Michael Sleep (Pearce Quigley) lives a simple life. He works a soul-sucking job in a hardware store where he trolls the customers for kicks, then visits his doddery dad Brian (Michael Palin) in the old folk’s home before returning to his ramshackle house at the end of a cul-de-sac in suburban Manchester. This is his life, day after day, since the unexplained disappearance of his girlfriend Clea seven years prior. Without answers, he remains in perpetual limbo. So, his dad comes up with the solution to all his problems: a touch of alchemy.
Attentive fans of distinct British wits will also note the hallmarks of Small Prophets creator Mackenzie Crook in Michael’s circumstances. While he’ll probably remain best known for his turn as Gareth in The Office, Crook has carved out a niche with his blend of sweet, sad, and eccentric, thanks to Detectorists and his adaptation of Barbara Euphan Todd’s Worzel Gummidge books. His slice-of-life stories are populated by lonely people trying to find a sprinkle of the extraordinary amid the mundanities of the world. Small Prophets, now premiering on Apple TV outside of the UK (Brits can watch it on iPlayer), shows Crook (on writing, directing, and acting duties) at the top of his game.
Michael isn’t exactly a modern-day folk hero. He’s a bearded oddball who keeps the world at a distance, avoiding drama through distracting asides and winding up gullible customers. His neighbors won’t stop complaining about his overgrown garden, not that he cares. Things aren’t any clearer inside, where he’s kept his living room exactly as it was on the Christmas Eve when Clea disappeared. His sort-of brother-in-law (Paul Kaye) wants him to move on, and move out of the house so that he can sell it, but Michael cannot give up hope. It’s a sad life, but Crook never lingers on it. What could be unbearably grim feels lived-in, the kind of “mustn’t grumble” simplicity of the everyday that makes all his characters feel so organic.
Everything feels so familiar, from the co-worker with the ear-splitting laugh to the local cafe with the inexplicable name. Michael’s neighbor Clive (Jon Pointing) is a curtain-twitching busybody who’s too timid to do much more than spy on the hubbub next door. On the other side is Olive (Shola Adewusi), a less intrusive neighbor but one who is too naïve to realize she’s replaced her grass with paisley-print carpet. Crook’s worlds are ones of unhurried pacing and gentle peculiarity, occasionally awkward but utterly devoid of guile, revelling in the tension of people who are just too darn English to kick up a fuss. It’s the anti-Office.
And then the supernatural suddenly intrudes upon Michael’s life. Brian, a crackpot of questionable memory who nonetheless concocts impressive Rube Goldberg machines from junk in the old folks’ home, tells Michael of the homunculi: small human-like beings from 16th-century alchemy that can be grown in pots. If Michael creates these homunculi from a variety of items and some light chanting, he can instruct them to tell him where Clea disappeared to. It’s ridiculous. It shouldn’t work. But it does, and soon Michael has a trio of these beings (beautifully animated via stop-motion) in his garden shed.
Crook avoids cheap whimsy or twee with his fantasy, keeping the tone as matter-of-fact as the rest of his low-stakes comedy. Michael may have created literal magic in his own home, but he still needs to go to work and deal with annoying people. At the DIY store, he forms an unexpected bond with Kacey (Lauren Patel), a younger co-worker who can keep up with his sarcasm and becomes a co-conspirator in matters of both homunculi and their irritating boss (played by Crook, complete with the world’s greasiest ponytail.) Michael and Kacey’s friendship is a standout part of Small Prophets, offering a rarity in modern TV: a realistic platonic relationship between an older man and a younger woman. As with Detectorists, Small Prophets is innately concerned with solitude, and the relationships that save us from its crushing hold. For Crook, everyone is lonely in their own special way, but there are always little things worth living for.
While there’s a darkness that permeates the entire series—which is all about unresolved grief and the dissatisfaction of a life poorly lived—Small Prophets is also extremely funny. Like Detectorists, there are jokes here that only get better with time. Michael’s nonsense yarns to annoy customers are particularly hilarious, as is a perfectly framed sight gag involving buckets. This isn’t a wall-to-wall laugh riot, but the unexpected guffaws elicited from Crook’s gentle approach are immensely rewarding— a blend of wry, dry, and surreal. It’s also pleasantly hopeful.
The story gets more dramatic as it hints at the truth behind Clea’s disappearance, but don’t expect a thrilling web of conspiracy or a switch-up of tone. Crook has such confidence in his own quiet and tender approach, unconcerned with whether or not his audience will care. Clearly, they do, since Detectorists was an unexpected ratings hit for the BBC, and Small Prophets has already been renewed for a second season. You’re either with him or you’re not, but for those who are eager to embrace his brand of slow and steady, the rewards are plentiful.
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