Corne and Horden.

For Christmas my brother bought me a DVD of  the "Horne and Corden" TV series. That's the sort of guy he is - an eccentric millionaire. It arrived in a package on which he had written, in biro, "Contents Not Worth Stealing". The envelope was torn open, as though someone had anticipated a double-bluff but ultimately agreed with the sender. 

I watched it. I watched all six episodes, something that only I and Matthew Horne's mother have achieved and, frankly, I'm not sure which of us was more disappointed. Her probably: there is a lot to disappoint, but at least I'm not related to anyone involved. 

The first surprise, of many, is that it was made in 2009. It feels like something from the mid-nineties. It stinks like a C K 1 perfume strip from Loaded magazine. There's an open-necked, coral necklace swagger to it, a boot-cut beer and birds bravado. The credit sequence sees the lads beating the shit out of some old fashioned pot-bellied TVs in slo-mo, sound-tracked by generic indie noise. They fade to black by spraying the camera with aerosol cans. Pretty edgy, pretty street. It's like The Mary Whitehouse Experience never happened. 

After the credits the boys clamber down a sort of industrial mesh staircase and shout at the nervous looking studio audience. It has a sort of Top Gear Juniors vibe to it. Their characters are quickly set up: Corden is loud and ebullient, shouting and bouncing about, and Horne is more measured and circumspect, with his slightly cruel, Mary Queen of Scots face. You feel as if they haven't had to go on an especially scenic mental journey to find these personae. After a few minutes of "banter" with the audience - usually involving some species of homosexual panic or body horror and rarely satisfactorily resolved, that's it for the audience. We dont see them again until the "Johnny Lee Miller" sketch that concludes most of these half hours. God alone knows what they're doing in the interim, milling about in their constructivist sheep-fold, sipping anxiously on their bottles of Sol and waiting for the next loud noise.

We'll come back to "Johnny Lee Miller". 

The next surprise is that these shows were directed by the marvelous Kathy Burke. I'm not saying she picks worse bedfellows than Billie Piper, but Morrissey AND James Corden? Her direction is actually quite stylish, given the material, but it was to be her only directing credit for nine years - clearly traumatised - after which she shot a version of Lady Windemere's Fan. Safer ground - Oscar knew how to finish a joke. 

The show breaks down into sketches featuring recurring characters. They are as follows: 

Superman and Spiderman. Yes, but they're English and they go to Internet Cafes or Londis, and they're slightly awkward around each other. Eventually its revealed they're both gay. 

James Corden suddenly realising he is fat. The guys will rock up to a hamburger van or a free sample stall in a supermarket, Corden will take a bite of something and immediately notice he's fat. There will be some partial nudity to emphasise this. Hilarity ensues. 

Horne, with bouffed hair, is pushed over by Corden in a curly wig. Corden laughs hysterically and says "It was me!" and runs off laughing and that's the end. I've made it sound better than it is. 

Strait-laced family man in specs, Horne, is constantly surprised and embarrassed by Corden (another long reach there) who is an old school friend who has fallen on hard times because of his implied drink, drug and sex addictions. Corden is alright at this character and there are flashes of good writing too - I know - but the anticipated character arc goes nowhere and the expected breakaway odd couple bromance series never appeared. Their least worst sketch, but it relies on a lot of wanking jokes and mildly transgressive behaviour in front of unhappy children. 

Next up is the Young People's Church and the guys are back in the studio as a pair of Christian youth pastors with Emo hair. Matthew Baynton from Horrible Histories is occasionally called in to play guitar as the pair sing hymns that contain single entendres about Jesus. He was probably glad of money, then. What a long, strange trip its been.  

Horne plays Tim Goodall, a news reporter who is gay. And that's that. 

Corden does an impression of Ricky Gervais sometimes. It goes nowhere. 

Finally there is a magic act called Johnny Lee Miller where Corden plays soft voice bumpkin Lee Miller and Horne plays perma-centring Johnny. They wear skin tight costumes with ruffled sleeves like Argentine dancers and they do some arsing about. 

And that's the show. 

Kellie Bright's in it occasionally, mainly for reaction shots. She still manages to act them off the screen. Will Young and Kylie turn up for pointless cameos. 

Its an odd show.  In March 2010, Corden stated that the sketch show was a mistake. He must have had a hell of a hangover. 

It is actually quite refreshing that Corden has acknowledged his hubris - he said the show was rubbish because he wasn't very good at writing sketches - but it was amazing it got as far as it did. It's symptomatic of the ongoing panic that TV companies, publishers, anyone involved in bringing "content" to the public feels. They have no faith in their own judgement and they have no respect for their audience, so they fling a famous face out there with no material, and just assume that's what people want. Actually it WAS what people wanted - the viewing figures got worse as the series went on, but the show was the biggest hit on BBC3 at the time. People like recognising their telly friends talking about wanking and queers. 

Its a strange thing: laddish, bitty, lost, with the enthusiasm draining from each sketch in real time. Its hard to know why the show exists, except that the famous people assumed they could do anything. What a pair of sticky Icaruses.  

It's like a postcard from the past, or at least dogshit pushed through your letterbox. Not worth stealing.