My Sexual Abuse: The Sitcom review – an astonishing testament to comedy’s healing power | Television
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Tstand-up comedian and writer Mark O’Sullivan looks at a picture of himself as a boy on holiday in Norfolk. “I love it,” he says. “And it makes me really, really sad.” The image is from before “this happened” – before he was sexually abused by a member of his extended family when O’Sullivan was 11 or 12 years old.
O’Sullivan’s father died when his son was 15 without ever knowing his secret. When O’Sullivan tried a few years later to tell her mother, she “hung up.” When O’Sullivan discovered at age 30 that he was not the only victim of his abuser, he went to the police; his visit sparked a court case in which O’Sullivan testified about his abuse by the man, who was convicted and imprisoned.
My Sexual Abuse: The Sitcom is a documentary about this horrific story and O’Sullivan, who transformed it into a one-episode sitcom, 18 dangerous minutes long, which is available to stream on Channel 4’s catch-up service after the film.
The documentary succeeds in giving time, space and weight to O’Sullivan’s abuse. There’s a particularly horrifying moment when he recalls how you “become a sex object,” depersonalized, virtually invisible as people by the abuser, long before your mind or body is able to understand what’s happening.
It also explores the still-developing consequences. When O’Sullivan told his family he was going to the police and why, it caused a rift. There were those who believed him and those who said – and still say – O’Sullivan was lying and refused to admit that “Uncle Steve” (as he’s called on the sitcom) did any of the things he’s in prison.
Understandably, O’Sullivan struggles with this disbelief; this was perhaps the main driver of his desire to create the sitcom. How better to prove that you know your subject than by translating its essence to a new audience? How much more light can you shed than dragging it into a studio and playing it in front of an unknown audience of unknown numbers, opening yourself up to their opinions, criticisms and skepticism?
“I could write a poem,” he suggested to his writing partner Miles Chapman (who did not collaborate on this project, which was largely a solo project). “Yes,” says Chapman. “Or just shut up about it,” he adds, mockingly tired. It’s a laugh-out-loud moment – including for O’Sullivan – that proves there’s nothing so terrible that people can’t mine it for humor.
As the documentary unfolds, we watch the series take shape around more heartbreaking revelations from O’Sullivan and commentary from his wife. She has her own clear, loving understanding of where the deep damage to her husband’s mental and emotional life lies. We see that humor is not so much optional as vital; maybe it’s built into us. Even during the trial (“uniquely awful”, though his cross-examination was), O’Sullivan was struck by the defense lawyer’s description of Steve – who lavished gifts and days out on the boy as part from its shaping – like “a little soft touch” was a comic line.
The documentary includes enough of the making of the sitcom to give us insight into the creative decisions, such as O’Sullivan choosing to play himself as a child as well as an adult, rather than watching a child actor “prepare.” We see him decide to dress Steve in a teddy bear suit, emblematic of the innocence and comfort that children should be able to rely on, his terrible subversiveness making the program all the more powerful. We see the emotional weight of the project – and the potential benefits he hopes to reap from undertaking it.
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And what about the sitcom itself? It’s good. At least as good as your average pilot and, given its origin and subject matter, therefore something of a triumph. Rufus Jones and Ellie Taylor are the forgetful mom and dad. Cariad Lloyd pulls double duty as Aunt Bex and his protector—a nod to the sitcom that she’s responsible for bringing Steve into the family. Sam Underwood plays the cartoonish, fun-loving bear who sets his sights on young O’Sullivan one night. It’s formatted like a mainstream studio sitcom, and the rictus artificiality of it all suits O’Sullivan’s purposes perfectly. You have to laugh, especially at the last line. And cry afterwards.
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