Ugh, travellers. As in young people who go off round Asia or South America or wherever, with their Lonely bloody Planet guides, in search of mind-broadening new experiences. Like these people in Gap Year (E4).
I had one once, a gap year – actually about five years – and I hated myself, too, as well as all the other people doing it. But I have often thought that it’s been neglected as a source of comedy. Now Plebs (huge guilty pleasure!) writer Tom Basden is putting that right.
“You’re all into the same shit,” the older, drunker travel writer lady tells Dylan and Sean on the plane to Beijing. Exactly, though some things have changed since my travelling days. There are mobile phones and the internet, so everyone is basically in touch wherever they are.
Some things seem to be the same though, reassuringly – such as travellers are still obsessed with their own bowel movements, literally into the same shit, the consistency and frequency thereof. And ticking stuff off, attractions, experiences. And finding the real India, Vietnam or Bolivia; so it becomes a kind of competition about how far you can get away from other people just like you in search of authenticity. I once spent a night in a filthy hovel on a very untouristy (possibly because of the adjacent oil refinery) island off Venezuela while a burly, rummed-up fisherman attempted to have sex with me. All night. Very real, but also really horrible. And his boat was the only way off the island … Anyway, that’s a different story.
Basden has put together a nice cast of characters. Sean’s an amiable English lad, on a lad’s trip, with his old mate, escaping from the humdrum of his life at home. He’s actually a wheely suitcaser, as opposed to a backpacker, and would be better off in Thailand than China, as the travel writer on the plane said. But Dylan has brought him to Beijing, on false pretences as it happens: he’s stalking his ex (on her “track my run” app, ha, nice touch).
Then there are Americans Ashley, who’s a good-time girl, and May, who isn’t. She has been sent to China by her mother to explore her Asian roots. Tagging along with the girls, not entirely (really not, especially by May) welcome, is my favourite Greg (Tim Key), who is English, likes cricket, is a little bit creepy and a bit tragic and far too old to be doing this kind of thing. He’s a bit like Dan, the Joe Wilkinson character, in Him & Her. Oh, and then there are a couple of Irish backpacking honeymooners, who don’t play a massive part in this opener but whom I hope we will be seeing more of, mainly because Mrs is played by Aisling Bea and will nick any scene she’s in.
They all kind of hook up, and get on, and don’t get on, and try to unhook up, or hook up more. The comedy is about cultural difference, and cliches about traveller types – not massively surprising maybe, but very nicely observed. I think Basden might have been on the road himself. Greg has one of those probably practical but really annoying head torches, and wants to play football with the locals (“Hey guys, I’ll have a piece of this!”).
May thinks that the music festival they go to isn’t Chinese enough; and she wants to get up at 5.30 in the morning to see the wall – the great one – at sunrise. Do you think, in 2,000 years’ time or so, Asian tourists visiting ancient monuments in the once powerful world civilisation of the United States will get up early to see the great wall there at sunrise? The one Emperor Donald built to keep out marauding criminals, drug dealers and rapists from the south? Possibly.
The dialogue is good and believable, and funny: “I’m honestly not trying to be a dick,” Dylan tells his mate. “Well try a bit harder,” moans Sean.
Sean calls Dylan by his school nickname, Dildo (which is what it would have been), though Dylan doesn’t appreciate it any more – he thinks it might be offensive to women. The ex he’s stalking has a new love interest, a convivial sporty American, who calls himself Social Norm. Oh and at the music festival there’s a capsizing festival toilet. Toppled over, by Sean, while occupied, by Dylan. More of the same shit, all over the place.
Gap Year is very silly and very puerile, and I mean both in a good way. A Plebs way. Hey guys, I’ll have a piece of this: mind if I tag along, too?
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