It’s a Friday night in the summer before my fourth year, and that means one thing: fire up the Netflix, get the fancy crisps out and somebody, for goodness’ sake, pour some wine.
It’s a common experience when approaching the end of university, I fear I am past my prime when it comes to ‘the night out’, and I worry that I’m an unc. The guillotine of tiredness hangs above my head on every occasion. Its dreamy blade could, at any moment, come crashing down. First, with a yawn. Second, an overpriced packet of crisps from the bar. And finally, a quick check of current Uber prices. Just to see…
So, I began the trawl for entertainment. Ricky Gervais’s new comedy series – Alley Cats, jumped out at me. Or more accurately, was thrown out at me. Netflix can be quite heavy-handed with their recommendations of their flagship shows. Take, for instance, the new Netflix produced film Voicemails for Isabel, which currently resides in the ‘critically acclaimed’ section. Truly a Buzzball among champagne.
I thought I’d give Mr Gervais’s latest offering a try. I have a sweet spot for the man. As co-creator with Stephen Merchant of The Office, he perfected and then killed the British sitcom. They set the bar so high that nothing has come close since.
These days, Ricky is just another victim of the success of The Office. His award-winning standup special released last year was disappointing. I watched the first half and laughed once or twice and found it slightly more amusing after hammering down on the mute button. As one Letterboxd user mused, “I’ve heard more astute observations from my own asshole after an excessive helping of cheese.”
And yet, I was drawn to his new show. I don’t know why. Maybe it was the novelty of the idea. More likely it was a hope that Gervais could still produce top-level comedy, but when everything’s viewed through the lens of The Office, that’s a fool’s hope.
I pressed play, and the first episode began. There was the odd laugh, but the novelty of the foul-mouthed cats quickly wore off. I was relieved to find that the episodes were only fifteen minutes long. Netflix and Gervais shrewdly aware of the ever-shorter attention spans of their audience.
Alley Cats feels like a doomscroll through his perfect-for-twitter philosophical takes. The premise is fairly simple. Some sweary cats swan around a neighbourhood, bickering and dropping c-bombs. The Gervais cat dominates the conversations and provides plenty of shit-covered pearls of wisdom.
Full disclosure, some of the more emotional moments in the show got to me. Maybe it was just the wine. Or the rather obvious emotional music. Or maybe seeing a cat realise he’s being put down is impossible to ignore. It’s still not funny though.
The ghosts of standup special past haunt the show, too. Unc is repeating himself a bit now. I know he’s big on the environment, but he has taken the recycling a bit too far.
My advice would be to save yourself the trouble. Take 5 minutes to scroll through his twitter feed instead, next time your least favourite lecturer starts sounding off about something non-examinable. It’s a similar experience.
Alley cats is the sitcom in full Unc form, and there’s no doubt Gervais is aware of the drop off in quality. When asked if he worries that he’s not written anything as good as The Office since, his response is, invariably, “who has?”.
Maybe he’s right to respond in that way. Unc isn’t quite what he used to be, but he’s accepted that and is seemingly aware of it. He isn’t the writer he was; I’m not the nightoutsman that I was. He doesn’t collaborate with Stephen Merchant anymore; I don’t collaborate with Eastern European spirits anymore. He’s transphobic and politically incorrect now; I’m – err… I couldn’t think of a parallel for that last one to be honest.
If there’s one thing watching Ricky’s vulgar and one-dimensional felines taught to me it’s that yes, you may be an Unc now, but who cares. Gervais is the ultimate Unc and he’s making millions from Netflix. So stay in and eat your crisps. Get the early taxi home. Or don’t. It matters not.
By about episode four I’d nodded off, but I was awoken by a buzz on my phone. Gervais’s cat is swearing his way through a banal observation as I see the groupchat is organising tomorrow’s night out. Messages are flying everywhere and there are suggestions that it’s going to be a messy one. I feel a rush of excitement. There’s life in this old alley cat yet.
