#71 All this buttoning and unbuttoning
23/08/21 17:48
You might remember I’ve previously written about how I like wild swimming, because I’m a Guardian-reading middle-aged woman, so of course I do, and it’s not wild, is it; it’s just outdoors and I can fuck off back into the sea, can’t I, wittering on in my DryRobe. Anyway, recently I had a bit of a wobble in my open waters because the truth is, I’m actually scared of wild swimming and don’t really like it – I find it’s more of an exercise in panic-management, followed by hot chocolate.
The reason I’m scared is the depth; what lies beneath. One of the kayakers told me there are ‘big fish’ below, which, thanks to the Chinese Whispers in my head, has become Nessie lurking in the depths waiting to take a chunk out of my juicy calf. What are the depths, exactly? I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I once swam in a French mountain lake and only afterwards saw a sign saying it was 80m deep, causing me to retch on the jetty. Dark space, untold creatures, God knows what. It’s the unknown I’m scared of, what’s out there, watching me…
Let’s talk about Ghosts. If you haven’t heard of Ghosts, then I can only imagine you’re an actual ghost who has lost touch with the modern world. I will allow that you might not have got round to watching it, but if you’re in denial about its existence then you need to open your mind to the possibility and look out for it. True believers will nod along to all this because they have Seen, and know it’s true. You need Ghosts in your lives.
I don’t like calling Ghosts a sitcom because it seems limiting. Although it features the traditional ‘trap’, rarely leaving the confines of its Button House setting, it’s much broader in scope and ambition, with a huge cast and an even bigger timeline. A cash-strapped couple, Alison and Mike, inherit a crumbling old mansion, and move in, only to discover it’s already inhabited by a bunch of eccentric and quite needy spooks. Thanks to a near-death experience, Alison, a Button family descendent, can see and hear the ghosts, and as she and Mike attempt to renovate their pile, they’re alternately helped or hindered by the resident phantoms.
One of the many reasons why Ghosts is so brilliant is its splendid characterisation. They may be apparitions, but each ghost is completely real, with quirks, flaws and foibles, plus detailed back stories, revealed gradually through the episodes. Button House hosts the Edwardian grey lady, Fanny, who gets near-sexual satisfaction out of her constant state of disapproval; the Captain, a Second World War army officer who relishes rank, rules and regulations; Pat, an 80s Scout Leader full of hand-rubbing wholesome enthusiasm; Julian, a 90s Tory MP who died with his pants down and is condemned to roam trouser-less for all eternity… There are many more ghostly inhabitants, including the plague pit victims in the basement, played by the upstairs cast, covered in boils and Pythonesque in their wry commentary on the ancient boiler. The idioms and speech patterns of each character stay largely true to their original period, with the occasional anachronism, which results in some lovely jarring dialogue. It makes for a very noisy, busy household, Alison its exasperated matriarch.
With such a sprawling cast, there’s a lot going on, and the second marvel of Ghosts is its plotting. Each episode is intricately crafted, with several sub-plots bubbling away that eventually weave together in a satisfying whole. The set-ups are smoothly personality-driven – in the second series, ‘The Thomas Thorne Affair’ centres around the back story of Button’s Byron-esque poet-ghost, who extravagantly recounts his noble death by duel. This is then replayed from several different perspectives, according to the contrasting views of the other ghosts who were there at the time. It’s hilarious, ingenious, poignant and demonstrates a crucial aspect of this show – the ghosts are always learning and growing. Their existence is surprisingly full of development and revelation, whether it’s discovering the joys of a Friends boxset, or having a decapitated head shed light on a lovelorn poet’s untimely demise - turning death on its head. They might be confined to the grounds, their clothes unchanged, some doomed to repeat their death throes each and every day, but they’re still managing to enrich and educate themselves. They have a Film Club, they give each other instructional talks, the caveman Robin does the crossword and plays chess. It’s never too late, you see?
The occasional poignancy of Ghosts is its other great strength. The best comedies should make you cry, and I regularly well up during an episode, as the Captain recalls a hidden passion for his army comrade, resolutely buttoning up his sexuality, or Sir Humphrey Bone’s severed head comes to terms with his body’s brief fling with an enraptured Fanny. But Ghosts never descends into sentiment, and a fond moment is often ruthlessly undermined to superb comic effect – watch the end of series 3 for a wonderful example of this, featuring a flyaway drone.
In other classic sitcoms, I sometimes find the ‘trap’ vaguely dispiriting and bleak – small lives and limited outlooks. But in Ghosts we can go anywhere without ever leaving the Button House estate, giving us insights into dastardly Tudor plots, the battle on the home front, Georgian society parties, 90s Conservative party conferences. All of life is here, even though it’s… dead. For a show centring around the departed, Ghosts is gloriously life-affirming, full of joy, warmth and hope. Alison, a woman without family, finds one in the demented, demanding, non-existent residents of her inherited house.
Ghosts are supposed to be scary, sinister, malevolent, elusive. Button House should be a terrifying place to live, every creak or mysterious draught causing you to cower. But what Ghosts does is take the unknown by the hand, and draw it a chair by the fire. Those untold depths are told, again and again, until they aren’t scary anymore. The faceless spectre becomes a friend; the haunted house becomes a home.
That’s what I should do with the lake, isn’t it? Dive in, get to know it, embrace the demons, the depths. Make it my own.
Nah, screw that. I’m having a hot chocolate.
The reason I’m scared is the depth; what lies beneath. One of the kayakers told me there are ‘big fish’ below, which, thanks to the Chinese Whispers in my head, has become Nessie lurking in the depths waiting to take a chunk out of my juicy calf. What are the depths, exactly? I don’t know, and I don’t want to know. I once swam in a French mountain lake and only afterwards saw a sign saying it was 80m deep, causing me to retch on the jetty. Dark space, untold creatures, God knows what. It’s the unknown I’m scared of, what’s out there, watching me…
Let’s talk about Ghosts. If you haven’t heard of Ghosts, then I can only imagine you’re an actual ghost who has lost touch with the modern world. I will allow that you might not have got round to watching it, but if you’re in denial about its existence then you need to open your mind to the possibility and look out for it. True believers will nod along to all this because they have Seen, and know it’s true. You need Ghosts in your lives.
I don’t like calling Ghosts a sitcom because it seems limiting. Although it features the traditional ‘trap’, rarely leaving the confines of its Button House setting, it’s much broader in scope and ambition, with a huge cast and an even bigger timeline. A cash-strapped couple, Alison and Mike, inherit a crumbling old mansion, and move in, only to discover it’s already inhabited by a bunch of eccentric and quite needy spooks. Thanks to a near-death experience, Alison, a Button family descendent, can see and hear the ghosts, and as she and Mike attempt to renovate their pile, they’re alternately helped or hindered by the resident phantoms.
One of the many reasons why Ghosts is so brilliant is its splendid characterisation. They may be apparitions, but each ghost is completely real, with quirks, flaws and foibles, plus detailed back stories, revealed gradually through the episodes. Button House hosts the Edwardian grey lady, Fanny, who gets near-sexual satisfaction out of her constant state of disapproval; the Captain, a Second World War army officer who relishes rank, rules and regulations; Pat, an 80s Scout Leader full of hand-rubbing wholesome enthusiasm; Julian, a 90s Tory MP who died with his pants down and is condemned to roam trouser-less for all eternity… There are many more ghostly inhabitants, including the plague pit victims in the basement, played by the upstairs cast, covered in boils and Pythonesque in their wry commentary on the ancient boiler. The idioms and speech patterns of each character stay largely true to their original period, with the occasional anachronism, which results in some lovely jarring dialogue. It makes for a very noisy, busy household, Alison its exasperated matriarch.
With such a sprawling cast, there’s a lot going on, and the second marvel of Ghosts is its plotting. Each episode is intricately crafted, with several sub-plots bubbling away that eventually weave together in a satisfying whole. The set-ups are smoothly personality-driven – in the second series, ‘The Thomas Thorne Affair’ centres around the back story of Button’s Byron-esque poet-ghost, who extravagantly recounts his noble death by duel. This is then replayed from several different perspectives, according to the contrasting views of the other ghosts who were there at the time. It’s hilarious, ingenious, poignant and demonstrates a crucial aspect of this show – the ghosts are always learning and growing. Their existence is surprisingly full of development and revelation, whether it’s discovering the joys of a Friends boxset, or having a decapitated head shed light on a lovelorn poet’s untimely demise - turning death on its head. They might be confined to the grounds, their clothes unchanged, some doomed to repeat their death throes each and every day, but they’re still managing to enrich and educate themselves. They have a Film Club, they give each other instructional talks, the caveman Robin does the crossword and plays chess. It’s never too late, you see?
The occasional poignancy of Ghosts is its other great strength. The best comedies should make you cry, and I regularly well up during an episode, as the Captain recalls a hidden passion for his army comrade, resolutely buttoning up his sexuality, or Sir Humphrey Bone’s severed head comes to terms with his body’s brief fling with an enraptured Fanny. But Ghosts never descends into sentiment, and a fond moment is often ruthlessly undermined to superb comic effect – watch the end of series 3 for a wonderful example of this, featuring a flyaway drone.
In other classic sitcoms, I sometimes find the ‘trap’ vaguely dispiriting and bleak – small lives and limited outlooks. But in Ghosts we can go anywhere without ever leaving the Button House estate, giving us insights into dastardly Tudor plots, the battle on the home front, Georgian society parties, 90s Conservative party conferences. All of life is here, even though it’s… dead. For a show centring around the departed, Ghosts is gloriously life-affirming, full of joy, warmth and hope. Alison, a woman without family, finds one in the demented, demanding, non-existent residents of her inherited house.
Ghosts are supposed to be scary, sinister, malevolent, elusive. Button House should be a terrifying place to live, every creak or mysterious draught causing you to cower. But what Ghosts does is take the unknown by the hand, and draw it a chair by the fire. Those untold depths are told, again and again, until they aren’t scary anymore. The faceless spectre becomes a friend; the haunted house becomes a home.
That’s what I should do with the lake, isn’t it? Dive in, get to know it, embrace the demons, the depths. Make it my own.
Nah, screw that. I’m having a hot chocolate.
- Ghosts, BBC One, 3 series
