 and its characters became tabloid shorthand for Great British stereotypes. The Sun ran cartoons of Lucas as Pollard, the gobby, rough-as-they-come Bristol teenager. (As a native Bristolian, I can attest that Pollard was embraced as a ubiquitous folk hero. A pub around the corner from where I lived, The Victoria, changed its sign to a portrait of the character.) David Walliams, writing in his autobiography, recalled meeting Robbie Williams at a wedding in Los Angeles after the Little Britain pilot was broadcast. Robbie was already quoting the characters. Twenty years after the first series aired, Little Britain is often called problematic – a show that critics say 'hasn't aged well'. Crossing the line of taste and sensitivities, it underlines how attitudes about what's acceptable in comedy have changed. Some sketches have come in for much criticism – particularly those in which Lucas and Walliams wear blackface and yellowface – and excised from iPlayer. Yet, Little Britain was a cultural phenomenon for a reason. Amid its finely-tuned gibberish and parade of grotesques are recognisable truths – amplified British eccentricities, from either end of the class s){kind=link}
Twenty years on, Matt Lucas and David Walliams’s hilariously anti-PC class satire is deemed offensive and ‘cruel’. But is it still funny?
Little Britain director Matt Lipsey remembers the moment that he knew Matt Lucas and David Walliams’s sketch show was catching on. He was on location shooting Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer’s oddball sitcom Catterick, which also starred Matt Lucas. “We’re out on the street and a white van pulls up,” says Lipsey. “The window rolls down and the bloke leans out and goes, ‘Oi, Lucas! Nice one!’ I didn’t realise how much it was taking off, but I thought, ‘OK, if the white van man likes Little Britain, Matt and David have nailed it.'”
Little Britain’s catchphrases immediately entered the cultural lexicon – Daffyd Thomas claiming, “I’m the only gay in the village”, Emily Howard cooing, “I’m a lady”, and Vicky Pollard protesting, “Yeah but no but”. Britain’s broadsheets and sneeriest critics raved about it (at first, anyway) and its characters became tabloid shorthand for Great British stereotypes. The Sun ran cartoons of Lucas as Pollard, the gobby, rough-as-they-come Bristol teenager. (As a native Bristolian, I can attest that Pollard was embraced as a ubiquitous folk hero. A pub around the corner from where I lived, The Victoria, changed its sign to a portrait of the character.) David Walliams, writing in his autobiography, recalled meeting Robbie Williams at a wedding in Los Angeles after the Little Britain pilot was broadcast. Robbie was already quoting the characters.
Twenty years after the first series aired, Little Britain is often called problematic – a show that critics say “hasn’t aged well”. Crossing the line of taste and sensitivities, it underlines how attitudes about what’s acceptable in comedy have changed. Some sketches have come in for much criticism – particularly those in which Lucas and Walliams wear blackface and yellowface – and excised from iPlayer.
Yet, Little Britain was a cultural phenomenon for a reason. Amid its finely-tuned gibberish and parade of grotesques are recognisable truths – amplified British eccentricities, from either end of the class spectrum. And, between the broadest strokes and best-known catchphrases, Little Britain was – most crucially – very funny.