Recently, Vulture, a website focused on American pop culture, sparked controversy among Irish Twitter users. They published a rather awkward post poking fun at Barry Keoghan for his Steampunk Willy Wonka-inspired ensemble at the Met Gala. While Keoghan’s attire did invite a bit of gentle teasing, Vulture’s mockery crossed a line by imagining Keoghan talking in an accent that resembled the tagline of iconic cereal Lucky Charms. Many people interpreted this as akin to unreleased lyrics from Dexy’s Midnight Runners “Come On Eileen”.
Many Irish citizens simply shrugged it off. However, for those who didn’t, comparable discomfort can be discovered in Netflix’s cringe-inducing mix of crime and comedy, Bodkin. The series is set in west Cork and will be streamed on Thursday. It falls unfortunately into the worn-out category of Irish rural humour, including free-flowing alcohol, stern-faced nuns, and exaggerated accents reminiscent of unused material from Martin McDonagh scripts.
Surprisingly, Bodkin holds the seal of the former First Couple, Barack and Michelle Obama, who produced it as part of their staggering $65 million contract with Netflix. Designed to reflect the Obamas’ noted social awareness and thoughtfulness, it aims to question our infatuation with true crime podcasts, and poke fun at Americans’ romanticised vision of Ireland. However, while attempting to expose the Irish-American stereotype, it falls short by perpetuating stereotypes of its own, rendering it less smart than it intends to be.
In the series, we see Siobhán Cullen portraying Dove, a Guardian reporter who was born in Dublin. She holds a rather outdated and superior view of Ireland and gets persuaded to return with annoying Irish-American Gilbert Power (played by Will Forte). He’s recording a podcast about folk horror murder rituals in west Cork. Predictably, Dove holds a grudge against Gilbert’s romantic view of Ireland, considering her disdain for her native land. Yet, as the story unfolds, viewers learn that the locals are merely feigning ignorance to amuse the unsuspecting American, which only causes the series to sink further into clichéd Irish humour.
The show Bodkin fails to paint a true picture of West Cork, a region known for its fluctuating vibes, feeling at once cosmopolitan and isolated, depending on particular factors such as time, companionship, and light quality. Instead, the Netflix show feels more like a retelling of Father Ted, minus the humour and self-cognisance.
The creator of Bodkin, London native, Jez Scharf, spent some of his teenage years in West Cork, but his limited understanding of the area proves quite problematic. He bases his script around commonplace stereotypes of rowdy, unreliable, and quirky locals who replace “my” with “me”, and effortlessly drop profanities.
It’s hard not to empathise with the Irish cast, who are put in a position where they’re downgraded into characters that are far from reality. For instance, Pat Shortt’s portrayal resembles his comedy character from D’Unbelievables, but this time, it’s intended as purely dramatic.
Moreover, the show takes its name from a fictional village, “Bodkin”, making a subtle jab at supposedly amusing Irish place names. Yet, such names are more than humourous sounding monikers for foreigners; they’re direct English translations from the original Gaelic. This potent fact is the focus of Brian Friel’s “Translations”.
Somewhat tragically, this crucial lesson seems completely lost on the show Bodkin. The series comes across as irksome and seems oblivious to the fact it is merely propagating Irish stereotypes instead of challenging them. The best option might just be to disregard it and wait for its decline.
As an additional update, Doireann Garrihy has decided to part ways with the breakfast show on RTÉ 2FM after a five-year tenure.