Tamsin Greig

Episodes episode 2 review

Stephen Mangan and Tamsin Greig's comedy series really hits its stride in episode two. Here's Ryan's review...

In Episodes, the gap between Britain and America is explored from the perspective of married TV comedy writers Beverly and Sean (Tamsin Greig and Stephen Mangan), whose hit show is taken up by a US network and Americanised beyond all recognition. After last week's opener I aired some reservations about the rhythms of the comedic banter, but hoped that it would get better when Matt LeBlanc (playing a souped-up version of himself) joined in the fun, and last night, with several very good gags both verbal and visual, it did.

The second episode of the US/UK development-hell sitcom in which Matt LeBlanc is cast as the star against show creators Tamsin Greig and Stephen Mangan's will. This time the two Brits meet LeBlanc at a dinner party at the home of their obnoxiously equivocating network boss Merc, managing to offend their new star, as he tries to convince them of his ability to un-Joey himself.

There has been a lot of advanced publicity about the "return" of Matt LeBlanc - Joey from Friends - in the new comedy Episodes (BBC2). It was either a clever postmodern joke or a foolhardy gambit that the star of the show didn't appear in the first episode of Episodes, other than a brief glimpse of him driving a car.

I'm inclined to think it was a smart move, if only because it gave Tamsin Greig and Stephen Mangan a chance to establish themselves without the distraction of LeBlanc's comeback moment. They play a married couple of English sitcom writers who are wooed to Hollywood to make a US version of their hit British show. Once there, of course, all the promises they were made evaporate as quickly as a spilt cocktail in the Californian sun.

It's not a bad premise, the opener had some promising scenes, and Greig (who would be a shoo-in for the lead part if there were ever an Emma Thompson biopic) and Mangan strike a nice balance between insecurity and irony. But if there's one thing that Hollywood excels in it is sending itself up, and there was nothing in the first episode to suggest that Episodes (co-written by Friends creator David Crane) is going to deliver a fresh or especially funny perspective on a familiar scene.

Everything remained safely within the confines of established tropes, as though the novelty of having English leads would be enough in itself to give new life to an old joke. That may change with the introduction of LeBlanc, who is said to reveal a "darker" side of his real-life character. As no one knows what LeBlanc is like in real life, what that means is darker than Joey Tribbiani, the lovable dope from Friends now immortalised on permanent cable rerun. Which is like saying darker than Noddy.

For the show to gain the rocket blast that will take it beyond a comfortable observational orbit, it will need LeBlanc to draw on a mighty payload of bitterness lurking in a pitch-black soul. That's a tough challenge for a limited comedy actor who had the extraordinary fortune to become a multimillionaire global star.

Midway through the first episode of Episodes, Tamsin Greig gawped in awe at the swish-pad-with-pool that Hollywood had made available to her and Stephen Mangan and said: "Crikey, our show's not this good!" Pretty brave of this comedy's writers to include that line, I reckon, because it's bound to be pounced on by anyone who finds Episodes a bit too cute, clever-clever and in-jokey. Like me.

See what I did there? Stepped out of the role of TV critic then stepped back in. Episodes steps out of the traditional comedy format then steps back in. I also presupposed you're interested in TV criticism in itself. Episodes presupposes you're interested in TV production in itself. A lot of shows do this now: they're shows about shows. Look at us, aren't we wonderful! Or they're full of actors playing themselves. Look at us, aren't we post-modern! There's been Studio 60 On The Sunset Strip and Moving Wallpaper and Grandma's House, but so far only one instant classic of small-screen self-referencing: The Trip.

Greig and Mangan play an award-winning English comedy-writing couple lured to Tinseltown by a top exec who showers them with praise ("I love your show! I wanna have sex with your show!") and loganberries. Greig's character's grandmother used to make jam with them; the exec (John Pankow) is touched by this story, especially since the only noteworthy thing about his grandmother is that "she lives in Morristown, New Jersey, and hates black people".

I laughed at this but, in the opening half-hour, not much else. Of course the exec hadn't actually seen Greig and Mangan's show (he loved its success, that's all). Of course he was going to dump its English star and replace him with an American (Matt LeBlanc, playing the as-yet-unseen Matt LeBlanc). And of course the dream home where our writers are installed has Greek columns made of papier-mache, having previously been the location for a reality show (How on earth could I have foreseen that? Okay, I didn't). I'll stick with Episodes, in the hope that the real fun will begin when LeBlanc looks in the mirror and, thinking about his post-Friends career, asks: "How you doin'?" But a key theme bothers me: does the average viewer really care if vulgar Americans make a mess of the odd British show? And anyway, doesn't the US make the best TV in the world these days?

Week two of the sitcom about two British scriptwriters who go to America to remake their TV series, only to find that clueless US studio executives seem hellbent on making a mess of it. Tonight, Beverly (Tamsin Greig) meets the former Friends actor Matt LeBlanc (playing himself) at a dinner party, and is pleasantly surprised by how charming he is - but it's not long before animosity rises to the surface.

Episodes (Monday, BBC Two), a new Anglo-American sitcom, has a clever credit sequence in which a script takes off like a bird, flies across the Atlantic to LA, where it's blasted out of the air and plummets to earth. Unfortunately, this encapsulated the plot rather more succinctly than anything that followed.

Stephen Mangan and Tamsin Greig play a husband-and-wife writing team whose latest comedy is bought by an American network.

They're flown out to California and made a big fuss of, but everything soon turns predictably sour. The writers want the star of the British version - an unusually subdued Richard Griffiths - to star in the American one, and are horrified when the role is given to Matt LeBlanc. I know this sounds a bit picky, but as every British comedy that's ever been bought by Hollywood has been recast, it was hard to see what they were so steamed up about.

It also seemed odd, given that one of the perennial American complaints about British sitcoms is they're too slow, that this should have so many longueurs. OK, the show only lasted half an hour, so they weren't actually that long. But sometimes, to quote the ancient Chinese proverb, even a short longueur is quite long enough.

There weren't many duff notes in Friends, the slick NBC sitcom that ran and ran from 1994 to 2004 and, for those of us with homes full of teenagers, is still running and running. But one of its duffest notes was the casting of Helen Baxendale to play Ross's British wife, Emily. Nothing against Baxendale, but amid all that sassy American humour, she seemed as flaccidly English as a stale Rich Tea biscuit surrounded by freshly baked chocolate-chip cookies.

In fairness, that was kind of the point; we weren't meant to warm to Emily. And Baxendale, deliberately, didn't get many killer lines. But it wasn't just that; whip-smart, wisecracking American humour just doesn't sound right emerging from a British mouth. For the same reason, Daphne Moon (Jane Leeves) was my least favourite character in the otherwise sublime Frasier. It's not that British actors aren't capable of wonderful TV comedy, just that the dialogue in the best US sitcoms is rooted in New York-Jewish traditions of razor-sharp put-downs and one-liners. Think Woody Allen and Neil Simon. On British television, comic dialogue has a different rhythm.

Anyway, all of this brings me to Episodes, in which Matt LeBlanc (dim, amiable Joey in Friends) plays a heightened version of himself in the latest example of what is rapidly becoming a TV genre all of its own: celebrities indulging in a game of double-bluff with us, playing themselves as slightly more neurotic and prima donna-ish than they actually are, which of course suggests that they're not neurotic prima donnas at all. Steve Coogan did this beautifully in The Trip recently, as did Larry David in Curb Your Enthusiasm. In Episodes, it is LeBlanc's turn. He plays Matt LeBlanc, hugely rich and successful thanks to Friends, who to the horror of married British comedy writers Beverly and Sean (Tamsin Greig and Stephen Mangan) is cast as the lead in the US version of their hit UK show. They wanted their British lead, a fruity RSC type called Julian (Richard Griffiths). But they get LeBlanc.

So far, so good. It's a great idea, with great opening credits: a script flying from London to LA. And there are certainly precedents for television successfully turning a mirror on itself; The Larry Sanders Show of blessed memory did it exquisitely. Moreover, there's something painfully real about British comedy writers being lured to LA by the sweet blandishments of network bosses and the promise of a Spanish-style hacienda in Beverly Hills, only for the semi-detached back in Chiswick to seem even more alluring once the dream starts to sour. You should hear the British writing duo Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran, who did the whole hacienda thing, on the subject. Yet I find myself unable to give a fat thumbs-up after the opening Episodes, and the problem lies with Greig and Mangan, or at least with their script. In a British context, they're both terrific comic performers. Greig was pitch-perfect as the hapless heroine in David Renwick's wonderful Love Soup. But here, trading waspish one-liners in the land of Jack Benny and George Burns, they seemed out of place. And although that's the whole point - that they are out of place - they should at least be talking like Brits, not Americans.

Still, it's early days. I have a feeling that Episodes will get better the more LeBlanc gets involved. And there have already been some lovely gags, like the friskiness that gripped Beverly and Sean when they saw that the vast bath in their rented Beverly Hills home could easily accommodate both of them, only for it to wear off while they waited for the damn thing to fill.

Americans just don't get our comedy. Our irony, our laugh-at-ourselves self-deprecation, our way with a juicy double entendre. At least that's the slightly lazy premise at the bitterly amusing heart of Episodes (BBC2), which finds a pair of Bafta-winning British writers heading to Hollywood to create a US version of their pet project, only to have it hijacked by those insensitive Yanks.

If you can get over that self-satisfied bump - from Till Death Us Do Part to The Office, the Americans actually have a respectable record of translating our laughs to their market - Episodes is actually a sharp and slick take on how we British revel in our own inferiority complex.

As the married writing duo, played with neat mix-and-match timing by Stephen Mangan and Tamsin Greig, get swept off their feet by the American Dream, their cynical posturing looks like so much hot air. They want it - the fame, the money - and they want it bad. Only it would be gauche to say so.

You could tell this was a British series because the set-up - having Matt LeBlanc foisted on them as leading man when the part was written for Richard Griffiths in History Boys mode - took an entire episode. The Americans would have done it in ten minutes.

The US comedy convention of starting a new series with a double-bill would have been one well worth copying after endless trails teasing us with the presence of LeBlanc, complete with distinguished gent salt-and-pepper hair. He only popped up briefly at the beginning and in the trailer for episode two. It left you feeling a tad twisted and manipulated - rather like the writers we were supposed to feel sorry for.

Episodes review

The whole script is wonderfully embroidered with moments of witty pathos, and is beautifully played by the whole cast, among who Tamsin Greig is especially exquisite, sometimes hardly breathing the lines to convey her despair at the butchery of the original show.