The quiet genius of Peter Kay reaches perhaps its purest expression in Car Share.
Nothing happens. It’s just two coworkers sharing a car to work. And back. That’s it. Nothing bloody happens.
And that nothing is everything.
Kay is better than Beckett, better than Bennett, better than Camus. There is not a wasted word, every interaction is absolutely essential and completely fucking pointless. Morrissey is a mere cack-handed amateur compared to the gentle precision of Kay’s exposition on this corner of British culture.
These tiny exchanges are so silly, they are eerily perfect:
“I can’t wait to hit the free bar!”
“What you on about? There’s no free bar!”
“There was a free bar last year!”
“NO THERE WASN’T!”
“Well… no-one stopped me… “
The other beautiful thing about Car Share is its pure adoration of pop music. Car Share understands the beauty in the ephemerality of pop music. At the minute, I’m watching a whole conversation about Crazy Frog’s weird little penis. It is brilliant. They also stage musical numbers so this is as much musical TV as Glee was but that’s the only thing the shows have in common; Kay is a total auteur and the comedy in Car Share is both way sharper and more real than the committee-written jokes of Gles.
If you’ve never seen Car Share, check it out. It’s fucking mint.