TV review: Inside No. 9 – ‘A Quiet Night In’

It’d be fantastic to be a fly on the wall of Steve Pemberton and Reece Shearsmith’s office. Castle Pembersmith, if you will.

For starters, it’s probably full of cool stuff. But mostly because you’d get to see the conception of their latest, inimitable progeny; Inside No 9.

“How about… we do the whole thing inside a wardrobe? Or without any dialogue?”

“Why not? We should probably stick a horrible twist in there as well, for shits and giggles.”

“Obviously. Hey, take your feet off that human skin rug, it’s very delicate.”

Or something to that effect, anyway.

Never ones to pick low hanging fruit – no matter how hungry their fans are – the pair have delivered with A Quiet Night In an episode as inventive and singular as its predecessor.

The pair are hardly strangers to the visual gag, but setting the episode in a wordless landscape presents an entirely unique opportunity. After all, it’s challenging enough to be funny for half an hour at the best of times; it’s a totally different beast to do it without any discourse…

Miles apart from last week’s country wardrobe, A Quiet Night In brings us to a very different No 9; a painfully modern fishbowl-like residence, which happens to house a valuable painting. A painting that Pemberton and Shearsmith’s  bungling burglars are intent on pilfering.

What follows is a dexterous, charming and rounded take on classic set-up, as Shearsmith’s straight man and Pemberton’s lumbering berk are beset by complications in their light-fingered quest.

Playing out like a beautifully choreographed dance, our demented prima ballerinas lead us through a performance both brilliantly realised and wickedly funny.

Mime, ludicrously violent slapstick, and cleverly-crafted music queues come together against a backdrop of constant unease, as the duo skulk behind the backs of the oblivious homeowners, wrapped up in their own domestic woes.

With desperation gradually building to a surprising climax of haphazard brutality, A Quiet Night In is spattered with jokes by turns wonderfully silly, and unflinchingly sinister.

Perfectly weighted, and superbly composed; nowhere else will you howl at two men miming bowel movements, and witness such vicious twists of the knife in the same 30 minutes.

That’s the Pembersmith guarantee.

Inside No. 9 airs Tuesdays at 10pm on BBC Two.