hot Fuzz that remains rather open to debate, even if the film seems to parody Britishness itself as much as cop shows or murder mysteries, but the film acts a fun interval between the two weightier, and occasionally bleaker, films either side of it in the trilogy.

So in an era of comic mugging, American brattishness and uninspired clowning, those looking for genuinely side-splitting funny antics would be well-advised to check out the Cornetto trilogy. You don’t need to be an aficionado of the source material, as the team were clever enough to realise that satire and spoofing always works best when the whole audience knows what you’re talking about, and they also recognised that for all the joking a full-length movie also needs characters and storylines to get involved with. Thanks to the vibrant performances, classic soundtracks, comic chemistry and effortlessly quotable dialogue they are arguably the most successful British comedies since the Carry On films… if you don’t count the Confessions series, of course. And like the Carry Ons they both celebrate and lampoon the British character whilst not worrying about being politically correct, and are as entertaining as is humanly possible to be along the way. Pegg, Wright and Frost, we salute you!

Only When I Laugh - The Great Underrated British Sitcom

Only When I Laugh - The Great Underrated British Sitcom.

If you could pick a British sitcom that you felt was severely underrated and should have its reputation reassessed, which would it be?

My vote (as the title of this piece would rather suggest) would be for the late 1970s/early 1980s chucklefest Only When I Laugh, a situation comedy that ran for 4 seasons yet garners only something of a footnote in British humour. Yet with its universal subject matter - the NHS and medical care is something we will all have to endure at some point in our lives - and great writing and performances it's elevated above other programs that have since come to eclipse it.

Perhaps it's because the humour in it sits a little uneasily between the nudge-nudge, wink wink era of Love Thy Neighbour, On The Buses and the old-fashioned Carry On-style japes of Are You Being Served and the more politically correct, revolutionary style of sitcoms in the 1980s, typified by The Young Ones. The character of Nurse Gupte, played by the Indian-born Derrick Branche, might raise eyebrows now and maybe even be seen by some as a continuation of Love Thy Neighbour's 'my creed's better than your creed' ethos, but despite some jokes at the character's heritage (Bolam's Roy Figgis occasionally makes references to Gunga Din and a hot curry for lunch making him even more irascible than usual) he is given quite a lot of prominence and a chance to compare and contrast his religion and beliefs with the other those of the other characters, and put his side of the story in a way that is more often serious than mocked. Perhaps in some ways Gupte, who was sadly missed when he did not reappear in the final season, was something of a breakthrough role for Asian comedy actors in British productions, and often the joke makes a point about others' ignorance, as it did in Til Death Do Us Part and Chappell's own Rising Damp.

The casting is spot-on and the performances are great. James Bolam's Figgis contains elements of Terry Collier from the massive hit Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads, albeit transposed from Newcastle to London and now with a job as a lorry driver. He's quick-witted, manipulative and with a tendency to involve himself in every single situation, normally to adverse effect, yet remains lovable. Peter Bowles has a different spin on his normal suave persona which was so successful in To The Manor Born, and clashes with Figgis over politics and just about everything else, though the highlights are his wimpish scenes in the face of the slightest discomfort, which often culminate in him crying "I'm going!" before fainting. Christopher Strauli, perhaps lesser-known these days than Bolam and Bowles, has a wide-eyed, loud naivety which makes him the perfect foil for his two know-it-all roommates whilst Richard Wilson, as Dr Thorpe, shows here the impeccable comic timing and open-mouthed outrage that would make him the country's favourite grumpy OAP in One Foot In The Grave as well as going on to impress in other ITV comedies such as the satirical Hot Metal. Here he acts as the Mr Mackay figure to Figgis's Norman Stanley Fletcher, and excels.

The series still ranks below Rising Damp - generally seen as ITV's finest hour in sitcom terms, by a distance - in critics' estimation. Yet I would recommend this show for another look. With its even-handed treatment of political and religious arguments, comic chemistry, tight scripts (there's not a word wasted here) Only When I Laugh is a throwback to a time when situation comedies could inject intelligence and humour into difficult subjects, and not treat the viewer as an intellectual inferior.

Life In Brexit Britain

Life In Brexit Britain.

This is a free of charge series of small articles I've written about that thorniest of subjects - Brexit - and other matters too. It's pretty short (so not too time-consuming), light-hearted and will hopefully engage some debate and thinking.

To purchase Life In Brexit Britain please click on the link or copy and enter https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/749868

What Makes A Great New Years' Eve? (originally published in 2017)

What Makes A Great New Years' Eve?

This is a question I've asked myself many times - what's the best way, or indeed the correct way, to see in the next year? Is it by reflecting on the successes and failures of the past 365, occasionally 366, days? Or is it better to let bygones be bygones and forget the things that didn't quite go to plan previously?

I've had all sorts of New Years' Eves. One involved driving around Malvern looking for a friend's pub to spend it in, to no avail. My six-foot-something pal Dave and I never did find it, though we probably visited every other public house in Worcestershire. Another time I bought a £50 ticket for an event in a big top set up in the grounds of a country park, complete with fireworks. Sadly the said fireworks merely served to guide me to the venue as it wasn't the easiest to find, and when I did I found getting into the tent much easier than getting out. Fearing imminent asphyxiation or aggro from the bouncers I ducked under the tent flap and got back home in time for Auld Lang Syne.

There are many similar stories (similar, albeit not identical) from many up and down the country. But are such ways of welcoming the next year, with their inevitable failure to come to fruition, merely a way to prove that the following year can't go any worse? Do we therefore subconsciously organise such events knowing they're doomed to fail? Perhaps this is all reading too much into the process, but I do wonder whether, compared to Xmas and birthdays, New Years Eve bashes are always going to struggle to meet particularly high expectations.

So what does make a perfect New Years Eve? Enormous amounts of alcohol? Making new friends for the night? The biggest set of fireworks compared to any other major city in the world? I think, personally, it's looking around at what you've got and saying that, whilst I'm aware what I'd like to improve next year, I have got this! Perhaps. Often, for all the forced impressiveness of New Years Eve, it is just another night, and perhaps it's the more everyday nature of it that's worth appreciating.

RIP Rodney Bewes (originally published in 2017)

RIP Rodney Bewes 1937-2017, Likely Lad.

The loss of Rodney Bewes this week brought home to me how a classic era of sitcom is that step closer to passing too. His finest moment, pretty much universally regarded as Dick Clements and Ian La Frenais' "Whatever Happened To The Likely Lads?", is unquestionably one of the greatest sitcoms of the 1970s and one of Britain's finest to boot.

To watch it now makes you realise how the clash of class and aspiration was so central to the finest of sitcoms, from Hancock's Half Hour in the 1950s to Only Fools And Horses in the 1980s. Bewes's character, Bob Ferris, is the panicky, socially-conscious one of the show's leading double act, brilliantly offsetting James Bolam's chippy, proudly working class man's man Terry Collier. The show excellently followed on from the black and white The Likely Lads, weaving nostalgia, regret and 'what if' feelings into the comedy which added pathos and depth like few other programs.

I regret that off-screen the two actors, according to Bewes, allegedly became estranged due to an interview that he gave which at one point covered Bolam's private life (though Bolam denies this, stating that the two simply drifted apart when the show, and subsequent film, concluded). Either way this fractured friendship was sad for two reasons: a) it contrasted with the enduring closeness and terrific chemistry of the two characters on-screen, where Bob and Terry survive the former's marriage to Thelma and Terry's overseas military service, and b) the consistent success of Bolam in sitcoms such as Only When I Laugh and dramas such as New Tricks was not mirrored in Bewes' career, which he admitted, with typical self-depreciation, had not matched that of his former friend.

So I would urge anyone to honour Bewes by watching the role he was born to play. There isn't really a sitcom character quite like Bob Ferris, caught between the unreconstructed, scruffy and sarcastic Terry and the 'keeping up with the Joneses' Thelma and unsure whether to enjoy the simple life alongside the former or indulge the middle class aspirations of the latter. The show stands as a high point of what is arguably British comedy's golden era. To glitter amongst other gems such as Dad's Army, Porridge, Yes Minister, Steptoe & Son, Fawlty Towers et al is truly remarkable, and Bewes' naturalistic, sensitive and big-hearted performance is one of the reasons it still shines today.

Northern Ireland visit

Blog post from 19/11/2017

I was interested to hear this weekend of Gerry Adams' standing down as President of Sinn Fein. It feels like the end of an era, and one which has seen much violence and heartbreak on both sides of the sectarian divide.

I had the pleasure of visiting Belfast this year with friends. It was always my intention to go to the place which used to make the news on what seemed a daily basis when I was growing up in the 1980s, and not in a happy way. The bespectacled, mac-wearing John Cole would report on another tragic loss of life. Back then it seemed like the IRA were waging all-out war on the mainland - to a child's eyes the motivations and targeted attacks of terrorism simply seem like a blunt instrument, perpetually raining down its blows on the good and virtuous. The attacks remain as unfathomable for many of us now as they were at the time, but I have come to see the history behind the Catholics' sense of grievance. Growing up in Thatcher's Britain there was less choice of media outlet; pre-internet, of course, there simply wasn't the regular stream of different opinion which characterises today's online world.

So it was very interesting to visit the city, and to speak to so many friendly people, who must be so pleased to have at least seen the back of the worst of the troubles. It also gave me a chance to see just how the people had tried to move on from its battle-scarred days. Martin McGuinness had recently passed, and I suspect this may have been one reason why Adams has considered standing aside. My friends and I visited the Titanic museum, which certainly made me understand just how important the shipbuilding industry was to Belfast; the hill-set, imposing Stormont; the local market and pubs which had a history of their own. On top of that we enjoyed one of the finest (and largest) pies ever produced by humanity. Even the typically Irish (windy and rain-beaten) weather couldn't take away the fun!

My only concern now, however, is the recent collapse of the coalition between the DUP and Sinn Fein. Such different parties, with their staunchly conservative and progressive viewpoints, seem unable to compromise, and with Brexit sparking fears of a return to a 'hard border' with the South I am worried we may see a return to the bad old days. I would like to go back one day - I know I wasn't the only one who enjoyed my visit - and would be saddened if this unique city, with its storied and troubled history, was to fall back into infighting again.