The Outlaws review – Christopher Walken runs riot in brilliantly silly crime comedy

Stephen Merchant has said he got the idea for The Outlaws (BBC One) from his parents, who worked for community service in Bristol when he was growing up. Here, Merchant, along with co-writer Elgin James, takes seven characters from different backgrounds, sticks each of them in a red tabard, hands them a sweeping brush and watches as the inevitable culture clashes take place. “Everyone’s a type,” says Rani, the self-proclaimed “studious Asian good girl”, whose penchant for shoplifting earns her a hefty number of “community payback” hours.

It has the appeal of a prison drama, in that you learn how each of the main characters’ lives is going wrong. But as they are doing community service, you get to see their homes and families, too. Christopher Walken is the biggest star here, playing Frank, a grizzled ex-con recently released from prison on an ankle tag, and staying with his daughter (Dolly Wells). She refers to him, not with affection, as “a lying, thieving, selfish old bastard”, and while it can be jarring to see Walken go full Walken on a show set in Bristol, it does suit the occasionally cartoonish nature of the plot.

The Outlaws reminded me of E4’s Misfits, only without the superpowers, and with more focus on how people communicate, particularly online. That’s not part of the story exactly, it’s just that in presenting each character as a “type”, they can feel like Twitter conversations turned into personalities. That is especially true of “rightwing blowhard” John, a struggling businessman who sarcastically apologises for not being “a jihadi bride” and clashes with almost everyone in the group because he won’t stop banging on about the “right-on lefty liberal brigade”. Naturally, he has a counterpart in the form of “lefty militant” Myrna, who rolls her eyes at every slogan that leaves John’s mouth. These moments are The Outlaws at its most garish. Along with the plot taking a surprisingly gritty turn towards the end, bringing in far more guns and violence than you might expect from its initially ambling pace, it leaves a question mark over the direction in which it is going. Can it balance its books as a thriller and a comedy, two genres that rarely sit well together?

I think it can. Merchant plays up to our expectations, only to ever so gently tug at the carpet beneath them. I watched ahead, and after working to establish itself in this opening episode, it settles in quickly. Its early moments may feel like broad brushstrokes, but Merchant has a knack for humanising his characters, no matter how crass they seem on the surface, and he hints at a deeper pain and embarrassment that gives this more heart and warmth than first appears. Christian, the “bad boy” of the group, is trying to protect his sister from the manipulative gang on their estate. Eleanor Tomlinson amps up the silliness as Lady Gabby, an influencer trailed by paparazzi who sees community service as an opportunity for content, but her obnoxiousness masks her emotional turmoil. Merchant plays Greg, a solicitor whose wife has recently left him, who blunders awkwardly in and out of conversations and embodies the exaggerated befuddlement that most of Merchant’s comedy thrives on.

Each offender has their story told in flashback, so we find out how they ended up under the supervision of the brilliant Diane (Jessica Gunning), who should be doing community service herself for stealing every scene she appears in. Diane is there to ensure the group “repays [their] debt to society”. She is a caricature of a bureaucrat who loves rules and authority, but as much as that is played for laughs, she is also cleverly drawn and even tender at times. She loves her job, and is rejected by her colleagues for trying to do it well. “When I was your age, I was unpopular too,” she tells Rani, in an attempt to pass on some advice. “Yeah, that is a shock,” deadpans Rani.



Those who saw Merchant’s directorial debut film, Fighting With My Family, a warm and affectionate movie about a young British wrestler trying to make it in the US, will find a familiar tone here. It is wry and silly, has a knowing fondness for a dad-joke style gag, and it throws its characters into wild waters that are in stark contrast to their mostly humdrum daily lives. It gives each of the criminals a reason to run, and a reason to stay, and crucially, it made me care which route they chose. It may be built on types, but in the end, those types are proving to be a solid foundation.