So the BBC sent out a carrier pigeon with another "exciting announcement," and you can almost hear the gears grinding in the corporate content machine. Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley are reuniting. The press release is practically vibrating with forced enthusiasm, expecting us all to swoon because Edina and Patsy are sharing a screen again.
Give me a break.
This isn't some magical, organic reunion born from creative passion. This is a calculated injection of brand recognition into a fledgling sitcom, Amandaland. The show, a spin-off of the apparently successful Motherland, needs a jolt for its Christmas special, and what better way to guarantee eyeballs than to wheel out the Absolutely Fabulous icons? It's the television equivalent of putting a big, shiny spoiler on a Honda Civic. It doesn't make the car faster, but it sure gets your attention.
Let’s deconstruct the PR-speak, shall we? Saunders is "delighted to be joining the fabulous Amandaland gang." Translation: The check cleared, and the schedule works. She's playing Joan, the "enthusiastic upper-class" sister to Lumley's character, Felicity. The official description hilariously insists Joan is "very, very different from Felicity." Sure she is. And I'm sure their on-screen dynamic will bear absolutely no resemblance to the one that made them international stars.
It’s a lazy move. No, 'lazy' isn’t the word—it’s a calculated move. It's a low-risk, high-reward play that every network executive dreams of. You get a headline, you get built-in audience interest, and you get to slap "starring the legendary duo from Ab Fab" all over the marketing materials. Who cares if the story justifies it? Are we supposed to believe they’re bringing in one half of one of the most iconic comedy duos in British history to not play on that exact chemistry? It's like hiring a wrecking ball to tap in a nail. You know damn well what it's really there for.
This isn't about creating something new. This is about leveraging something old to prop up the new. It’s a nostalgia-fueled defibrillator for a show that, despite "rave reviews" from a single mentioned newspaper, probably needs the juice. What happens when the novelty wears off after the Christmas special? Does the show stand on its own, or was this just a temporary ratings patch?
And then we get to the quotes from the actual star of the show, Lucy Punch. In a move that screams "marketing team wrote this," she delivers an in-character statement that is physically painful to read. "The Christmas special is going to be an absolute cracker - it's like totes fire, with all the festive feels, for reals. Slay bells!"
I had to read that twice to make sure I wasn't having a stroke. "Slay bells." This is what happens when a committee in a boardroom tries to sound like a real person. It's the same energy as a bank using TikTok to explain mortgage rates or a politician trying to dab. It's just so transparently desperate, and honestly...
It exposes the whole game. The show is about a middle-class woman pretending to be something she's not by calling her neighborhood "SoHa," and the marketing is doing the exact same thing. It's trying to dress up a standard sitcom in the language of "the youth" to seem relevant. And offcourse, the first series got "rave reviews," a classic line trotted out to legitimize a project that still feels like it’s finding its footing.
This ain't art; it’s an algorithm. The entertainment industry is just eating itself, endlessly spinning off sequels, prequels, and reboots. Motherland begets Amandaland, which now requires a transfusion from Absolutely Fabulous to survive the winter. It’s a Russian doll of recycled ideas, each one a little more hollow than the last. Then again, maybe I'm the crazy one. Maybe people actually want this.
Let’s be real. This isn’t a creative reunion. It’s an insurance policy. It's a network hedging its bets, using two beloved stars as a shield against potential audience apathy. They're not banking on the script or the new characters; they're banking on your fond memories of Bollinger and Stoli. And the worst part? It will probably work. We'll all tune in out of curiosity, the ratings will be solid, and the executives will congratulate themselves on their genius. But it’s not genius. It’s just the path of least resistance. It's content, not comedy.
