You can lay the demise of political satire at the door of stranger-than-fiction governmental turmoil. You can attribute the disappearance of pop culture pastiche to a fractured zeitgeist and the thinning out of the artistic mainstream. Yet there’s no obvious reason for the scarcity of jokes about contemporary society in comedy. Maybe it has something to do with the decline of the sketch show; perhaps it’s simply because there’s far less funny stuff on TV in general (during the 2010s, the BBC’s comedy output almost halved). Whatever the reason, when we get a chance to laugh at modern mores, we should probably take it.
Re-enter Mammoth, an old-school sitcom from the Welsh comedian Mike Bubbins. The 53-year-old stars as the eponymous Tony Mammoth, a PE teacher who was buried by an avalanche on a school skiing trip in 1979. A quarter of a century later he was unearthed – nice one, global warming! – with his middle-aged body and dated values perfectly preserved. Yes we can laugh at this swaggering alpha’s outmoded tastes and borderline offensive views. But the beauty of this series is that the comedy flows both ways: when Mammoth looks aghast at the things that pass for normal in 2020s Britain, it can be hard to deny that he has a point.
In series one, our hero enjoyed short-lived celebrity before returning to work at his previous school, where his hopelessly retro approach involved dangerous games (“two words: British Bulldog”), serving piña coladas to mums at parents’ evening and sitting in his Ford Capri smoking a pipe while his class played football in the cold. In the backseat on that occasion was a sweet, passive student called Theo, who insisted his video game-induced carpal tunnel syndrome prevented him from partaking in sports. Soon, Mammoth encountered Theo’s perpetually outraged mother, Mel (Peter Kay’s Car Share’s Sian Gibson). And not long after that, a distinctive necklace provided a clue that these two may be more to Mammoth than a pair of irritants.
Mammoth, Mel (Sian Gibson) and Michael (Al Roberts). Photograph: BBC Studios Comedy/Tom Jackson
Now we’re back for another three-episode outing, as Mammoth continues to hang out with his newfound family – Mel turned out to be his daughter and Theo his grandson – and old friend Roger (Joseph Marcell of The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air fame), while reliably causing headaches for fellow PE teacher Lucy. He’s still doling out terrible advice – when Theo becomes a lifeguard, Mammoth advises him to take dexedrine to avoid falling asleep on the job – and staying true to the most ludicrous hallmarks of unreconstructed manliness (see: his 50-year grudge against a man who once criticised his parking).
Yet the show’s send-up of masculinity is at its best when it’s more foundational: Mammoth’s unshakeable confidence, for example, or his breathtaking selfishness. And it’s even better when he’s right. When our protagonist struggles to comprehend present-day tastes, like a love interest who thinks a holiday is doing yoga in a draughty hut before foraging for food in the forest, there’s a subversive thrill at being on Mammoth’s side.
Such is the rush of nostalgia this show provides you can’t help but get on his wavelength: there’s something seriously comforting about seeing Mammoth take delivery of a case of Cinzano or settle down to watch Minder, even if you didn’t live through the 1970s yourself. Despite Bubbins’ impeccable deadpan, the show is fuelled by its creator’s heartfelt obsession with the decade; the Capri is his real car. Fittingly, this new series sees Mammoth bond with the much younger Michael (Al Roberts, whose awkward affability always results in cameo gold) who also fetishises the 1970s. But some gulfs are unbridgeable: the look on Mammoth’s face when Michael requests alcohol-free beer is priceless.
Known to hold a grudge for life … Mammoth. Photograph: BBC Studios Comedy/Tom Jackson
Mammoth’s appeal rests almost exclusively on Bubbins’ shoulders, which is fine because a) the man has funny bones and b) this is obviously his brainchild. But the other characters pale in comparison. Sometimes that’s the point: Joel Davison’s Theo is a low-energy wallflower who is the polar opposite of his grandfather. But others are just less appealing; Mel’s permanent state of shrill intensity is very one-note. Often, the spell of Mammoth’s world is broken by the accents. Davison’s is pretty much imperceptible, while Gibson – who hails from north Wales – has an accent you’d associate with the north of England, and bears zero resemblance to Barry-born Bubbins’ tones.
At the heart of Mammoth is a very satisfying joke, but by the end of this second series it has started to wear a little thin. Of course, there’s always the possibility that Mammoth may evolve, perhaps into a man who puts other people first, takes safety seriously and fills his fridge with non-alcoholic beer. But where would be the fun in that?
Mammoth aired on BBC Two and is on iPlayer now.
