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This January, Netflix released its original series “Cunk on Earth” in the U.S. Produced in association with the BBC, the show is another biscuit to add to the tea party of British humor. In other words, it is markedly dry and should be only consumed when you’re feeling rather posh. The mockumentary features the fictional Philomena Cunk, who takes the viewer on a journey across time from prehistoric cavemen to the world today. In her own words; “This is the incredible story of how humankind transformed our world from being loads of pointless nature … to full of modern things”. The series, however, is not Cunk’s documentary debut. Charlie Brooker, one of the men behind “Black Mirror,” created her in 2013, and comedian Diane Morgan has embodied her ever since.
Throughout the show, Cunk interviews various experts and academics regarding the theme of the episode. She astutely mimics the dress, mannerisms, and phrases of documentary narrators. Most remarkable of her imitations is her look of contemplation: a tilt of the head, a purse in her lips, and a mild furrow of the brow. Even her title, “Landmark Documentary Presenter,” fulfills the ostentatious yet ill-suited terminology surrounding nonfiction film. In this way, she comically deflates the pretentious and laudatory attitude that many historical documentaries assume.
Philomena, however, is unlike other narrators in that the character has no clue about what is going on. For instance, in episode three she asks if the “Renai-sauce” was “a sort of 16th century ketchup.” When Professor Martin Kemp of University of Oxford admits that he is “not necessarily a sauce person,” Cunk looks off camera and dejectedly says, “we’re going to have to rethink this whole interview.”
Cunk’s bluntness also extends to her historical commentary. The irony between human claims and human actions, such as America’s hailing of freedom while cruelly enslaving people, are numerous. Cunk describes these ironies as if she were the first to discover them, mimicking the egoism that many serious documentaries hold. As many of our readers will already be aware, Cunk dryly comments that World War I was in fact not “the war to end all wars.” In cases like this, the Netflix mockumentary can sometimes drag over trodden, unoriginal paths.
However, that is the nature of most documentaries themselves. Written by Westerners for Westerners, much of nonfiction entertainment fails to address the other half of the globe. Cunk, while following this trend, is also aware of her limitations. While praising the Gutenberg press, she notes how it is the first of its kind when you ignore China’s independent invention of the printing press centuries earlier.
The true delight in “Cunk on Earth,” though, is not the absurdity or the irony, but the relationship between Cunk and those she interviews. Because she is often mistaken in her historical interpretations, she surprises intelligent, educated people by forcing them to confront the ignorance of the real world. Rather than glorifying the past (and the garden-variety historian’s knowledge of it), she centers on the real, mundane, and often uneducated present. As a result, Cunk challenges experts and academics to engage in historical conversations that are accessible rather than heavy with turgid terminology.
Frequently Cunk turns the historical discussions towards her friend Paul, a running joke in the series. As these whimsical and disturbing tales of Paul make the interviewed academics speechless, the viewer is left to enjoy the awkward silence that follows. In episode 3, she tells Dr. Sara Taglialagamba of the Da Vinci Museum, “My mate Paul invented a treadmill for his fiance’s pet snake, and the sketches for that were much more convincing” than those of Da Vinci’s. Unfortunately for Paul, the treadmill did decapitate the snake. “Worst ending to a birthday party I’ve ever been to,” Cunk said.
Most of the historical experts respond to the tales of Paul with nods and looks of uneasy consternation. Paul, however, is not the greatest obstacle they face — it’s Cunk herself. Upon discussing the inventions of the Wright brothers, Cunk tells Professor Jim Al-Khalili her own theory behind the science of flight: “It’s just because we believe planes can fly that they do. So the media has to keep up the pretense or they’re just going to start dropping out of the sky. Same with Wi-Fi. There’s no way that’s real.”
Another time, Cunk informs Dr. Myrto Hatzimachili of the University of Cambridge that her favorite of Aristotle’s sayings is “You’ve got to dance like no one’s watching.” As Hatzimachili reveals that Cunk has misattributed the origins of the quote, we watch Cunk as she falls into internal disarray. She says, “My confidence is quite brittle at times, and I know I come across as quite confident, but sometimes when I’m talking to experts, I worry that, you know, I might come across as a bit stupid.”
“Cunk on Earth” is worth watching because not only because it evokes schadenfreude as the academics struggle to cope with Cunk, but also because it ridicules the bubble that encapsulates academic life. Most of the historians react amicably to Cunk’s surprising personality, but some also appear horribly confused.
The mockumentary has a number of other quirks sprinkled throughout, like repeating the same 44 seconds of a certain late ‘80s techno-dance song, making the show all the more enjoyably absurd. If you are feeling bored and British, the show is a quick 30-minute infusion of nonsense.
