Funny Woman review: Nick Hornby’s adaptation starring Gemma Arterton may have been set in the 1960s, but it never worked out

Nick Hornby has an almost harmonious relationship with the screen. In 1997, the author himself loosely adapted Fever Pitch, a memoir about his life as a longtime, heartbroken Arsenal fan, into a movie with Colin Firth as a commitment man and Ruth Gemmell as the woman who competes with his beloved football team for his attention.

aside from the title and the fact that Firth’s character favors the Gunners, it doesn’t have much to do with the book, but is pleasant enough on its own modest terms. It’s definitely better than the flashy American remake with Jimmy Fallon being a huge fan of the Boston Red Sox.

The movie versions of his first two novels served Hornby much better, High Definition And About a boy. Both were excellent, and the latter became a huge box office success, propelling Hugh Grant’s career in an exciting new direction (the latter featuring TV spin-offs of both, preferably the latter). should draw a veil of secrecy).

But the largely happy marriage between the author and the adaptation seems to have hit a rough patch with Funny Woman (Sky Max, Thursday; all episodes for Sky subscribers), a six-part comedy based on his 2014 novel Funny girl. Presumably, the title change was to avoid confusion with the 1968 Barbra Streisand film Funny girl.

Hornby is billed as an executive producer, as is Gemma Arterton star, who hides her natural brown hair under a bottle blonde wig as Blackpool girl Barbara Parker.

It’s 1964 and Barbara works in a local sweets factory, rolling ice with her devoted father George (David Threlfall), whom she loves and adores behind her back.

She lives with him and his aunt Marie (Rosie Cavaliero). Her mother devoted herself to them a few years ago. Barbara entered a local beauty contest without ever dreaming that she would win. She does, of course, and she’s delighted at first.

But as she listens to a sly press photographer (not the first sexist she’s encountered along the way) talk about how she’ll spend the next year appearing as an individual. man and open a supermarket, while he stalks, grabs, and pampers her. , she suddenly changed her mind.

She took off the winner’s sash, placed her crown on the runner-up’s head and strode slowly, naturally.

She then placed it in the bright lights of London, where she intended to find fame and fortune in the entertainment business – like her idol Lucille Ball, then a major comedy star. television, who took on and defeated the men who ruled the world. TV industry in their own game.

Instead, she found herself working in the hats department of a luxury department store, where her Blackpool honesty was (she told a wealthy old man that the hat that she chose to look like “a dead badger”) didn’t really make her like her starchy boss. (Doon Mackichan). Struggling to make ends meet on her meager salary, Barbara moves in with a friendly employee named Marjorie (Alexa Davies) and learns that flirting with well-off male clients can be profitable.

Borrowing one of the store’s expensive dresses, she dated an elderly smoothie salesman who turned out to be married and attempted to sexually assault her in an elevator, ripping the dress.

Barbara was fired. Meanwhile, however, she has caught the eye of a veteran stage worker named Brian Debenham (the wonderful Rupert Everett, ripe as a month old banana) and his wife Patsy (Morwenna Banks, who also write a script).

Brian saw a future for Barbara as an actress and gave her a stage name: Sophie Straw, because it sounded a bit like singer Sandie Shaw.

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Funny Woman follows Barbara’s journey from saleswoman to sitcom star, through some pathetic auditions, strip club charms and the attention of predatory men.

The period traps have been completely covered with a trowel: garish colors, endless needle drops and fake 8mm home camera footage blended with the real thing. A red London bus is rarely far away.

But it was never like anything other than a mockery, and for a series called funny woman, it’s not nearly funny enough.

Hornby, who put a lot of heart into his early novels, was 7 years old in 1964. This feels like something built from used impressions.