This Way Up

Sadcom is a portmanteau that’s been developed to describe comedy’s move towards sadder, deeper themes. Seinfeld’s mantra twenty years ago was ‘no hugging, no learning’ – Jerry Seinfeld was of the opinion that a sitcom should put laughter first, sentiment second.

More and more comedies that are categorised as comedy now aren’t providing the same blistering gag rate as early studio sitcoms. I watched Atlanta last year on the back of its Golden Globe win for ‘Best TV Series: Comedy or Musical’ and was surprised by the tone of it. Having watched creator Donald Glover in Community, I expected the sugar rush of rat-a-tat punchlines, instead what I found was something altogether more poignant with pointed reference to race, poverty and fame. The laughs were still there, but coming organically through character, when traditionally they are engineered through plot.

The sadcoms roots lie way back in things like Hancock’s Half Hour where the dour Hancock tries unsuccessfully to make his way in life. This depressed protagonist didn’t subvert sitcom though; the tone is like a Bill Murray movie with the sadness exaggerated, something to laugh at rather than worry over. It has evolved over the years so we’re now just as likely to cry over a comedy as laugh. In The Office Christmas Special the fall of Brent is deeply moving. When Brent finally realises he’s capable of great cruelty, we’re no longer in sitcom territory, a place of hilarious stasis, where characters repeat the same mistakes over and over; no, we’re in a dramatic world of epiphanies and progression, where people can change. 

David Brent evolved in the last episode.

I think there is a place for both schools of sitcom: the traditional, like Father Ted and Brooklyn 99, that exist in a funny universe where everything is powered by funny; if someone stops being funny for a minute they risk jeopardising the planet's very existence - and the modern, like Fleabag and This Way Up, which are set in recognisable worlds whose creations won’t self-destruct if they aren’t funny all of the time. I guess the traditional is one purists get behind, seeing it as perfectly distilled, the very essence of comedy. I’m happy though with a bit of sadness, the sediment that contaminates, because it’s closer to life.

This Way Up is written by and stars Aisling Bea, a face that you will know from panel shows (she’s been a captain on 8 Out Of 10 Cats) and for her stand up, appearing on Live at the Apollo. I first saw her in 2015 at the Edinburgh Festival where she performed Plan Bea, her follow-up to C’est La Bea (that hour was her calling-card which led to her being nominated for 'Best Newcomer.') On stage Bea is a natural clown, more than happy to be the butt of the joke. Her delivery is relentless with jokes coming like a popular kid: thick and fast. Yet for all the dizzy fun, she addresses important topics too.

Her route to Channel 4 sitcom wasn’t straightforward. Her and collaborator Sharon Horgan’s first comedy was rejected by the corporation (it has since been picked up by HBO), not to be deterred she sat down and wrote another one. The genesis of This Way Up came from hanging out with her sister, where she wondered what a comedy would be like with sisterhood at its core. With the support of mentor Horgan, Bea earnt her first TV commission.

The series begins with Aine (Bea) and her sister Shona (Horgan) addressing a member of staff. Shona is unhappy that the facility's website promised a jacuzzi when all her sister got was a duck pond. Over the course of the conversation we learn that Aine has been staying in this treatment centre to recover from a nervous breakdown. The tightrope walking Bea achieves in her writing is inspired: never once is mental illness made light of, whilst at the same time she navigates her material away from the po-faced and worthy. 

A further example of this follows Shona’s complaint. Aine joins her sister, raising an objection of her own. She wasn’t happy with the refreshments on offer and suggests in the future a mini bar is provided. The member of staff laughs - so do we as audience. Aine is mistaking this rehabilitation clinic as a hotel to unwind. Then, Bea takes the laughter from our throats and puts a lump there, having Aine add, ‘One day when I was really low, I would happily have paid double the recommended retail price to eat a KitKat without everyone gawping at me. And ideally in a fucking jacuzzi.’ Here we see the stuff of comedy: observational material (mini-bars cost more than they should) combined with quirky referencing (‘jacuzzi’ is a funny word) to create a good laugh; however what’s special though is how our laughter dissipates with Aine’s broken look. Bea exposes her as a person using jokes to mask pain. It’s a lovely two-minute opening that establishes Shona’s love for her sister, along with Aine’s brittle personality.

The rest of the episode shows how Aine is a multi-layered person; she isn’t defined by her breakdown alone. When she is in class working with foreign language students, she is in her element. Warm, engaging, passionate, she is a model teacher. These bits are perhaps the most sitcomy, redolent of Linklater’s School of Rock: a clownish figure uses alternative methods to get the best from their students. Away from the classroom though we see loneliness seep through her pores. This year’s publishing sensation was Eleanor Oliphant is Completely Fine. The writer Gail Honeyman said she was inspired to write the book after reading an article on millennial loneliness. Loneliness as a subject is rarely addressed in print or visual media, when it is it often centres on elderly people. In many ways This Way Up is a meditation on the theme: how an immigrant can experience it in a country, a girlfriend in a relationship – and in the case of Aine – a single person in the city. Going home to a flat share with people you wouldn’t usually choose to live with isn’t communal living; loneliness isn't being on your own, it's feeling as if you are. Many young men and women in our cities experience loneliness. Thrown from the small town into the maelstrom of the city can be a frightening, bewildering experience. Bea’s comedy focuses on someone who has to remind herself which way is up.

Over the course of the series we follow Aine’s recovery. With each person she interacts with we hope and pray they’ll treat her right, that like the title alludes they’ll handle her carefully. Many are supportive of her. The students that she teaches in class love her. Her new French student Etienne (Dorian Grover) too. Her sister Shona and partner Vish’s love (Aasif Mandvi) is that of siblings and parents. There are a lot of people who love her, yet it’s heartbreaking to see how it isn’t quite enough. The problem is she is more susceptible to knocks than kindnesses. A kind word can sustain her for a minute. But a cruelty can feed her for weeks. The more you get to know Aine the more you’ll want to reach through the screen and handhold her away from trouble. 

Watching, I felt like there was a touch of Mike Leigh in Bea’s work. Aine has the vivacity of Poppy from Happy-Go-Lucky, along with the brave face of Mary from Another Year. Like Leigh, her character feels larger-than-life, a little exhausting, but then after some time, once you've got to know them, you appreciate how truly human they are. 

One I recommend if you like 'This Way Up.'

Bea has produced an illuminating comedy on sadness that has the best hug in episode six. 'No hugging, no learning': what does Jerry Seinfeld know?

This Way Up is on Channel 4, Thursday at 10pm or watch the box set on All 4.