Before Carell and ‘The Office,’ there was David Brent

Before Steve Carell’s buffoonish boss Michael Scott stumbled and stammered through nine seasons and 201 episodes of the American version of “The Office,” there was David Brent.

Brent was the creation of comedian Ricky Gervais, who co-created the mockumentary sitcom for British audiences. And while it originally was almost cancelled due to low ratings, it has since gone on to be one of the most successful British comedy exports of all time.

Where Scott was a more loveable boor, Gervais’ creation was a self-inflated jerk, unafraid to let fly some wildly inappropriate attempts at humor, often to hilariously awkward deafening silence from those around him.

This creation seemed such a fine-tailored suit for the actor/comedian to wear, as his no-holds-barred approach to humor ruffled many a feather, but left even more in stitches. When the final “Office” special ended, Gervais went on to write and/or direct a number of series and features that ranged from brilliant (the oft-overlooked “Extras”) to middling (“Special Correspondents,” “The Invention of Lying”).

He returns to the well once again with “David Brent: Life on the Road” for another round of roasting, ribbing and revelry as he lives out his dream of becoming a pop star (released on Netflix Friday, Feb. 10). Anyone familiar with the character knows all too well that things do not go according to plan.

Following a similar downward path of fellow comedian Steve Coogan’s evergreen character Alan Partridge, Gervais’s Brent suffers some spectacular falls, mostly from his own ego. But, as the film’s director, he does manage to squeak in just a dollop of humanity and self-actualization that might not feel entirely earned, but does give the film a refreshing break from the barrage of barbs which entangle our anti-hero.

Far from the middle managerial position he once held at a sleepy paper company in Slough, Brent is now a mere traveling salesman, pushing, of all things, feminine products. He is now low man on the office totem pole, but that does not prevent him from taking the time to blindly offend his co-workers. He has finally amassed enough cash to dump into his dreams of hitting the open road as a rock star … or at least performing at a string of seedy nearby clubs with a full band of much younger musicians who view his presence like a communicable disease.  It’s a shame that none of the other “Office” characters pop up for the affair, in addition to Gervais’ frequent writing partner Stephen Merchant, who all could have perhaps added some nostalgic layers to the proceedings. So, to paraphrase a former pop singer, there “ain’t nothin goin’ on but the Brent” here.

Brent is now viewed in a semi-empathetic light, which actually makes sense for those who are just being introduced to the character for the first time in this outing. But for those of us who recall the acerbic lout of yore, it’s a bit of a stretch, but not too far, considering his repeated falls from grace uncomfortably documented by a mockumentary camera crew. Of the newest additions to the affair, only Ben Bailey Smith seems to make an impression as Brent’s beleaguered bandmate, who is apparently only befriended so Brent can make a stream of inappropriate racial jokes while absolving himself with having a “black friend.” It ends with a particularly poignant moment, though, which seems fitting, if not a tad undeserved. Brent is merely a man who so desperately wishes to be liked that he is literally content with purchasing that friendship.  And it shows us that even the most wretched human beings are capable of our compassion, which, in this sour political climate, is never a bad thing.