Upon discovering that their town is up for sale, crafty Irish villagers scheme to raise the money to prevent the buy-out. They hold a poetry contest with a tempting grand prize -- the deed to their local pub. But what could happen when a duplicitous American rapper emerges as the best poet around?

With Jam, the TV follow-up to his Radio 1 series Blue Jam, Chris Morris focuses more on unease more than the satire of Brass Eye. Indeed, it's a moot point whether Jam can actually be categorised as comedy at all. Each sketch is steeped in a heavy brine of dark, ambient music (including Bark Psychosis, David Sylvian and Brian Eno), grainy imagery, fast-cut editing and slo-motion. Its mirthless, Kafka-esque scenarios feel like an attempt to morph into some new species of post-comedy that is more like the stuff of nightmares. The credits, in which Morris stalks the moving camera, uttering Lear-esque words of foreboding immediately announce that this "sketch show" is a galaxy apart from The Two Ronnies. 　　The appalled look on actor Kevin Eldon's face in the opening sketch of the series, as a young couple invite him to endure being buggered by a mutual acquaintance ("I need a break"), sets the tone. Rape, chemotherapy, wanton urination--as a naked "Robert Kilroy-Silk" goes insane in a sketch full of detestation for the oleaginous TV presenter--and recurring sketches involving callously authoritarian NHS doctors, all go to make up these annals of the bizarre and perverse. 　　Ultimately, Jam doesn't quite work, not on TV anyway. The repetition of the same, small cast over and over, broken up too briefly by Morris' own appearances (as a "country gentleman" living outside his house, for instance), coupled with the gruelling treatment of the sketch material makes for a psyche-probing, jaw-dropping experience--but in parts also a nullifying and strangely predictable one. Morris's "failures" are far more interesting than most people's successes. --David Stubbs

With Jam, the TV follow-up to his Radio 1 series Blue Jam, Chris Morris focuses more on unease more than the satire of Brass Eye. Indeed, it's a moot point whether Jam can actually be categorised as comedy at all. Each sketch is steeped in a heavy brine of dark, ambient music (including Bark Psychosis, David Sylvian and Brian Eno), grainy imagery, fast-cut editing and slo-motion. Its mirthless, Kafka-esque scenarios feel like an attempt to morph into some new species of post-comedy that is more like the stuff of nightmares. The credits, in which Morris stalks the moving camera, uttering Lear-esque words of foreboding immediately announce that this "sketch show" is a galaxy apart from The Two Ronnies. 　　The appalled look on actor Kevin Eldon's face in the opening sketch of the series, as a young couple invite him to endure being buggered by a mutual acquaintance ("I need a break"), sets the tone. Rape, chemotherapy, wanton urination--as a naked "Robert Kilroy-Silk" goes insane in a sketch full of detestation for the oleaginous TV presenter--and recurring sketches involving callously authoritarian NHS doctors, all go to make up these annals of the bizarre and perverse. 　　Ultimately, Jam doesn't quite work, not on TV anyway. The repetition of the same, small cast over and over, broken up too briefly by Morris' own appearances (as a "country gentleman" living outside his house, for instance), coupled with the gruelling treatment of the sketch material makes for a psyche-probing, jaw-dropping experience--but in parts also a nullifying and strangely predictable one. Morris's "failures" are far more interesting than most people's successes. --David Stubbs

Adapted from Blue Jam, a late night radio show, Jam consists of six shows featuring dark humour and unsettling sketches unfolding over an ambient soundtrack. From the mind of Chris Morris.

When the son of an infamous Irish mobster returns home for the internment of his Mother's ashes, he discovers his sister is missing. Tristan McGowan tracks down the gang responsible for her kidnapping and uncovers a dark family secret.

Old enough to know better… Young enough to do it anyway. Conor, his older sister Bronagh, best friend Packy and Niamh have just moved from Ireland to London, ready to shake this drunken haze and start life afresh with a clear head. The days of forgotten nights out, regrettable bedfellows and alcohol fueled bad decisions are over. Cheers to the adult life! Which starts now… soon… just as soon as they shake this hangover.

Jack Irish is a man getting his life back together again. A former criminal lawyer whose world imploded, he now spends his days as a part-time investigator, debt collector, apprentice cabinet maker, punter and sometime lover – the complete man really. An expert in finding those who don’t want to be found – dead or alive, Jack helps out his mates while avoiding the past. That is until the past finds him.

Hot-shot Los Angeles divorce lawyer Fiona Fox receives a letter from her estranged father and sets out to uncover the mystery of his disappearance.

A celebration of all things Irish, from sweeping landscapes to traditions and quirky sense of humor.

“Irish Uppercut” show refreshing chemistry between the two leads with a gorgeous Jeju Island backdrop. Bora is playing an adorable grim reaper by the name of Do Hye Na. Do Hye Na has nothing going for her in this world, but when she passes away she meets a cook named Woo Shi Hyung, played by Kim Ji Suk, in the afterlife and they experience many episodes together in a pub called “Irish Uppercut.”