‘Ricky Gervais’ Alley Cats’ Netflix Review: Filthy, Feral and Surprisingly Soft-Hearted

A foul-mouthed bunch of stray cats hardly sounds like the most obvious premise for an “uplifting”, sensitive animated series. But that’s very much Ricky Gervais’s modus operandi: the British comedian is known for his blunt, often crude humour, which nonetheless tends to conceal a surprisingly soft centre. That’s the underlying logic of Alley Cats, the new series from the creator of The Office. Here, he himself (well, his voice) plays the leader of a gang of cats who live in a half-abandoned basement, watch telly all day, chat about whatever happens to be on, and then get on with the usual feline routine: eat, shit, sleep.

That’s the blunt, no-frills dynamic of the show’s central trio, who come across like a group of British slacker teens or twenty-somethings: they lounge about, nap, argue, laugh, bicker, rinse and repeat. They don’t drink, but they do get high. And they have sex—at least one of them does—in ways that are, let’s say, somewhat unconventional. With distinctly working-class English accents and a rate of obscenities per minute that firmly places the show in adult territory, the protagonists of Alley Cats may be harmless enough, but they’re hardly presentable.

Things begin to shift when an accidental “mission” nudges them towards something resembling empathy. It starts with the arrival of Kitten (Jo Hartley), a lost little stray who—much to their initial reluctance—demands time and attention. Inevitably, the tiny newcomer softens them (especially Gus), and they spend their days trying to find its home while stumbling into minor scrapes along the way. Alongside Gus, the trio includes Puke (voiced by David Earl), an old, filthy cat obsessed with sex in the most bizarre ways, and Fang (Andrew Brooke), essentially Gus’s sidekick, backing him up in his most abrasive, crude observations about everything.

They’re not alone, either. Every morning, Ponce (Tom Basden)—a polite cat from a well-to-do household—and Olive (the excellent Diane Morgan, aka Philomena Cunk), who is, to put it politely, somewhat lacking in clarity, turn up at the basement. The five of them carry Kitten around, look after it, and drift from one bit of trouble to another, all the while exchanging jokes and engaging in the kind of affectionate group bullying typical of close-knit friendships. There’s also a romantic interest for Gus, Lara (Kerry Godliman), plus appearances from his elderly mother (Natalie Cassidy). The six short episodes generally unfold over the course of a single day.

It’s hard to say how well this works dubbed, because so much of the show’s appeal in the original lies in the cats’ way of speaking—especially Gus and Puke, whose relentless verbal flow comes packed with language you’d more readily associate with a football terrace. Somewhere between banter and thinly veiled aggression, the cats articulate their bleak take on a world in decline, mocking and resenting humans for the mess they’ve made of it. Faced with a discussion about potential climate collapse and whether it’s worth saving the planet, Gus is unequivocal: “Let all the humans die. Fuck ’em.”

Beyond the coarse chatter, though, Alley Cats proves unexpectedly tender, charting—above all—Gus’s growing attachment to the kitten and the personal situations that gradually shake him out of his usual cynical, nihilistic stance. Episodes tend to begin as a barrage of crude jokes and end on a surprisingly emotional note, often accompanied by songs from James Taylor, Cat Stevens and… Coldplay. In fact, one of the show’s standout moments is a musical sequence that doubles as a charming video for a well-known track by The Smiths.

At first glance, it hardly seems like the most wholesome of series—granted, much of its humour is pretty vulgar and decidedly adolescent, albeit undeniably funny—but as it unfolds, it becomes just that. Even the most prickly, aggressive strays can, with a bit of luck, turn out to be rather affectionate after all.