You’ll want a holiday after seeing The Trip to Spain but for all the wrong reasons

by Georgia Imfeld

If you’ve ever been caught in the crossfire between two men and their conversation-killing one upmanship, then you don’t need me to tell you how quickly that gets old. And you probably don’t need to see The Trip to Spain. Starring Steve Coogan and Rob Brydon as fictionalised versions of themselves, the film is the third instalment in Michael Winterbottom’s comedy gastro-travelogue franchise, following The Trip (2010) and The Trip to Italy (2014). The recipe is simple: fuelled by their duelling impressions and an endless battle of banter, the two men travel through picturesque countryside having existential crises and long-lunches. It’s about as indulgent as it sounds.

What are they trying to say by playing themselves? Or more to the point, what are they trying to sidestep? I recognise it as an attempt to dodge accusations of being the very thing they’re on-screen selves are. A kind of “get ahead of the headline” manoeuvre; a “we said it, so you can’t” philosophy.

The film is self-aware, but this can’t grant it critical immunity. Winterbottom uses his trilogy to make a joke about self-absorbed men and their preoccupation with mid-life fears of death and legacy, but is it still a joke if you allow them six hours of screen time to tell it? At what point does a text go from commenting on the thing to just being the thing?

At its best moments — which deserve recognition — The Trip to Spain is truly funny. Coogan and Brydon’s banter is razor-sharp and their improvised scenes are as fun and surprising as you’d hope lunch with two comics would be. At its worst moments — which lingered longer in my mind than its best — the film reveals the potential horrors of dining with two comics with fragile egos, and self-awareness limited to their grasp of their own dwindling significance.

Whether we’ve stumbled into this kind of scenario at a party, or we’re paying to see it in cinema — it doesn’t really matter if it makes us laugh or not, because it’s not really for us. It’s happening whether we like it or not.

Continuing the trend established by the earlier films, Coogan and Brydon are increasingly preoccupied with their fading youth and not-so playful comedic competition. Their friendship — which could be described as civil at best — leaves a lot to be desired about male companionship. They’re the kind of friends who forget the names of each other’s children, who don’t some much enjoy as endure one another’s company.

The line between fact and fiction is blurred but it’s fair to assume that Coogan and Brydon’s on-screen selves are caricatures, emphasising their worst traits. The one thing we can be sure of is perhaps the most frustrating: the film was made. Three times.

The fact that we’re travelling through scenic Spanish countryside but spend most of the film indoors with Coogan and Brydon could be a metaphor. What are they missing out on while they’re caught up in these battles? What are we missing out on? Here we are in this beautiful country and I’m stuck at a table watching these two sad clowns try to out-Michael Cain one another. Again.

Winterbottom’s cleverness, though quiet, can’t go ignored. The film does what all three films in the franchise do best: it uses male friendship to explore loneliness and isolation. We’re reminded that Coogan and Brydon’s dynamic allows them little-to-no space for vulnerability or sincerity. Once again we see the ways the men are limited by their own dynamic. Small man in a box, indeed.

The most revealing moments come when the men are alone — in their phone calls to home, or in Coogan’s several nightmare sequences. These quieter moments of introspection bring to mind a Sofia Coppola-esque existential melancholy and offer some relief from the back-and-forth. But the relief is short-lived and before too long, the poignancy is swallowed whole by the gag-fest.

Good comedians leave us wanting more. Good comedians know when to stop. The Trip to Spain leaves me fearful of another instalment and in desperate need of peace and quiet.