Weird Britannia: It’s okay to love Top Gear

There’s a sense of guilt nowadays that comes with admitting to liking Top Gear. The problematic nature of the Clarkson, Hammond, and May having only become more apparent in the years since their departure: their political incorrectness, possible neo-imperialist tendencies, and lack of factual presentation make for a somewhat uneasy watching experience. Not to mention their later strays into bombastic, over-the-top set pieces that particularly characterise The Grand Tour.

Yet with all that said, it’s hard to say I care all that much. After all, Top Gear is far from just its problematic elements. It’s entire ethos, even including those parts that make it less than favourable, instead represents something fresh and genuine that’s since been lost amongst the TV landscape.

It is undeniable that Top Gear in this form could never work today. Maybe it’s still offensive to some but that’s okay. What is the BBC if it can’t make content that offends? But for those who are willing to watch, there’s no shame in rewatching or indeed enjoying Top Gear’s golden years.

The dynamic of Clarkson, Hammond, and May has always felt like that of overgrown schoolboys now into middle age. They each have their distinctive personalities: Clarkson, the loud-mouthed oaf; Hammond, the more presenter-like of the three; and May, the slightly dull one (but as it turns out the funniest). When put together they have obvious chemistry, but all because they represent the epitome of the average British male.

As expected this could create serious headaches for the BBC. In fact, there’s a considerable gap between the image of the organisation and of what was, at a time, one of its flagship shows. The former is a paragon of the liberal establishment whilst the latter very much does not fit this mould.

The bursts into xenophobia, the many controversial antics of Jeremy Clarkson, and the bloke-ish dynamic greatly contrasted the image of the BBC and caused a circle of controversy surrounding the show, stemming from criticisms from the same liberal elite that the BBC represents.

Even so, the BBC was willing to let all this slide in return for the massive popularity that Top Gear enjoyed. In this regard, the show marked a brief shift in identity for the BBC but also represented a democratising process whereby the average ‘bloke’ found representation.

This should also be considered alongside a renewed ‘golden age’ for the BBC in the mid-late 2000s, as I would like to call it, with the massive popularity of David Tennant’s Tenth Doctor, Gavin and Stacey, Outnumbered, and Life on Mars. It’s an era where the corporation began to make shows by real people, about real people, and for real people.

Of course, Top Gear wasn’t exactly in this same mould: a lot of what it is originates in the boarding school days of Clarkson and producer Andy Wilman. Even so, there’s still something about it that represents some semblance of real human dynamics through that of its three presenters, even more so than its peers.

And inevitably, it is this capturing of the genuine, down-to-earth antics of three middle-aged men that allowed it to capture the imagination of so many.

With this immense popularity and the selling of both the format and the series to foreign territories, in the 2000s, Top Gear became one of the chief cultural exports of the UK. Yet this also points to one of the show’s most controversial elements: its alleged neo-imperialist agenda.

Such an accusation is an odd label for a TV show. Still, it’s pretty clear to see within the series, particularly the special episodes. Escapades to India, Africa, Bolivia, Patagonia, amongst others don’t necessarily sound all that bad. However, framing these specials within the historical context of these regions, specifically a 19^th century context, perpetuates a colonialist agenda.

As such, mounting a trade mission, discovering the source of the Nile, and travelling through the Amazon represent a thinly veiled attempt at relaunching the glories of the British Empire in what is advertised as a factual car show. Then there’s the rather suspicious Patagonia incident when a number plate was mistaken for a celebration of the British Victory in the Falkland’s war, which given the show’s track record, seems entirely plausible.

Alongside the often-xenophobic outbursts of Top Gear’s presenters (chiefly Clarkson), this neo-imperialist streak reflects an unfortunate by-product of middle-aged male culture in the 2000s.

Yet, there is no ignoring that much of what Top Gear is, is in fact what makes Britain the place it is today, warts and all. Xenophobia, ignorance, and an Imperialist past are all in there. However, within Clarkson, Hammond, and May and their often exceptionally mundane antics, there’s something that captures what it means to be British. Perhaps that’s a bit vague and Lord knows others have tried and failed to define British nationalism. To the millions around the world that watched Top Gear however, the show was indeed an image of Britain and Britishness.

Henceforth, it would be ignorant to dismiss Top Gear for its occasional problematic moments. Its legacy is complicated but as a representation of this essential Britishness, this is natural considering that the nation’s legacy is also similarly complex. Still, Britain is recognised for the good as well as the bad, and in spite of everything, it’s hard not to love Top Gear.