Psychoville

Psychoville episode 5 review

How do you up the ante on last week's ambitious episode? Simple. You throw in a musical number. When the waxwork serial killers began to dance to a song that could have come straight out of Sweeney Todd, I literally had to shut my gaping mouth to stop it from dribbling.

It hardly seems possible, but Psychoville gets more grotesque by the week. Tonight, that principally means some alarming developments involving Little Freddy Fruitcake, who suddenly comes over, as we always knew he would, all Chucky. Meanwhile, David and Maureen arrange to meet their next victim in a waxwork museum, clowns Jolly and Jelly move towards an uneasy alliance, and we learn more about the secret that binds the main characters together.

TV Review: Psychoville 5

It is, in my opinion, the best thing on TV at the moment by a country mile.

Lets make no bones about it: given their League of Gentlemen track record, this series has been an average outing for Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith. With the exception of last week's dark, twisty hilarity (something to do with the return of Royston Vasey cohort Mark Gatiss?) Psychoville has continued to display the League's knack of elevating even the most banal, infantile subject matter to the status of high drama, but fared poorly on the laugh count.

There's still a few chuckles to be had: tonight, largely residing in the continued bidding war for Mr Snappy, and his owner's odd obsession with Crabtree's bodily functions. Mr Jelly also appears to be embarking on a satisying journey to redemption through a reconciliation with Mr Jolly, so fingers crossed for this narrative. But be warned: the eagle-eyed will have noticed that the actress who wound up swinging upside down in David's 'bad murder' was Natalie Cassidy. Which suggests plenty of footage of Sonia from Eastenders next week. Unlikely to be a good thing.

Who knew Dawn French could be quite so frightening? Even more frightening than the conjoined twins with matching eye patches or the hook-handed alcoholic clown, in fact. But if you thought she was scary, just wait till you see Freddie, her fake baby, starts talking to her over the intercom... We're beginning to realise that comedy is very much The League of Gentlemen's second love after horror.

A collection of characters - a theatre dwarf, a clown whose act has been usurped by the surgeon who amputated his hand, a blind collector of soft toys, a maternity nurse who cradles a doll as if it were the living baby she lost, an adult "mummy's boy" who attempts to be a serial killer - are caught in a mysterious web of revenge, punctuated by messages saying: "We know what you did". It is mildly sadistic and disgusting; it has many homages to other films (such as, this past week, the Hitchcock thriller Rope, in which two teenagers murder, inspired by their teacher's discussion of Nietzsche's superman) and has fleetingly haunting passages. But, unless you like mild sadism and disgust, you won't find pleasure. You certainly won't find humour, which, since Dawn French is in it, is itself an achievement

In Psychoville, the goblins have been running riot for some time. Last night's stunning episode balanced dark drama with dark comedy, leavened with a perfectly pitched, yet subversive, homage to Hitchcock's Rope shot in two long takes. The serial killer obsessed serial killer David (Steve Pemberton) has been killing people, under the evil aegis of mother Maureen (Reece Shearsmith).

It says something about the skill of the men's writing and performance that you look past the grotesque drag of both characters instantly. You laugh at the ridiculous mix of homeliness and psychopathy and at the deliciously childish wordplay, then shudder at the truth of their relationship: incestuous, yes, but their bond - the shady death, finally revealed here, of David's father - was movingly evoked, as was their shared dependence on one another.

The script was devilishly fast and crafty. Mark Gatiss was brilliant as the camp and unknowing interloper bringing the secrets of the past to the surface. He seemed to be a policeman, but wasn't: he was an am-dram devotee after a role, and hopeful that his brazen theatricality would win David and Maureen into casting him in a murder-mystery event. The twist was that they were going to kill him, believing him to be a real policeman, but let him go when they discovered he was not. He was murdered ultimately, having discovered that Maureen had killed David's father, not David (as David had believed). David hadn't known that either.

Matt Lipsey's direction would surely have made The Master proud: in the claustrophobic confines of David and Maureen's scuzzy, blood-spattered flat the camerawork was as unrelenting and viciously playful as the script. The over-stylised, freaky vibe of Psychoville can sometimes appeal only to the dedicated, the horror and comedy too grave-robbingly close to its cousin The League of Gentlemen. However, this episode was supremely classy and stood alone as a fluent, delicious piece of television. Lucky you if you caught it.

Things took a weird turn in Psychoville, even by said show's agreeably weird standards. The whole interlinking plot thing took a time-out to allow Reece Shearsmith and Steve Pemberton to indulge themselves in a homage to Hitchcock classic Rope, perfect murderers Maureen and David Sowerbutts doing the dance of death around guest star (and League Of Gentlemen mate) Mark Gatiss. Admittedly it was movie buff heaven but it smacked of selfindulgence. Psychoville's impressive head of macabre steam came grinding to a halt and though we learned some vital clues - Maureen is rather more than an over-indulgent mother - I missed the randy dwarf and madcap midwife action.

Psychoville episode 4 review

Psychoville plays its trump card as the Beeb's new best show just got better...

TV Review: Psychoville 4

Last night's Psychoville was a departure from previous episodes. Instead of switching between stories and location, the whole thing had a feeling of theatre about it. Watching it was almost like watching something on the stage, with one room and no discernible edit. It was a real treat and not something comedy usually tries out in prime-time.