This is my love letter. A love letter to the one and only Ricky Gervais, for whom I carry a relentless, all-consuming passion. It started with “The Office” (the British version), became solidified when Annie lent me “Extras,” and once I’d seen both “Out of England” and “Out of England 2,” I knew there was no turning back.
Ricky G. carried “Ghost Town,” in my opinion. His charm and dry wit were, by far, the best parts of that film. But it’s in his writing that his true genius lies. Along with the lovely Stephen Merchant, he co-wrote both “The Office” and “Extras.” Each series is riddled with sarcasm, realism so stark I’d swear they based some of their characters off of old co-workers of mine, and yes, compassion. Not so much that it’s melodramatic or nauseatingly overdone like all of reality TV anymore, but enough to really suck you in. He’s brilliant. Fucking brilliant. (So is Stephen Merchant, but that’s a post for another day.) And “The Invention of Lying,” which he also co-wrote, received a mere fraction of the attention it deserved.
It wasn’t until I started watching “The Ricky Gervais Show” on HBO, though, that my adoration of all things Ricky Gervais crossed that very delicate line into obsession. Because not only is he smart, witty and king of deadpan comedy, but it turns out he’s loads of fun to just sit and hang with. Not that I’ve ever hung out with him. But watching “The Ricky Gervais Show” feels a lot like it. For those unfortunate souls out there who haven’t seen it, let me fill you in: Ricky G., Stephen Merchant and an unusual, moronic, luckier-than-shit Brit called Karl Pilkington sit around talking about whatever comes into their heads. Sounds a bit boring but it’s actually uproariously funny.
And I’ve decided that I simply cannot go on NOT knowing Ricky Gervais. How can I be expected to live this way? It’s unacceptable. If I ever get cancer, this will be my Make A Wish Foundation gift: one afternoon with Ricky Gervais. What else could a girl ask for?