Catchphrase comedy is a capricious beast. It's a fine line between playing to your audience and lazy repetition. As an audience we love being in on the joke, waiting patiently through the setup for the punch-line. We know exactly how it's going to end, but we still react uproariously like upon hearing that glorious assembly of words we've heard a thousand times before. Sounds vaguely like communism to me. If lucky, your witticism will enter the lexicon and echo through schoolyards and cubicles the nation over. And, if that were the measurement of success, David Walliams and Matt Lucas are solid gold comedy giants. However, it's not - and they resolutely are not.
Little Britain USA (and its antecedent Little Britain) is a collection of unendearing, fatuous non-sequiturs strung out over a very slim concept of gross-out sketch comedy played for the lowest common denominator. It has proven to be a very successful formula, with sell-out arena shows, Sunday evening puff pieces and celebrity hook-ups. But beyond Daffyd being the only gay in the village, fake vomit, fat suits and the computer still saying no, there's no real core to this duo's output; not the awkward heart of David Brent, the surreal menace of Papa Lazarou or the blithering ignorance of Alan Partridge. Comedy works when there is reason to watch, committing yourself to fanciful set ups or holding the mirror up to our own internal ugliness. But Walliams and Lucas are incapable of managing the risk.
For this US jaunt of Little Britain there are some concessions for the local audience but nothing that corrects the imbalance of a show that has outstayed its welcome by a wide margin. Which is the approximate length I will continue to avoid it by. Fans, of course, will absolutely love it. I guess that's the point.
