Not even Julia Davis could rescue star-studded self-indulgence Bad Sugar, written by Peep Show duo Sam Bain and Jesse Armstrong and the centrepiece of Channel 4's presumptuously-titled Funny Fortnight. The problem was the premise: a spoof of the telenovella, which, for the uninitiated, is a type of high-camp, short-form Spanish-language soap opera. Which prompts at least three questions: first, who has actually seen a high-camp, short-form Spanish-language soap opera? Second, why spoof a short-form, high-camp Spanish-language soap opera with British characters in a British locale? And finally, does high-camp, short-form Spanish soap opera not fall somewhere beside Donald Trump in the beyond-parody stakes? And so it was that, without any decent material to play with, a blue-chip cast (Davis, Sharon Horgan, Olivia Colman, Reece Shearsmith) mugged away exhaustingly. The pilot began with a fake "Previously on ..." montage, although I assume the corresponding "Next time on ..." montage was for real since a full series lies ahead. Which makes you wonder if all the good comedy commissioners have scarpered to Sky Atlantic.

Review: Hunderby, Bad Sugar

Julia Davis's dark reworking of du Maurier's Rebecca is funny, clever, and absolutely filthy.

Bad Sugar featured a power trio of comedy actresses and that was my first problem with this spoof, lampooning those big, throbbing family melodramas. To the best of my knowledge, Olivia Colman, Julia Davis and Sharon Horgan have never had their names attached to such overcooked tripe. That cannot debar them from making fun of it, but the pleasure of watching them is less because they don't bear the scars of rotten scripts past, like Hannah does. And my second problem with Bad Sugar, the tale of a wealthy mining dynasty and a battle for power involving a psycho, a drip and a gold-digging interloper? It wasn't remotely funny. The very least a spoof should be is a collection of half-decent jokes, but this was like a comedy version of Real Madrid's football gallacticos - great talent enlisted without a plan. Still, now they've appeared in a dud, our star trio can lampoon themselves with conviction at a later date.

Hunderby, starring and written Julia Davis is a fruity romp, and it benefited hugely from a comedy performer normally the butt of jibes seizing his chance of a lead role. Alex MacQueen - the biscuit-nibbling, blue-sky-thinking buffoon in The Thick Of It - was a parson grieving for his dead wife. "Many a haggard fishwife was eager to warm the dent in the widower's bed," we were told. Eventually he remarried, but his new bride struggled to match up to a woman who was "proficient on both harpsichord and tuba and could outrun any negro". After bedroom conjugals - as squirm-inducing as you'd expect from Davis - the parson liked to recover with a glass of "bubbly milk". The creator played the demonic housekeeper in an eyepatch. At dinner one night, one of the guests remarked on the crunchiness of her fayre. "Battered lambs' faces, sir - 12 more in the pot."

Julia Davis Hunderby Q&A

Julia Davis's name has pretty much become shorthand for brilliant British comedy over the past decade. Every show she's been involved with - Nighty Night, Human Remains, Gavin & Stacey, Big Train - has an air of modern classic about it.

"Last night I dreamed I went to Hunderby (Sky Atlantic) again ..." Yes, I think that has a certain ring to it. OK, so no one actually says that in this filthy little comedy, written by and starring Julia Davis, but it's clear she's more than just nodding at Rebecca. It pretty much is Rebecca, with added Julia Davis-macabre (Daphne Doom Horror here? Sorry). And extra Nighty-Night inappropriateness, because she's Julia Davis. Oh, and she has taken it back to the 1830s, presumably because she likes the feel and smell of them days, the clothes. And the olde-worlde speak.

That kind of language does sit very nicely with Davis's potty pen. No, nicely is not right, more like wrongly. But gloriously wrongly. "You are much darker down there than perhaps I'd imagined," says Edmund the vicar, staring at his new bride who's naked in the bath.

"Do I not please you, sir?" asks poor Helene.

"Nay, nay, 'tis just that Arabelle was smooth as ham, nature did not busy her broken mound with such a black and forceful brush."

Arabelle is the previous wife, the Rebecca character who hangs like a stone around poor Helene's neck, perfect in every way (including perfectly smooth as ham "down there").

Poor Helene is taken off to be shaved by Dorothy, the Mrs Danvers housekeeper character (Davis, beautifully deadpan and creepy), before the marriage can be consummated.

"Come bride, 'tis a quarter after 10, we shall intercourse until a 30 after," says Edmund cheerfully (another great comedy performance, by Alex MacQueen). I'm not quite sure why, but that little indefinite article before "30" adds an extra spoonful of cringiness. Davis is good like that, with language; she can milk an extra wince out of a line, just by adding a tiny little word.

It's not just about the words though. The sex, when it (sort of) happens, is horrendous, as horrid as the two scenes of comedy dancing are hilarious. Like squeaky rabbit rape, though perhaps technically not rape because, as Helene says, "'tis not in".

Yes, sometimes it feels as if Davis is showing off, simply demonstrating that she dares to go to places no one else does (especially places "down there"). Why shouldn't she, though? It doesn't all work, doesn't all come off; at times you're spluttering and shuddering at the wrongness. Laughing a lot too, though, because it is, as I said, gloriously wrongness.

Oh and unlike the weekend's Bad Sugar (which Davis starred in) and A Touch of Cloth, it's not just a series of jokes. There's mortar sticking the gags together, a reason to come back for more. I mean a story. Not Davis's story, perhaps, but a very good one.

A spoofy period comedy drama whose plot seems like a cross between Daphne du Maurier's Rebecca and Charlotte Brontë's Jane Eyre, Hunderby might have gone the way of so many previous period spoofs like it, and sunk. It did the opposite. Not every joke worked wonders, but it did manage to be funny in a creepy, faux-gothic sort of way. It's written by Nighty Night creator Julia Davis (who seems suddenly omnipresent on TV), and her performance as the quietly crazed housekeeper is by far the strongest.

This is a queer beast. Nighty Night creator Julia Davis scripts the tale of a woman who, in 1851, washes up at a glum coastal village. She marries a widower parson, incurring the wrath of his demonic housekeeper (Davis), who prefers the first, dead, wife.

There's heavy investment in an impeccable cast and setting, but I'm not sure what Hunderby is. Davis's reputation is for visiting icky places nobody else will brave; this is mainly innuendo and goofing, with gaps between gags as the linear story chugs on.

Doomed romance, bad luck and sexual confusion are hallmarks of the work of both Daphne Du Maurier and Julia Davis, so this sordid eight-part marriage of the two feels entirely natural. As a homage to Rebecca and the like, Hunderby is sublime: the turns of phrase are deft, the performances arch and loaded with menace, and the wider production superbly detailed. And, importantly, room is also made for a cock-n-balls gag. Davis herself is Mrs Danvers surrogate Dorothy, pining after her late mistress (whose 'broken mound was as smooth as ham') and plotting against her new one, Helene (doe-eyed Alexandra Roach), the shipwreck survivor courted by uptight pastor Edmund (Alex McQueen). Claustrophobic and grimly hilarious in the manner of Davis's best work, it's a triumphant opening double bill.

Julia Davis on Hunderby

Julia Davis, creator of some of the most delectably dark television ever to air in Britain, talks to has Chris Harvey about Hunderby, her first series in seven years.