In 2004, Shaun, portrayed by Simon Pegg, exists in a monotonous cycle, working in a white goods store and frequenting The Winchester pub, much to the annoyance of his girlfriend Liz, played by Kate Ashfield. However, when a zombie apocalypse erupts in London, Shaun finds a new purpose: “Take car. Go to Mum’s. Kill Phil, grab Liz, go to The Winchester, have a nice cold pint, and wait for all of this to blow over. How’s that for a slice of fried gold?”
Edgar Wright’s Shaun of the Dead is hailed as a revitalizing force in the British film landscape, swiftly arriving after what many saw as a low point in British comedy with Andy Humphries’ Sex Lives of the Potato Men. Now, as Shaun of the Dead returns to theaters for its 20th anniversary, nostalgia becomes a predominant theme, prompting reflections on how life and society felt better back in 2004. The average pint cost just £2.36, indoor smoking was still permissible, and according to the film, a part-time weed dealer might just be able to afford rent in Crouch End.
Shaun of the Dead is a quick-witted blend of snappy dialogue, physical comedy, and unforgettable one-liners, drawing from a rich tapestry of British comedic influences. It offers a pointed critique of an increasingly Americanized British consumer landscape while simultaneously delivering a lighthearted yet effective zombie movie. The comedic parallel between the lethargic, often tipsy Shaun and the zombies serves as a humorous social commentary, earning the film accolades for seemingly resurrecting British comedy from its slumber. Fast forward 20 years, and it appears that comedy is once again struggling for breath.
A recurring theme is the notion that nostalgia lacks its former charm. After enduring 14 years of Conservative governance in Britain, it’s difficult to look back at that period, filled with political turmoil and scandal, without wondering where the sharp-witted critiques of authority have vanished. Some, like Peter Capaldi, argue that contemporary issues are too fraught for satire. Is satire truly dead in Britain? Observing this year’s offerings, such as Wicked Little Letters and Seize Them!, one might think so.
Both films sidestep the contentious political issues of today by opting for historical settings: Wicked Little Letters in the 1920s and Seize Them! in the Dark Ages. This move allows them to mock easy targets—the pious and the privileged—without risking offense to anyone who might still be around to defend themselves. By making fun of the respectability politics of yesteryear, they encourage audiences to chuckle at the past rather than confront the complexities of class issues present in today’s landscape.
Moreover, both films play it safe in terms of comedic content, leaning heavily into toilet humor and gratuitous foul language. Characters like Bobik in Seize Them! engage in lengthy monologues about bodily functions, while Ed from Shaun of the Dead shares moments laced with juvenile jokes. However, the comedic value in Shaun’s dysfunction serves as a contrast to Ed’s crudeness. In Seize Them!, however, the humor hinges solely on shock value, often missing deeper insights.
It seems that this kind of innocuous, formulaic humor may become predominant in British comedy. James Marriott remarked on the rise of ‘twee’ humor, suggesting that an affinity for childish humor marks a lack of sophistication in British taste. The question arises: what remains for meaningful comedy? Chris Morris noted that modern satire tends to play to the ruling class and deflect genuine criticism. Films like Seize Them! present figures on both sides of political conflict as equally flawed, choosing to appeal to the moderate viewer rather than challenging the status quo.
In the current climate, diverging from the consensus can be perilous. Recent controversies surrounding funding cuts for political artists in the UK echo past attempts at censoring dissent. As funding for initiatives aimed at political commentary dwindles, few filmmakers manage to critique authority from an outsider’s perspective, leading to a trend of creators who seem more likely to mimic the elite than to challenge them. Even films that aim to critique the privileged class, such as Saltburn, fail to resist the allure of glorifying eccentric high society.
While movies like Wicked Little Letters and Seize Them! can be enjoyable and even commercially successful, they often lack substance, serving more as pleasant background viewing rather than thought-provoking satire. In an era steeped in political strife, many viewers may gravitate toward light, comforting narratives. However, the risk exists that such narratives can easily become tools for reinforcing a conservative ideology, as witnessed by the appropriation of beloved characters like Paddington as symbols aligned with the ruling party.
With new films on the horizon, particularly another Paddington installment, the outlook for incisive political comedy seems grim. Yet, one can hope that a shift in government may pave the way for a resurgence of sharp, politically charged comedic content—after all, there’s plenty of material ripe for satirization.