No screaming is allowed in the spooky spin-off, but the stars are only in danger of cracking up over these golden comedy moments. Even Jack Dee looks delighted to be there!

British comedy is a broad church united by a simple adage: less is more. The most acclaimed and beloved shows – Fawlty Towers, The Young Ones, Brass Eye, The Office – tend to be exceptionally short-running. Compared to the Americans, our series are brief anyway, but we also seem anxious to bow out well before a premise is squeezed dry. We don’t milk it, we don’t money-grub. In a weird way, comedy is viewed as a precious finite resource liable to become exhausted at any moment.

Which is why I feel slightly sceptical about this Halloween special of Prime Video’s Last One Laughing, the reality gameshow that involves a group of comedians competing to see who can remain straight-faced for the longest. The enormous success of the first two series – incredible ratings, healthy media coverage, a pair of Baftas – was well deserved: the show produced some of the most hysterical TV comedy in recent memory. You can understand why the streamer would be keen to capitalise on the interest of the circa 6 million-strong fanbase with this four-part miniseries, which whittles down the usual 10 contestants to seven. But might this snacky stopgap dilute the precious joy of the yearly series proper?

They spoofed mothers … and now they are mothers. The comedians talk about moving with the times for the return of their scalpel-sharp BBC sketch show

Before Ellie White and Natasia Demetriou were mothers, they were mums. In a skit from their 2019 sketch show pilot, the comedy duo play two straight-talking, hygiene-obsessed matriarchs in gilets and camel-toe-accentuating leggings who record lifestyle vlogs from a pristine kitchen while melodramatically referencing the pressures of motherhood. Ever since, the characters have become a core component of the pair’s comic universe, appearing repeatedly in the first proper series of Ellie & Natasia in 2022.

Now the mums are back and moving with the times: reviewing various supermarket white breads – all reassuringly “sterile” options – as car-based food influencers for the show’s second outing. But behind the scenes there has been a bigger shift. The last time they wrote these sketches, White and Demetriou were childless; now they each have two kids.

Paul Bettany stars in a WandaVision spinoff that’s a visually striking, genre-bending package – of fighting and tediously wordy dialogue. What an odd confection

Martin Scorsese compared them to theme parks. Nicolas Cage likened them to WWE. The products of the Marvel Cinematic Universe – 38 films, 18 television shows and counting – are not generally well regarded as works of art. This is understandable: they are derivative, corporate and also somewhat mechanical – not just in their CGI-heavy production or phased rollouts, but in their preoccupations, with robotics, technological combat, complex webs of association. This is not the cinema, per Scorsese, “of human beings trying to convey emotional, psychological experiences to another human being.”

The MCU doesn’t just gravitate towards cliche in this area, it barely features actual humans at all. And yet – like a superhero searching for a special stone – you get the sense that Marvel will not rest until such profundity is within its grasp. Unlike rollercoasters or wrestling, the MCU can be quite intellectually demanding: why shouldn’t it be capable of illuminating truths about the human condition as well?

After season two’s mortifying ending, the charming hit comedy is back for the last time … with sex parties, extreme cringe and a final answer to the central will-they-won’t-they

There are cliffhangers, and then there’s whatever happened at the end of Colin from Accounts’ second season. We had, by that point, witnessed protagonists Ashley and Gordon’s unconventional love story evolve from bizarre meet-cute – key stages: boob-flashing, car accident, injured dog – to soulmate-level relationship. But what starts with an exposed nipple can abruptly go tits up. On a heaving dancefloor at Ash’s best friend’s wedding, Gordon – drunk and buoyed up by the DJ dropping Slice of Heaven by Dave Dobbyn (the Oceanian equivalent of Come on Eileen, judging by the euphoric reaction) – decides to ask his girlfriend to marry him. Ash, humiliated by the circumstances, doesn’t respond. Everyone else films it and laughs. Gordon insists the whole thing was a joke and awkwardly boogies on. Then the credits roll.

If you had somehow managed to wipe this eye-watering faux pas from your mind’s eye, fear not: the Aussie rom-sitcom returns for its third and final series by replaying the agonising proposal in full. It gets worse. We discover the pair split soon after and haven’t seen each other for three years. In fact, they’ve both since found other (extremely attractive) partners: the kind but dim David and the hyper-capable and efficient Chelsea. As Ash later observes, they’ve “upgraded” – but you know their respective hearts don’t really belong to their nice new beaux.

For decades my life was soundtracked by comedy duos, mostly male, discussing their friendships. When I gave them up, I felt as if I was having a mental reboot

I have always loved podcasts. The genre of audio I have come to think of as Two Men Talking (In Excessive Detail About Their Lives) has been one of my favourite forms of entertainment for decades. It started with a semi-religious devotion to a Sunday morning XFM show hosted by Jimmy Carr and the comedy writer Iain Morris, but as the years progressed and podcasting boomed, I was soon spoilt for choice. Eventually there were enough comedy duos candidly discussing their hopes, fears and awkward social interactions to fill every moment of my day.

I was initially drawn to these podcasts because they made me laugh, but from the start I also found them hugely comforting: there was a period in my teenage years when I couldn’t fall asleep without mainlining episodes of Adam and Joe’s BBC 6 Music show, waking up each morning relieved I hadn’t been strangled by my iPod earphones in the night.

Suranne Jones and Rose Leslie are back trying to stop a third world war in the Arctic. There’s plenty of action – but it’s hard to root for heroes whose biggest personality traits are ‘being nice’ and ‘wears good glasses’

Like many a police procedural, Vigil always begins with a cold open. This time round, however, it’s absolutely freezing. We are, as per, thrown headlong into a niche and tangentially Scottish military world where a murder has occurred. The first series took place on board a nuclear submarine (the show is, confusingly, still named after the vessel), while the second split the action between an army airfield in Scotland and the fictional Middle Eastern nation of Wudyan.

For its third outing, we find ourselves in the (real) Arctic region of Svalbard. The area is supposedly demilitarised, but four British special forces agents are working undercover at a research centre, and tonight their mission is to extract a Chinese scientist who has made a discovery that could either save or destroy the world. En route, they’re ambushed by Russians who want whatever world-saving-or-destroying stuff she’s got. The scientist escapes – but one of the Brits later turns up dead in a Russian enclave.

The Mexican-American comedian had just split from her boyfriend when she filmed Break Clause, about an ex-couple living together in London. She talks trading telenovelas for Edinburgh and embracing your feelings

• The 50 best TV shows of autumn 2026

In Break Clause, recent graduates Lil and Ben move from Leeds to London after the former lands a job at an architecture firm. Yet as soon as the couple start settling into their new flat, everything goes horribly wrong. Ben (Samuel Bottomley) reveals he slept with someone else at their leaving drinks the night before, so Lil (Lara Ricote) immediately ends the relationship – but quickly discovers their rental contract is far harder to get out of. Cue an agonising six months of cohabitation and a novel will-they-won’t-they (get back together) setup for a winningly bittersweet new sitcom.

You may recognise Ricote from recent appearances in two other Channel 4 comedies: Mitchell and Webb Are Not Helping and Sam Campbell’s crackers Make That Movie (although probably not from the “funny and crazy” telenovela she briefly worked on as a teen). But Break Clause is the Mexican-American comedian’s first leading role. It also happened to be the “best case scenario” for Ricote’s debut: let’s just say getting into character wasn’t a problem.

They were once the hottest shows on television – gripping, sexy, hilarious, zeitgeisty. But for our writers, the likes of America’s Next Top Model, House of Cards and The Office are now part of their viewing history they feel tainted by

When I think of the summer holidays when I was a teenager, I think of watching America’s Next Top Model for hours on end, critiquing each contestant with my sister. The makeover episode was always my favourite: girls sobbing as their hair was cropped short, or even shaved off. At the time, Tyra Banks seemed like a big sister, giving the contestants the tough love they’d need to succeed in a ferociously competitive industry. Now I feel differently. I hadn’t watched America’s Next Top Model since I was young, but like many, I recently watched Netflix’s excellent series, Reality Check: Inside America’s Next Top Model. It was the strangest sensation, rewatching episodes I hadn’t seen in more than two decades. At times I felt almost teleported back. How could I not find these scenes of models collapsing with hunger utterly abhorrent? I wondered what influence watching a show that celebrated eating disorders had on my own brain. I think it had an impact. I think the residual taint of it is still there. I can’t watch America’s Next Top Model any more, nor do I want to. Ironically, it’s all too ugly. Sirin Kale

With TV shows Rooster and Vladimir under their belts, the sketch stars and best friends since school have withstood tumours, nerdy perfectionism and US success. So why are they so eager to get back to the fringe?

• Explore the rest of our Edinburgh festival 2026 coverage

There has always been a lot of overlap in the lives of Charly Clive and Ellen Robertson. After bonding on a school trip 20 years ago, the pair have spent the past decade performing sketch comedy together and were flatmates for almost as long.

Recently, though, the similarities have bordered on the spooky. In December 2024, Clive was told she had been cast as Steve Carell’s professor daughter in the HBO campus comedy Rooster. Soon after, Robertson found out she was also getting a new superstar parent: she’d be playing Rachel Weisz’s lawyer daughter in Netflix’s Vladimir, another smart, funny show set at a US university. Both series debuted in March to enthusiastic reviews and viewing figures in the millions.

It looked like it was gone forever, but Jason Sudeikis’s hugely popular show returns with a premise that’s all twee nonsensicality. If you love messages of positivity and togetherness, you’ll be thrilled

Having transported a flailing AFC Richmond to the upper echelons of the Premier League with his wholesome, folksy and highly simile-reliant management style, the finale of Ted Lasso’s third season saw our titular coach return to the US to spend more time with his son in Kansas. At the time (2023), the general impression was that we were waving goodbye for good. But could this intensely American protagonist really do the most British thing of all and bow out at the height of his sitcom’s popularity? Nope. Last year it was announced that its star and co-creator Jason Sudeikis had caved to market forces and was reprising his colossally popular alter ego.

It was the logical thing to do: the 11-time Emmy-winning show was the most-watched streaming original of 2023. Not that logic features heavily in this fourth season. Before we discover how Ted has been lured back to south-west London, we find out what he’s been up to in the interim. Did he parlay his success into US soccer? Return triumphantly to college football? Sit back with his millions and rest on his laurels? Nope, nope and nope again. Instead, he’s working in his local supermarket, warmly greeting his customers by name, providing moral guidance to younger colleagues and generally radiating his trademark howdily-doodily energy. Why? Because he’s a good man without ego who loves to connect and make a positive difference in his community! This is Ted Lasso we’re talking about!

Ted Lasso is on Apple TV

Gold dances, the Good Friday agreement and standup superstardom … get ready to blub because here are the most heartwarming denouements in TV history

Warning: this article contains spoilers

Ferrell’s brash ladies man and loser golfer could have been hilarious. But comedy has sped up over the last two decades, and all the genital gags and dodgy references fall flat

In the 2000s, American comedy had a rude awakening. While the preceding decade had been all attractive sophisticates bantering in big cities, the new millennium arrived in a miasma of crude, cartoonish buffoonery: Austin Powers, American Pie, Dude, Where’s My Car? These were, sadly, the sacred texts of a millennial adolescence.

In comparison, the work of the Frat Pack – a group of comic actors that included Ben Stiller, Will Ferrell, Steve Carell, Seth Rogen and Luke and Owen Wilson, plus writer-director Judd Apatow – seemed almost highbrow. By the middle of the decade, this cohort had funnelled ribald irreverence into much better films, including Zoolander, Dodgeball and Anchorman. Eventually, though, the worm turned; as chin-stroking dramedy and nerdy Marvel wisecracking took hold of the zeitgeist, this PC-needling silliness fell out of fashion.

She’s been a soap icon, a Royle and even a zombie pensioner. Now the actor is starring in Ann Droid, Diane Morgan’s madcap comedy about an elderly woman and her cybernetic companion

Sue Johnston is the kind of actor who usually can’t stand seeing herself on screen, but for Ann Droid she made an exception. The new sitcom by Diane Morgan and Sarah Kendall stars the 82-year-old as a recent widow whose son hires a humanoid robot called Linda (played with delightful uncanniness by Morgan herself) to assist her after he moves out. The results are initially farcical: Linda is a dated – and therefore relatively cheap – model who lacks the intelligence of newer variants and attempts to cheer people up by blasting Cotton Eye Joe at them. Yet the pair soon become inseparable. Johnston describes the show as “rich with humour and love”. When she watched it back, she found it so absorbing that “I forgot it was me – I very rarely do that and I just enjoyed it.”

Ann Droid is worth raving about on its own terms – it’s rambunctiously funny and exceptionally poignant – but it is clear Johnston’s enthusiasm stems from somewhere else too. “I’m proud of Diane and I just want it to work for her,” she says with feeling. The pair met on the set of the Sky sitcom Rovers before Morgan made it big with Philomena Cunk and Motherland and kept in touch. “Which you don’t with everyone. We’re both silly about our dogs; we just made a connection.” She was thrilled to reunite. “There’s a lot about Diane that reminds me of Caroline Aherne. They’ve got that northern, straight-face, cut-through humour. And they’re geniuses.”

It’s won all the awards and now it’s going out in a blaze of comedy. Everything that could possibly go wrong for the restaurant does … but who cares when the fusion of tragedy and laughter is this good?

It may not be a gastronomic reference many midwestern gourmands would appreciate, but the last episode of the last season of The Bear was Marmite TV. Set in the back yard of the titular Chicago restaurant – transformed over the course of the show from a sandwich shop to a fine dining establishment by its talented and troubled head chef Carmy Berzatto (Jeremy Allen White) – the season four finale consisted of the cast shouting over each other about their respective grudges, oscillating between rage and misty-eyed sentimentality. A naturalistic exchange of complex emotional truths? A rare opportunity to flesh out TV characters’ psyches away from the demands of an actual narrative? Maybe. Or a plotless, unpleasantly cacophonous half-hour designed to entertain no one besides those unhealthily invested in the inner lives of Carmy, his protege Syd (Ayo Edebiri) and their ragtag bunch of fictional colleagues? Yeah, I didn’t love it.

Whatever your perspective, it’s hard to deny that The Bear is one of the shows that best encapsulates what was so great and not-so-great about peak streamer-era TV. The brainchild of writer-director Christopher Storer, the series always prioritised thematic richness and indie movie melancholy over focus-grouped crowd-pleasing or hoary screenwriting convention. As a result, it walked the line between uncompromising integrity and tedious self-indulgence – something only possible during a period, now passed, when platforms considered pouring money into auteurish shows a price worth paying for cultural clout.

(Ibeyi)
Newly independent and proudly self-sufficient, Naomi and Lisa-Kaindé Diaz mix ancient lore with heavy bass, and harmonies with distortion, to incantatory effect

Having ceded creative control to numerous collaborators on 2022’s Spell 31 (veteran pop songwriter Eg White; rappers Pa Salieu and Berwyn), Naomi and Lisa-Kaindé Diaz return to first principles for their fourth album. Written mainly by the sisters themselves, Offering recentres Ibeyi in their own sonic universe: fusing the influences of their Cuban percussionist father and Parisian upbringing, the twins sing in multiple languages, summoning ancient lore over intricate beats, transcendent harmonies and brooding distortion.

Self-sufficiency crops up as a lyrical theme, too: “One thing is for sure, I’m who I was looking for,” goes the refrain of Baba, which matches incantatory vocals with an irresistibly grimy bassline. (Perhaps the fact this is being released on their own label rather than XL, the taste-making British indie they were previously signed to, is also relevant here.)

Our favourite music, clothes and books used to be markers of individuality – but the algorithm has made us all sheep. Meet the style rebels fighting back

What are you into? What floats your boat? What music, films, clothes, art, books – anything, really – do you actually like? Do you find these questions more difficult to answer than you would have done 10 years ago? How about 20? You do? You’re not alone.

It has become impossible to ignore: personal taste has been seriously debased – if not completely destroyed – by technological advancement. We know the internet has radically altered the way we form our opinions and beliefs. Now we’re waking up to another sobering truth: it has wrecked our capacity to form our own preferences.

Yes, it’s a documentary on a sobering topic. But when you’ve got an endless stream of blockbuster names spouting irresistible gossip – plus Nigel Farage being a total panto dame – you can’t help but have a ball

Let’s get one thing straight immediately: no documentary about Brexit should be this much of a hoot. The dread many felt when the referendum result came in – a fear that reactionary populism was on the rise and Britain was entering an era of managed decline – has only bloomed like mould in the intervening decade. Brexit was the source of much inadvertent comedy, of course, but to see it treated so irreverently en masse does leave a bit of a bad taste. Laughing at a YouTube compilation of politicians accidentally saying breakfast instead of Brexit? Fine. Chortling along with Nigel Farage as he reminisces about tensions between Dominic Cummings and Arron Banks? Tittering as Boris Johnson blathers about losing a tennis match to David Cameron during which the prime minister tried to secure his support for remain? No thanks.

Still, there is something extremely difficult to resist about Brexit: A Very British Civil War, a talking head-heavy chronicle of the period between the 2015 general election and the referendum itself. Rather than get bogged down in po-faced sincerity or hand-wringing about integrity (like the remain campaign!), it deals almost exclusively in attention-grabbing bombast (like the leave campaigns!). From the off we’re blasted with Brexit-flavoured juice. Vote Leave bosses “didn’t really want to win”, says Farage. Johnson’s position had “nothing to do with the EU,” says George Osborne. “It was Game of Thrones.” Johnson denies this, stifling a smile. “Everybody says I did this in order to be PM. I would have become prime minister anyway.”

Former US soccer player Merritt Mathias looks at times when the beautiful game has been a political football. Plus, a deep dive into who is funding Reform UK

Former US soccer player Merritt Mathias (pictured above) and journalists Musa Okwonga and Julio Ricardo Varela are a fascinating team of “football/soccer time-travellers”. They trace the history of how global power has tried to influence the game and make it political. After setting the scene with musings on this year’s World Cup, they first look at the 1934 tournament in Mussolini’s Italy, which Uruguay boycotted. Hollie Richardson
YouTube and Spotify, episodes weekly

The judgey pair swap views on everything from pop culture to fashion choices and workplace strife. Plus, what toxic masculinity looks like around the world

The freshly announced Strictly Come Dancing hosts have been generating huge online chatter, but this podcast will ensure that (half of) the judging panel isn’t totally overshadowed. Judgemental sees Anton Du Beke and Craig Revel Horwood prove they have strong opinions on more than just an ex-soap star’s pasodoble by trading verdicts on everything from pop culture to sartorial dilemmas to listeners’ workplace dramas. Rachel Aroesti
Widely available, episodes weekly from Tuesday 9 June

The former Mash Report star’s latest show takes aim at his manosphere-courting, Saudi comedy festival-attending peers. Could he be the angry progressive standup we need right now?

Nish Kumar – mop of curly hair, Jimi Hendrix T-shirt, fancy coffee shop cookie in hand – is sitting centimetres away from me in a meeting room in his publicist’s offices in Soho, central London. Nevertheless, another comedian is drawing the eye. On the wall is a massive poster promoting Prime Video’s Last One Laughing UK – and looming over us from the centre of the frame is the show’s host, Jimmy Carr.

This feels, let’s just say, a tad ironic. In Kumar’s last standup show, he recalled the time he furiously confronted Carr about his decision to appear on manosphere influencer Jordan Peterson’s podcast. (“This is a radicalisation event that’s happening on an unprecedented scale,” he told Carr.) Then there’s the blurb for his upcoming tour, Angry Humour from a Really Nice Guy, in which Kumar expresses concern that comedy has been “co-opted by charlatans in service of autocrats” – partly a reference to last autumn’s Riyadh comedy festival, where Carr performed.