Pompidou

Let me be clear; I am well aware that Matt Lucas is capable of comedic greatness. We all know of Little Britain, though my favourite of his (and David Walliams) is resoundingly Come Fly With Me. Say what you like about his back catalog, Matt Lucas has been part of, written and starred in some legendary pieces of modern comedy.

Thus when I stumbled, quite by accident, on his new series Pompidou, I was severely dissapointed.

One of Lucas' first BBC solo projects since apparently parting ways with Walliams (a big mistake in my humble opinion) Pompidou is in theory supposed to reinvent the idea of silent comedy for the twenty first century, in the form of a show all the family can enjoy at 6:00 PM on a Sunday.

The thing is, it is not silent. OK there is no true dialogue, and every aspect of the plot (such as it is) is very exaggerated and flamboyantly physical. Yet there are a series of noises emanating from the characters, Lucas' Pompidou in particular. 

There are discernible words, but they often come out in either sporadic and ludicrous succession, or else with horribly grating grunts, mannerisms and facial expressions; almost like Pompidou is constantly suffering from piles.

I admit the occasional posh sound that escapes Pompidou gives me cause for the odd titter, but as an actual piece of comedy for everyone to enjoy? No. Definitely no. Maybe if Lucas marketed it to children specifically things could be different. If we saw Pompidou on CBBC in the afternoons instead than the very particular, sledge hammer hit-and-miss idea of comedy might just appeal to young children. But as far as comedy that adults can appreciate goes; Pompidou is sadly falling with a distinct plop.

A noble effort perhaps, if slightly misguided and arrogant. What I would say to Matt Lucas is simply this: make up with David Walliams and return to doing what you do best (second series of Come Fly with Me anyone?).