TO: America; FROM: The BBC

I imagine that this is what it could be like to get one's hands on and then one's brain around a DVD containing the first season of Cheers -- or maybe even The Simpsons -- after finding it lodged in a bottle washed up on a particularly media-savvy beach. After knowing little to nothing about it. Maybe you've heard rumors of the impending message among your erudite, intelligent, and amusing tribe and have braced yourself accordingly, or maybe you stare at the thing like the lone stranded sailor on a deserted island: dumbstruck, curious, hopeful, and wary.

Mixed metaphors aside, the arrival of the The Office's first season on DVD (BBC Video, $29.98) is all the better for those of us on this side of the Atlantic whose cable plan doesn't include the network's American cousin, or who haven't glimpsed an episode otherwise. To sit down for the original six -- as well as the almost off-handed making-of documentary and assorted deleted scenes -- that this two-disc package comprises is nothing short of revelatory.

Simple in structure and subtle in all aspects but its most important one (we'll get to him in a minute), Stephen Merchant and Ricky Gervais' phenomenally funny creation is an elevated -- almost aloof -- sitcom set in the overstaffed, underworked Slough branch of Wernham Hogg paper company. For largely unknown reasons, a documentary crew is filming the office in (non)action, and the show is meant to be the fruit of that project: short, choppy bursts of sheer ultra-dry British banter weaved in with awkward, uncut shots of the daily drone and interluding talking-head interviews.

At the center of all of this is regional manager David Brent, Gervais' officious, sententious, lascivious, disingenuous alter ego, a self-proclaimed "friend first ... boss second ... probably an entertainer third," and the series opens with what will become a very familiar image -- his fleshy red face locked briefly into a fangy smirk -- and a very familiar sound -- his voice braying endlessly on with the confident pitch of a clueless fool.

Because we've all known his type at some time or another, and because Gervais -- a nonactor -- inhabits him with such carefree control, David Brent is a monumental success as a TV character: a few rungs up from Cliff Clavin and a handful down from Homer J. Simpson, catch phrases, mannerisms, backstory, and all. Watch him as he destroys an already ridiculous "team-training" customer-service roleplay by finally shouting at the rude hotel attendant paying him no attention that "There's been a rape up there!" and, after switching roles with the trainer, who as the dissatisfied guest informs him that he is staying in room 362, sneering that "There is no room three-six-two in this hotel," and, leering triumphantly at his staff, "Sometimes, the complaints will be false."

All but one of Brent's staff are aware of just how asinine their boss is, from Tim (Martin Freeman), the 30-year-old conscience of the show, whose wit and wisdom are only matched by his unhappiness; to Dawn (Lucy Davis), the receptionist whose nearly inaudible asides are the strongest antidote for Brent's occasionally poisonous behavior (firing her as a practical joke, for instance). Their foil is cell-phone-holstered Gareth (Mackenzie Crook), the bird-faced sycophant, insecure assistant regional manager ("assistant to the regional manager," Brent repeatedly corrects him), and Brent's only ally. It's through Gareth, toward the end of this first season, that The Office rubs up against any semblance of tension: He breaks down in tears after realizing that he could very well lose his job as the Wernham Hogg branches prepare to merge.

That tension is rather fleeting. The Office -- whose second season is available on DVD in the UK -- is mainly brave, effective, existential comedy, inducing as many roars as chuckles, as many grins as nods. It's also Britain's biggest hit, and as such is a refreshing blast of the anti-Aaron Sorkin, one of the States' biggest hitmakers: There are no stirring speeches, no conspicuous stances. There is little dramedy. Instead, Gervais and Merchant litter classic and contemporary comedic references like crumbs, contextualizing this series among the likes of Python or Christopher Guest or Curb Your Enthusiasm. Unlike those landmarks, however, there's interestingly little improvisation here, just precisely scripted brilliance. Humor for humor's sake, that is, and one hell of a treasure. We can now only wait for U.S. TV to ruin it in remake.