As Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon embark upon The Trip to Italy it doesn’t take long for thoughts to turn towards golden showers. Coogan ponders the prospect of having to snuggle up to Brydon on an ice shelf on the Eiger or freeze to death. “Then we’ll have to piss on each other” suggests Brydon “That’s where recreation meets survival” suggests Coogan. If the Eiger doesn’t chill you that thought certainly will.
They retain the dynamic of the first series – Rob the enthusiast, Steve the curmudgeon. Coogan has a declared a veto on impersonations, a veto shattered the moment the subject of the mini they’ll be driving comes up. Steve wonders if Rob deliberately booked the car then chose Italy just to give him an excuse to crowbar in his Michael Caine in The Italian Job impersonation. Rob is hard-pressed to deny it what with it being true and all.
Il Cenobio dei Dogi is the hovel, like you give a shit. Their riffing is punctuated by scenes of food preparation in the kitchen by fascist chefs only marginally less useless in war than the French. When the game course comes along they inevitably end up on that old chestnut: cannibalising Mo Farah’s legs while he’s paralysed, fatally injured but still alive. Put a tent over the bottom half and distract him is Coogan’s solution. It’s a fate preferable to ending up opposite deranged God hater Jonathan Edwards on the BBC that’s for sure.
When the game course comes along the inevitably end up on that old chestnut: cannibalising Mo Farah’s legs
They watch the beautiful people enjoy their lunches and their lives. Their ancient carcasses are invisible to the youth. They know they’re getting old. They’ll probably be dead soon. Fuck them – they’ve had their lives. Five weeks, five more meals to go. It’s like a very expensive death row.
The verdict: Quail. Is the name of the game and I want to eat the game with you.
Marks out of 10: 7