The Cutprice Guignol

Well, I was planning to have a little break between seasons of Inside No. 9, having just finished the first last week, but I had an Inside No. 9-related dream last night, and I’ve chosen to take it as an omen. Have I been watching too much of Inside No. 9? Is the twist ending to this series of recaps that I, your humble reviewer, will turn into an Inside No. 9 episode? Are the real twist endings the friends we made along the way? All this and less in today’s review!

Which brings me – rather succinctly, I might add – on to the topic of this week’s recap, La Couchette (which is, coincidentally, what I call my – no, I can’t get that brazen in the first brackets of the article!). Following a group of people sharing a sleeper train cabin, it’s a bottle episode that really kicks off when the dead body of one of the other passengers tumbles out of his bunk.

Now, I have to be honest with you: I think this might be one of the most difficult episodes of the show for me to watch. Not because of anything that terrifies me down to my bones, or unsettles me on an existential level, no – this episode is just so, unfathomably fucking gross to me, it’s hard to sit through. I love what director Guillem Morales brings to the tiny quarters of the cabin itself – those tight shots, the compacted atmosphere, the endless, endless awkward shuffling. And it’s this sense of cloying smallness that renders this such a gross one for me – the visceral nose-combo of bratwurst diarrhoea, stale beer, and cheap condom lube brings me to the point of gagging.

But, beyond my thrashing disgust, this is a really great episode in other ways, too. To pull of a story like this, told in such close quarters and so reliant on every actor bringing their character to life in every shot, you have to gather an excellent cast, and they did. Julie Hesmondhalgh and Mark Benton (forever Clive from the first episode of the Doctor Who reboot to me) are so well-rounded as the middle-aged couple off to their daughter’s French wedding (even though the local pub does put on a good spread), and it’s such a treat to see the amazing Jessica Gunning have some fun as a backpacker. It helps, of course, that she’s sharing the screen with Jack Whitehall, playing that one character Jack Whitehall does but does so well I don’t even mind that much. Reece Shearsmith is at his best here, that hypercompetent rancor of a man trying to Get Some Fucking Sleep.

The story is fun and plays out well, that little twist at the end a reveal that Reece Shearsmith is the killer – but what really stood out to me about this episode was how similar it was to season one’s opener Sardines. The small space, the large cast, the killer hiding out amongst them all along – for me, this is the lighter, wittier, slightly sillier version of that episode, but one that’s no less effective as a result. It’s a great start to the second season, that feels both like a throwback and a promise for the season ahead (which has some of my all-time favourites in it, that I can’t wait to get to). Where does this episode rank for you? Does it make you physically ill like me? Let me know in the comments!

If you liked this article and want to see more stuff like it, please check out the rest of my Inside No. 9 reviews. I’d also love it if you would check out my horrible short story collection, and, if you’d like to support my work, please consider supporting me on Patreon!

(header image via IMDB)