Lovesick

It was a tough choice this week. Did I go with The Crown, Netflix’s £100 million pound drama, or Lovesick, a modestly produced sitcom? I’m halfway through The Crown and I have to say it’s wonderful. Even as a republican I can see the merit in it. Unlike this year's Victoria, it treats viewers as grown-ups, prioritising drama over romance. Whilst the ITV miniseries suffocated the viewer with an inordinate focus on Victoria and Albert, The Crown, in making Churchill a primary point, sweeps beyond the palace walls to illustrate how elected democracy co-exists with bestowed privilege. Reaching the halfway point of The Crown, I see a show that highlights the burden of monarchy without succumbing to hagiography. It’s a triumph.  

For all of that, this week I have gone with Lovesick. I’ve gone with it because sometimes you just need a show that’s entertaining. For all the good The Crown is for my historical knowledge, it’s not until Edward VIII gets involved that it truly fizzes. With its intense Hans Zimmer score and pitch-perfect acting, it rightfully earns the title Serious Drama; yet for all its worth, I’ve enjoyed something less artful.

Lovesick wasn’t always known by that name- its first series was titled Scrotal Recall. Like the Hollywood sirens of yore, the studio has made an earthy name more palatable – a decision, judging by interest and reviews, that’s paid dividends. It’s easy to see why Scrotal Recall was not the preferred nomenclature: it’s crass and bawdy, signalling lowest common denominator comedy. For all of its negative connotations though, it was perfectly apt: apt because the pun encompasses the premise. Dylan, a twenty-something, is told that he has chlamydia; consequently, he has to inform his ghosts of girlfriend past. The writer Tom Edge has since claimed that the title was at the bottom of a long list, which producers then selected from. Either way Netflix haven’t seen the funny side and have successfully re-branded it. 

In its earlier incarnation.

I have to go on record and say this isn’t the funniest sitcom you’re going to watch. I would, however, argue that this is indicative of the modern sitcom. Where once laughter was the thing; now pathos is. The great comedies of this year, Fleabag and Flowers, have been dark and bleak; characterisation has taken precedence over punchline. For me, this is something I prefer: as much as I love the precision engineered comedy of Fawlty Towers and Dad's Army, I favour ‘dramatic’ comedies. Purists might say that contemporary sitcom writers couldn’t hold a candle to their forbearers - that they wouldn’t know a joke if it knocked on their door twice – for me, good modern writers achieve laughter within verisimilitude; their writing less artificial, arriving at – not chasing – the joke. In all honesty, Lovesick doesn’t have the comedic clout of say Catastrophe, which deals with similar themes and tones; but it’s recognisably funny.

Re-issue, re-package, re-package. (Do you know the lyric?)

If the joke writing is sometimes found wanting, the structure of the show isn’t. In a novel move, Edge has produced a sitcom that bends narrative in a way few dare. Episode 1 opens with Dylan being diagnosed; he then draws up a list of girls that he must contact. On top of the list is Abigail. From there, the show flashes back three years to when they first met. Ostensibly the episode is about Abigail; ingeniously though, Edge manages to interweave Dylan’s friendship with Evie. Over the course of the season, we see within the flashback format Dylan’s girlfriends change with Evie remaining a constant. Impressively, because the time travel eschews chronology, the viewer never settles into a rhythm, meaning you have to do a bit of work to plot a timeline of Dylan’s past.

Edge puts this into his narrative.

It’s worth adding that the tone of the show belies its original title. Yes, it’s a sitcom that deals in sex and relationships, but it’s a far tamer than Channel 4’s Catastrophe. You won’t have to evacuate the living room fearing the C Bomb, nor wash yourself clean after a dirty sex scene. In many ways it’s the younger, more romantic sibling of the brilliantly lewd Catastrophe. A Romeo to its Mercutio, if you will.

At the start of the blog I said I found it hard to choose between The Crown and

Lovesick. Well, since doing some research I’ve found Edge provided additional

material for the royal drama. Edge really is a writer to watch then, a title even

Netflix can’t take away from him.

Lovesick is available on Netflix.