The Outlaws

The six hour-long episodes offer an intriguing blend of sharp comedy and genuine danger, as the gang stumbles into a local drug cartel's messy business.

In its first hour, The Outlaws manages to have a bunch of funny moments, one or two thrills, and tells more than enough about its ensemble to keep us watching.

There are little twists along the way, too, but they come as genuine surprises rather than expected beats. Despite its familiar framework, The Outlaws manages to make its story unique in small yet important ways.

Its early moments may feel like broad brushstrokes, but Merchant has a knack for humanising his characters, no matter how crass they seem on the surface, and he hints at a deeper pain and embarrassment that gives this more heart and warmth than first appears.

The Outlaws’ combination of droll chuckles, West Country accents and gritty crime caper hasn’t always come off, but its cast, playing endearing miscreants sentenced to community service, has been brilliant.

The aim of Stephen Merchant and Elgin James’ comedy-thriller series is to dig beyond these types, finding common ground among vastly different characters and building bridges between them that transcend the usual divisions of class or politics or social status. And while its results on that front are mixed at best, a likable cast and genial sense of humor nevertheless make for a generally pleasant time.

I’d happily watch a show that just concerned itself with Rani (Rhianne Barreto) and John (Darren Boyd) and jettison the rest. Rani in particular has an interesting family life, shoplifting as a way of rebelling against her parents pressuring her to get into Oxford. But the others ­– Walken aside – are dull, with poor Myrna only present so she can act as a woke counterpoint to John’s diatribes about transgender vegans.