Have you ever noticed something peculiar about cars in comedy shows and movies? It’s not the make, or the model, but the color. Specifically, the surprising number of Cars Yellow Car that seem to populate the comedic universe. It’s a phenomenon that might seem like a quirky coincidence at first, but delve a little deeper, and you’ll find a fascinating pattern that speaks volumes about how comedy works visually.
This observation began a few years back, sparked by a seemingly simple task: creating a comedy quiz. The challenge was to devise a “what connects” round, and the theme that emerged, almost out of thin air, was comedy characters who drove yellow cars.
The question posed was: “What connects Lance from Detectorists, Tommy Saxondale, Derek Trotter, and Dangermouse?”
The answer, of course, was their shared vehicular sunshine – their yellow cars. Lance’s TR7, in particular, stood out in Detectorists, not just as a mode of transport, but as a character in itself. It mirrored the comedic effect of Tommy Saxondale’s muscle car and even echoed the iconic Reliant Regal from Only Fools and Horses. And then, Dangermouse’s yellow car zoomed into mind, completing the quiz question.
However, posing this question to a room full of comedy aficionados yielded two intriguing reactions:
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An outpouring of further examples: “What about Taxi? And the van in The Beiderbecke Affair? Doesn’t Phoebe drive a yellow cab in Friends? There’s a yellow camper van in Little Miss Sunshine, right? Vyvyan’s flaming Ford Anglia in The Young Ones is yellow, isn’t it?” The list went on, revealing a seemingly endless parade of yellow vehicles in comedy.
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A more niche, but equally relevant question: “Is this a reference to Cabin Pressure?”
The Cabin Pressure reference, at the time, was unintentional. The “Yellow Car Game,” a source of amusement for Arthur Shappey in John Finnemore’s radio sitcom, was unknown. The more… physical… version of the game, involving punches upon spotting a yellow car, was also a future discovery, courtesy of personal experience. (Perhaps a topic for another exploration into the world of cars yellow car games.)
But it was the first reaction that truly captivated. It suggested an unwritten rule, a comedic default setting: the yellow car.
This is all the more remarkable when considering the actual statistics. In 2022, a mere 0.7% of cars were yellow, according to Top Gear Magazine. Yellow is a color rarely seen on real roads, existing more commonly in the realms of Lego and Hot Wheels – a toy car color. This rarity, presumably, is what makes the “Yellow Car Game” work; otherwise, everyone would be perpetually bruised.
Yet, in comedy, yellow cars are everywhere. If a character is designed to elicit laughter, chances are, they might just be driving a yellow car. It’s simply “how it is” in the comedic world.
It’s important to acknowledge a personal disclaimer here: automotive expertise is not the driving force behind this observation. Cars, their models, and technical specifications are a realm of admitted ignorance. However, a deep interest in the mechanics of comedy, coupled with an art school background and an appreciation for color, provides a different lens through which to view this phenomenon.
Of course, not every comedy character steers a yellow vehicle. Basil Fawlty’s Austin 1100 is famously red. Martin Bryce’s dormobile in Ever Decreasing Circles is a subtle powder blue. Herbie, the Love Bug, is white. Wayne and Garth cruise in a blue Pacer. Kim Kelly’s AMC Gremlin in Freaks and Geeks, a character-definingly awful vehicle, is a drab, underpant grey. And Laurel and Hardy’s Model T Ford, in the black and white era, could be any color, as long as it was monochrome.
However, the sheer volume of yellow cars in comedy remains disproportionate. Yellow emerges as a frequent choice, suggesting a deliberate meaning behind its use.
During a period of widespread lockdown-induced boredom, this observation was shared on Twitter. The response was an overwhelming flood of examples, confirming the pervasiveness of the yellow car in comedy. Collected together, these examples transcend mere vehicles; they become something more, almost artistic. Like a curated collection in a museum, the sheer number reveals a pattern, hinting at a deeper truth. Think of the Pitt Rivers Museum in Oxford, where rows of thumb pianos from across the globe reveal something fundamental about human nature and music. Typology, categorization – these can unveil unexpected anthropological insights. And in this case, we’re conducting anthropology with, as someone aptly termed them, “banana buggies.”
Here is a gallery of these comedic cars yellow car, a testament to their surprising prevalence:
It’s worth noting that not all these examples are strictly “comedy characters’ cars.” Inspector Clouseau and Terry Collier, for instance, are borrowing yellow cars for comedic effect. Yellow cabs, by their very nature, are yellow, meaning characters in Taxi or Carry On Cabby share a car color despite their diverse personalities. Yet, the collection as a whole forms a brilliantly banana-hued gallery of funny characters and their cars yellow car.
Is this just a case of seeing patterns where none exist? Perhaps it’s akin to the phenomenon where, after buying a new car, you suddenly notice the same model everywhere, even though they seemed invisible before. Human beings are pattern-seeking creatures. We categorize, we group, we spot connections based on our expectations. This list of yellow cars might simply be what happens when you actively start looking for them. You find what you seek.
However, this pattern-seeking behavior is fundamental to both survival as animals and information processing as humans. It’s also, intriguingly, how comedy functions. Comedy hinges on disrupting patterns. We predict an outcome based on experience and data, and then react when presented with something unexpected. We then reassess, using alternative frameworks, to see if the new data fits a different model. This is a simplified explanation of the complex cognitive process that occurs when we experience humor.
Therefore, the “yellow car” in comedy could be interpreted as unexpected data. Yellow cars are statistically rare in real life, making them visually noteworthy on screen. We register them, we do a double-take. We subconsciously ask, “Who would drive a car that is statistically this unlikely?”
The answer, more often than not, is a comedy character. Comedy characters deviate from the “default human” setting. They invite scrutiny, empathy, and inspection. They encourage us to engage in what psychologists call “theory of mind” – to step into their shoes and understand their perspective. This is mental nourishment. Comedy characters are rich and rewarding precisely because they don’t do the sensible thing. They do what makes sense to them, within their own often-hilarious logic.
This logic can extend to their choice of vehicle, including one that is attention-grabbing and statistically improbable.
The car, in this context, becomes “comic data.” It piques our curiosity. We ask “why?” We lean in. We become invested. And through this, we learn something about the character.
Cinematographically, a yellow car stands out, making it easy to track Del Boy or Vyvyan as they navigate their comedic escapades. But beyond visibility, consider the opening shot of Lance’s yellow TR7 cruising through the verdant Essex countryside in Detectorists. It immediately prompts questions about him: why this car? What does it signify about his personality, his aspirations, his past? It sets up expectations.
Lance’s yellow car is a symbol of ambition, a glimpse into an inner life marked by personal history and self-image, rendered in dayglo against the muted tones of his everyday existence and relationships. It’s a car that feels bigger than him, in every sense. Intriguingly, it’s the same model and color car as Joanna Lumley drove in The New Avengers. And in a clever, layered joke, Lance’s best friend Andy is in a relationship with a character played by Rachel Stirling, the real-life daughter of New Avengers star Diana Rigg. Lance’s oversized, almost toy-like Corgi car becomes a stand-in for the real, flesh-and-blood relationship he is too emotionally guarded to pursue. The fact that it’s from The New Avengers, not the more masculine Avengers with its Bond-esque Aston Martin, subtly suggests a feminine undercurrent to the car, aligning with the Purdey character Lumley played. It’s a detail imbued with thoughtful intent, typical of a show that even specifies birdsong in its stage directions. Ultimately, Lance’s yellow TR7 isn’t a “grown-up’s car”; it’s a child’s vision of the car a grown-up would buy if money were no object. All of Lance’s desires, his aspirations, are coded into that car and its vibrant yellow hue.
The same car color, however, communicates something entirely different about Jimmy McGill in Better Call Saul. Jimmy yearns to belong, to be accepted into the legal establishment. But his garish yellow car broadcasts his humble origins, a stark contrast to the sleek, monochrome corporate vehicles favored by his lawyer peers. When he finally “upgrades” to a non-yellow car, even his coffee cup refuses to sit properly in the cup holder – he will always remain an outsider. By being yellow, Jimmy’s car is smaller, more vulgar, more “trashy” than the persona he aspires to. And he’s acutely aware of it. The yellow car is a constant reminder, pulling him back down to earth. As memorably put, “The only way that car is worth 500 bucks is if there’s a $300 hooker sitting in it.” Fittingly, it’s a Suzuki Esteem. The car’s name itself becomes ironic, tied to the character’s lack of self-esteem and societal standing.
And when another character in Better Call Saul purchases a car specifically to flaunt ill-gotten wealth, a vehicle an “idiot would buy,” what color is it?
Mike Ehrmantraut aptly describes this magnificently ridiculous, Vyvyan-esque Hummer to the naive new criminal Pryce as a “blinking neon sign of a vehicle that says ‘drug dealer.’”
Comedy yellow cars yellow car often elicit reactions from other characters – double-takes, lingering stares. Their unusualness is often played for comic build-up. Consider the extended pause in Only Murders In The Building as Steve Martin waits, expectantly, at the street corner before Martin Short’s yellow car finally arrives. The scene is deliberately paced to heighten anticipation, to make us notice the car, and to ponder what its arrival will reveal about Short’s character.
Upon seeing that scene for the first time, one thing was certain: the much-anticipated vehicle, when it finally appeared around the corner, would be a burst of comedic sunshine. It had to be yellow.
The car is a facet of the character. And comedy, at its heart, is about anticipating character behavior. Any clue, even a splash of paint, can contribute to the comedic puzzle.
So, the next time you spot a yellow car in a comedy, take a moment to consider: it’s likely not just a random color choice. It’s a comedic signal, a visual shorthand, a clue to the character’s inner world and the humor that awaits.
