If I was going to be unkind – and all signs are pointing towards that – I’d say this moment from tonight’s opening instalment of Stephen’s six-part Stateside sojourn could be extrapolated to encompass the whole of the episode. It’s suffering profoundly from an absence of meat, and our hero is left struggling to conjure up whatever he can with only traces of something interesting… something that fled the scene shortly beforehand.

But do all the pieces fit?

A bit of Fry and... Washington et al

Let’s go back to the start. Since Michael Palin paid his respects to Phileas Fogg, every authored travelogue has required a high concept to grease the wheels. Fry’s is a little squeaky. “I was so nearly born an American,” he tells us at the top of the programme. “I came that close. In the 1950s, my father was offered a job at Princeton University, and he turned it down. And so I was born, not in NJ, but in NW3. And I was born a Stephen, not a Steve. But ever since I found this out at a later age, I’ve been intensely curious to discover more about the world of my other self, this strange American… Steve.” Surely this is barely motivation to get out of your chair, let alone clock up 50 states? But then, let’s remember, it’s a TV show. All the conceit has to do is get us there – and even an unconvincing one can be forgiven if it’s quick. But unconvincing is the word that seems to underpin this project.

Arriving in Eastport, Maine (driving “a trusty London cab – albeit one hired in the US”), Stephen catches lobsters with a trawlerman. “What do you call yourself?” he asks. “Maine-iacs?”. “I’ve been called worse” comes the response. The encounter is unedifying and uneasy. Then it’s on to New Hampshire. Stephen is trailing the Governor of Massachusetts, Mitt Romney. “Stephen Fry, from the BBC…” he offers, stepping in front of the prospective presidential candidate at a political house party. “Nice to see you again” comes the response, as the quarry makes a deft sidestep. America, it seems, is just slipping by.   

From here, the programme continues as a series of bullet points: Stephen ascending a hill in a steam train; eulogising unexpectedly about ice cream (“That feeling of comfort you get”); momentarily materialising on board the deck of the 1962 America’s Cup-winning yacht, poking around the log cabin-themed playpen of a super rich banker while nobody’s home, and delivering eggy links to camera – “New York State, dominated by the Adirondack chain of mountains and Niagara at the top. They say it’s the size of England…” 

Perhaps he’s been ill-served by the production team, who’ve set him down in places where there’s little to say, or with people who say little. A conversation with scene veteran Oatsie Charles about the previous generation of super-rich in Newport, Rhode Island is just hard work. “Why did they call them cottages?” asks Stephen, referring to the mansions around. “I wasn’t there then!” is the reply. “No you weren’t,” he mollifies, “but you know about the history”. And then, giving up: “There’s your drink – don’t forget that”.

Stephen Fry, not seeing a deer

Oatsie Charles not talking about the Newport social set

What makes all this even more frustrating is at times there’s a breakthrough. A hint of something really interesting. Oatsie talks fleetingly about the marriage of John and Jackie Kennedy. “It was too funny,” she says, recalling the Kennedy family arriving in almost ceremonial garb. “Always in Newport you were slightly under-dressed, unless it was a big occasion. And this was just Jackie getting married.” But then it’s gone, and it’s off to New York City for a meeting with a gang of wise guys, who greet Stephen at the door with: “There’s tea, coffee, cake, soda in the refrigerator”.

“Thou shalt not question Stephen Fry”. It’s one of the Ten Commandments, and normally an edict sensible to stick to. The notion of the greatest living Englishman undertaking any mission, talking on any subject is normally a pleasing one. But here, the heroic, witty Fry falls a long way short. 

Back on “the green side of the Big Apple”, a man comes over the hill looking slightly baffled. “Did you guys see it?” he asks. No, confirms Stephen. We didn’t see the deer.

It was the press launch for his upcoming ITV1 drama, Kingdom. It’s a co-production between Parallel Film and Television Productions and Fry’s own company Sprout. In the show, he plays a Norfolk-based lawyer, Peter Kingdom, working in a small country town. A nice enough but slightly gooey programme, with choral theme music, Tony Slattery as a comedy yokel and Fry being profoundly lovely and loveable in the middle, it’ll probably be a huge series for Sunday nights. And, in fact, it’s already been recommissioned.

After the screening came the press conferences. We worked our way through stars Celia Imrie, Karl Davies and Hermione Norris. And then Fry came out. I’ve never been to a Q&A like it. It was a feeding frenzy. Every time the loquacious and hugely entertaining star drew breath, the room erupted with journos trying to chip in a question.

Anyway, here’s a bit from the man himself. 

“One of the things I was very excited about when Simon Wheeler [creator and executive producer] first brought the project to me was the fact that the country town is a much over-looked part of Britain. There are a lot of dramas that are set in the country, things that are rural, whether it’s Midsomer or Bollocks of the … Monarch of the Glen - I’m sorry. Or, whatever it might be. Something involving the adorable Martin Clunes looming in Cornwall. And there’s lots of urban things in Manchester or Liverpool or the Midlands or London. 

“But the market town, I’ve always believed – partly because I live near one, but I just think it’s true – they reflect Britain better than any other kind of, if you like, way of living. Better than a suburb, better than the countryside, Better than the city. For instance – not that Kingdom is issue-led, we hope it’s character-led – but all the things we talk about in abstract terms … you can say people talk about immigration with a capital I, or they talk about the environment with a capital E, or they talk about youth gangs and chavvy pikey hoodies. But, actually, you see more of all that in the market town then you ever would in Hammersmith or Hampstead.”

We got nearly 40 minutes of Fry, at which point his PR had to hustle him off to his next engagement. 

As I was leaving, I found myself sharing a lift with a couple of other journos, and the man himself. At these events there’s always the shared-delusion that everyone is a peer – cast, crew and reporters mingling together. It’s not true, of course, but it’s a nice idea. Thus, under these rules of engagement, I collared Stephen and explained how much I adored A Bit of Fry and Laurie. Not to get into too much detail, but I grew up in Scotland. As a profoundly English person, with a double-barrel surname and an equally lanky twin brother to boot, that series really helped, turning all those perceived negatives into positives. I’m in danger of overstating the case here, because I never felt ostracised by any means, but among my year group ABOFAL just – well – helped.

So I told him this. “Ah!” he exclaimed. “It helped to give you an identity!”. I thanked him. “Not at all!” he said, and we shook hands.

I’m not bowled over by Kingdom by any means. But Stephen Fry is still great.