It’s happened. Nighty Night has had it. In my previous looks at the show, I was showing signs of going off it.
After last evening’s viewing, it would certainly seem that my love affair with the show is well and truly over. Once, my viewings of the Julia Davis were filled with gut busting laughter, with simultaneous hands covering my eyes.
Alas, it seems that I’m either getting old and fuddy, or the show has lost the magic it once had.
The episode witnessed yesterday night saw Jill over egging the pudding once more. Again, all the classic hallmarks of Nighty Night were present. A faked suicide, pretending to be dead, toe-curling attention seeking (involving an electric wheelchair) and then a miraculous recovery. All circling buzzard like around a story involving Jill becoming preggers to a boy aged twelve. Slightly shocking? Yes. Hilarious? Not really.
You see, I always find that in this new kind of bleeding edge Brit comedy, characters are cartoonish, but still able to give you the old suspension of disbelief. For example, whatever ridiculous scenario cropped up in Spaced, you could still buy into the unfurling events. Same, somehow, goes for The Green Wing.
However, in Nighty Night, you don’t have that at all. It’s all too ridiculous to be believable anymore. The simple fact is Don and Cathy would have told Jill to piss off by now. Or, more realistically, the police would have been heavily involved. The pace of the script in series one kept that niggling thought at bay. Perhaps season two would have been better if Jill had focused her attentions on new man, or better still, finally got her man in Don? Next week sees the last in the series, which will see a cracking climax in a Land Rover… so maybe I’ll be eating my words? I fear that it won’t be the case however.