Diane Morgan returns as Philomena Cunk in Cunk on Cinema, taking viewers on a hilariously misguided journey through the history of filmmaking.
If you’re not British, Diane Morgan’s Philomena Cunk likely came out of nowhere. Chances are you first encountered her through a series of viral clips on social media, most notably one in which she asks military historian Ashley Jackson about his favorite ABBA song during a conversation about the threat of nuclear war, a subject she considers too depressing. The deadpan documentary presenter originated on Charlie Brooker’s Weekly Wipe before earning her own mockumentary series, including Cunk on Britain, Cunk on Earth, and Cunk on Life. Now, she turns her attention to film history, taking viewers on a journey through more than a century of filmmaking in Cunk on Cinema.
Critics often describe Brooker’s Cunk productions as mockumentaries, but that description arguably does them a disservice. Despite comedic undertones and overtones, deliberate misunderstandings between documentarian and expert, and Cunk’s rather outrageous observations, each series offers surprising educational value. Cunk on Cinema follows this pattern across six episodes, exploring the medium’s evolution from the first moving pictures and silent films to Hollywood’s golden age, the rise of blockbusters, and the streaming era. Cunk’s inquisitive nature continues to turn conversations about topics like film noir and the French New Wave into absurd interrogations of the past, all laced with a devotion to the art form.
Although Cunk frequently mispronounces names, confuses terminology, and draws spectacularly misguided conclusions – with some thanks to AI, a recurring bit that highlights damage done to both society and the industry as a whole – the historical information she delivers remains informative, whether through narration or interviews with industry experts. While anyone can appreciate the humor, those with a particular interest in cinema will undoubtedly get the most out of the BBC-Netflix co-production.
The art of asking ridiculous questions.
Much of the comedy comes from Cunk’s observations about filmmaking’s most celebrated achievements. She questions whether viewers need to watch the first 2,000 films to understand Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, wonders why King Kong didn’t use a real gorilla, and asks whether heartthrob James Dean was born a teenager. Elsewhere, she mistakes the title of Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho for Physio and questions why the iconic theme from Jaws consists of only two notes, asking composer Daniel Pemberton how a shark managed to write it.
The interviews therefore remain the series’ greatest strength, though its weaknesses are few and far between. Cunk probes a group of film historians, critics, industry professionals, and one Benedict Cumberbatch with questions ranging from innocent curiosity to the laughably nonsensical, all of which Morgan delivers without missing a beat.
Filmmaker Mark Cousins attempts to explain film editing, only for Cunk to wonder where a hypothetical horse goes when a scene cuts from the animal standing in a field to a man peeling an orange. Film critic Mark Kermode struggles through her misunderstandings of Metropolis and Hitchcock. At the same time, screenwriter Steven E. de Souza repeatedly finds himself bewildered by Cunk’s fleeting question about why Kane in Citizen Kane has carrots in his pockets.
Diane Morgan makes every minute count.
Even prominent director Michael Bay (Pearl Harbor, Transformers) seems defeated when Cunk asks whether studios remake widescreen movies with smaller sets to accommodate television screens once the films reach streaming. Cumberbatch fares little better when she asks whether actors enter their characters from the north or south, before confusing method acting with the rhythm method. Each interview is funnier than the last, reminding audiences just how special Brooker’s comedy is.
The show’s humor depends as much on the interviewees’ reactions as it does on Cunk’s questions and observations. Some attempt thoughtful explanations, gently guiding her towards the right answer, while others visibly struggle to comprehend what they’ve just heard. If you’re new to the Cunk franchise, the production briefs each guest that Cunk is a parody character beforehand, but it does not give historians, academics, and experts the exact questions or lines of inquiry in advance.
Morgan therefore remains the draw, and Cunk on Cinema reaffirms Philomena Cunk’s place among television’s greatest comedy characters. Dressed in her signature pantsuits, she addresses history with a fraction of the knowledge that BBC documentarians Lucy Worsley and David Attenborough bring to their respective subjects, relying on her awkward confidence to sell her message.
A little more Cunk wouldn’t hurt.
Her monologues lead nowhere the longer they go on. However, the series subverts expectations with its final speech, and there seems to be no limit to where her personal and subjective interest in history will lead her. Quite frankly, there should never be a time when Cunk isn’t on our screens. The character offers much-needed escapism, drawing laugh after laugh with an ease few can match.
The only substantial criticism is that Cunk on Cinema feels far too short. Its six episodes are between 13 and 15 minutes each, and a frustrating amount of the runtime goes to recapping the previous installment at the beginning before previewing what’s coming next towards the end. This becomes more noticeable as the series progresses; given the breadth of cinema history, it could easily have benefited from twice or three times as many episodes, each with an extra 10 to 15 minutes added in-between.
Its pacing ensures the jokes keep coming, but it also means the series moves on just as a topic becomes interesting. Oscar-nominated Seamus McGarvey, cinematographer of Avengers Assemble and Atonement, alongside Helen O’Hara, editor at large at Empire Magazine, are just two of the names that Cunk fails to spend enough time with. Clips from films ranging from Spartacus and Hello, Dolly! to Taxi Driver and Flashdance are welcome additions, accompanied by Cunk’s voiceover. However, some of these glimpses into cinema history are similarly brief.
Cunk on Cinema is a love letter to the movies.
For all its joke-a-minute humor, Cunk on Cinema offers an emotional counterpoint in its finale. After exploring the rise of animation, superhero franchises, prestige filmmaking, and streaming, the series confronts Hollywood’s uncertain future. Cunk acknowledges the industry’s struggle to bring audiences back to theatres after COVID-19, attract younger viewers accustomed to streaming culture and entertainment at their fingertips, and embrace new themes and talent in an industry that tends to rely on the same six actors. Audiences may have the answers, but Hollywood still struggles to adapt to changing viewing habits and, more recently, AI’s growing influence.
“Hollypocalypse Now” begins as another irreverent examination of the entertainment industry before taking a more sobering turn. It’s hard to pick the standout moment from the series, but the final ten minutes come close. Morgan delivers an impassioned monologue about the threat AI poses to human creativity, showing how recent technological advances could let virtually anyone produce a movie in less time than it takes to lay off a film crew.
Human creatives face an uncertain future both within and beyond the industry, while soundstages stand dormant, and the prospect of machines replacing the people who bring stories to life is no longer hypothetical. It’s hard to reconcile the glamour of Hollywood’s golden age, when bustling studio lots were dream factories, with the prospect of those spaces becoming silent homes for AI data centers.
The bottom line.
Cunk on Cinema is a marvel in an oversaturated streaming market. Amid recent news that Netflix faces declines in viewers, it seems that Charlie Brooker has the answers to their problems: commission real people, back talent over numbers, and remember why cinema became the juggernaut it is. The BBC may fare better than the streamer, but the British network has much to learn from the series, too.
Its six episodes are devastatingly brief, but beneath the laugh-out-loud humor, ridiculous questions, and bewildered experts lies a moving celebration of cinema and the people who make it possible, whether they are behind the camera, in front of the camera, or sat at home wishing they were anywhere near the big screen.
Cunk on Cinema premieres November 15, 2026. Watch the trailer below.
Images courtesy of Netflix.
REVIEW RATING
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Cunk on Cinema - 9/10
9/10
