Alfresco

Alfresco was ITV’s spirited, if uneven, response to the BBC’s trailblazing Not the Nine O’Clock News — a sketch show that combined surrealism, satire, and silliness in equal measure. Running for two series in the early 1980s, the programme offered a chaotic blend of comedy, musical pastiche and topical parody, and while it never quite reached the heights of its better-known peers, it remains a fascinating early showcase for a now-legendary ensemble.

The cast — Ben Elton, Stephen Fry, Hugh Laurie, Emma Thompson, Robbie Coltrane and Siobhan Redmond, reads like a who’s who of British comedy and drama royalty. At the time, however, they were fresh-faced newcomers finding their feet. With Elton providing the lion’s share of the writing in the first series (and Fry and Laurie contributing more in the second), Alfresco laid early foundations for A Bit of Fry and Laurie, Saturday Live, and The Man from Auntie.

The sketches themselves were a mixed bag—deliberately anarchic and often more conceptual than laugh-out-loud funny. Targets ranged widely: chat shows, Shakespeare, wartime films, effeminacy, private healthcare and more. This “anything goes” attitude gave the show a loose, occasionally surreal edge—one that The Guardian likened to the later absurdism of The Mighty Boosh in some of the Fry and Laurie double acts. While moments of brilliance gleamed through, especially in the performances, the series was often frayed at the edges, with a rough-and-ready quality that’s either endearing or maddening, depending on one’s taste.

The show began life as a regional pilot mini-series, There’s Nothing to Worry About!, broadcast only in the North-West in 1982. By the time Alfresco debuted nationally, Paul Shearer, who starred in the pilot series, had been replaced by the irrepressible Robbie Coltrane, further strengthening the chemistry of the cast. Interestingly, one episode of the main series is largely a compilation of the earlier pilot, augmented with new material—an indication of both the show's experimental spirit and perhaps some behind-the-scenes improvisation.

Though it never quite became the cultural touchstone its contemporaries did, Alfresco has carved out a modest place in the history of British alternative comedy. Mark Duguid of the BFI called it “a relatively minor, but not undistinguished, piece of the alternative comedy jigsaw”—a fair summation. While it might appeal mainly to completists and fans of the now-famous cast, there’s a scrappy charm to its ambition and unpredictability.

Not quite essential viewing, but far from an embarrassment—Alfresco is a relic of a transitional moment in British comedy, where tradition met irreverence and a new generation began to find its voice.