The Trip

This week it was reported that Rupert Murdoch walked out of a Times Election Party after hearing Thursday's Exit Poll. Murdoch had run a corrosive campaign of hate against Jeremy Corbyn, portraying him as terrorist sympathiser, Marxist extremist and Jimmy Savile collaborator. (Ok, one of these isn't true, but what it says about The Sun is.) But that wasn’t the worst thing that happened this week to Mr Murdoch: all week I've taken advantage of my Now TV 14-day trial to take more free programmes off him. It’s not just democracy that’s given the proprietor a bloody nose, my inspired loopholing has left him short-changed.

It was The Sun that won it.

The last show that I watched using ‘Murdoch’s gift’ was The Trip. What’s funny about this is that in a recent Guardian interview, Steve Coogan remarked,  “It’s my theory that a lot of people who like The Trip are the very demographic who are resolutely non-Sky subscribers. So I think we might just be a cynical ploy by Sky to get them to adopt the platform.” You see the BBC broadcast the first two series of The Trip, but due to budgetary constraints the show moved to Sky, much to Coogan’s disappointment. You might remember that Coogan was part of Hacked Off, an organisation that represented victims of News UK's phone hacking. It’s a wonder that Murdoch, whom owns a lion’s share of Sky, would want to have a vocal opponent on his roster. I guess when it comes down to it money talks, talent walks. Unfortunately in a monopolised media, creative people will sometimes have to compromise their values to get their ideas out. It’s not just Steve Coogan that has had to leave his conscience at the Murdoch door: both Frankie Boyle and Stewart Lee, arch critics of the right-wing media, have worked on his newspapers in the past. In fact, out of all the leading humorists operating today, it’s perhaps only I that hasn’t been tempted by a job offer – you’re welcome.

Coogan the campaigner.

Needless to say, I was a bit pissed when the show moved to Sky as it was one of my favourites. Now in its third series, it’s important to remember just how daring it once was. The format really shouldn’t work: Rob Brydon and Steve Coogan playing exaggerated versions of themselves, wonder around beautiful locations whilst doing celebrity impressions in fancy restaurants. Compared to other comedies, there isn’t a multitude of characters or quick-cuts to new locations; the camera stays on the pair, allowing them to jam their skits into wondrous riffs.

The idea for The Trip was born out of a film the two previously worked on with Trip director Michael Winterbottom. A Cock and Bull Story was ostensibly about one of the first postmodern texts, the eighteenth century novel Tristram Shandy. Due to the authorial interjections and stylistic jolts, the book is often regarded as unfilmable. Winterbottom therefore chose to adopt a postmodern approach to the book by doing a film on the filming of the film. (You may look over that sentence and perceive the repetition wholly unnecessary. You may be right, but I believe it captures the playful spirit of Winterbottom’s approach.) In the film you see Coogan and Brydon in the dressing room, squabbling over their star-billing and place in the zeitgeist. Essentially then, with The Trip Winterbottom has taken the idea off the film set and planted it in the real world. It’s a triumph how such an innovative concept has been greeted by critics and fans.

It’s first series takes place in England and begins with Steve phoning Rob. Steve has been commissioned by The Observer to write a series of food reviews on t’North’s finest restaurants; he’s asked his girlfriend who can’t come; he’s asked everyone else and they won’t come, so he wonders whether Rob fancies it. The joshing has started early. Rob acquiesces, leaving our solo singer with a band to play with. Over the course of the series, the two trade blows on one another’s careers: for Steve, Rob is a populist entertainer, humorous but facile; for Rob, Steve is a victim of envy, destined to be unsatisfied with his own achievements. 

Alongside their barbed comments, there is respect as they collaborate with one another on sketches. In one hilarious moment, a hilltop panorama is the inspiration behind a sublime routine. Steve believes it would be the ideal setting for a costume drama; Rob concurs. Steve then imagines a medieval battle where the chief cries, ‘Gentlemen to bed for tomorrow we must rise at daybreak.’ The two pedants transpose modern time onto the past, imagining why it’s always daybreak and never an exact time. Steve then edits the line on Rob’s suggestions, making it into a playful routine that ends on talk of the warriors being up early for a continental breakfast. Amongst all this play though, there is sadness with Steve’s relationship and career in the doldrums. Remember the show was first aired in 2010: Coogan hadn’t revitalised Alan Partridge or screened Philomena. His career, other than some indie success, was in the wilderness. If anything Brydon at this point is the more successful of the two; his affable ease is at odds with Coogan’s restlessness, making for a testy dynamic.

In series two pair venture to Italy. Coogan, having just filmed Philomena, is a more gratified creature. Here, it’s Brydon who takes up the mantle of mid-life crisis, engaging in a fling with a tour guide. The first season had Coogan crying out for the domestic anchor Brydon had, whereas here Brydon questions stability. Is the pram in the hallway the enemy of great sex, his affair asks? Because much of the series is impression battles and friendly ribbing, these existential moments are made all the more profound. We’re not expecting a shiny panel show host to be dragged into life’s mess; the fact Brydon does it with such aplomb highlights his versatility as an actor.

Series 2.

The final series that I downloaded this week is set in Spain. Steve bills himself as Don Quixote, the eponymous dreamer of Cervantes’ comic novel. Rob is like Sancho, the character’s sidekick that follows him on the adventure. This time round Steve is having a crisis of confidence: the contentment of the second series has left him. You wonder how this can be, what with the Alan Partridge movie, Alpha Papa, and Philomena being such successes. (It’s important to add that the programme is fiction. There are times when I forget the characters are playing versions of themselves. In a recent interview, Coogan said he is much happier than his character.) Rob this time has gone back to being the comic stooge, constantly doing impressions, much to Steve’s chagrin. A lovely thing about this series is when it strays into self-referentialism. Rob tells Steve about a text from James Cordon, remarking that Carpool Karaoke has made him into a huge success. Steve is less than impressed, opining: ‘two people singing in a car. Who wants to see that?’ Later, of course, the two sing in the car.

Series 3.

 This quotation illuminates the joy of the show: it tracks two people doing utterly banal things: eating in a restaurant, talking on a walk, singing in a car; yet sprinkles it with a fairy dust, elevating it into being a mirror on life, an insight into the soul, a meditation on fame, family and friendship. The Trip is whatever you want it to be: a fun travelogue with two comic actors - or an existential amble around the psyche of middle age. Whatever your take, I recommend you take this trip.

The Trip Series 1 and 2 is available on Netflix. The Trip Series 3 is on Sky’s Now TV.