Let's be real for a second. If you mention the Carry On brand to anyone under the age of forty, you’re likely to get a blank stare or maybe a vague recollection of a guy in a giant wig making a suggestive joke about a bird. But for a certain generation, the Carry On franchise wasn't just a series of low-budget films—it was a British institution. People often forget that this bawdy, seaside-postcard humor didn't stay confined to the cinema. The Carry On TV series, specifically Carry On Laughing, was the industry's attempt to keep the engine running when the wheels were starting to come off the movie wagon in the mid-1970s. It was weird. It was often messy. And yet, it’s a fascinating time capsule of a very specific era of British television.
Why the Carry On TV Series Happened in the First Place
By 1975, the film industry was changing. The classic Carry On formula—double entendres, slapstick, and a recurring troupe of actors—was hitting a wall. Carry On Dick had just been released, and the creative juices were, frankly, running a bit thin. Peter Rogers, the producer who steered the ship with an iron (and very frugal) fist, saw an opportunity in television. ATV, the powerhouse led by Lew Grade, wanted a slice of the Carry On pie. The result was Carry On Laughing, a series that ran for thirteen episodes across two seasons.
It wasn't just a case of "let's film more movies." It was a strategic shift. They realized that the "repertory company" feel of the films could work in a half-hour format. They didn't have the budget for grand historical sets anymore, so they leaned into parodying well-known stories. Think The Prisoner of Zenda or Lord Nelson. It was basically the cinematic equivalent of a pub band playing the hits—familiar, a little rough around the edges, but undeniably comfortable for the audience of the time.
The Missing Pieces: Where Were the Stars?
If you sit down to watch the Carry On TV series today, the first thing you’ll notice is who isn't there. This is the biggest sticking point for purists. Sid James, the cackling heart of the franchise, was busy with Bless This House. Kenneth Williams, arguably the most talented of the bunch, was notoriously picky and didn't want to touch it. Charles Hawtrey had already been effectively fired/blacklisted by Peter Rogers years earlier after a dispute over billing.
Without the "Big Three," the series had to rely heavily on the supporting players.
- Jack Douglas (and his Alf Ippititimus twitch) became a focal point.
- Kenneth Connor stepped up to fill the neurotic void.
- Barbara Windsor appeared in the first season but vanished for the second.
- Joan Sims remained the reliable, professional anchor.
It felt a bit like seeing your favorite band play without the lead singer and the drummer. It's still the music, but the soul is slightly different. Peter Butterworth was there, though. God bless Peter Butterworth. He could make a telephone directory funny, and he arguably carried the weight of the entire production on his shoulders during the more lackluster scripts.
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The Format: A Mixed Bag of Parody
The show didn't have a single narrative. It was an anthology. Every week, they’d tackle a different genre.
The first season was mostly written by Gerald Thomas and focused on "The Prisoner of Spelnode" and "The Baron Out." It felt very much like the films, just truncated. However, the second season took a weird turn. They decided to do three-part stories. Can you imagine? A three-episode arc about The Lord of the Manor or a parody of Upstairs, Downstairs. For a show built on quick-fire gags and short-term payoffs, this felt like a mistake. It dragged.
Honestly, the humor hasn't aged perfectly. You've got the typical 70s tropes—men in dresses, jokes about "large knockers," and some very questionable ethnic caricatures that make modern viewing a bit of a cringe-fest. But if you look past the dated stuff, the comedic timing of people like Connor and Sims is still masterclass level. They were professionals. They could deliver a terrible line with such conviction that you’d laugh in spite of yourself.
Behind the Scenes: The Rogers Frugality
If you know anything about Peter Rogers, you know he hated spending money. The Carry On TV series was produced on what most modern shows would consider a catering budget. They reused sets from other ATV productions. Costumes were likely pulled from the back of a dusty warehouse. This "make do and mend" attitude gave the show a distinctively "stagey" feel.
Some critics at the time hated it. They thought it looked cheap. But for the fans, that was part of the charm. It felt like a pantomime. It didn't need to look like Ben-Hur. It just needed to provide a few chuckles on a Friday night while people ate their dinner. There’s something remarkably honest about a show that knows exactly what it is and doesn't try to be "prestige television."
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The Impact and the "Missing" Episodes
Does the Carry On TV series actually matter in the grand scheme of TV history? Maybe not in terms of innovation. It didn't change the way sitcoms were made. But it does serve as a bridge. It showed that the "brand" was bigger than the medium.
Interestingly, there's a lot of confusion about what constitutes "Carry On TV." Besides Carry On Laughing, there were several Christmas specials. Carry On Christmas (1969), Carry On Again Christmas (1970), and so on. These actually featured the "A-list" stars like Sid James and Terry-Scott. They are often bundled together in DVD sets, leading people to think they were part of the same series. They weren't. The specials were high-energy, festive chaos; the series was a more structured (if tired) attempt at a weekly sitcom.
Why You Should (or Shouldn't) Revisit It
If you’re a student of comedy, you have to watch at least a couple of episodes. It’s a lesson in how to survive without your main stars. It's also a lesson in the dangers of overstaying your welcome. By the time the final episode aired in 1975, the world had moved on to Fawlty Towers. John Cleese was bringing a new, sharper, more violent energy to British comedy. The Carry On crew looked like relics from a bygone age.
But there is a warmth there.
You’ve got:
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- Incredible physical comedy from Jack Douglas.
- The effortless chemistry between Joan Sims and Kenneth Connor.
- A glimpse into the dying embers of the music-hall tradition.
It’s not high art. It’s seaside postcards brought to life. It's silly. It's often predictable. But sometimes, especially when the world feels a bit too serious, predictable silliness is exactly what you need.
The Carry On Legacy Beyond the Screen
The end of the TV series didn't kill the brand, though it certainly put it in a coma for a while. There were attempts to revive it, including the ill-fated Carry On Columbus in the 90s, but the magic was gone. The Carry On TV series remains a weird footnote. It’s the "difficult second album" of the franchise.
For those wanting to dig deeper, don't just look for the DVD sets. Check out the memoirs of the cast. Kenneth Williams’ diaries are famously scathing about the quality of the scripts during this period. He didn't hold back. Reading his perspective on why he refused to participate gives you a lot of context into the creative tensions behind the scenes.
Moving Forward: How to Experience Carry On Today
If you want to actually explore this world properly, don't just dive into the TV series headfirst. You'll get bored.
Start with the "Golden Era" films—Carry On Cleo or Carry On Up the Khyber. Once you understand the rhythm of the jokes and the archetypes of the characters, then move to the Carry On TV series. It makes the experience much more rewarding because you’re "in" on the joke. You can see where they are trying to replicate a Sid James laugh or a Kenneth Williams sneer.
Practical Steps for Fans and Researchers:
- Track down the Christmas Specials first. They are generally higher quality than the Carry On Laughing episodes because the full cast was involved.
- Look for the "Carry On Laughing" DVD. Most modern releases include all thirteen episodes. Watch "The Baron Outlook" first; it’s widely considered one of the stronger entries.
- Compare and Contrast. Watch an episode of Carry On Laughing back-to-back with an episode of Fawlty Towers (both from 1975). It’s the best way to see the literal moment British comedy shifted from the old world to the new.
- Check the Archive. Organizations like the British Film Institute (BFI) have extensive notes on the production of these series. If you're a real nerd for television history, that's where the real gold is buried.
The Carry On TV series isn't going to win any new awards in 2026. It's not going to be "rediscovered" as a lost masterpiece. But it is a piece of history. It’s the sound of a very loud, very funny group of people refusing to go quietly into the night. And honestly? There's something pretty admirable about that.