Back in 2012, Danger 5 nearly killed me. Specifically, it was the sit down gun; a shotgun fired into the ceiling by a bird-headed colonel to hurry up a meeting. It’s a simple, stupid joke executed with a totally straight face. Watching it on my laptop in a uni lounge had me in such hysterics that a concerned classmate tried to call my family. Showing him the sit down gun did not help the situation.
To explain Danger 5 is to rob it of its magic. It starts out as a pseudo-60s Eurospy comedy set in an extended second world war, where the Nazis are reduced to cartoonish villains and an international team of heroes tries to kill Hitler every week. The second season transforms itself into an 80s Miami Vice extravaganza of sex, drugs, shoulder pads and assorted bodily fluids.
