The Paper is pitched perfectly between futility and zeal

In The Paper (Sky Max/Now), the same documentary crew from The Office covers a local newspaper called the Toledo Truth Teller in Toledo, Ohio. Diminished since its glory days, the Truth Teller shares a workspace with toilet paper company Softees (presumably the metaphor isn’t accidental). Arriving for his first day, there’s Ned, played by Domhnall Gleeson, a toilet paper high-flyer intent on reviving the Truth Teller.

Ned idealises journalism: “When I was a kid, I didn’t want to be Superman; I wanted to be Clark Kent.” Only journalist Mare (Chelsea Frei) seems inspired by Ned’s vision; the other staff are clueless – in the opener, they fail to notice a fire raging in a nearby building. Among the staff, Alex Edelman plays a dazed reporter, while Detrick (Melvin Gregg) nurses a crush on a co-worker played by Ramona Young. Sly British executive Ken (Tim Key) and fiery Esmeralda – Sabrina Impacciatore of The White Lotus – both want Ned to fail.

The Paper’s connective tissue with The Office is strong, to the point of repeated characters: the latter show’s accountant Oscar (Óscar Núñez) works at the Truth Teller, and makes several references to his former Dunder Mifflin workmates.

One of The Paper’s themes is the demise of the media – “The New York Times would shut down without Wordle” – and the opening credits show newspaper being used as wrapping paper; Ned also tussles with a news blogger. But it’s lightly played and the team end up testing beauty products, exposing a mattress shop scam and covering a story about a Softees product (the nightmarish “man-mitts”) clogging the sewage system.

The genius of The Office lay in the shared recognition of the mundanity of the modern workspace, the headlock of middle management and the grind of the 9-5. The Paper retains that but ignores shifting office mores, such as working from home, giving it a dated feel. While it produces Tim/Dawn and Jim/Pam-style romances, including frisson between Ned and Mare, it’s missing an office ghoul, as delivered by Mackenzie Crook as uptight Gareth in the UK version of The Office and Rainn Wilson as unhinged Dwight in the US counterpart. At the same time, Gleeson’s performance is pitched perfectly between futility and zeal – the last showman of local news – and there are plenty of giggles in the eccentricity of the staff and their dogged pursuit of low-stakes scoops. The Paper isn’t presented as a reboot of The Office US, but that’s how it hits. It’s a slow-burn, but considering how good The Office became, I’m interested to see how it evolves.

From the mockumentary sitcom to another revived comedy format; the sketch show, with Mitchell and Webb Are Not Helping starting on Channel 4. As a comedy duo, they’re chiefly remembered for the peerless anti-sitcom Peep Show – co-written by Succession’s Jesse Armstrong, with Sam Bain and Andrew O’Connor – but also the BBC sketch show That Mitchell and Webb Look.

Among notable sketches, there was the evergreen student favourite the Numberwang quiz show, the Nazi skit (“Are we the baddies?”) and the post-apocalyptic gameshow in which a smoke-damaged host kept referencing “the event” and telling people to “stay indoors”.

For the new series, David Mitchell and Robert Webb lead a writing/performing troupe of Kiell Smith-Bynoe (Ghosts), Stevie Martin, Lara Ricote and Krystal Evans. It’s served classic sketch show style and, going by the first couple of episodes available for review, the results are varied.

An opening routine about the invention of lavatories is clumsy (“No one is using the new room for having a shit”), a sketch about aggressive airport security is well performed but hackneyed, a take on therapy dawdles on for ever and an Abba-based skit is underpowered to the point of wasting the costumes.

Elsewhere, things rev up considerably; there’s a twist on plumbers in adult movies (“You’ve been doing this a long time and you’ve inadvertently become a damn good plumber”) and a futuristic mauling of lazy attitudes to the climate crisis (“Let the ocean boil them to death”). The series is most sure-footed when it gets meta, focusing on television, whether taking a wry look at reality TV aftershows, or skewering the multiple dramatisations of the Emily Maitlis interview with Prince Andrew: “Some stories have to be told. Twice.” There’s even an uber-meta glimpse into their own writers’ room.

There’s so much swearing throughout, I predict pearl-clutching from viewers expecting the Would I Lie to You?-issue Mitchell. The funniest – and most cuss-laden skit – is Sweary Aussie Drama, set on a sheep farm; a riot of mangled Australian accents and turbo-profanity (“Don’t you fucking fuck with me!”) surreally intercut with baaing from the sheep. The pointless idiocy made me laugh. Lots.

Also on Channel 4, new gameshow The Inheritance is unforgivably bad. As with The Traitors, people go to a posh mansion to win money. Liz Hurley intermittently appears as “the Deceased” via video, purring: “Hello, darrr-lings … Here goooes. I’m deeead.” All credit to La Hurley; she camps it up well – the Leslie Phillips of her era. The worst bits of The Traitors, the tasks, are dragged out interminably on The Inheritance; pulling wine out of lakes, working on a farm. The contestants then choose worthy “claimants” for the money they’ve won. There are alliances and rivalries; people get voted off. All that. But done badly.

After watching three mind-numbing episodes (of 12), even Hurley in leopard skin drawling her catchphrase – “Ciao for now!” – is seriously starting to grate. Is it my imagination or does “the Executor” Robert Rinder look embarrassed to be hosting? It’s getting to the point where gameshows trying – and failing – to be The Traitors is turning into a genre all of its own.

The Guest

(BBC One)

A superior thriller in which Gabrielle Creevy (In My Skin) plays a skint, struggling cleaner who is offered work by Eve Myles – and it all turns sinister. Absurd twists are leavened by fine acting from the leads.

I Fought the Law

(ITV1)

Sheridan Smith is in raw form in a harrowing legal drama about the real-life mother, Ann Ming, who successfully battled to overturn the double jeopardy law after the murder of her daughter.

I Am Martin Parr

(BBC Four)

An absorbing profile of the Magnum documentary photographer, famous for his insightful chronicling of British people at leisure.