Our Father

And so we finish our visit with the man himself, Father Ted Crilly. An insecure and somewhat crestfallen man, his decency wholly blinkered by cheap ambitions of wealth and celebrity, Ted was banished to inhospitable Craggy Island after funds for his previous parish were traced back to his own bank account. They were just resting there, though, as he’s keen to remind us… and he certainly wasn’t planning a trip to Las Vegas with the cash. As punishment, he now has to contend with the mayhem generated by his unhinged fellows; the overtly-childlike Dougal, the outrageous Jack, and the tireless housekeeper, Mrs Doyle. In this role, he’s regarded with loyalty by some and contempt by others; I imagine his fearsome foe, Bishop Brennan, hasn’t quite got over being kicked up the arse yet. We shan’t ask about that.

At times however, Ted’s (relatively) level head can prevail and be the voice of reason. Let’s not forget the time he courageously lead his group out of the lingerie department; the largest lingerie section in Ireland, I understand…

…or indeed the last time we saw him, when he helped a suicidal Father Kevin off of a ledge. This earned the admiration of an American priest, in turn almost landing our Father his dream of dispatching wayward peers and retreating to Los Angeles. Almost. Wracked with guilt that his housemates believe they too are coming to the States, he was unable to tell them otherwise, and ultimately abandoned the move. And so, Ted is stuck on Craggy Island, forever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever and ever…

Though the series was always intended to end here, any prospect of subsequent reacquaintance with the cast of Craggy Island down the line was taken from us, and in the worst way; Ted actor Dermot Morgan died suddenly, just a day after the Going to America swansong was recorded. A mercurial comic talent and quintessentially Father Ted, the show immediately became his legacy, and in that it’s fitting that the performance and programme is regarded with such deep affection and acclaim.

Ted is on the surface unabashed in lunacy and profanity – a surreal snapshot of both Catholic church and Irish humour, locked its own hellish exile. Beneath that, though, is a sweet, adorable and ultimately good nature, strengthened both by the chemistry on screen and in the genii of its writing. These quirks and qualities are proven by Ted‘s enduring appeal – two decades on, and I daresay there’s not a week that passes without a sprinkling of reruns – and that it seems to only get better with each worship. I could never tire of Father Ted – it’s an ever welcome indulgence. Moreover, it’s just really, really funny.

‘Night, Ted.

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