Review
Change
Film & TV
Sustainability
5 min read

Why is the The Repair Shop so cherished?

Memory lane and the makers work magic on tired treasures.

Sarah Basemera is a circular economy enthusiast and a founder of Canopi, a boutique for recrafted furniture.

A restorer rest on his elbows while painting a wooden rocking horse.
@therepairshoptv.

In the beginning, before the plethora of streaming platforms, was Antiques Roadshow, Cash in the Attic and Bargain Hunt. I recall rainy summer days as a tweenager, stuck indoors tuning into uplifting afternoon TV, forced by my older sister to watch these wholesome shows... all because there was only one TV screen in our home. I dreamt of finds across our green and pleasant land, all the while safely seated in a gritty Camberwell (long before our newsagent sold Vogue Italia and ID magazine). 

Fast forward to 2017 and along came The Repair Shop. It swooped onto our screens almost a decade ago and has since become a family TV gem. During lockdown, its audience boomed. It became a soothing staple for many homes to open their doors into The Repair Shop barn and see makers work their magic on tired treasures. After almost a decade, why are we still captivated with seeing tired treasures and hope restored despite its recent troubles? Now The Repair Shop crew is embarking on their first live show tour called ‘Secrets from the Barn’. Instead of the Barn, they'll be traveling by bus to share their favourite repair stories and tackle problems in a Q&A session. 

To the uninitiated, I perhaps lost you at Bargain Hunt. The Repair Shop is a gentle show about tired treasures restored back to life by a myriad of craftspeople set in a picturesque barn in West Sussex. The list of these restorers reads as a fitting extension to the butcher, the baker, and the candlestick maker. Depending on its core material, each object, is matched with one of them. There is a carpenter, a goldsmith, a hatter, an upholsterer, a horologist and a leathersmith. A cobbler, a luthier, a seamstress, a ceramicist and a metalsmith appear too. Then a vintage electrician, a book conservator, a silversmith, a percussionist restorer, an organ builder and a painting conservator.  Finally, in a league of their own – the teddy-bear repairers! 

Suspense is weaved into the show as we want to see the object ‘before’ and ‘after’. During the repair, we eavesdrop on the challenges faced by the restorer trying to fix the object. The reveal moment is the show’s climax - seeing the object restored to full glory and reunited with its custodians.  

When the object is associated with loss or hardship, the stories will quiver the stiffest upper lip. I never imagined I could be tearful about the restoration of a teddy bear, a toy plane or a tractor.  Clearly it is not the objects that are important, but the treasured memory of those whom they belonged to and the enduring love of the family members who brought the objects into the barn. 

Our fondness for The Repair Shop is a quiet longing for things to be fixed both within and without. 

One day in the future, reality TV shows, like The Repair Shop, will be relics themselves. Pored over by generations to come, eager to learn what we were like. But not all such shows are made equal. I hope The Repair Shop is treasured just like those teddy-bears. Why? Because it says so much about us today. 

We are tiring with our throwaway culture – click, scroll and repeat. Things built to pass, made of materials that we cannot pronounce, and that nature cannot digest. Unforgettable one season later. Crafted often in upsetting conditions for workers, without fair pay, lunchbreaks or daylight. Our fondness for The Repair Shop is a quiet longing for things to be fixed both within and without. It is affection for those who are not with us now, an appreciation for craftsmanship and the resourcefulness in the face of waste. We are charmed by the craft of repair but why? 

Suffice it to say the Millennial, Zillenial, Gen Z, Alpha, and Beta generations did not grow up in a ‘make do and mend culture’. I know my mother is sad I wear red and white snowflake Scandinavian handmade mittens with holes in them. I cannot line a curtain. We kind of all know that the repair culture that Boomers and beyond practiced has been lost. But we long for it to be revived again. 

‘Humpty dumpty sat on the wall . . . all the king’s horses and all the king’s men couldn’t put humpty together again’. As children we know instinctively this is tragedy, a broken toy or person that cannot be fixed. Our preference for mending as a virtue, is instilled in us from a young age.  

Mending things is satisfying and makes a positive contribution because the object can be used or admired in its full glory once again. It reduces waste by preventing us from buying new things and is therefore resourceful. Many of us ‘click and collect’ not just because of price but also convenience. There is deep satisfaction in salvaging something that you own or in having it restored with expert help when its beyond your ability. 

Many of the things we buy now couldn’t make it to The Repair Shop because they wouldn’t survive being passed down. Things manufactured by machine, out of synthetic materials are not strong contenders for heirlooms of tomorrow. Visitors to The Repair Shop own something precious but durable and worthy of being restored by an expert.   

Craftmanship is beautiful.  Revealing what it takes to repair gives us deeper appreciation for it and the hands that made it. When we see what it took to ‘remake’ we foster respect for the skilfulness of the craft.  

The intergenerational quality strikes a chord in a culture preoccupied with youthfulness and anti-aging. Often families come into the barn together and recall a fond memory of a loved one from another generation. The story behind the piece and the person it belonged to, is fascinating. Our affection and love for our grandparents and beyond is endearing and it is uplifting to see this fondness on screen. 

Then there is the big reveal, the dust sheet is lifted and the artisan reveals the repaired masterpiece. If you make it to the end of the story the reward is to see the dramatic change. It can be emotional, at the end when the custodian sees the object restored. Emotions run high; there is joy, gratitude and a sense of satisfaction that the broken object is revived and the memory of the loved one lives on.  

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Review
Comedy
Culture
Film & TV
7 min read

When I watched Life of Brian with my teenage kids…

The universe is still not making sense.

James is a writer of sit coms for BBC TV and Radio.

A movie still shows a Roman amphitheatre, covered in body parts, over which a sign reads 'children's matinee'.
Saturday morning at the amphitheatre.
Hand Made Films.

Over the Christmas holidays, I decided it was time to watch Monty Python’s Life of Brian with my teenagers. This was not just because I found it in a charity shop on DVD for a pound, although that may have had something to do with it. And so, what if I did wrap it up and put it under the Christmas tree along with Monty Python and the Holy Grail

Let’s focus on the real question here: what was it like watching this much-loved but controversial movie from 1979 in early 2025? And what would my church-going, Bible reading, Gen Z teenagers make of it? 

This movie was not entirely new to them. I’d already shown them one of the finest sketches you will ever see, in which Brian has to learn to haggle for a beard whilst on the run. I’d also shown them ‘Romani Ire Domus’ sketch as I was teaching them Latin as part of their home education. I told them to expect more brilliant sketches like this, but that the movie is essentially “a bag of bits”. And that the ending is a disaster. More of that later. 

Here are some of their reactions: 

“Wow! This is soooooo Horrible Histories.” 

It was. And it was even more resonant when we watched Monty Python and The Holy Grail. This is not a criticism. After all, who doesn’t love Horrible Histories? Especially the first cast who went off and made a truly brilliantly funny movie you probably haven’t seen about William Shakespeare called Bill. I think we’ve seen it as a family at least eight times. But they could see the legacy of Monty Python fifty years on. 

“What’s with that bit with the space craft?” 

I don’t know. Maybe they had to find something for Terry Gilliam to do. 

“Why are you fast forwarding that bit?” 

The movie contains unnecessary and tawdry nudity. As a parent, I reserve the right to censor the movies my children watch. 

“Is that it?” 

The movie is admirably brief at 93 minutes. My kids were just startled by the fact that the movie ended, without an ending. I’d prepared for them for this. After all, Bill has a proper beginning, middle and end. (Seriously. It’s great. Watch it) My kids have watched a lot of Pixar movies which are normally honed to plot perfection (with the exception of Soul which is a plot hot mess. And, as a jazz fan, I really wanted to love that movie.) 

The ending of Life of Brian is poor, by any measure. It’s not just the fact that the crucifixion scene makes light of something savagely sad and sacred. It’s more that the movie ends with Brian abandoned to his fate on a cross while Eric Idle sings the cheerfully stoic Always Look on the Bright Side of Life while they all bake under the hot sun. And that’s it. The movie is over. 

It’s slightly better than the non-ending of Monty Python and the Holy Grail, which comes clattering to a halt after the allotted time. I read somewhere that there simply wasn’t any money to do anything else. Clearly, Life of Brian, a few years later, had a bigger budget so there was at least an attempt at an ending. But a song, even a good song, doth not an ending make. 

The song’s chirpiness belies the brilliance of it. With some neat rhymes and a simple, singable hook, the song achieves exactly what it sets out to achieve: stoic reassurance and an encouragement to put a brave face on things. It’s a funny contrast given they’re all being crucified, albeit in a comical pain-free way without nails and blood. 

We shouldn’t be surprised that this is a message coming from relatively young men who’ve had a good education, been lauded as great comedians and made a lot of money. And still have their whole lives ahead of them in 1979 (although Graham Chapman died ten years later aged 49.) The fact the Pythons have nothing to say about life, death, suffering, pain, betrayal, the universe or anything isn’t their fault. Nor should we look to such sketch comedians for profound insights about the human condition. 

How I felt 

Here's how I felt as I watched Brian grasp the absurd injustice of his fate on a cross in the closing scene: I sensed the spirit of Douglas Adams, writer of Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. The first series was broadcast on BBC Radio in 1978, the year that Life of Brian was being filmed in Tunisia. Adams writes about a universe that feels like it should make sense. But it doesn’t. It feels like there should be justice. But there isn’t. Which is funny. But also a bit sad. 

The protagonist, Arthur Dent, is like Brian: a victim of circumstance, pushed from pillar to post by idiots and monsters. Ford Prefect constantly explaining the plot while Arthur Dent is dragged along, persisting with a middle-class simmering indignation that seems to last into eternity. But then, it’s a sitcom, so it’s not supposed to end. 

A movie is a different proposition. We do not need to get bogged down with talk about the ‘hero’s journey’ for long but by the end of Life of Brian, our hero is only halfway through his quest. He has crossed the threshold by joining the People’s Front of Judea. But then what? He becomes disenchanted and realises he is going to have let go of something in order to grow and move on. But he doesn’t. He’s tied to a cross, abandoned and left for dead. 

What other ending could there have been? I did have one idea. That Jesus, who is also in the movie, raises him from the dead. Brian says thank you, decides against becoming a disciple and makes a living as a cheesemaker. It’s a funny call-back, but still not satisfying, is it? 

The problem is that Brian doesn’t have any true desires deep down. He doesn’t have a quest. That’s because this movie started life as a parody of Jesus, whose story its own natural beginning, middle and surprising but satisfying end. But the Pythons found that the life of Christ is rather compelling and challenging when you take the time to read what he actually said and did, so the focus shifted. What if Brian were mistaken for a messiah? The target became a mistaken identity comedy about organised religion. 

Looking Back 

46 years later, does Life of Brian still feel like searing satire on organised religion? Not really. Brian is not mistaken for the Messiah until almost 50 minutes in. The movie is more than half over. There are religious themes and sketches before that point, such as the scene in which the blasphemer is to be stoned (by women in beards), the ex-leper beggar healed by Jesus “without so much as a ‘by your leave’!”. 

Brian only starts preaching to avoid being noticed by the soldiers. A crowd gathers and we’re into the ‘consider the lilies’ sketch, which I’ve always found funny. (And I never felt this was threatening or undermining the original version spoken by Christ himself, although I think of it every time it’s read aloud in church). 

And then, the movie turns. Once the soldiers have gone, Brian stops talking. But this leaves the small crowd on a cliffhanger. They are now hanging on his every word. As he tries to get away, they turn his gourd and sandal into relics. He runs, but is found. We get the “very naughty boy” line, Brian addresses a crowd  in the ‘you are all individuals’ sketch. Soon afterwards he’s arrested, and that’s the end of that. The religious themes fall away. It is hardly a coruscating broadside salvo on organised religion, although I understand why it might have felt like that at the time. 

Watching it now when religion has declined for a further 45 years since 1979, the blows do not really land as they may have done at the time. This places further pressure on the ending which does not deliver as it was never intended to. 

But seeing the chipper, upbeat stoicism at the end through the eyes of my kids was really interesting. They know that Disney and Pixar and now Disney Pixar have been trying to tell kids for decades that you should ‘believe in yourself’. They are rightly sceptical about messages of self-belief. So, it’s quite strange to see a movie with a religious theme end with song and a whistle and the idea that you don’t need to believe in anything at all. But that you should smile anyway. 

What a curious conclusion. The fact that it felt so strange in 2025 might suggest that the British optimism in the face of death and injustice isn’t really good enough anymore.  Maybe this will encourage us to go back to the original. After all ‘Blessed are the Cheesemakers’ is only funny if you know want what Jesus actually said at the Sermon on the Mount. Maybe a new generation will want to take the time to read what he actually said and did.

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