Bad Education's B+

Ralph Waldo Emerson once said (and I know this not from being an English undergraduate, but rather from being an adroit Googler) that ‘An ounce of action is worth a ton of theory.’ I’m not much of a one for stoicism either, Ralph; tentativeness is far too pervasive nowadays. We Brits, especially, seem to cherish the chance to ‘sleep on it’ and ‘think things through.’ Granted, a smattering of forethought is never a bad thing (never, Prince Harry...), but where would we be without the odd hasty decision or satisfied whim? Our soaps, for one, would shrivel with such caution. There’d be fewer abandoned post-Christmas puppies, sure, but spare a thought for all those dashed classic silver screen proposals: ‘Let’s grow old together, sweetums!’ ‘Erm...Can I let you know by the week-end?’

In the face of my fellow devil-may-carers, however, I deployed an uncharacteristic amount of contemplation for this post. Why the concession to reflection? When I tuned in to Bad Education last Tuesday, I anticipated a laugh a minute; Jack Whitehall is, as Fresh Meat evidenced, one funny guy, and Matt Horne isn’t what you’d call lacking in comedy credentials either. The duo’s involvement in this project, with Whitehall bringing his jolly hockey-sticks pomposity to the scripts and the screen and Horne heading an otherwise relatively unknown supporting cast, tipped the BBC Three six-part sitcom for success. Of course, by the credits of its premiere last week I was tickled. Whitehall stars as hapless history teacher Alfie Wickers, a sort of Jack Black/ Barney Stinson/ Daniel Radcliffe mash-up who’s picked on by his own students and seems pleasantly nonplussed by the state system he’s wound up working for. And yet, on reflection (bah!), I couldn’t be sure if it was Whitehall’s gags or my own pre-estimation of them that had me so cheered. When I first found Friends I’d cackled when the audience did, and when Only Fools was on I’d mimic the guffaws of my parents. Had I internalized the laugh-expectation and applied it again here, using not the sniggers of my mum and dad but my esteem for Whitehall as a cue? Only time would tell. Thus, a week on, I’m cocksure of my judgement. 

Running a tight ship: Whitehall and his tutees

Plainly, with its successor this week hauling in even larger viewing figures than the record-breaking premiere, the episode did something right. Whitehall’s camp delivery, as ever, proved telly gold when pitched against the rough-and-ready loud mouths sat before his stark blackboard. Whatever Whitehall says commands immediate mirth, and if his comedy career ever goes down the pan (that’s one mighty if), he’d be an asset to any hospital ward. ‘It’s terminal, dah-ling. Frightful business. Now who’s for polo?’ The most sides were split, however, where Whitehall had been understated with the script. The school corridor’s ‘Hot Babes Through the Ages’ display scooped a laugh for being refreshingly understated, and Mr. Wickers’ ‘Oh, we’re learning about South Africa’ to explain the segregated, apparently Apartheid-esque table arrangement of his classroom was downplayed enough to remain droll. Alfie’s students, too, continue to make me smile a week on for their (sadly) entirely credible brashness. With hard-nut Mitchell ripping him to shreds, class bike Chantelle giving him the eye and hoody Grayson stealing his shoes (‘Sh’up Downton!’), Whitehall’s supporting cast made sure not all the onus was on him. Gold star, Jack. Here, though, one can’t help but regret Whitehall’s own independent schooling; had he instead fallen to prey to the state, he might have inflated those class numbers and given viewers another couple of giggles.

That's the best you can do? These weren't Horne's best lines

What dragged the episode down, in places, was Whitehall’s tendency to milk every gag dry. When Alfie sought to impress his beloved philanthropic Miss Gulliver (Sarah Solemani) in a canteen scene, I squirmed at how long the situation was strung out despite it being promising to begin with. The joke wasn’t undone by its own predictability, but that’s only because it’s course was so unforeseeably aimless. Even worse, a couple of Whitehall’s quips were shoddy to start with; ‘If I were a font I’d be Comic Sans. You are so Times New Roman.’ No, you didn’t have to be there. The series could also certainly do better in its originality. Alfie finds himself the choice target of formidable deputy headmistress Miss Pickwell (Michelle Gomez), the tightly-bunned disciplinarian who, unlike her soundly stereotyped pupils, smacks somewhat like an easy option; with his stand-up record, Whitehall could have showed a touch more flair. The same assessment applies to his cringeworthy head Fraser. Horne did his best last week, but there’s only so far flawless expression can carry increasingly tedious lines. ‘Just organizing a post-work-age meet-age at the pub-age, Dukes Arms...age.’ We got it the first time.

In all, Bad Education’s first offering performed above averagely for a British premiere, and particularly deserves credit for sustaining a tolerable plot at the same time as introducing an oddball cast. Next week’s show (or rather, this week’s left to stew for seven days) needs to ditch the desperate puns and stick to its subtle strengths. Then again, as long as Whitehall’s at the helm, the show’s never going to miss too many marks.

One Line Wonder

Mitchell (clearly making the best of a likely downbeat Parents’ Evening): Oh sh*t! Rem-dog’s dad’s got a glass eye! What a penis!

The Fortune Telly-er

I have my fingers crossed for more Pickwell/ Wickers scenes, but not just for the comedy; the more the deputy’s on screen, the more likely it is that Whitehall will right what he wronged this time around.