Then the bee and Trevor go at it, with a tantalizingly unclear line between what constitutes antagonism or villainy from the insect and what Trevor wrongly perceives as acts of aggression. Initially the comedy rehashes a classic of the genre: the breaking of an expensive art work (precariously positioned on a small table, of course) and attempts to mend it DIY-style. Subsequent scenarios, set in an ultra modern residence where the protagonist works (read: destroys the place) as a house-sitter, have three catalysts: Trevor, a collie-poodle cross named Cupcake, and a CGI bee. In these early moments Trevor tells the judge he’s “really sorry” but, “you see, there was this bee”, the writers (Atkinson and Will Davies, who were also the co-creators) using picture book language to establish a gracefully structured narrative.

This is implied from introductory moments in court, when a judge cites counts of “dangerous driving, destruction of priceless artwork, criminal damage and arson.” After the reading of each count there are flashes of dramatic moments coming up “arson” for instance accompanied by the amusing sight of Atkinson brandishing a flame thrower. Man vs Bee extrapolates great mileage from a widely relatable concept: something small that bothers us unreasonably, and unrelentingly, until we’re so deep into it our judgment collapses. Not the sensation it used to be, but still good: good enough to make you wonder whether it’s him, or you, or culture that’s changed. Watching him twist his body into all sorts of preposterous gestures, then use more preposterous gestures to camouflage the previous ones, is the equivalent of what it would’ve felt like to watch fat Elvis thrust his pelvis during The King’s latter years. Trevor (Atkinson) answers the door and speaks to a police officer, pretending to look and sound normal while a bee flies around inside his pants.

I defy anybody not to laugh, or at least not to smile a big stupid smile, during a very Beanish scene in episode three.

Mr bean face