Last One Laughing UK: this hilarious contest’s return has too many brilliant moments to mention

Bob Mortimer returns to defend his crown, as comedians make screamingly funny TV in an attempt to make each other laugh for a prize

I was once shouted at for smiling during a breakup. I had to switch careers when I realised my favourite thing about being an actor was making other actors corpse on stage. Situations in which humour is forbidden are hilarious to me. It’s the pressure-cooker analogy, I suppose. “I’m the kinda guy who laughs at a funeral,’” sang Barenaked Ladies, and I’ve never related more to a lyric. Which makes the return of Last One Laughing UK (Thursday, Prime Video) very relevant to my interests.

The show is an elimination competition in which 10 comedians are locked in a softly furnished room for six hours, trying to make each other laugh while keeping a straight face themselves. Laughter and smiling are punishable by yellow cards, then red cards, leading to dismissal. It’s hosted by Jimmy Carr – who has such an odd laugh, it’s possible the entire format was crowdfunded by offended gulls who didn’t want to hear it any more.

It is a clever initialism, and a better title than the Japanese show that originated the format, called Documental. I assume something was lost in translation. This series, younger jokers such as Maisie Adam, Gbemisola Ikumelo and Sam Campbell join veterans such as Mel Giedroyc, Romesh Ranganathan, David Mitchell and Diane Morgan. There’s the returning Bob Mortimer, who has quietly ascended to national treasure status. And Alan Carr, who has ascended to televisual ubiquity. I think I can still see him when I turn it off.

In the first two episodes of the new series, there are more brilliant moments than can be mentioned. Notorious giggler Carr breathes in helium from a balloon under his shirt before making small talk. “I actually sound butcher,” he laments. In response, Ranganathan weaponises the comedic potential of a south-east Asian accent, singing the title song from Bollywood romcom Kuch Kuch Hota Hai in Carr’s ear, while wearing a baseball cap backwards. “Have you seen Lagaan?” chimes in Campbell, from the other side. It’s so funny, it feels unfair.

It’s not all offense. The comics deploy various defensive strategies to avoid laughing, much as one might have done at a church service in childhood. Yawning, lip pursing or simply walking away are popular. At one point Ikumelo starts to cry, her body misinterpreting what is required of it. The experienced Mortimer recommends a “safety face”: a way of arranging one’s features to stifle mirth. Unfortunately, his safety face is a preposterous underbite, which no one can see without snorting. Attack is the best defence.

No one wants to be anywhere near Mortimer, an absurdist Gatling gun. “I’ve lifted Ronnie Corbett,” he’ll say, apropos of nothing, before describing why it’s a deceptively hard feat. These shenanigans are screamingly funny as is. The fact the contestants aren’t allowed to laugh adds a hysterical layer of secondhand torment. “It’s like lots of delicious food that we’re looking at and throwing away,” notes Mitchell. “It started to feel painful not to laugh,” reflects Ikumelo – after her dam breaches, producing a noise she describes as “demonic”.

Reality shows once aimed to harvest explosive moments. That’s why they were filled with insufferably loud, unfiltered pillocks. Now that social media pumps out sensational content and characters, TV gameshows are exploring different strengths, often social strategy and longer gameplay. Think about Big Brother, where contestants put a lot of thought into group dynamics and self-presentation, an approach far beyond “just being myself and having a laugh”. The Traitors is explicitly built on deception and holding one’s nerve. Last One Laughing is strangest of all, being an active celebration of repression.

It’s best not to think about what that says about who we are. Gathering the funniest people together in a studio and having them muck about used to be enough. Now we insist they’re locked in. Moreover, any contestant reacting normally to a funny moment is punished. There’s a word for a distorted response to natural stimulus, you know. It’s perversion. If you like this show, you’re a pervert.

I love this show, but for normal reasons. It’s inauthentic, unnatural, and a powerfully original thrill. To clarify, I was smiling because I was sad about the breakup. Next time I’ll do it with an underbite.