Jo Brand

On what should be a dull nightshift, nurse Kim Wilde plays solitaire on the computer. Bliss. Except Kim's hopes of a quiet night prove to be forlorn when, first, she's left alone on the ward because the night sister leaves early, and then B4 welcomes an emergency admission whose condition is unusual enough to attract the attentions of ambitious Dr Moore. If this weren't difficult enough, Kim also has to contend with a tired and emotional Den (teary phone message to Hilary: "Maybe we could try for a baby . . ."). Controlled mayhem, beautifully anchored by deadpan Jo Brand's comic timing.

A repeat of C4's live comedy extravaganza from London's 02 Arena earlier this year in which 23 of our funniest people (and Michael McIntyre) competed to win our laughs in aid of Great Ormond Street Children's Charity. Take your pick from Alan Carr, Noel Fielding, Catherine Tate, Bill Bailey, Mitchell & Webb, Jack Dee, Jack Whitehall, Kevin Eldon, Lee Evans, Rob Brydon, Sean Lock, Jo Brand, Jason Manford, Fonejacker, Andy Parsons and Shappi Khorsandi. Phew.

Still potentially in the dock over an inappropriate remark, nurse Kim Wilde (Jo Brand) isn't happy. "I came back to nursing to get away from the kids and it's even shitter here than it is at home," she reckons. You can see her point. When a B4 patient, Peggy Lowe (the excellent Hazel Douglas), has a bath-time accident, everyone seems more interested in avoiding the blame than making an honest appraisal of what went wrong. Elsewhere, an excited Doctor Pippa has momentous news: "My faecal forum presentation text has been translated into 17 languages." Director Peter Capaldi guests as consultant Peter Healy.

An extremely fragrant patient was heaved in to B4, where Jo Brand and Joanna Scanlan were discovering that the multi-disciplinary approach to care doesn't really work when beds, trolleys and the rest aren't multi at all. They write the show with Vicki Pepperdine, who steals the acting honours as the useless doctor. Director Peter Capaldi's wobbly camera appears to be mounted on a drip stand with a wheel missing.

Virtue has been rewarded with a return to the schedules for BBC4's dark and unglamorous hospital comedy Getting On, launched last year with three superbly measured episodes of low-key wit and broad hilarity. Who (of the 19 people who saw it) can forget the fun had with the self-important Dr Moore's faecal stool research programme or the eloquently brief wrangling over the ethics of eating a dead woman's birthday cake, or those oases of tedium, ticking with wicked purpose.

The first thing I noticed, though - even as the great Richard Hawley title song lulled us into the new series - was how healthily Daz blue everything looked. Here came the familiar cameras, zooming and retreating in homage to The Thick of It (courtesy of director Peter Capaldi), but where was the bilious washed-out decor and bad complexions and air of neglect? Had the MRSA police been in with the Mr Muscle and a lick of paint? Had someone been ironing the uniforms?

It soon began to ooze some of the old malodorous promise with the arrival of a comatose female of no fixed abode smelling like "an every-orifice cocktail", as dogsbody nurse Kim (mistress of droll, Jo Brand) put it, vying with ward sister Den (Joanna Scanlan) for best evocative observation of human pungency. Something was rotten down there...

There was more laughter to be milked out of it with the entrance of no-nonsense consultant Dr Moore (the excellent Vicki Pepperdine), blind to preposterousness as she urged her retinue of horrified dimwit trainees to peer into the poor woman's back passage and see a valuable learning opportunity. "So... perineal abscess? Rectal prolapse? Anal fistulae?" It was funny, but it did start to dribble away into a dull scene about the new gerontology wing, only to be picked up again by Donald the porter, trying to offload the offending patient on other unwilling departments, his gurney journeying back and forth with diminishing comic power. By the time he parked it in the corridor the only smell I could detect was the new lino.

To be fair there were entertaining skirmishes but they lacked the friction that gave the last series its crackling energy. Den has lost her fear of the officious Dr Moore. Sexually bi-curious matron Hilary - a monster of neuroses held in check by self-help psychobabble - has been stripped of his menace (like Samson before him, I believe) by the blowjob Den gave him in the back of a taxi. And where were the delicious lingual infelicities, the absurdities of NHS jargon, the workplace correctness that left Kim floundering in useless common sense - the whole pickle of moral compromise without which drama can be neither funny nor tragic? Perhaps it will all be back next week. I hope so.

The wobbly camerawork, as if shot by a team of four-year-olds who have run off with the digicam; the mournfully drab municipal setting; the absence, God forbid, of a laugh track; the studiedly natural dialogue. The Office begat The Thick Of It which begat this, a downbeat comedy set on an anonymous NHS ward. It came as no surprise that this, the first episode of the second series (I've come to it late), was directed by Peter Capaldi and starred Joanna Scanlan - each a first-class honours graduate of the Armando Iannucci school of comedy.

And this, being the series opener, it was appropriate that this most self-effacing of entertainments kept the action to the bare minimum. An unconscious old homeless person was admitted whom neither Nurse Den Flixter (Joanna Scanlan) nor her underling Kim Wilde (Jo Brand) really wanted to deal with. A little later, a woman visited her ailing mother and challenges Dr Pippa Moore (Vicki Pepperdine) about the level of pain relief available. That was it. The comedy, such as it was, peeped out from the fraught exchanges between Den, Dr Moore and the male Matron Hilary (Ricky Grover) as they tussled for the upper hand among the dank beds and grey windows. Kim meanwhile rolled her eyes and tried to keep out of trouble.

Yet, days later, it's not the comedy that stays with you, but the show's portrait of the NHS in miniature. Brand, Pepperdine and Scanlan are co-writers, and one assumes Brand's early career as a psychiatric nurse keeps the tone right, if not the up-to-the-minute detail. The passage of the homeless woman from Kim and Den, to the reluctant care of a junior house officer, to the corridor as they try to offload her on another ward was as understandable as it was distressing. Similarly, a well-informed woman's request that her mother's meds be amped up wasn't so much wryly amusing as it was useful - so that, you thought, is how you get someone to pay you proper attention: bone up on the internet, be endlessly polite and don't let them off the hook.

Review: Harry and Paul; Getting On

Enfield and Whitehouse are throwbacks, while Jo Brand feels here-and-now.

It doesn't happen very often that we invent new ways of laughing at ourselves, but I think you could make a case that the awkward silence is a peculiarly contemporary mode of comedy. It's not that you can't find any antique instances of the humour of speechless embarrassment. It's just that it's only recently become one of the standard forms for which a sitcom can reach. It has its own associated visual style - that of hand-held documentary realism - and carries its own implication, which is that any programme that employs it is operating in that fertile (and upmarket) borderland between sitcom and drama. And Getting On - Jo Brand, Joanna Scanlan and Vicki Pepperdine's comedy about life on a geriatric ward - is a perfect example. It even has one of the style's most characteristic markers: a signature tune that is ostentatiously melancholy and distinctly retro (in this case Richard Hawley's "Roll River Roll"). Where a traditional sitcom tune would unleash the bassoons and brass and try to parp you into hilarity, this kind of theme song gives you permission to laugh ruefully - which will sometimes mean not laughing at all, but simply adopting an expression which sits somewhere between a grin and a wince.

None of this is meant to imply that Getting On is anything but excellent, only that it follows the trail blazed by a comedy like The Office, where the punchline often lay in the fact that a character couldn't think of what to say next and the dialogue dribbled to an excruciating halt. There was a textbook example here, in a scene where Pepperdine's odiously brisk Doctor Moore was sparring with a patient's relative over a course of treatment. Why isn't she being given Drug X, asks the anxious relative. Because it's not an appropriate drug at this point and I will make the clinical decisions, replies Doctor Moore, professional affront expanding like a lizard's neck ruff. Drug X is quite unsuitable for her current condition, she insists pompously. At which point, Sister Den (Scanlan) interjects to point out that the patient is actually being given Drug X and the scene ends in stammering damage limitation. Getting On is full of such embarrassments, beautifully acted and excruciatingly awkward.

There are more straightforward writing pleasures, too, last night mostly centring on a homeless patient with a perianal abscess, who arrives accompanied by an odour strong enough to discolour the curtains. "It's a kind of every-orifice cocktail," gasps Nurse Kim (Brand), blinking in the fumes as they undress her. "Can we just stop there and get used to that layer?" Then she pauses, distracted by a moment of nostalgia when it turns out that one of the patient's undergarments is a sheet of tabloid newspaper describing Dirty Den's webcam sex scandal (a story that broke in 2004). And if that sounds cruel, it wasn't - just an entirely plausible blend of black humour and grim reality, delivered with a fine grasp of understatement. Sometimes it's a beat or two before you even notice that a joke has been made.

A welcome second series for this bleak comedy set in a geriatric ward. It's co-written by Jo Brand, Vicki Pepperdine and The Thick of It's Joanna Scanlan, who all star. Scanlan's Denise is bovine and grouchy, Brand's Kim perplexed and old-fashioned, and Pepperdine's Pippa neurotic and self-centred. Tonight, a homeless lady is wheeled in unconscious and then passed around like a hot potato, while a visiting daughter becomes increasingly irate at being lied to about her mother's treatment. Around all this swirl incompetent orderlies and inept students. It's great to see a trio of women at the creative helm of this brave and, at times, very funny show.

Getting On, BBC Four, review

Chris Harvey reviews the first episode of a new series of the hospital comedy Getting On (BBC Four) starring Jo Brand