Another 'Ab Fab' Reunion Is Here: What We Know About 'Amandaland' and Why It's Probably Doomed

Let’s be real for a second. The press release lands in my inbox, and the headline is basically a Mad Libs for British comedy: Ab Fab stars Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley reunite for Amandaland. You could slot any names in there, and the effect would be the same. This time, the algorithm coughed up Jennifer Saunders and Joanna Lumley.

The BBC has officially pressed the big red ‘Nostalgia’ button again.

The news is that the iconic duo from Absolutely Fabulous are gracing the Christmas special of Amandaland, the spin-off to the much-lauded Motherland. Saunders will play the sister to Lumley’s character. The press release describes her as a "ball of country-living, enthusiastic upper-class bluster," which is just a focus-grouped way of saying "She's a posh weirdo, you'll love it." And honestly... maybe we will. But that’s not the point.

This isn't a reunion. It's a strategic deployment. Amandaland is a show trying to find its footing, and the network is bolting a nostalgia-fueled booster rocket to its side, hoping it reaches orbit. It’s like putting a classic V8 engine into a brand-new electric car. It might make a lot of noise and get some old-timers excited, but does it actually belong there? And does it signal a lack of faith in the new vehicle itself?

The PR Machine Whirs to Life

You can always tell how confident a network is by the quotes they push out. Jennifer Saunders gives the standard, polite line: "delighted to be joining the fabulous Amandaland gang." Translation: "The check cleared, and the schedule worked out." It’s fine. It's professional.

But then you get to the quote from the show's star, Lucy Punch, speaking in character as Amanda. "The Christmas special is going to be an absolute cracker - it's like totes fire, with all the festive feels, for reals. Slay bells!"

I had to read that twice. I can practically hear the strained silence in the writers' room after someone pitched that line. It's the sound of a committee of 50-somethings trying to guess how kids talk, based on a single TikTok they accidentally watched. It's a bad sign. No, 'bad' doesn't cover it—it's a flashing neon sign that says, "WE DON'T TRUST OUR OWN SHOW TO BE FUNNY ON ITS OWN MERITS." When you need to lean on catchphrases that were dated five minutes after they were invented, you're already in trouble.

This isn't creativity; it's a marketing exercise. It’s offcourse a calculated play to get headlines and lure in the generation that grew up with Patsy and Edina chain-smoking their way through Harvey Nichols. They know we’ll tune in out of curiosity, and they're banking on that curiosity bleeding over into the second series. The whole thing feels less like an exciting artistic collaboration and more like a carefully managed corporate merger.

So, Are We Just Supposed to Clap?

Look, I get it. The first series of Amandaland apparently got good reviews. Critics called Punch and Lumley a "dream comic double act." Great. So why the stunt casting? If the show is so strong, let it stand on its own. This move feels defensive.

I can already picture the scene. The overly bright Christmas lighting, the clinking of glasses filled with non-alcoholic prop wine, and the canned laughter swelling as Saunders walks on screen. The audience will go wild for a minute, caught up in the memory of Ab Fab. But then what? She has to exist in the world of Amandaland, a show with a different rhythm and a different purpose. Will it feel like a natural extension, or will it feel like a celebrity cameo awkwardly shoehorned into the plot for a ratings bump?

This is the disease of modern media. Nothing can just be anymore. Everything has to be part of a universe, a spin-off, a prequel, a legacy sequel. We've become so obsessed with leveraging existing IP that we've forgotten how to build something new from the ground up. So they bring in the old guard to sprinkle some of that '90s magic dust on it, and we're all just supposed to clap like trained seals because we recognize the faces.

Then again, maybe I'm just a jaded asshole. Maybe this is exactly what people want for Christmas—a warm, comfortable dose of the familiar. A throwback to a time when comedy felt sharper, or at least, when we were younger and easier to please. But at what point does a loving tribute cross the line into creative bankruptcy?

And The Crowd Goes Mild

At the end of the day, this isn't about art, is it? It’s about mitigating risk. A Christmas special with two beloved British icons is a safe bet. It’s an easy headline, a guaranteed bump in viewership, and a convenient marketing tool for the upcoming second season. It will be perfectly fine. It will be professionally executed. It will be completely, utterly, and depressingly forgettable. And the fact that it will probably work is the most cynical thing of all.