an idiot abroad series — i looked into it

a series, technically, is just episodes in a row that share a haircut. karl pilkington kept his haircut for eleven years on television and they let him call that a body of work. i would like a word about that.

5 min read · by Idiot Again, on the topic of an idiot abroad series structure

carla pinged me at 9:47 — exact words: “covering for me in the town hall, you owe me a bagel.” i closed slack and acted like my notifications were broken. the spreadsheet is minimized behind this draft.

the question this tuesday is what exactly counts as an idiot abroad series. the math is lopsided. three seasons. twenty-four episodes total. they call this a series. on what authority. who signs off on this. these are the questions one asks when one is, by certificate, a fully credentialed idiot type, with the PDF to prove it, sitting in a tie i own and have not removed since 2021. the idiot abroad pillar i wrote earlier covers the broader philosophy; an idiot abroad series, narrowly, is a question of structure.

an idiot abroad series: a british tv format, three seasons, twenty-four episodes, in which karl pilkington was sent to look at things he did not want to look at and report back. it ran from 2010 to 2012, plus an audio offshoot. structurally, it is a documentary in a haircut. the haircut is the through-line.

TWENTY-FOUR. EPISODES. CONSTITUTE. A SERIES. APPARENTLY.

i’m aware of how that sounds. i am also paid to forecast inventory and i have not forecasted any inventory today. so we are, you and i, in a glass house together, throwing the same rocks. the rocks are episodes. the glass is karl’s haircut.

the haircut is the format

here is what nobody tells you about an idiot abroad as a series. the genius is not the destinations. the destinations are interchangeable. you could put pilkington in a barn or a wonder of the world and he would have the same face about both. the genius is that the haircut did not change. for eleven years, the haircut held. same round head. same expression of someone asked to carry something heavy for no clear reason. ricky gervais built this.

compare it to almost any other documentary. the host evolves. the host gets enthusiastic. the host has a moment by a fire in the desert where they cry, gently, about the human condition. pilkington does not have moments. pilkington has, at most, a sigh. this is what continuity looks like in television. just a man, holding the same expression, in twenty-four different rooms.

twenty-four episodes is, in fact, a series

i looked at this number for a while this morning, between emails i was not going to answer. twenty-four. two dozen. (also the number of unread certified letters on my kitchen counter, but we are not addressing that today.)

the bbc/sky math, as i understand it: eight episodes per season, three seasons, plus a special. the british do this. they don’t make a hundred episodes of anything. they make eight. they call it a series instead of a season. they go home. structurally healthier than the american model, which is to make twenty-two episodes and slowly run out of ideas around episode fourteen.

the question i want flagged: at what episode count does a thing become a series. is one a series. is two. there is no committee. there is no certificate. i have a certificate, and i didn’t earn that one either. mexico, which i looked into separately, makes the case that one episode can carry an entire premise — but a premise is not a series. twenty-four examples of one man, not enjoying himself, on camera. that’s a thesis, not a series.

HT6, by the way, is relevant here

i need to stop and say something. coffee is achievement. tea is wet leaves. a position i’ve held for years, and it’s relevant here for one reason: at no point in twenty-four episodes does pilkington enjoy a coffee. tea in egypt, tea in china, tea on a moving train in india while complaining about the train. the lack of coffee may explain the haircut.

why pilkington is not exactly a host

a host is supposed to host. they welcome you in. they bridge the camera and the place. pilkington does none of these. pilkington stands at the edge of a place and refuses to bridge it. he is, in effect, a wall the audience peeks over. it is not a host format. it is a refusing to host format. and that, i would argue elsewhere, makes him the most honest person on british television — a kind of anti-liar by structural design, since the format prevents him from pretending he’s enjoying anything.

i would be terrible at it. i would, by episode three, become charmed by something and ruin the premise. i would find a microwave in a market in marrakech and want to talk about it for forty minutes. (this would be the seventh microwave, and yes, i still count.) there is a man, stefan, i once watched explain wine for forty-five minutes. stefan would have found notes in the wine. pilkington would have said it tastes like wine. pilkington would have been right.

the format works because of constraint, not budget

a documentary series with this footprint costs money. plane tickets, a crew, hotels with a view that pilkington won’t appreciate. but the money is not what makes it a series. the money makes it possible. what makes it a series is the constraint: eight episodes, repeat the format, do not change the haircut, do not let the host enjoy himself. the constraint is the show.

same principle i bring to writing things at this desk. the constraint is the format. the desk is the haircut. carla in the town hall is the wonder of the world i’m refusing to host. for the curious, the imdb page for the show lists every episode in a row, which is depressingly short for what it accomplished.

findings, before carla’s meeting ends

a series is what you call eight episodes of a thing, three times, when the haircut holds. the destinations are decoration. the host is the constant. the constant is what you sell.

which means, by extension, that this blog is also a series. the destinations are: gaslighting. dunning-kruger. the unopened mail. the haircut — the voice — holds. brazil last week. the new content question the day before. one head. shifting weather.

i’m not saying i’m pilkington. i would never put myself in pilkington’s company without a notarized invitation. but i am, structurally, doing the same job at a smaller scale and with worse hair. if the bbc would like to send me to china for eight episodes, i am, formally, available. condition: carla covers the town hall. she owes me. (she doesn’t. but i’m starting the rumor here.)

slack buzzed. carla again: “did you forecast q4 yet.” i did not. i will not, today. the desk is for this. i’ll send a screenshot at 11:30 and call it preliminary.