The Social Failure of Mr. Bean
One either loves the chaos, or finds him entirely intolerable.
Much like the highly polarizing Marmite debacle, there exists no middle ground for this curious spectacle.
I speak, of course, of the legendary object of comedy – the one and only Mr. Bean.
Last night, while the last, lingering fireworks were being discharged by lunatics who delighted in the insufferable, animal-scaring noise, and who enjoyed the peculiar sight of their money dissolving into the sky, I was otherwise engaged.
I found myself reclined on the sofa which acted as the royal throne during the course of the holidays, sipping prosecco in quiet celebration that this last dreadful year had reached its end, when I came across the annual Mr. Bean marathon playing on German television – a curiously beloved New Year’s tradition.
I had, predictably, landed upon the Christmas episode, and – drumroll, please – the New Year’s Eve fiasco.
As I lay there, already teetering on the edge of sleep as it was far past my usual bedtime ( the realm must be ruled rested, and a tired Empress is an ineffective one ), an insight cut through the late hour.
The laughter faded, and was replaced by a sudden, clear vision.
I began to notice the hidden layers residing beneath the cheap jokes and the predictable chaos.
It is curious how one’s intimate familiarity with a specific condition enhances one’s understanding… perhaps because I, myself, have grown much attuned to the subject at hand this past year.
I speak of the profound loneliness that clearly afflicted the man, alongside the social awkwardness that appeared to be a constant burden.
His best friend, and sole confidant, is a mere teddy bear named ‚Teddy‘; a substitute for human affection. Mr. Bean leaves the house, of course, but social interactions were scarce.
The show’s very absence of dialogue serves only to heighten his isolation, forcing him to live almost entirely within his own head and to interact solely with objects.
We frequently observe his struggles with modern technology and sophisticated social settings, highlighting his anachronistic, isolated state.
When one examines the two seasonal episodes I have been engaging in, the intensity of said social awkwardness is laid bare. Note, for instance, the engagement ring disaster: Irma clearly indignated her desire for the actual ring, yet Bean, failing to grasp the romantic intent, gifts her the photograph of the engaged couple from the advertisement, alongside a hook, entirely missing the point.
Then there is the matter of the New Year’s Eve gathering, which confirms his unfamiliarity with company.
Having invited his ‚best friends‘ – Rupert and Hubert – it simply did not occur to Bean that a host provides snacks and refreshments. This lack of basic hospitality resulted in his guests tampering with the clock, and a hasty departure.
But let us pause right here for a moment of clarification: What manner of ‚best friend‘ would deliberately manipulate the clock and set it forward, just to secure an early escape from the gathering?
I shall answer this question myself: You are no friend at all.
You are an odious specimen of scum, and one who deserves the sharp ends of a pitchfork!
Here is yet another detail that cannot be overlooked: Beneath the chaos, Mr. Bean, at his core, is a fundamentally kind and modest character.
His Christmas presents speak volumes – new eyes for Teddy, simple socks for himself that bring him genuine happiness, and even a miniature stocking containing a piece of cheese for the resident mouse.
We must, however, note that in classical Mr. Bean fashion, that cheese was moments later repurposed for an actual trap.
Ultimately, these moments paint him as a simple, perhaps even innocent character, merely unaware of the gulf seperating him and his lack of social skills from basic social ability. His perspective is that of a child: his wants are simple, his playing with toys that aren’t actually toys at Harrods, and his failing at even the most basic of interactions.
The laughter stems from his failure to connect, but the underlying emotions is the sadness of being fundamentally unable to relate to others, which makes his loneliness feel particularly poignant.
I have provided my analysis, dear reader, but of course you are entitled to your own conclusions.
As for myself, I have always found pleasure in watching the show – the jokes, the laughter, the inevitable, delightful chaos. Armed with this deeper understanding, I suspect I shall enjoy it even more.
I find myself relating to such characters – Mr. Bean, and one must include the equally complex Sheldon Cooper – perhaps not with the profound intensity they display on screen, yet relate I certainly do.
You must excuse me now, for the realm must be ruled – even if the sceptre is slightly socially awkward.