Overlooked Classics: How Do You Want Me?

When is a sitcom not a sitcom? When it’s a comedy drama. How Do You Want Me? (1998-9) written by Simon Nye, is a sad, droll slice of life programme that seems to have been forgotten about, in spite of the wonderful cast and writing.

Dylan Moran is Ian, an Irish comic who’s left London to live in the Little England countryside with new wife Lisa (Charlotte Coleman) . Trouble is, he’s not keen on their rural ways – the parochialism, lack of stimulation, and above all, Lisa’s horribly toxic family (the main offenders being her dad and brother, played by Frank Finley and Peter Serafinowicz respectively).

Despite its gentle (rather twee, in fact) theme tune, it’s often brutal and dark , a study in narcissistic abuse by proxy. Nobody will give poor, introverted Ian a chance. Lisa is lovely, as is her sister Helen (Emma Chambers) but the insidious hazing rituals of beatings, swearing and competitive bullying suggest that the countryside is far from an idyllic lifestyle choice.

Add to this the fact that Ian is struggling to start a photography business despite not knowing his way around a camera, and the fact that Lisa is a successful and much admired teacher, and the situation is less than desirable. There’s even a love rival in the gangly form of Derek (Mark Heap) a teacher and ex of Lisa, who simply can’t and won’t accept that she has moved on. His attempts to win her back are both pitiful and cringingly funny.

Incidents involving guns; a naff fashion store, an involuntary fire, chickens, nude modelling and football are surreal and hilarious. Nye is best-known for ‘Men Behaving Bad!y’, but this is more low-key writing and is hilarious – it’s interesting seeing Moran play a more multifaceted character, as much as I am a fan of ‘Black Books’ and the curmudgeon that is Bernard Black.

Two things really resonate upon re-watching this beautifully crafted progamme: the first is that Moran is a wonderful leading man – a subtle dramatic actor as well as brilliant comic; and secondly, that there’s an added poignancy upon the untimely passing of both Coleman (2001) and Chambers (2018) – two superb, understated screen presences and, at their finest here. They’re much missed.