A little local difficulty

Gareth McLeanGuardian Unlimited

Thursday December 28, 2000

Like losing at party games without going off in a huff, and humouring your relatives' petty prejudices, reminiscing is one of those particularly Christmassy activities which can be undertaken without much karmic damage.

Usually it is fond remembrance of times past but, being in a Tim Burton sort of mood, let me regale you with a tale of a recurring nightmare. When I was young, I was frightened of the dark and, even though I used to sleep with the light on and the curtains closed, it was always a dark room and bare windows which greeted me in dreamtime.

Bluey moonlight would cut rectangles into the carpet (which, in other dreams, would team with tarantulas) and I would sit bolt upright in my bed. Through the glass, someone would be staring into my room. It was always the same - a man with dark skin and eyes like saucers.

He would tap on the window, quiet but menacing, and smile a broad, toothy smile. Then I would wake up, the curtains closed and the light on. Still frightened, I would get up and go and sleep with the dog at the back door, erroneously safe in the knowledge that Sally, the deaf and blind golden labrador, would protect me if the Scary Man made his way into the house.

Until Papa Lazarou, the sinister blacked-up ringmaster, first made an appearance in The League of Gentlemen (BBC2), I thought my nightmare was mine alone. Now I know it wasn't. I'm not sure if this is a good thing or not. (If other people know of the Scary Man, does that make him real?)

Whatever, when Papa Lazarou turned up in the League's Christmas special dressed as Santa - to kidnap Bernice the misanthropic Vicar whilst uttering his chilling but baffling epithet, "You're my wife now, Dave" - it was one of the most horrifying, spine-tingling moments I have ever seen on television. (And this so soon after another group of gentlemen appeared on Buffy The Vampire Slayer stealing people's voices and cutting their hearts out, I may well phone Nick Ross to get some "Do sleep well" assurance.)

That The League of Gentlemen manage to combine such freakish frightening moments with sublime comedy and genuinely heart-rending drama is testament to their enormous talent. That Steve Pemberton, Mark Gattiss and Reece Shearsmith play the majority of the bizarre and wonderful characters which, along with Jeremy Dyson, they create, suggests the foursome are nothing short of geniuses.

So clever, creepy, emotive and thoughtful was The League of Gentlemen Christmas special, it is perhaps the best thing they have ever done. Familiar characters, from Herr Lipp, the German malapropian paedophile, to Dr Chinnery, the vet whose patients always end up dead, turned up as protagonists while the likes of Pauline, the fascistic employment officer, toad-loving Harvey Denton and Judee Levinson from the posh estate made cameo appearances.

There was something here for everyone, from hardcore fans to those who may have just stumbled across the inhabitants of Royston Vasey. While primarily character-based comedy-drama, there were moments of downright comic nonsense. At the Mission for Fallen Women, women were indeed falling - from second-floor windows - and, in a flashback which explained why Dr Chinnery is cursed, a ginger Victorian vet scooted around on a tricycle.

Yes, it is as bizarre as it sounds, and I haven't even mentioned the vampiric choirboys. At turns, horrifying and emotional - who would have thought it possible to feel sorry for Herr Lipp? - The League of Gentlemen is so close to the bone you could hear the scraping, but it was all the more delicious for it.

Eccentric and grotesque it may be, but the reason it is so engaging is that there is a grain of truth at its heart. It is so disturbing because it is so well-observed, so well-rounded, so real. It is also very intelligent with an impressive array of cultural references without ever seeming supercilious or bluntly obvious.

There were hints of A Christmas Carol, The Railway Children, Eyes Wide Shut, Nosferatu as well as a hint of WW Jacobs's The Monkey's Paw. And just when Madonna lends line dancing some cool, The League of Gentlemen go and spoil it all.

Like Papa Lazarou, The League of Gentlemen and their peculiar imaginings either capture you or they don't. If you are enamoured of them, once you're engaged, there's no getting away. It's like the man says, Dave.