There’s a familiar shape lurking outside a side door at Pinewood Studios, tugging away on a cigarette. Leather jacket. Strap-on dreads. A bit older than you remember, but still very much the same rollie-smoking space waster. As one of the millions of kids who grew up with Red Dwarf – taped the episodes off the telly, made Bazookoids out of boxes – bumping into Dave Lister in a smoking area is more than a little surreal. “You want to be outside having a fag with eight Stormtroopers!” says Craig Charles. Star Wars: Rogue One is filming on an adjacent lot. He launches into his giant, pepper-grinder laugh. “Now THAT’s surreal!”

We’re here – in what, it turns out, is geek paradise – because filming on Red Dwarf series 11 and 12 is under way, a full 28 years after the smash cult sitcom began. Even taking into account its extended periods of hiatus, it’s a pretty extraordinary lifespan for any show – never mind an odd, depressing-sounding sci-fi sitcom about the last human being left alive.

When the show first aired in 1988, no one expected it to go anywhere. TV sci-fi was dead. (Late-80s Doctor Who saw to that.) The myth prevails that Red Dwarf only got the green light because money was set aside for a second series of the enthusiastically forgotten Ben Elton show Happy Families, which had the common decency not to be made. But according to Elton, it probably came from an unmade second series of his later sitcom Filthy Rich and Catflap. Nevertheless, all of a sudden there was some cash spare for a comedy about a man stranded 3m years into deep space with a hologram of his dead bunkmate, a creature who evolved from the ship’s cat, and a senile computer named Holly.

“When the show took off there was no one overseeing it,” says co-creator and writer Doug Naylor, “so we could just do what we wanted.” This meant, rather than established actors like Alan Rickman and Alfred Molina (both of whom auditioned), the roles of Lister went to Craig Charles, a zeitgeisty punk poet; his uptight superior Rimmer to amply nostrilled impressionist Chris Barrie; the computer’s to laconic standup Norman Lovett, and the Cat’s to a dancer named Danny John-Jules, who arrived to audition an hour late but in character, looking resplendent in one of his dad’s zoot suits.

‘It’s like Porridge … in space.’ Photograph: UKTV

Oddly, the show became a hit, enjoying a rude run of form between 1988 and 1993 and winning an Emmy in 1994. Something about it resonated: perhaps it was the exploration of some genuinely intriguing sci-fi ideas, from virtual reality to time travel; genetic engineering to the total absence of alien life. Perhaps it was its invented lexicon, replete with smegheads, goits and gimboids.

Most likely, it was that, removed of all its sci-fi baubles, Red Dwarf was a classic, studio-based odd-couple sitcom. “I always saw this as kind of Porridge in space,” says Charles. It’s no coincidence that the Marooned episode – consisting largely of Charles and Barrie, alone, bickering, trapped – is considered by many fans to be the best. “Red Dwarf for me is about the chemistry of the main four,” says Barrie. “If you look at Blackadder in its pomp, or Porridge, it’s just a great marriage of performance and script. Red Dwarf has always had that.”

IT’LL BLOW YOUR ARSE INTO SPACE! … back on board the Starbug. Photograph: UKTV

The show’s momentum couldn’t last: at the height of its popularity, Rob Grant (the other half of the writing and production duo) left. An uncertain seventh series in 1997 jettisoned the studio audience; a wobblier eighth in 1999 – which unwisely revived the entire crew of Red Dwarf – brought it back. After this, the BBC declined to renew it. That seemed to be that.

“There was 12 years where I referred to Red Dwarf as ‘that thing I used to do’,” says Robert Llewellyn, who joined in series three as uppity mechanoid Kryten. But the cast still loved the characters. The fan clubs were still around. Red Dwarf had lost none of its cultish buoyancy at conventions or in DVD sales. So, in 2009, Dave commissioned a three-episode special. Everyone returned. They did so again for a further full series in 2012. Both smashed Dave’s ratings records. More Dwarf seemed inevitable, if the cast were game.

“I’ve known these guys longer than I’ve known my wife,” says Charles. “That was what it came down to – a choice between staying in Coronation Street or doing this.” Last year, after 10 years on the cobbliest of soaps, Charles left. He missed comedy, and the opportunity to strap on the famous dreads came up. “I was like ‘I’ve got to do it.’ It’s a career-defining role.” As it was with Llewellyn’s re-application of the rubber head: “The only reason I do it now – and I don’t do any other acting, it drives me mad – is because it’s being with your mates for a few weeks.” “There’s nothing similar about us,” says John-Jules. “Except we all have Red Dwarf.”

The new series sees the return of filming before a live audience. A genuine camaraderie comes across during recording – one anyone who’s seen out-takes compendium The Smeg-Ups will recognise. “It would show if we were sick of each other,” says Llewellyn. “There have been shitty times, certainly, but this season has been brilliant fun.” There’s gurning to camera. 25-year-old in-jokes. A lot of corpsing. The cast go and sit in the crowd during pre-recorded scenes. Llewellyn stays in character. Someone asks to lick Lister. “All the faffing, larking about between takes keeps the audience going,” says Charles of the three-hour live taping. “Though in SOME of the cast’s cases,” he snipes, side-eyeing John-Jules, “it’s because they can’t remember a fuckin’ thing.”

‘It used to be an “H” on the forehead – done. Now, Chris needs a bit more help in the ... hair department.’ Photograph: UKTV

The fan-appeasing approach extends to the effects and sets: there is CGI, but much of Dwarf returns to chunky, retro-feeling models. The sets teem with fanboy detail: the Jupiter Mining Corporation-branded chilli sauce on Lister’s shelf (tagline: “IT’LL BLOW YOUR ARSE INTO SPACE!”); dog-eared copies of Morris Dancing Monthly on the coffee table; crushed JMC beer cans next to Lister’s seat in Starbug; the photos of Jim Bexley Speed in his bunk. “Did you have a look at the keyboards in the science room?” asks Charles. “We’ve messed around with the keys on one of them. Now it says YOUWANKER.” John-Jules adds proudly: “But you’ll never see it.”



Even with all the goodwill in the world, it would be a generous viewer who called the resurrected Dwarf a true return to form; the show hasn’t hit light-speed since the sixth series. But few comedies reach the high-water mark of Red Dwarf’s imperial phase to begin with, let alone maintain it for six series. Competing with itself, new Dwarf will always lose. 99% of sitcoms would. But there’s still enough essence of Dwarf to satisfy fans, who – as the show approaches it fourth decade – it is aimed squarely at. “There’s gonna be people out there who have their knives out for us,” says Barrie. “But for the vast majority, the response will be really good.”



As to whether there’ll be more, nothing’s confirmed yet. “It’s been the backbone of my career,” says Barrie. “I’m happy to see it through to the end. As long as I’m capable and required, I will say yes.” Sounds promising – though they may need to spend a bit longer in the makeup chair for series 18. “For Chris it used to be an “H” on the forehead – done,” says Llewellyn. “Now he needs a bit more help in the ... hair department.” He turns the Bazookoid on himself. “Six days after we finish shooting I turn 60,” he says. “I don’t think it’s right for a 60-year-old man to be covered in rubber. I’ve been very much cured of any temptation towards a rubber fetish.” “I’m sorry,” says Barrie, “but he’s already been a man of 59 doing it. He’ll be there. I know he will.” Llewellyn adds, mock-appalled: “But don’t forget, Craig’s busy DJing for young people.”

Red Dwarf XI starts on 22 September at 9pm on Dave. It’s available to preview on UKTV Play now

• This article was amended on 21 September 2016. An earlier version said Red Dwarf got the green light because money had been set aside for a second series of the Ben Elton sitcom Happy Families, which was not made. This has been amended following a clarification from Elton.