We didn’t watch Miranda at the time it came out. I did occasionally see bits of it. And I loved it. So, she’s been around ages, and I’ve been ignoring her. Actually, she’s been around as long as I have, more or less, born in ‘72, as she and I are.
Anyway, a few weeks back we started watching from series one, on the BBC iPlayer, and we’re now into the ‘Specials’, with The Final Curtain about to play.
What I love best about Miranda, in addition to her clumsiness and wind, is her disarming candour, around generally not being a typical person, never mind typical woman, or ‘lady’. But then of course, in most important respects she is quite typical. Or rather she both is and isn’t… er…
So, I guess what I mean is that she’s very ordinarily human, at the same time as not conforming to social stereotypes. And she’s brave about showing herself in that light, of imperfection, or rather difference. Something many of us are simply to vain and/or insecure to do.
I’ve had horrible soul-crushing moments of my life that could probably make pretty good comedy. Like when a ‘local hero’ guitarist at a jam session I’d finally worked up the courage to go to knocked my glasses of as I attempted to chat a girl up at the bar.
Rather than kung-fu-kickin’ his ass, Clint Eastwood style, I was down on my knees, like Mr Magoo, scrabbling on the floor amongst the forest of legs to retrieve my specs, before someone stepped on them. Hey ho!
Anyway, Miranda makes such things the meat and potatoes of her comedy. That’s not massively unusual in itself. From Woody Allen to Some Mothers Do ‘Ave ‘Em, klutzy dorks have been standard fare in male comedy forever. But there’s something refreshingly guileless in how Miranda serves up her female version of this timeworn comedy trope.
Anyway, one can pontificate all one likes. At the end of the day pratfalls are extremely funny, as is farting. And Miranda serves up plenty of both, bless ‘er!
