Much was expected of this series, given that it was written by Perrier Award winner, Dylan Moran, in partnership with Graham Linehan, the creator of the nation's favourite, 'Father Ted'. The setting of a bookshop doesn't seem the perfect environment in which to explore comedy, and yet, there is nothing as bitingly funny as a misanthrope performing a role where one would typically expect a range of 'people skills' they sadly, but hilariously lack - the 'Basil Fawlty' factor. The aggressive stance of this character came from Linehan who had once seen a sign outside a bookshop in Dublin declaring: 'Please put the books anywhere you like because we've got nothing better to do than put them back.' This is so wonderfully apparent in the opening scene, where our anti-social bookshop owner, Bernard Black's open distaste for his customers is palpable. His opening exchange occurs when one affluent customer has the temerity to enquire as to whether a bound Dickens collection is genuine leather in order to match his real leather upholstery at home. This receives the brilliant, snide retort from Black, in rejecting the customer's offer of £200: 'I need leather bound pounds to go with my wallet'. This is immediately followed by his highly inappropriate, but amusing, corralling of his clientele out of his shop, armed with a loudhailer and broom.
The title of the episode refers to Black's comedic predicament of painfully having to complete his slipshod business accounts, after his dishonest accountant goes on the run for fraud - this latter character is wittily named 'Nick Voleur', his surname meaning 'thief' in French. What follows is a genial sequence of purposeless distractions Moran's character undergoes to avoid balancing his books, from pairing his socks to brilliantly deciding to entertain the visiting Jehovah Witnesses. The latter scenario is made even more hilarious by their obviously being unaccustomed to gaining entry inside any door they call upon, or to actually have a chance to hand out and discuss their literature.
Jehovah's Witness: Hello. We're wondering if we could talk to you about Jesus.
Bernard: Great! Come in!
Jehovah's Witness: What?
Bernard: I'd love to hear about Jesus. What's he up to now?
Jehovah's Witness: It's a trick!
In having his disheveled character run a second-hand bookshop, Moran was reflecting his own view of bookshops as guaranteed commercial failures, doomed for closure. Certainly, in Black's case, he has no business acumen and detests the mundanity of performing any of those tasks required of an owner of an independent business. Hence, after just one night spent on this mindless task, he has transformed his tax receipt into a composite piece of clothing.
Yet, outside of this one thread of the story-line, much of the episode fails to produce real moments of humour. Moreover, the talents of Tamsin Greig and Bill Bailey are underplayed in rather humourless sub-plots. In the case of the former, as Black's best friend and fellow retailer, Greig struggles with a lame comedic device in which her character fails to ascertain the purpose of an item in her stock, while also having to deliver some of the weakest dialogue. In terms of the latter, as a customer whose purchase of the 'Little Book of Calm' has unforseeable consequences, what promised to deliver much ends up descending into 'over-the-top', repetitive and ineffectual antics.
Having accidentally digested this miniscule tome, Bailey's character, Manny, is transformed from a stress-ridden, disgruntled, office employee into a halo-enlightened sage who has absorbed the book's aphorisms on how to lead a tranquil life. Part of this flimsy sequence features, as the young doctor treating Manny, a 'pre-'Office' and decidedly unfunny Martin Freeman.
The only redeeming scenes towards the finale being that where Black, having ascertained that only injury can defer completion of his tax return, offers a customer a free book if he breaks his legs in return - a la scene from 'Misery'. He then decides to intervene in a fracas outside his establishment between Manny and a threatening group of Millwall skinheads. This is no 'Good Samaritan' gesture, but rather, Black's desperate attempt via insults to spark a physical beating to serve his ends. As such, he hilariously declares to the skinheads: 'Hey, you know when you're doing the usual threesome thing you do on a weekend, and the moonlight's bouncing off your heads and your arses and everything, does that not get a bit confusing?
Overall, there is potential, for this series to succeed, especially in terms of characterisation, but this first episode only has sporadic moments which truly work.
The title of the episode refers to Black's comedic predicament of painfully having to complete his slipshod business accounts, after his dishonest accountant goes on the run for fraud - this latter character is wittily named 'Nick Voleur', his surname meaning 'thief' in French. What follows is a genial sequence of purposeless distractions Moran's character undergoes to avoid balancing his books, from pairing his socks to brilliantly deciding to entertain the visiting Jehovah Witnesses. The latter scenario is made even more hilarious by their obviously being unaccustomed to gaining entry inside any door they call upon, or to actually have a chance to hand out and discuss their literature.
Jehovah's Witness: Hello. We're wondering if we could talk to you about Jesus.
Bernard: Great! Come in!
Jehovah's Witness: What?
Bernard: I'd love to hear about Jesus. What's he up to now?
Jehovah's Witness: It's a trick!
In having his disheveled character run a second-hand bookshop, Moran was reflecting his own view of bookshops as guaranteed commercial failures, doomed for closure. Certainly, in Black's case, he has no business acumen and detests the mundanity of performing any of those tasks required of an owner of an independent business. Hence, after just one night spent on this mindless task, he has transformed his tax receipt into a composite piece of clothing.
Yet, outside of this one thread of the story-line, much of the episode fails to produce real moments of humour. Moreover, the talents of Tamsin Greig and Bill Bailey are underplayed in rather humourless sub-plots. In the case of the former, as Black's best friend and fellow retailer, Greig struggles with a lame comedic device in which her character fails to ascertain the purpose of an item in her stock, while also having to deliver some of the weakest dialogue. In terms of the latter, as a customer whose purchase of the 'Little Book of Calm' has unforseeable consequences, what promised to deliver much ends up descending into 'over-the-top', repetitive and ineffectual antics.
Having accidentally digested this miniscule tome, Bailey's character, Manny, is transformed from a stress-ridden, disgruntled, office employee into a halo-enlightened sage who has absorbed the book's aphorisms on how to lead a tranquil life. Part of this flimsy sequence features, as the young doctor treating Manny, a 'pre-'Office' and decidedly unfunny Martin Freeman.
The only redeeming scenes towards the finale being that where Black, having ascertained that only injury can defer completion of his tax return, offers a customer a free book if he breaks his legs in return - a la scene from 'Misery'. He then decides to intervene in a fracas outside his establishment between Manny and a threatening group of Millwall skinheads. This is no 'Good Samaritan' gesture, but rather, Black's desperate attempt via insults to spark a physical beating to serve his ends. As such, he hilariously declares to the skinheads: 'Hey, you know when you're doing the usual threesome thing you do on a weekend, and the moonlight's bouncing off your heads and your arses and everything, does that not get a bit confusing?
Overall, there is potential, for this series to succeed, especially in terms of characterisation, but this first episode only has sporadic moments which truly work.