Here, for your delectation, is a link to one of the best sitcoms of modern times, ‘Mum’. A sort of updated ‘After Henry’
it’s the story of a widow from the day of the funeral until the day she is able to move on. Cathy, the ‘Mum’ of the title, is surrounded by people who are ostensibly there for support but who actually do little but irritate and interrupt. From her son and his live-in girlfriend to her brother and his unbearable partner, to her unpleasant and bickering parents, the house is continually full of annoying people. They are the voiced, giving utterance to every thought, no matter how rude or unhelpful, while Cathy is the unvoiced. She just smiles, puts her head on one side and says ‘Okay?’ whilst folding linen, taking out the trash and cooking three types of dinner for these ubiquitous guests.
Cathy’s only confidant is her husband’s best friend Michael. It is completely obvious from his first appearance that Michael is besotted with Cathy. It seems equally obvious that they are destined to end up together; but the writer ekes this out to the n’th degree and (I hesitate to put SPOILER ALERT because it’s such a little thing) at the end of the final episode she intertwines the tips of her fingers with his, and that’s as far as it goes. It’s a beautiful, infuriating, tormenting sitcom, a perfect antidote to series where people are forever jumping in and out of bed, and I urge you to watch it NOW.
It has only just occurred to me, I confess, that the title may be a pun; because as well as being a Mum, Cathy keeps mum. The voicing or not-voicing of thoughts is a staple of sitcom, and on the opposite end of the spectrum we have Alf Garnett and Basil Fawlty. Alas, unlike the divine Fawlty Towers, ‘Till Death Us Do Part’ can never be shown again due to its overt racism. Alf Garnett not only voices his every thought, he shouts it from the rooftops, holding court from the depths of his armchair and giving the world the benefit of his homespun bigotry. The disturbing thing about Alf Garnett was that for many he became a hero as he voiced their thought as well; and here’s the danger: such figures can be double-edged. I expect for many Basil Fawlty was a hero too – but then again, doesn’t he speak a little bit for all of us? Who among us has not wanted to jump up and down and scream at a rude customer or give the car a good thrashing when it won’t start? Who among us is without thought-crime? Who is fit to cast the first branch?