Once upon a time, the British sitcom was king. It ruled our screens with sharp wit, unforgettable characters, and the kind of catchphrases that got shouted in playgrounds and pubs alike. There was a time when you couldn’t go a week without hearing someone impersonate Del Boy falling through the bar, Basil Fawlty thrashing his car with a tree branch, or Victor Meldrew declaring, “I don’t believe it!”
But somewhere along the way, the magic started to fade. British sitcoms, once the gold standard of comedy, have been replaced by bland, factory-produced “dramedies”, or worse, simply disappeared altogether. So, what happened? Where did the great sitcoms go? And why do so many of us find ourselves re-watching 40-year-old episodes of Dad’s Army instead of anything new?
Golden Days of the British Sitcom: When TV Was Actually Funny
The heyday of the British sitcom was a glorious mix of genius writing, memorable performances, and an unflinching dedication to getting as many laughs as possible. The 70s, 80s, and 90s were stuffed with classics that defined British humour—a blend of sarcasm, farce, and the absolute refusal to take anything too seriously.
We had Only Fools and Horses, the undisputed heavyweight champion of heartwarming comedy, proving that even a dodgy market trader in a sheepskin coat could make the entire nation laugh and cry in the same episode. There was Fawlty Towers, a masterclass in escalating chaos, where Basil Fawlty’s ongoing war with his own hotel guests felt like watching a man slowly unravel over 12 perfect episodes.
Then came Blackadder, which dared to make history both educational and deeply sarcastic, Porridge, proving that even prison could be funny, and The Vicar of Dibley, where Dawn French somehow made rural parish life more entertaining than any soap opera ever could.
And let’s not forget Father Ted, the ultimate example of taking something deeply mundane (priests in a house on a tiny Irish island) and making it absolutely, unforgettably hilarious.
Each of these shows had one thing in common—they were built on strong characters, razor-sharp writing, and the confidence to be utterly ridiculous when necessary.
Where Did It All Go Wrong?
Then, something changed. The traditional British sitcom started to disappear. Instead of big laughs, unforgettable moments, and scenes that made audiences howl, we were handed a new generation of comedies that felt like they were trying to win awards rather than make people laugh.
There was a shift from proper sitcoms to the dreaded “dramedy”—comedies that insist on being half drama, half funny, but end up being neither. Characters stopped being larger than life, and instead became miserable people having miserable conversations in a dimly lit kitchen.
Of course, there have been a few modern successes—The Office, Peep Show, and The IT Crowd proved that newer sitcoms could still be great—but for every one of these, there are dozens of self-indulgent, low-energy comedies where people just mumble at each other for 30 minutes.
But what we’re still waiting for is the next big sitcom—something sharp, clever, and utterly original. A show that captures the spirit of British humour without drowning in forced sentimentality or becoming a 12-episode exercise in awkward silences and unearned melancholy.
The Americanisation of British Comedy
Part of the problem is that British TV started looking to America for inspiration—which is great for dramas, but absolutely disastrous for sitcoms.
American sitcoms, for all their strengths, are structured differently. They rely on shiny sets, snappy one-liners, and an almost terrifying level of optimism. Shows like Friends, The Big Bang Theory, and Brooklyn Nine-Nine have their place, but they lack the cynicism and chaos that make British sitcoms so unique.
And then there’s the laugh track—the artificial, soul-draining, utterly unbearable canned laughter that American sitcoms insist on blasting at full volume. British sitcoms never needed this. We trusted the audience to know when to laugh. Fawlty Towers didn’t need a recorded voice shouting “HAHAHA” every five seconds. Only Fools and Horses knew it could land a joke without force-feeding it to the audience like an overenthusiastic pantomime performer.
When British sitcoms try to imitate the American formula, it never quite works. We lose the dry sarcasm, the eccentric characters, and the gloriously unglamorous settings that made British comedy special in the first place.
Can the Great British Sitcom Be Saved?
The good news is that comedy never truly dies—it just hides for a while.
There’s still hope that the next great sitcom is out there, waiting to be made. But for that to happen, we need to ditch the dramedy, stop trying to impress critics, and go back to what made British sitcoms great in the first place—big characters, big laughs, and the absolute refusal to take anything too seriously.
Because if we don’t, we’ll all be watching the same old re-runs forever, and while Del Boy falling through the bar will always be funny, it would be nice to have something new to laugh at once in a while.
James Henshaw is a brooding Geordie export who swapped the industrial grit of Newcastle for the peculiar calm of Lincolnshire—though he’s yet to fully trust the flatness. With a mind as sharp as a stiletto and a penchant for science-tinged musings, James blends the surreal with the everyday, crafting blogs that feel like the lovechild of a physics textbook and a fever dream.
Equally at home dissecting the absurdities of modern life as he is explaining quantum theory with alarming metaphors, James writes with the wit of someone who knows too much and the irreverence of someone who doesn’t care. His posts are infused with a dark humour that dares you to laugh at the strange, the inexplicable, and the occasionally terrifying truths of the universe—whether it’s the unnerving accuracy of Alexa or the existential menace of wasps.
A figure of mystery with a slightly unsettling edge, James is the sort of bloke who’d explain the meaning of life over a pint, but only after a dramatic pause long enough to make you question your own existence. His wit cuts deep, his insights are sharp, and his ability to make the surreal feel strangely plausible keeps readers coming back for more.
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