I received an email last week that asked me a very simple yet deeply vexing question: "If you had to choose, which is your favourite Conchord?" A query pondered by many a great philosopher over the years and no doubt one for which you may have already readied your own response. For my part I replied in a thoroughly convincing and forthright fashion by saying: "Definitely Jemaine. No wait, Bret. No, no, I had it right the first time. Jemaine.
"Oh god, do I have to pick one? Don't make me pick one," which no doubt endeared me to my correspondent entirely and paved the way for future sparkling repartee.
I've actually been a little bit reluctant to write about the all-consuming wonderfulness of New Zealand's 4th most popular folk parody duo Flight of the Conchords (Sundays, 10.30pm on Ten) as I'm one of those small-minded idiots who jealously guards lovely things so nobody else may have a turn. Presumably it's an only child trait. Local garage rock favourites Eddy Current Suppression Ring were on the cover of EG a couple of weeks ago and I almost cried, which is petty in the extreme and not to be encouraged. Anyway, despite my best efforts to hide them in a cupboard and only let them out for pilates and toilet breaks it seems the rest of the world has cottoned on to the sweetly deft touches of Jemaine Clement and Bret McKenzie and I shall be forced to pass the dutchie to the left hand side. Do give them back once you're done and for god's sake, don't bogart Jemaine.
For those perhaps still in the dark about the general premise behind this enchanting little portion of odd, FOTC tells the tale of two gauche and socially awkward novelty musicians eking out a paltry living in New York City. Only it's so much more than that. It's utterly deadpan, suitably twisted and inclined to dip its toe into a plethora of incredibly strange musical parody that you'll be quoting for months. Last week's episode featured an ode to "making love for two . . . minutes" (it's called 'Business Time' and you must seek it out on YouTube immediately), and though this column purports to be the televisual week in review it would be remiss of me not to mention this coming Sunday's brilliant homage to Jemaine's David Bowie impersonation, which rather splendidly even covers the Duke's ill-advised period as the Goblin King in Labyrinth. Ladies, form an orderly queue.
There are the inevitable comparisons to British comedy duo The Mighty Boosh, though really the only thing they have in common is left-of-centre musical stylings and an offensively attractive exterior (for the record, I pick Julian. No wait, Noel. No hang on, etc). FOTC are gentler than the more intellectual Boosh; softer around the edges and pleasingly less cool. Instead of spiritual adviser Naboo, the Conchords are blessed with New Zealand cultural attache Murray - a ginger-haired prig of the highest order, possessed with a marvellous sense of timing. The one-liners are sleepy and dusty rather than aggressively acerbic and the pace is so laidback you're woven through the episodes as though in a dream. Bret even wears a variety of hideous op-shop windcheaters with rainbows and wolves on them. The whole experience is just lovely.
That's not to say that FOTC is to everyone's taste. I've encountered more than one person who claims to not quite "get" it, and even further afield come across waggish types apparently resistant to the physical charms of the two leads. I don't hate these rogues for having an opinion, though they're clearly wrong and not to be trusted. Conchords is a rare combination of edgy humour, experimentally comedic music and unutterable charm, and that it has made it on to commercial television at all is a step in the right direction. In a climate of grating talent quests and cloying reality razzle dazzle it's a relief to find that rare and precious breed: a light-hearted embrace of a show that's actually worth sitting down with.
So there you go. Flight of the Conchords is terribly grand and quite spectacularly special and I don't really want you to watch it lest the people involved get so supernova I'm no longer able to trail around behind them at future comedy festivals like a lost puppy. Why don't you watch Trinny and Susannah Undress or Crime Investigation Australia instead? They seem infinitely more your speed and leave those of us pondering the infinite puzzle of Jemaine v Bret free to talk among ourselves. Go on, push off.
- By Marieke Hardy for The Age.