Cunk and the fine art of stupidity

If one were to ask 50 people at random in India if they knew who Diane Morgan is, one will almost certainly draw a blank. I myself had no clue about this anonymous Diane till I began to research her. And why was I researching this virtually unknown lady, who is clearly something of a mini-celebrity in the UK? This is where things begin to get interesting. Which leads me to another question I will pose to those self-same 50 respondents who failed to enlighten me on Diane. Do they have any knowledge of who Philomena Cunk is? This time I detect faint signs of recognition on some of the faces. Reason being this person, Cunk, pops up on YouTube frequently, and asks all sorts of people incredibly daft questions with a straight face, and her respondents, all very distinguished personages, play along and keep answering these silly questions with a poker face, holding their sides and trying all the while not to burst into uncontrollable fits of laughter.

The point of this entire TV series appears to be to convey silliness and stupidity without actually being aware of it. As an entertainment idea, it has a Mr. Bean-like lunacy without the universal appeal of the former for obvious reasons given the ‘grave and serious’ subjects Ms. Cunk deals with. By now, even the dim-witted would have figured out that Diane Morgan and Philomena Cunk are one and the same person – the latter the screen name of the former. It took some doing to actually come up with a name like Cunk, but it fits. Snug as a bug in a rug.

Our protagonist Philomena Cunk conducts these brief Q & A sessions with such moronic aplomb that this new brand of comedy has won her a massive fan base and she could well be on her way to bagging several Emmys, if she has not already done so. Having watched many of her shows myself like Cunk on Earth, Cunk on Britain and Cunk on Everything, I would strongly recommend you check her out for yourself. I appreciate one can never account for tastes, but if you do not fall about with helpless mirth on viewing her film snippets, then you should qualify eminently to be interviewed by one of the dumbest interviewers you could hope to come across in a month of Sundays. By saying that, I am flattering her.

Here is Morgan describing her own Cunk character, ‘A lot of people fantasize about being able to say whatever they want and not care. She genuinely does not give a toss, and that’s almost like a superpower.’ Her scriptwriters had a challenging task in conveying vapid stupidity through their anti-hero without coming across as stupid nerds themselves. Cunk’s dry, wide-eyed, almost naïve performance steals the show and gives stupidity a good name. The fictional Cunk is confident, impertinent and almost always wrong. Then again, she is irresistible.

To give the reader a few examples from a typical Cunk exchange, here she is interviewing a nuclear scientist in the firm belief that nuclear bombs do not actually exist. On inquiring if nuclear bombs are completely harmless and merely fired blanks, the interviewee, a nuclear expert disabuses her and ‘assures’ her that nuclear weapons with real bombs do indeed exist and that Britain is also a nuclear power. Cunk breaks down at this horrid ‘discovery.’ When she recovers, she urges, through her sniffling, the nuclear expert to change the subject and asks him if he likes Abba and is thrilled to learn his favourite song is Dancing Queen. How is that for a sanity-restoring non-sequitur?

In another sequence Cunk, in all seriousness, asks a distinguished musicologist, if in his later years Beethoven ‘was profoundly dead.’ To which the startled interviewee responds, ‘Deaf, D-E-A-F, not dead.’ Cunk does not give up. ‘No, no I have the producer’s notes with me right here. It clearly says in his last years Beethoven was profoundly dead. So, you are telling me he was deaf, not dead, when he composed all those symphonies he did compose. Interesting.’ Collapse of stout party, as Punch magazine might have put it, had it not been dead. 

There are many more such mindlessly amusing snippets, but I will just leave you with a very irreverent, almost blasphemous one. Cunk, with a perfectly straight face, asks a historian why is it that all paintings of Jesus Christ portray him either as a baby or shows him being crucified. ‘Are there any paintings of Christ being crucified as a baby?’ The historian is left dumbfounded as she stammers a ‘No, I don’t think so.’ At which point Cunk delivers the punch line, ‘Well, they missed an opportunity there. Could have played the sympathy card.’ Black humour? Perhaps, but go and check her out for yourself on YouTube.

I then fell to thinking about how it would be if we could invite Philomena Cunk to India to do a series of television shows going face to face, or head-to-head, with India’s common man and woman from all walks of life, chosen at random. The BBC could take on the responsibility for producing the programme. The comic possibilities could be endless, although many of India’s powers-that-be would be laughing out of the other side of their mouths at Cunk’s unique line of questioning and her dunderheaded response. This is the way I see things going for Philomena in Bharat, that is India.

As she embarks on her British Airways flight from London to New Delhi, she approaches a fellow lady passenger, apparently an Indian by the looks of her.

‘Madam, if I might trouble you, which part of India do you come from?’

‘I am from Bristol,’ says the slightly startled passenger.

Cunk does not give up. ‘That’s as may be, but where in India do your parents live?’

‘My parents live in Bristol. As do my grandparents, who migrated there from Kenya several decades ago. We are third generation British. Not unlike Rishi Sunak.’

‘But his wife is Indian, from Bangalore and not Bristol. So, you have nothing to do with India? Then why are you going there?’

‘The Taj Mahal?’ She is clearly irritated.

‘There’s no call to be rude, Madam. I am just doing my job. Just a simple answer would have sufficed.’

‘I am sorry. Actually, I work for the UK Trade Commission, meeting my Indian counterparts in Delhi. Now, if you will excuse me, I am looking for some overhead luggage space.’

As the flight lands in New Delhi, she confronts the overworked immigration official ready to stamp her passport.

‘Excuse me officer, but I couldn’t help noticing that you belong to the Sikh community. Why do so many of your brethren live in the UK and Canada? Why not in India, where there’s so much more space? By the way, love the turban. National colours and everything.’

The immigration chap is not best pleased. ‘Listen lady, I have had a very hard day. I do not have time for small talk. If you want to talk to Sikhs, you will find many in New Delhi or you can even visit my hometown, Patiala. Welcome to India. Next!’

‘Patiala? Like the peg? Oh, and one last thing. Where does Bharat come in?’ She does not wait for an answer.

Cunk, with her camera crew, then hops into a spacious SUV ferrying them to their hotel. Never one to miss a trick, she decides to chat up the chauffeur.

‘Good morning. The card on top of the dashboard says your name is, and I am spelling it out, S-E-N-T-H-I-L-N-A-G-E-S-H-W-A-R-A-N. God almighty, how do you pronounce it?’

The driver answers laconically, ‘Senthilnageshwaran., but you can call me Senthil or if that is too challenging, even Sen will do, though I am not a Bengali.’

Cunk exhales, ‘I am going batty here. That’s a relief. Where do you come from, Senthil or Sen, who is not a Bengali?’

‘Chennai.’

‘So why are you in Delhi?’

‘I work here, driving taxis for curious people like you.’

‘Cheeky, but I like it. May be next time I will visit Chennai and find a Sikh taxi driver there.’

‘Unlikely in Chennai, but you can try Kolkata. Loads of Sikh taxi drivers there.’

‘Last question. Is it true that two million babies born in India over the past six months have been named either Rama or Sita?’

‘Also, Lakshman, Bharathan and Shatrughan. Not forgetting Narendra.’

‘I think I understand’ says Cunk, not having followed a word of what the driver had just said, and immediately drops off to sleep. It’s been a long flight and it’s going to be an even longer day tomorrow.

So many more interesting people to meet and stupid questions to ask.