Mrs Brown’s Boys: Mammy’s Mummy Part One is in the Christmas sweet spot, between no-brainer and knockabout: review
Nobody sits down to Mrs Brown’s Boys (BBC One) expecting Samuel Beckett – or even Steptoe and Son – and the anarchic sitcom’s Christmas episode adhered to its blockbusting formula of telegraphed one-liners and single entendres. A priest waddled around in revealing jogging gear. A character was mocked for their modest height. Inevitably there was a gag about “Christmas balls”.
The appeal of Brendan O’Carroll’s cheesy chortlefest isn’t hard to fathom. This 30-minute special – the concluding half arrives New Year’s Day – felt gift-wrapped for those in the advanced stages of festive burnout. There was no plot to speak of. Jokes weren’t so much signposted as lit up like the comedy equivalent of a giant neon Santa. The tone was giddy with a vengeance, untroubled by cynicism or self-awareness.
Tinsel-themed japery wasn’t the only thing on the menu. The part of Agnes Brown’s gay son had been recast after original actor, Rory Cowan, decided he’d had enough following more than a decade in the role. If there’s such a thing as hardcore Mrs Brown fans they will have been anxious to learn the identify of the new Rory.
Smartly, the changeover was not only acknowledged but milked for every plausible chuckle. Only matriarchal mammy Mrs Brown (O’Carroll) could tell plastic surgery had literally made a new man of Rory – now played by the star’s son Eric. Everyone else struggled to discern how the operation had changed him. On the heels of Doctor Who, this was the second dramatic transformation in a single evening on BBC One – one that, even more than the transmuting Time Lord, might have benefited from the addition of a few Daleks trundling about menacing people.
Occasionally you wondered whether you should be holding your nose. Agnes’s daughter Cathy (Jennifer Gibney, O’Carroll’s real-life wife) was going on a Tinder date with what turned out be a vertically challenged Lothario. It was fun watching the troupe cycle through their repertoire of short people gags – even if the humour had a transgressive after-taste. Is it still acceptable to look down your nose at the diminutive?
O’Carroll, to be fair, has accumulated brownie points for minority representation, having refused to sell his show to Russia when broadcasters there demanded he expunge Rory and boyfriend. The pace, meanwhile, was brisk and it’s hard to entirely disapprove of a comedy which concludes with an animatronic Christmas tree spewing foam and bubbles (having been pinched from a novelty carwash).
Judging by the ratings – nine million tuned in to the equivalent 2016 broadcast – Carroll has identified a Christmas sweet-spot, equidistant between no-brainer and knockabout. Mrs Brown’s Boys isn’t clever – with actors frequently fluffing their lines, sometimes it’s barely competent. But its heart is in the right place. After a hard day pulling crackers, chomping chocolates and pretending to tolerate close family members, it made for a charmingly ramshackle late hours treat.
