Coupling is weird. Everyone else saw it a million years ago, but I always come to things late.
It’s making me laugh regularly, but it’s as if it has been written by someone who has never met or spoken to a woman (manipulating the men! sexy sexy sexy laydeez! fear of having large bottom! really big cocks are the best thing ever, preferably the size of the Eiffel Tower or bigger!). And, for that matter, whose experience of men is pretty much ripped from the pages of the Faily Fail (boobs! porn! women are scary! I’m only here because my cock made me do it! men – huh – we’re basically useless!).
I don’t think any of those things are true of either gender. Perhaps I just know a lot of high quality women and men. I LIKE my big bottom and my wrinkles.
Yet it contains moments of comedy that are so sublimely written I had to pause the “Lesbian Inferno” episode at the point where all the small, slightly amusing incidents in the opening ten minutes resolve themselves into perfect avalanching farce during the dinner party, and take a few quiet minutes of awe.
Mr Fevil pointed out to me that it’s a Moffat, which explains the women (Amy Pond is another woman clearly written by someone who has never actually met one).
People are rather down on Satie, aren’t they? I don’t know why. I think he’s basically the logical offspring of Chopin, and the father of Bowie.
Anyway, here, get a load of this one. Ignore the opening bars which are a misleading sort of Moonlight Faux-nata, and it’s pure magic, all turning over in bed and meeting someone’s elbow and sleepily folding into it, and unresolvedness, and being up early in a quiet house and watching the light, broken up by the shadows of moving branches, creep ’round the walls.
I think I like him because the light in and around my house looks like Satie sounds. It’s crepuscular, always half between this and that, never where you expect it.