“Good morning, good morning”
The word ‘monologue’ rarely appears synonymous with ‘exciting’, ‘gripping’, ‘compulsive’ or, well, ‘good’. It seems to conjure up images of the drama-obsessed kids in school who thought they were the next Lawrence Olivier, or a really downtrodden story of a young junkie who “just can’t get anything right”, broadcast on Radio 4 at tea time (surely enough to put you off your fish fingers). In most cases, a lonely man’s tales about his decaying relationship with his children and his unlucky love life would be as instantly annoying and forgettable. That is until you’ve met Keith Barratt.
Best described as a comparatively upbeat Talking Heads for the twenty-first century (Alan Bennett’s series acclaimed TV and radio series, not the band – that accolade would surely go to Franz Ferdinand), Marion and Geoff is essentially the life and times of Mr Barratt, a father of two who is perpetually looking on the bright side of his circumstances and trying to make his divorce work.
In fact, it is Keith’s post marital life which provides the story lines for much of the series, with his past creeping in via stories, reminiscence or anecdotes. Still preoccupied with ex-wife and mother of his children Marion, and her ‘new’ boyfriend Geoff, Keith sets about explaining, over the course of two series, how he came to be driving the car he’s in and where he’s exactly headed. Or at least,
The bittersweet dispatches from the car are unparalleled in terms of emotional depth and sensitivity; a more apt title for the series would be Down and out in Cardiff and London. These are the two cities which Keith travels between in order to make ends meet and to catch even the most fleeting glimpse of his children Rhys and Allyn, or as he calls them, “my little smashers”. Due to the fact that the whole script comes more or less from the horse’s mouth, Keith is someone you don’t just sympathise with because of his position, you sympathise because you feel like you know him. In describing his situation with Marion and Geoff, Rob Brydon’s character attempts to show as little emotion as possible. Yet the cracks in his make-up and weaknesses appear obvious. You just want to make him a cup of tea and tell him it’ll be alright, even though he’d probably have readily admitted that himself.
In the length of approximately 280 minutes spanning the two series, Keith graduates from minicab driver to private chauffeur, from never seeing his children to occasional meetings and from unlucky in love to, err … not quite as unlucky. With the only perspective we ever see being the driver’s seat of his car, the rest is left to the imagination (that is if you ignore the slightly ill-advised ‘Small summer party’ special which breaks from the mould and is from the perspective of several video-cameras at said event). This is not to say that not much happens; quite the opposite. Dressing up as a clown at a kid’s birthday party, going to Eurodisney and taking a woman to have an abortion are all dealt with in the same questioning but ultimately ‘glass half full’ style. You might not see anything that happens outside the confines of the leather seats and wind down windows, but you believe every single word.
Most importantly, Rob Brydon and Hugo Blick’s acutely written and brilliantly acted series about one man’s struggle through the hardest time of his life smashes any preconceptions about what mere story telling can be. This particular genre may ordinarily be boring or tedious, but it can be invigorating, exciting and, in this case, hilarious. In fact, in recent years, there seems to have been something of a storytelling renaissance in comedians practicing the art of spinning a good yarn, true or not. The more poignant moments of the third series of the League of Gentlemen showed that once comedy writers hit the drama button, good things tend to happen. The breathtaking delivery and success of Dave Gorman’s Googlewhack saga is another example of this. Comedians seem to be suddenly waking up to the fact that, as Woody Allen rather neatly summed it up recently “Anyone can actually write a drama … But a comedy … You can’t write a comedy If you don’t have a knack.”
Thankfully, this is something which comes naturally to Mr Brydon who has said in the past that he could quite easily be in the persona of Keith all day long without even thinking about it (Maybe this is what prompted the idea of the Mrs Merton style ‘Keith Barratt show’ currently enjoying a second run on BBC2). This makes it even more impressive that Marion and Geoff seems to have finished for good. For those of you who have seen the perfectly inconclusive and tear jerking end of the final show, you’ll realise why that is such an undeniably good thing. For those of you who haven’t, you’ll have to find out for yourselves - but make sure you’ve got a tissue handy.
Maybe the secret of Keith Barratt’s appeal in Marion and Geoff is his optimism in the face of defeat. Rob Brydon becomes the kind of person that we’d all like to be in that situation; hopelessly upbeat, even when fighting back the tears and - maybe, just maybe, - that’s the best way to live.
In the words of another famous comedian, - “You’ll find that life is still worthwhile, if you just smile”.
Stephen Morse.
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Recommended Links:
The BBC's Comedy Guide: Marion and Geoff.
A Guardian article on the series.
Classic Tv Archive:
Coupling.
Spaced.
The Larry Sanders Show.
Twin Peaks.
Brasseye.
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