The Dry (Britbox) is a dramedy about a recovering alcoholic set in Dublin. Therefore it must open with a wake. Shiv Sheridan (Roisin Gallagher) is five months, 17 days, six hours sober and poised at that critical juncture where a weekend with your dysfunctional – and just-about-functionally drunk – family might be exactly the thing to fling you off the wagon. She has just returned home from London for her granny’s wake, which naturally begins with sandwiches and small talk round the open casket (“our side makes fabulous corpses!”) and closes with a wasted rendition of Will Ye Go Lassie Go. You don’t have to have read James Joyce to know all this deep in your bones, but it helps.
Happily, the cliches powering The Dry are of the true kind. So many scenes, particularly in the masterful opener, bristle with beautifully observed moments. Such as when Shiv’s uptight sister Caroline asks her brother Anthony what they need for the wake. “Something that says death, but also hope,” he suggests. “Carr’s water biscuits … brie … booze,” she murmurs, beginning a list. Or when Shiv says she wants to say something at the funeral. “About what?” her mum asks, aghast. “Granny?” “Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any need for that,” her mum concludes. These are throwaway, very real interactions. Funny, yes, but as with most of the jokes in The Dry I rarely cracked a smile. The humour in this tautly written, expletive-laden series is funny like a thwack to the funny bone.
