Episodes of Madness: a review of episodes
Created by David Crane & Jeffrey Klarik
Written by David Crane & Jeffrey Klarik
Directed by James Griffiths, Jim Field Smith, Iain B. MacDonald & Jeffrey Klarik
Starring Matt LeBlanc, Stephen Mangan, Tamsin Greig, John Pankow, Kathleen Rose Perkins & Mircea Monroe
Composer(s) Mark Thomas
Country of origin United Kingdom and oh, yes, the United States too
Production companies Hat Trick Productions, Crane/Klarik Productions, Showtime Networks
For Sean and Beverly Lincoln, life was good, in a genteel, London-sodden sort of way. They were the writers of a critically acclaimed BBC comedy, “Lyman’s Boys,” which featured a grand Shakespearean actor as Headmaster Lyman at a tony English prep school. It was Carry On for the sorts of people who keep port on the sideboard and still have 4pm high teas. As for the Lincolns, it’s a comfortably middle-class profession with a lot of personal and professional rewards.
They get a call from a television network in Hollywood. Merc Lapidus (John Pankow), a network president has seen “Lyman’s Boys” and wants to know if they might be interested in adapting it for American audiences. A vastly larger audience, and vastly larger amounts of money. The Lincolns, little knowing what awaits them but apparently aware of some of the horror stories, hesitantly agree.
Too late, they get their first real inkling of what’s to come when they learn that Lapidus, in fact, has never seen the show, hasn’t a clue what it’s about.
Between Lapidus and Carol Rance, Lapidus’ boss-boffing head of programming, Lyman’s Boys transmogrifies into “Pucks” a witless American sitcom about a high school hockey coach overseeing a group of American sitcom teenager boys (all of whom are in their mid to late twenties). Coach Lyman is hopelessly in love with the school librarian, a lesbian (Mircea Monroe, whose character is supposed to be old enough to remember FDR, but has had work done and so looks to be in her early 30s). The coach is played by a fading sitcom star from the 90s, Matt LeBlanc of Friends fame.
It could have so easily become a banal parody of a satire of Hollywood mores, but between unerringly funny writing, crisp dialogue, and some truly wonderful comedic mugging by the ensemble (and this is truly an ensemble work) it soars, much like the manuscript in the opening credits. (The theme music is unforgettable and one of the more enjoyable ear worms.)
David Crane and Jeffrey Klarik wrote and directed LeBlanc’s former vehicles, Friends and Joey, and had immense fun creating LeBlanc’s cheerfully sociopathic doppelgänger in the show. Mangan and Grieg worked together on Green Wing, a hospital comedy for people who don’t want to hear about medical shit. Mangan, a sneering and womanizing Austrian aristocrat in Green Wing, is intelligent, squirrely and regards Hollywood with an endless supply of horrified fascination. Greig, a sort of walking emotional and physical disaster zone in ‘Wing’, becomes capable, more grounded (not that anyone in episodes is particularly well grounded) and somewhat strident. The range of the actors involved contributes greatly to the overall quality of this, perhaps the finest television comedy of the past decade.
If the show had been meant purely as a satire, it would have gotten a well-deserved “meh” from reviewers, since there’s nothing in the pokes at Hollywood that is new or revelatory, but the central focus is unblinkingly on the humor.
In one scene, LeBlanc and Sean get into a slap fight after Sean discovers that Matt, who apparently has a sex organ visible from orbit, has shagged Beverly.
There’s a lot of shagging amongst the cast. In one scene, Matt, Sean and Bev are talking about Morning Randolph. Sean and Bev both have YCOMT pens from her (no, I’m not going to explain that—it’s much funnier in the show), Beverley has slept with her brother, and Matt has slept with her daughter. Matt looks reflective as they discuss this, and remarks, “Wow. We really tore through that family.”
In another scene, game show host LeBlanc (his fortunes have dipped) gets into a slap fight with his producer, Merc “I’m not dead yet” Lapidus, in front of a live audience and a bemused llama.
The humor isn’t sophisticated, but the writing and acting are; I honestly can’t think of any show that had two grown men slapping ineffectually at one another in front of a llama where I would want to stick around to see what happens next.
All the main characters have enough depth, even if it’s nothing but sewage all the way down, to keep them interesting. Even Carol, a walking slur against working women everywhere, has enough going on that you not only like her, but feel empathy for her, even if she is a bottom feeder in a septic tank.
The ending of the show is a bit rushed, suggesting that Showtime pulled the plug rather than go to a sixth season, but it manages to end on an immensely satisfying and, appropriately self-referential note.
I had only seen the first three seasons before losing my Showtime feed, so I was delighted to see how it all came out. It was worth the wait.
Now on Netflix.