Paul Whitelaw

A modest moment of TV history took place in Fry and Laurie Reunited, in which the beloved comedy duo appeared on screen following a gap of 15 years.

Interviewing each other informally in an English country manor, their mutual affection was palpable. Although it was charming seeing them in tandem again, it was disappointing that their cheerfully anecdotal conversation offered scant insight into their working process. Sadly, it wasn't that kind of show.

Instead, this was - as Fry might say - a moist, fluffy tribute to one of Britain's most exceptional double acts: a reminder that Laurie is one of the most naturally gifted clowns of his generation, and that Fry was once so much more than a cosy national treasure.

Despite their closeness, it was interesting to note their different temperaments. Now one of the world's biggest TV stars thanks to House, Laurie disguised himself behind a torrent of unsentimental quips, while Fry guffawed adoringly and spoke emotionally of their relationship.

It's tempting to draw parallels with Peter Cook and Dudley Moore: the troubled, resolutely English wit and the ivory-tinkling clown turned unlikely superstar sex symbol. But there isn't a hint of jealousy or spite between them.

As torrid as it got was when Laurie questioned Fry's memories of their first meeting and expressed concern that he was spreading himself too thin, while Fry dug heavily at the likes of Little Britain for lazily regurgitating sketches, which Fry and Laurie rarely did.

Notwithstanding a glimpse of their obscure comedy pilot from 1983, this reunion was over-reliant on familiar clips and padding. If not a squandered opportunity exactly, then not quite the summit I'd hoped for.

I didn't think it was possible to detest a TV show within its first 30 seconds, but hidden camera prank atrocity Meet the Parents proved me wrong.

Take two young lovebirds, one of whom is meeting their partner's family for the first time. How lovely. But wait, there's a twist: unbeknownst to him or her, the family are actually actors! If they can endure five hours in their outrageous company, the couple win a holiday. If not - according to the punchably arch voiceover - their relationship might be ruined forever. Hilarious!

The actors perform at such an intensely crazy pitch, it's hard to believe that anyone would fall for it: unless you're a credulous idiot like the bloke in this episode, who swallowed their embarrassingly obvious comedy antics in one gormless gulp.

In the few months they'd been together, his girlfriend had apparently neglected to mention that her mother was a highly-strung lunatic, her brother was a pantomime comedy rapper, and her father was recognisable TV actor Dominic Coleman. Weird.

Still, it's something to show the grandkids. "Wow, what was it like being in a hateful E4 reality series, Grandpa?" "Happiest day of our lives, children, happiest day of our lives."

The Increasingly Poor Decisions Of Todd Margaret flashes back from its protagonist in the dock, facing a list of farcically extreme charges and dressed (I think) as a jockey. This is, after all, a sitcom co-written and starring the American comedian David Cross from the absurdly underrated and sadly short-lived Arrested Development, one of the funniest, most ingenious TV sitcoms of recent years.

He plays a hapless lackey from an American corporation mistakenly chosen to front a sales campaign for a corrosive energy drink in the UK. It's a standard fish out of water scenario in which our idiotic anti-hero wrestles with a culture he knows nothing about while hopelessly trying to impress an attractive café owner played by Pulling's Sharon Horgan.

The basic gag is that, in an effort to mask his inadequacies, Todd continually digs holes for himself with a torrent of preposterous lies. Cue slapstick farce and Gervais-esque cringe humour (it's co-written with Shaun Pye who appeared as Gervais' nemesis in Extras) which, although well performed by the gifted Cross, often feels forced and underwritten.

Though spottily amusing, it's a disappointment overall, especially given the track record of Cross and Will Arnett, a fellow Arrested Development alumnus who cameos as Todd's monstrously priapic, foul-mouthed boss.

There is no justice in the world, clearly. Otherwise, why would the dreadful sitcom How Not to Live Your Life be allowed to survive into its third series? More to the point why does its charmless star/writer/producer, Dan Clark, have almost total creative control, like he's Woody Allen or something?

He plays a feckless, gaffe-prone berk who constantly finds himself in sticky predicaments, usually in an effort to impress his attractive female housemate. This premise could probably provoke a few laughs in the hands of a more talented comedian, but Clark is terminally uninspired. The latest episode even featured a cameo from Noel Fielding, just to seal the comedy vacuum.

Lazy and obvious, the only fun it provides is in seeing how often you can predict each punchline.

A dreadful debut comedy vehicle for the seasoned stand-up comic. Although there is nothing wrong with its traditional format of a few studio-bound routines intercut with sketches - it's worked for everyone from Dave Allen to Stewart Lee - here it feels painfully strained and old-fashioned.

Amos is likeable enough, but his material is woefully pedestrian I curdled with embarrassment when he dragged up as his mother, a presumably recurring character that should never have been allowed.

Comedy doesn't always have to be cutting-edge or biting, but it should never resemble a forgotten mainstream comedy flop from 1983.

The Armstrong & Miller Show felt more consistently funny than before. Maybe their 300 writers, including Graham Linehan and The League of Gentlemen's Jeremy Dyson, are exerting more quality control this year.

Sadly, they're still peddling those grunting cavemen and youth-speak RAF officers, in strict adherence to the post-Little Britain law that every sketch show must contain recurring characters well beyond their natural use.

Otherwise, it was an agreeable mix of more-hit-than-miss sketches, bolstered as always by having two confident comic performers at the helm. Despite a lack of truly inspired material, it's usually good for a chuckle or three.

A semi-sequel to their 2006 film, A Cock and Bull Story, The Trip reunites Steve Coogan, Rob Brydon and director Michael Winterbottom for a meta-textual meditation on what it means to be, well, Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon.

Your enjoyment of this slow-burning, improvised comedy will depend entirely on your liking for its stars, just as the series itself is wholly dependent on the effectiveness of their verbal riffs.

As before, they play versions of themselves, a self-reflexive impulse Coogan often exercises. Is he trying to tell us something with his recurring portrayal of "Steve Coogan" as a morose, insecure egotist? Most actors are only too keen to parody themselves, often as a self-serving way of showing they have a sense of humour. But Coogan's self-mockery feels more honest than most.

So yes, The Trip is self-indulgent, but tolerably so. However, on first glance it also feels aimless and only mildly amusing.

The loose premise finds Coogan and Brydon, freelancing for The Observer, on a culinary tour of the Lake District, Lancashire and the Yorkshire Dales.

As in real life, they've worked together for years - Coogan essentially "discovered" the Welshman - though in this imagining they could hardly be described as close. Coogan, alone in his soulless city pad, only invites the happily married Brydon along because he couldn't interest anyone else. "Are you friends?" enquires an oblivious hotel owner during their first pit-stop. "No, we work together," Brydon replies. "Are you his assistant?" she asks. "In a way, yes," smiles Brydon weakly.

Most of the humour derives from their clashing temperaments. Brydon is genial, uncomplicated, eager to entertain, the exact opposite of his prickly partner, who appears to be suffering a pathetic midlife crisis. Brydon irritates Coogan with his incessant impersonations, leading to a protracted scene in which they try to outdo each other with their best Michael Caine. It's an amusing face-off, albeit with the potential to irritate if it becomes a central running gag.

Nothing much happens in The Trip, but if it's about anything, it's about the art and artifice of performance, plus that old chestnut: fame doesn't buy you happiness. Unless you're Rob Brydon. But despite hints of poignancy in Coogan's storyline, it's difficult to tell whether it will add up to much, or whether it's merely an improvised experiment between three artists on their holidays. Either way: beautiful scenery.

Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith interview

The chameleon creators of Psychoville talk about the weird and woeful things get their creative juices flowing.

TV review: Dave's One Night Stand

So, The Trouble with British Comedy Today, part 109: Jack Whitehall. There, that didn't take long, did it?

PhoneShop is an abysmal new sitcom written by Phil Bowker, a senior comedy executive. If nothing else, it gives budding comedy writers a window into Bowker's comic sensibilities, should they ever pitch a script to him. He evidently thinks shouting is a substitute for funny dialogue, and that swaggering, sub-Ali G patois is intrinsically hilarious.

Set in the ruthless environs of a high-street mobile phone retailer, it's stocked with irritating, unlikeable characters, one of whom exhibits the precise mannerisms of David Brent.

Ricky Gervais actually script-edited the pilot last year, but that's no reason for actor Tom Bennett to pay slavish tribute to him. It's a small mercy he isn't playing the needy, buffoonish boss character.

Woefully unfunny, charmless and inept, PhoneShop is the kind of comedy that dribbles contempt at its presumed audience of easily pleased young adults. Please, resist it in droves.