The Mrs Brown’s Boys Christmas Special (RTÉ One, Christmas Day, 9pm) ended up on the BBC naughty list and was surely close to outright cancellation after the show’s creator, Brendan O’Carroll, made a joke during rehearsals at the British broadcaster’s Glasgow studios in October during which a “racial term was implied”.
Two months and several profuse apologies later, the controversial episode now reaches the airwaves (both on RTÉ and, at 11.05pm, on the BBC), and for better or worse it’s business as usual in Agnes Brown’s slapstick purgatory. The tone will be familiar to lovers and haters of a comedy phenomenon that has propelled O’Carroll to an estimated net worth of more than €10 million. It’s super dumbed-down Roddy Doyle invested with the nudge-nudge, wink-wink, please-make-it-stop spirit of a lesser Carry On film, all taped together with O’Carroll’s broader-than-a-breadboard performance as the eponymous Finglas grandmother.
To put it another way, there is no God, the universe is cruel and chaotic, and Mrs Brown’s Boys is unkillable. Oh, and because it’s Christmas, O’Carroll has seen fit to douse this grim affair with an oily drizzle of sentimentality. You’ll choke, you’ll gag – but I’m not sure you’ll laugh unless you’re slipping into madness.
There is a story – the vague outline of one, at least. Everyone thinks Agnes is grumpier than usual at Christmas, but she loudly insists she isn’t. Her mood isn’t helped when her posh nemesis, Hilary (Susie Blake), tries to stymie an attempt by Agnes’s daughter Cathy (played by O’Carroll’s wife, Jennifer Gibney) to organise a charity event for the homeless.
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Meanwhile, her daughter-in-law Betty is in Donegal, where her mother is critically ill. But grandson Bono (Jamie O’Carroll) doesn’t want to go to say his farewells. Not because he is indifferent but because he doesn’t want to have to say goodbye to his grandmother. Agnes talks him around and, in so doing, reminds Bono – and us, rocking from side to side on our sofas – that the true meaning of Christmas is family.
Has your heart melted? Not if you’ve watched the rest of the broadcast, a Bacchanalia of single entendres, fnarr-fnarr gags and a scene in which two chancers arrive dressed as a box of laxatives and a giant poo – a metaphor so perfect it deserves a gold star.
None of which would matter if the jokes hit the target. Alas, and despite his indisputable skills as comedian, O’Carroll’s bon mots are here as desiccated as a turkey left too long in the oven, the wit as sharp as a mouthful of Brussels sprouts. At one point I fancy that I catch myself chuckling – when, in fact, I’m giggling inanely and much too loudly, wondering where I’ve gone wrong in life.
But it’s only half an hour long – a precious gift from O’Carroll to all of us during this season of goodwill.
