Written by some of the most experienced writers, “Getting On” dealt with the NHS, the comedy side of dramatic operations, life-or-death decisions and the heroics of doctors battling against impossible odds.
Yet one of the finest depictions of the NHS arrived quietly, without fanfare, and took place not in a trauma unit but on a geriatric ward.
Getting On, created by Jo Brand, Vicki Pepperdine and Joanna Scanlan, was one of the most perceptive British comedies of the 21st century. First broadcast by the BBC in 2009, it examined the everyday realities of life inside a modern hospital and found humour, frustration, compassion and absurdity in equal measure. It would later be adapted for American television, proving that its observations about healthcare and bureaucracy travelled remarkably well across the Atlantic.
The series stood apart because it refused to romanticise the NHS. This was not a world of handsome surgeons delivering stirring speeches while racing between operating theatres. Instead, viewers were introduced to overflowing paperwork, endless meetings, malfunctioning equipment, budget constraints and elderly patients whose needs often extended far beyond medicine. The result was a programme that felt less like a television drama and more like a documentary accidentally interrupted by moments of comedy.
At the centre of the ward was Kim Wilde, played by Jo Brand. Having returned to nursing after raising her family, Kim represented the backbone of the NHS workforce: experienced, capable and endlessly patient, yet frequently burdened with the least glamorous responsibilities. She found herself carrying out intimate personal care, navigating contradictory instructions from management and attempting to satisfy a growing mountain of administrative requirements, all while trying to ensure patients received the dignity and attention they deserved.
Brand’s performance was masterful precisely because it was understated. Kim rarely complained, rarely rebelled and rarely sought recognition. Instead, she embodied the quiet professionalism that countless nurses demonstrate every day, often while operating within systems that appear determined to make their jobs harder.
Alongside her was the brilliantly observed Dr Pippa Moore, played by Vicki Pepperdine. Intelligent, conscientious and academically gifted, Pippa was nevertheless trapped within a world of audits, reports and strategic initiatives. Her difficulty connecting emotionally with colleagues and patients provided much of the programme’s humour, but there was never any sense that she lacked compassion. Rather, she was portrayed as someone who had become so immersed in policy and process that ordinary human interaction had become unexpectedly challenging.
Equally memorable was Joanna Scanlan’s portrayal of Sister Denise Flixter, a ward manager whose professional responsibilities were constantly colliding with personal chaos. Denise was ambitious, frequently overwhelmed and forever searching for financial stability. One of the programme’s most memorable storylines involved her disastrous decision to take out a substantial loan for a prospective husband who promptly disappeared, taking with him not only her hopes of romance but also her beloved motorhome and even her dog. It was a storyline that balanced farce and heartbreak with remarkable skill.
What elevated “Getting On” above simple workplace comedy was its refusal to create villains. Managers were not portrayed as monsters, doctors were not depicted as detached elites and nurses were not transformed into saints. Instead, everyone was shown as trying, often unsuccessfully, to navigate a healthcare system increasingly dominated by targets, performance measures and management initiatives.
One recurring theme involved the NHS obsession with organisational programmes and motivational schemes. Concepts such as “Icing the Cake” perfectly captured the sometimes surreal language of modern management, where staff were expected to attend workshops, fulfil objectives and complete audits while simultaneously delivering compassionate patient care. The comedy arose not from cruelty but from recognition. Anyone who has worked in a large organisation, particularly within the public sector, recognised the truth behind the joke.
Yet for all its satire, Getting On remained deeply affectionate towards the NHS. Beneath the bureaucracy, the forms and the meetings lay a profound respect for the people who keep hospitals functioning. The nurses changing dressings at the end of a twelve-hour shift, the healthcare assistants comforting frightened patients, the doctors balancing procedure with compassion and the cleaners ensuring wards remain safe all received recognition in a way rarely seen on television.
Perhaps that is why the programme continues to resonate. Long before discussions about NHS waiting lists, staffing shortages and healthcare reform dominated political debate, Getting On understood the essential truth of Britain’s health service. The NHS is not merely a collection of buildings, budgets and policies. It is a vast network of ordinary people performing extraordinary acts of care, often under immense pressure and with little public recognition.
Unlike Casualty or Holby City, Getting On found drama in the mundane and humour in the everyday. It recognised that most healthcare is not about spectacular emergencies but about patience, dignity and perseverance. In doing so, it produced one of the sharpest, funniest and most honest portrayals of modern Britain ever broadcast.
More than a decade later, its observations remain as relevant as ever. The uniforms may have changed, the technology may have improved and the management jargon may have evolved, but the humanity at the heart of the NHS remains exactly the same. Getting On understood that truth better than almost any television programme before or since.
All three series can be seen here or you can order them on Youtube or Amazon Prime.
