He was on stage recently with a live version of Phoenix Nights, which gave a reminder – 20 years down the line – of how exciting his comedy used to be. But in recent years, Peter Kay has felt less urgent. There’s not been a new TV format for 11 years now. His live work, for all that it tours for longer and longer, around ever more ginormous venues, has been travelling in ever-smaller circles. When I saw his enjoyable but unambitious 2011 show, I wasn’t alone in remarking on its conservatism – the same old self-conscious northernisms, the same familiar standup set-ups getting wheeled out for more unsurprising fun.
But now there’s Car Share, the new BBC sitcom that’s got people talking about Kay again. In her Independent review, Grace Dent argues that it’s one in the eye for Kay’s detractors, who dismissed his humour as “too obvious”. Speaking as one such detractor, I’m loving Car Share – an enthusiasm that feels quite compatible with how I’ve felt about Kay’s work in the past.
It’s been two years since Car Share was first announced, and most of the fuss has surrounded the novel means of broadcast – it was the first BBC series to be released in its entirety on iPlayer before distribution on the telly. Rightly or wrongly, the delay and the distribution model has lowered expectations of the series – which looks like a tactical masterstroke now the show’s been so well received.
You can see why the Beeb wouldn’t want to hype Car Share. It’s simple, and small-scale, charting the journeys to and from work of two supermarket workers in a car-share scheme. But right from the get-go, it’s funny, humane, and sweet. We’re very much in Tim and Dawn territory here, as Kay’s John and Sian Gibson’s Kayleigh – singletons both, not kids any more, a little jaded but still dreaming – share with us (while coyly concealing from one another) the delight they take in one another’s company.
Yes, there’s broad stuff: the flask of piss that Kayleigh spills on John in the first episode; Kayleigh’s misunderstanding of the word dogging. But the best of what happens in Car Share is understated, down to the easy-to-miss spoof ads on the car radio (“Brillington College – where brilliant is almost our name”), and the lovely, un-showy fantasy sequences when Kayleigh daydreams herself a diva. Best of all – and the car-bound format foregrounds this – are the lingering shots of facial expressions. When Kayleigh rehearses the reading she plans for her own funeral – it’s the lyrics to S Club 7’s Reach for the Stars – Kay’s face is a picture. You can read incredulity, repressed hilarity, distaste and mad glee behind his eyes, but all he does is let out a teensy puff of breath.
The show is no less “obvious”, in a sense, than Kay’s standup, but that’s fine, because the detail brings this everyday situation to such rich life. The problem with his recent standup outings – greatly compounded by the fact that they’re taking place in 50-billion-seat arenas – is that there’s minimal outlet for detail. At the O2 Arena, in London, it’s tempting to paint in broad brushstrokes to make your picture visible. Car Share is pointillist by comparison, and the better for it. It’s tender, big-hearted, silly and beautifully played, reminding us what a terrific comic actor Kay can be.
Three to see
Harry Hill
The big-collared one pitches up for a week at London’s laboratory of new comedy, the Invisible Dot, with what he’s calling “experiments in entertainment”.
• The Invisible Dot, London, until 9 May. Box office: 020-7424 8918.
Second City @ Angel Comedy
The London comedy club has scored a coup by securing the first ever UK visit by the legendary Chicago improv club. Second City members will gig all week in tandem with UK impro acts.
• Angel Comedy, London, 11 to 16 May. Box office: 020-7359 0851.
NB: The Guardian’s Tim Jonze trains to be funny with Second City.
Zoe Lyons
A short tour of her Edinburgh 2014 show Mustard Cutter kicks off for Zoe Lyons, loosely addressing “the idea of what it is to try and better yourself”.
• Lowry, Salford, 10 May. Box office: 0843 208 6000. Then on tour.
