The Hidden Gems
and Oddities of British TV Comedy Vol. 1

By Ben Ricketts

Copyright © 2016 by Ben Ricketts

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher.

www.curiousbritishtelly.co.uk

Contents

Old Boy Network

The
Estate Agents

Gibberish

This
is David Lander / David Harper

My
Summer with Des

Heil
Honey I’m Home

Biffovision

Grundy

Hardwicke
House

Asylum

Acknowledgements

Old Boy Network

ITV

16/02/1992
– 12/04/1992

One
of the rarer traits you’ll find in the ‘required skills’ section of a job
description is that of duplicity. It’s an undesirable attribute for most
employers due to the cancerous effect it can spread through their business.

However,
there’s one role where it’s an absolute prerequisite. You’re probably thinking
salesman, but, whilst understandable, that’s not what we’re looking for. And if
you’re thinking politician then you’re still wrong, albeit getting rather
closer.

Because,
of course, it’s spies who thrive on the virtue of duplicity. The environments
and situations they encounter demand a wildly divergent personality not only to
succeed, but also to avoid lasers aimed squarely at the genitals.

Obfuscating
the truth, therefore, may appear to be essential in some professions,
particularly when you want to avoid world record levels of infertility. What
if, though, you’ve teamed up with a couple of fellow spies and need to trust
that their chicanery is restrained?

It’s
a recognisably fiendish paradox, but one which must be explored in Old Boy
Network.

From
Russia with Love

Lucas
Frye (Tom Conti) has taken to life at MI5 with a deceitful zeal. Selling his
country down the river, Frye is working as a double agent for the Russians and,
with some relish, is hoovering up all the trappings of this perilous lifestyle
– in particular, women, money and success.

Unbeknownst
to Frye, though, he’s on thin ice as MI6 agent/desk jockey Peter Duckham (John
Standing) is hot on his treacherous tail. Duckham has been thwarted by Frye
ever since their school days, but has now gleaned enough evidence to hang Frye
out to dry. Duckham’s boss Sir Roland White (Robert Lang), however, is keen to
avoid yet another spy scandal.

Much
to Duckham’s chagrin the unthinkable happens. Far from being publicly
humiliated and held to answer for his actions, Frye is merely banished to
Moscow. Just as Sir Roland White has had to sweep this illicit affair under the
carpet, Duckham has no choice but to conceal his fury and move on.

Fast
forward a few years and Frye is back in the UK where he plans to set up a
freelance espionage agency. Fearing Frye’s questionable ethics, Sir Roland
White aims to pre-empt any PR nightmares this time by asking Duckham – now ex
MI6 – to keep tabs on Frye.

Nothing
imbues a man with a sense of determination more than the glittering promise of
revenge, so Duckham quickly gets to work. Duckham meets with Frye, to sound him
out, but is inexplicably offered a partnership at FDA (Frye Duckham Associates
– Frye’s already got the stationary sorted!).

Eager
to get close to Frye and stitch him up like a kipper, Duckham leaps at the
chance to join FDA. Despite the title of the show, FDA won’t purely be the
preserve of old boys; the enigmatic ex CIA agent (and delectably attractive)
Parker Morrow (Jayne Brook) will also be obliging FDA with her feminine guile.

Superficially,
the trio embrace teamwork as they embark on missions to spy on computer
whizzkids, investigate dodgy sports agents and thwart plots against Frye’s
freewheeling life. Nonetheless, the reality of this teamwork is suppressed by
the triumvirates’ determination to hoodwink each other for their own personal
gains.

Secret
Blueprints

Old
Boy Network was
a seven episode series produced by Central and aired on ITV during the spring
of 1992; the scribes behind the series were comedy legends Dick Clement and Ian
La Frenais.

Supporting
this fantastic duo was Sydney Lotterby, himself a marvel in British comedy and
previous collaborator with Clement and La Frenais on The Likely Lads,
Porridge and Going Straight.

The
series only received one airing – tucked away in a post 10pm slot on Sundays –
but did manage to secure its legacy with a VHS release. Although, like all VHS,
it’s now long out of print, it’s possible to pick the video up on Ebay, but the
more technologically advanced of you may want to seek out a DVD copy from
online purveyors of bootleg DVDs.

Uncovering
the Subterfuge

By
1992 my growing appreciation for British comedy was gathering pace, but perhaps
hamstrung by not having a TV in my room and the late transmission time (I was
9, okay?), Old Boy Network completely passed me by at the time.

However,
when I discovered it on a bootleg DVD site, a sense of intrigue descended upon
my finely tuned TV receptors. Here was a sitcom which was not only written by
the astounding Clement and La Frenais, but also starred Tony award winner Tom
Conti.

An
illicit DVD copy was soon winging its way to me.

Now,
I won’t insult your intelligence by describing the life and times of Clement
and La Frenais; after all, if you’ve picked up this book you’ll already be
familiar with their grandeur. And Old Boy Network sees them deploying
all their well-honed tricks with ease.

Clement
and La Frenais had been writing TV for over 25 years by the time Old Boy
Network aired and their talent for constructing believable characters is
evident from the get go; Duckham and Frye are both incredibly three dimensional
and their amazing discord emanates from them inhabiting opposite ends of the chalk
and cheese spectrum.

The
initial scene of episode one introduces Duckham as a seemingly industrious and
aspirational chap. It’s a revealing introduction which hints at him being the
type of fellow you could set your watch by, but, at the same time, one with a
petty and vindictive streak.

Duckham’s
diligent nature isn’t enough, on its own, to create comedy, so it needs some
juxtaposition. And in Frye, Duckham doesn’t half get juxtaposed.

Frye’s
first scene finds him relaxing, confidently, in bed with a beautiful woman just
before he’s banished to Moscow. His second scene – set eight years later –
finds him in Moscow and, again, confidently entertaining a beautiful women in.
So yeah, he’s a bit of a cad, and, yes, I secretly dream of being him.

Clement
and La Frenais, though, are mindful not to fall into the trap of stereotyping
females as mere deferential pawns in the game of espionage. And to eschew this
out-dated view, the writers introduce Parker Morrow.

Morrow
makes for an interesting twist on the Bond babe stereotype given the prevailing
trends at the time. Remember, a female Q was still a few years away and Miss
Moneypenny’s subservient nature was all that represented women in the UK’s
security agencies. Morrow, however, is clever, sexy and more than capable of
matching the boys for initiative.

The
conflict between the three secret agents is compressed into a finely balanced
relationship, but one where friction and deception are essential to keep the wheels
on the whole pretence. It makes for some striking moral dilemmas for the
characters, but also helps to stoke some magnificent performances.

Tom
Conti reaches lofty heights in Old Boy Network; it’s not often that
you’ll find someone who’s been nominated for a Best Actor Oscar in an ITV
sitcom, but when you do it’s breathtaking. Conti drinks cocktails with style,
flirts outrageously with women and affects disguises with a glee which shows
that he’s having the time of his life.

The
antithesis needed to foil Frye’s ebullience is perfectly captured by John
Standing. With his hangdog expression and innate sense of British awkwardness,
his expressive features can tell a thousand words with just one inelegant
glance.

Much
like their onscreen characters here, Standing has not tasted the glamorous
success of Conti, but his talent and determination has delivered a highly
impressive résumé.

Jayne
Brook must also be singled out for praise as the part of Morrow. Portraying the
new face of espionage she doesn’t miss a trick. Brook’s confident American
charms ingratiate herself with Frye and Duckham, but also manages to
effortlessly keep their advances at arm’s length.

It
would be a crime to restrict these fine performances to a moribund script, so
it’s with a healthy dose of justice that Clement and La Frenais feed the actors
such sparkling dialogue.

From
The Likely Lads to Porridge and through to Auf Wiedersein Pet,
Clement and La Frenais have always excelled in the hilarity stakes. And in Old
Boy Network the incisively cutting gags are certainly plentiful, but the
time devoted to them hints to a malady at the show’s heart.

Sure,
there’s unrestrained brilliance in the performances and dialogue, but submerged
beneath this is a lack of narrative clout. Although the plots are, technically,
adequate in their execution, there’s a lack of any real urgency or surprise.
And this is something we’ve come to expect from spy capers. As a result, the
whole series takes on a very sitcom-by-numbers feel.

Clement
and La Frenais’ scriptwriting genius does, however, result in some residual
brilliance in the final episode. The series’ overall narrative arc suddenly
comes into focus as its constituent parts slot neatly into place. The
character’s stories are all tied up and there’s a finely crafted sense of
closure for the series.

And,
as Duckham bemoans his lot and promises to spend the rest of his years growing
begonias in deepest Surrey, there’s even time for one final moment of sublime
flair from Frye at Duckham’s expense.

Assignment
Complete

Old
Boy Network certainly
has a lot going for it, but ultimately fails to live up to its promise of
greatness. The superb performances are driven by a fantastic dialogue which
utilise every comedic device in Clement and La Frenais’ extensive box of
tricks.

Unfortunately,
these elements are diluted by weak plots which leave you with a watered down
sitcom in your hands.

I
guess it’s clear proof that past form counts for nothing in the rough cut world
of grumbling audiences. Nonetheless, even a half decent sitcom by Clement and
La Frenais is more than worthy of your attention, so I heartily recommend that
you seek it out.

The Estate Agents

Channel
4

07/02/2002
– 14/03/2002

Shelter
is one of mankind’s most basic requirements, so it’s crucial you get a roof
over your head as soon as possible. This allows you to not only keep your
collection of vintage Radio Times magazines dry, but also gives you security
from the various external predators.

Unfortunately,
you do have to interact with one of these external predators to secure
somewhere to live. And this particularly verminous beast is known as an estate
agent. Driven by the allure of commission they’ll gleefully gild the lily of a
decrepit, damp and condemned bedsit simply to get their 10%.

Maybe,
though, I’m being a bit harsh and just haven’t met the right estate agent yet.
It may well be that there are, in fact, one or two decent ones swilling around
in the drowning depths of arrogance, cheap suits and gelled up hair which
define the profession.

And,
perhaps, these glimmers of virtue are to be found displaying their selfless
attributes in The Estate Agents.

Nice
Little Property

Embassy
Properties may seem like any other high street estate agents, but behind the
window cards of appealing properties and devious dealings, there lies a motley
crew of characters with idiosyncrasies so exaggerated they rival even the most
elaborate property descriptions.

Jerry
Zachary (Dan Clark) has a nose for cocaine, an eye for the ladies and a mouth
for concocting lies so extravagant they’d make an MP blush. With a flashy
exterior, Jerry possesses a character which is fleetingly engaging, but this
façade soon crumbles as his selfish, arrogant plots reach their climax

Often
on the calamitous end of Jerry’s schemes is Mark Devlin (Adam G Goodwin). Proud
owner of a white Austin Allegro which only travels in reverse, Devlin is cursed
by an almost magnetic attraction to physical violence. Constant nosebleeds are
small fry, though, compared to his home life with cheating wife Jenny.

Less
manic is the homely, calming influence of Mark England (Cliff Kelly) who is the
epitome of professionalism and good manners. Quite obviously a closet
homosexual, England fears revealing his lifestyle to his work colleagues, but
has no qualms celebrating his obsession with Roy Dance (Barry J. Gordon).

Roy
Dance, of course, was a former employee of Embassy Properties and was enjoying
retirement until he exploded all over his wife. However, his spirit is kept
alive by England’s constant flashbacks and rather disturbing ‘tribute room’
which may or may not be housed in a cupboard in England’s flat.

And,
completing the Embassy Properties’ roster is the owner, Tony (Mark Arden). Your
stereotypical wideboy, Tony has numerous side projects on the go involving high
profile celebrities and underlines all his activities with an undercurrent of
physical violence; more often than not it’s at the expense of Devlin’s face.

Naturally,
this gang of inept misfits find themselves bringing the property game into
disrepute on an almost hourly basis.

Whilst
selling unliveable abodes to naïve clients appears to be their main passion,
Jerry, Devlin and England also find themselves pushing the six legged Bolivian
mountain cat to extinction, dealing with the sexual ramifications of a work’s
night out and having their shenanigans splashed all over daytime TV.

Preparing
the Sales Pitch

The
Estate Agents was
a six episode sitcom broadcast on Channel 4 in the 11pm slot on Thursdays in
2002. Each episode was repeated 24-and-a-bit hours later in a timeslot fast
approaching midnight. And putting this series together was the curiously named
comedy troupe Electric Eel.

Having
first met at the Edinburgh Festival in the mid-90s, Dan Clark, Adam G Goodwin
and Cliff Kelly began working together and gradually evolved into the fully
sentient comic being known as Electric Eel. In 1999, the trio found themselves
with a Comedy Lab pilot about estate agents Roy Dance is Dead as Adam G
Goodwin recounts:

“Electric
Eel had been gigging live and with some TV credits under our belt (both as a
team and as individuals) for about three or four years. We were beginning to
garner attention from the industry proper and were invited to bid for a Comedy
Lab slot.

We
did, and were successful. Not forgetting the fact that our agent had jockeyed
us into position for the opportunity. Never underestimate a good agent!”

The
Comedy Lab pilot was considered a success and a full series was duly
commissioned. Both the pilot and the full series was produced by Angel Eye
Media Production and directed by Richard Osborne.

Aside
from the series’ initial run, The Estate Agents has never been repeated
on TV nor received a commercial release. The pilot and series proper, however,
remain available on 4OD. Electric Eel planned for a second series, but things
didn’t quite go to plan as Goodwin remembers:

“We
were commissioned by Kevin Lygo to write a second series even before the first
had aired, I think. The TV industry is notoriously transitory however and, as
we were waiting for the first series to air, our main allies at C4, Kevin Lygo
(head of comedy) and Cheryl Taylor (commissioning editor) moved on to other
jobs.

This
left us up in the air somewhat. The new commissioning editor was very
supportive (a young Ian Morris who went on to create and write The
Inbetweeners) but the new head, Danielle Lux was less keen. She brought in her
own slate and production of the second series was never commissioned. We still
have the scripts though! Somewhere. Probably”

Ideal
Property?

Believe
it or not, but there was actually a period in my life where I didn’t give two
hoots about what was on the old goggle-box. It’s a troubling scenario, but one
which I wouldn’t swap for the world. Because, you see, in the early 2000s, I
hit the grand old age of 18 and could finally get served in a pub!

This
led to my life getting flipped-turned upside down as all manner of drunken
adventures and escapades came a calling. And this made a nice change from
sitting on my bed watching Fawlty Towers ad infinitum. However, there
was one show which managed to cut through this glorious drunken haze – The
Estate Agents.

Making
a concerted effort to stumble home from the pub, my mate and I would relish a
bit of late night comedy to prepare us for a painful hangover the next morning.
And, with The Estate Agents rustling up a heady blend of surreal japes
and offbeat gags it was miles more fun than glugging a pint of water before
collapsing into bed.

Perhaps
my most abiding memory of The Estate Agents was the fantastic chemistry
between the Electric Eel guys. Having blended all their engaging nuances
together in the demanding furnace of the live comedy scene, Clark, Goodwin and
Kelly came to The Estate Agents with a comic timing which was match fit.

And
it’s this ease with which they slip into their characters that makes them all
the more believable despite their outlandish antics.

Sure,
Jerry has a complete lack of morals – watch in horror as he exploits a corpse
for a sale – and he’s a dyed in the wool wanker, but he’s our wanker.
And, Clark plays him with such a cocksure zeal you can’t help but delight when
he manages to mug off Mr Tent (again) before falling into bed with a beautiful
woman (again).

Devlin,
of course, is society’s punchbag both physically and figuratively. This could
make for a cheap laughs, but Goodwin ratchets up the pathos with aplomb. He
paints Devlin with a false sense of chirpiness which is flies in the face of
his disastrous life. And, when this veneer drops into an atomic, unhinged rage,
you can’t help but rub your hands in glee.

Cliff
Kelly brings a sharp contrast in the form of England as he’s kind and
personable. He’s not without angst, though, as he’s a closeted homosexual and,
in the pilot episode, he’s stealing funds from Embassy Properties to pay off a
blackmailer over his relationship with a 15 year old schoolboy. And then
there’s his Roy Dance obsession…

Completing
the main cast is Mark Arden as Tony. Arden is a comedy veteran and legend, so
it’s no surprise he manages to gel seamlessly with the rest of the cast in a
melee of wheeler dealer smarts and cartoonish violence. With his multitude of
bizarre tasks for the estate agents, Tony helps to lay the brickwork of the
series’ surreal outlook.

This
intriguing, absurd universe that The Estate Agents makes its home is, in
part, thanks to the almost schizophrenic feel of the script and Richard
Osborne’s handling of the direction.

Taking
the standard sitcom genre, the team behind The Estate Agents load it up
with smatterings of surreal sidesteps to ensure that, given the late night
timeslot, you’re never falling asleep. Barely a dull moment ever sets in and
it’s all thanks to the ever shifting scripts which keep your attention firmly
engaged.

For
example, England can’t just be looking after a normal cat for Tony. No, it has
to be a six legged Bolivian mountain cat. Devlin then has to kill said cat and,
as a replacement, staple two legs to England’s poor moggy. And, for good
measure, Tony then has to try and flog this cat to Michael Jackson (or an
amazing impersonator).

Talking
of this MJ impersonator, Goodwin remembers, with some glee the process of
working with a megastar:

“The
casting director, Wendy Spon found him. I doubt he was too difficult to find.
He was great but a challenge to work with at times. He didn’t want to swear because
he didn’t want to portray any kind of negative reflection of the real Michael
Jackson.

He
took it all very seriously and I think he sort of thought he really was him. We
just spent the whole day giggling at Michael Jackson trying to buy a six legged
Bolivian Mountain cat”

Going
back to the scripts, you’d be forgiven for assuming that three writers jostling
for input would have proven problematic.  Goodwin, however, explains that it
was far from difficult:

“We
knew each other pretty well by this stage. We had performed and written
together daily for some time. The process was organic as it had been when
writing broken comedy.  We’d agree our episode beats and then go to script.

We
probably didn’t spend quite enough time making everything work pre-script and
that meant problems later but we were new to narrative comedy and learning on
the hoof. You usually know when something works: it fits. If there were ever
any contention, majority would usually rule. I remember scripting being a very
happy time”

And
these scripts are all blessed with an incredible set of playful and eccentric
comic quips. These all play out against a background of distorting reality
which provides the series with a cartoony edge. And the extreme violence on
offer calls to mind The Young Ones which acts as a nice nod to Mark
Arden’s past.

Clarifying
their influences at the time, Goodwin states:

“We
were (and probably still are) comedy geeks. I think you have to be to work in
the comedy industry. Remember that this was still pre-The Office, so big
cartoon comedy was still in.

So
at the time we were watching Larry Saunders, The Simpsons, Spaced, anything
Coogan, Morris or Iannuci. Obviously, also Vic and Bob. We were also hugely
influenced by movies. We loved parody and this was reflected in a number of
scenes in The Estate Agents”

What
really stamps an identity on The Estate Agents humour, though, are the
running gags on offer. From England’s “As Roy Dance always said” speeches
through to Jerry’s increasingly bizarre excuses to his client Mr Tent and,
finally, the “You slap his face, I’ll nick his cigar” gag, the writers are
building a familiarity with this universe to engage the viewers.

Also
helping to cement a distinct feel for The Estate Agents is its
direction. Rather than looking to staid, traditional camerawork to hold the
action together, The Estate Agents embraces its exciting, irreverent
energy.

Employing
more production tricks than you can shake a stick at, we’re treated to split
screen sequences, aerial shots and nightmarish horror homages. And, when all of
these combine, they help to pluck the series out of reality and into an action
packed, surreal universe.

This
visual aesthetic was a vital part of the Electric Eel experience, so Richard
Osborne was keen to integrate this into the series as Goodwin remembers:

“The
intention was that it was a fast paced, challenging, cartoony and big laugh
funny show. That was very much the Electric Eel way. Our live shows were
exactly that. We wrote the show with that in mind and I guess Richard jumped on
board with that vision.

We
wrote in camera angles and reveals, but how they were shot was usually decided
upon by a committee of Richard, us and the DOP – Tim Cragg”

Put
Down a Deposit?

The
Estate Agents is
a sitcom which proudly wears its quirks on its sleeves, but never ends up
straying into alienating avant-garde territory. Instead, it’s powered by a
novel approach which takes in laddish charms, surreal whimsy and some fantastic
direction.

Sure,
it can be puerile at times and perhaps this is why the critics weren’t keen.
Jennifer Selway, writing in the Daily Express, summed The Estate Agents up
as “Originality? No. Charm? No”. As far as I’m concerned, though, it’s the kind
of sitcom you’d want to go down the pub with for a few laughs. And then stumble
home and watch it all again on Channel 4.

Gibberish

BBC1

16/03/1992
– 15/05/1992

It
may seem that when the final curtain call comes on our mortal existence then
that’s it. And, for many of us, that is indeed the case. However, certain
individuals manage to mould themselves into a thing of legend and their memory
shines brightly on through time.

One
such legend – and a true legend of comedy – is Kenny Everett who managed to
confound and astound audiences for nearly 30 years with his madcap antics, but
not many people are aware that his swansong in the televisual universe came in
a panel show which celebrated the mechanics and offbeat possibilities of
wordplay.

Would
this give Kenny’s career the fitting finale it deserved or would it simply be Gibberish?

Getting
Tongue Tied

Part
improvisation, part mischievous wordplay, Gibberish was a comedy panel
show hosted by Kenny Everett who acted as the quizmaster between two teams of
three celebrities. It was conceived as a relation to radio show I’m Sorry I
Haven’t a Clue, but bared little resemblance aside from Barry Cryer’s
participation and an overall sense of frivolous nonsense.

Regular
contestants included Barry Cryer, Danny Baker, Carol Vorderman, Steve Punt,
Keith Barron, Andrew O’Connor, Jan Ravens and Jessica Martin. Whichever
combination of teams had convened then had to compete through a series of
verbally dextrous and tongue tying rounds such as ‘Opening Letter’,
‘Newsreader’ and ‘Reveal Your Identity’.

Piecing
Together the Balderdash

40
episodes of Gibberish were recorded and the series – which all aired in
one huge block – was transmitted on BBC1 during spring 1992. Episodes ran
Monday to Friday at 10.35am and given the early morning run, it’s no surprise
to discover that Celador – kings of light entertainment TV – were behind Gibberish.

Conceived
by David Briggs, Sarah King and Richard Knight, Gibberish was very much
a family affair for Kenny Everett. David Briggs, after all, had worked with
Everett during his first stint at Capital Radio in the early 1970s. And,
emerging not only as a contestant in the credits, but also as associate
producer, was one of Everett’s long time writers, Barry Cryer.

Gibberish,
itself,
was written by Steve Knight, David Treloar and Mike Whitehill; it’s interesting
to discover that Knight and Whitehill were former alumni of David Briggs from
their days at Capital Radio. And why is this interesting? Well, the trio of
Briggs, Knight and Whitehill only went on to devise the globe straddling quiz Who
Wants to be a Millionaire?

Making
Sense of the Gibberish

There
was always a sense of unabashed, rambunctious fun pervading through the bones
of early 90s mid-morning game shows. From Win, Lose or Draw to Supermarket
Sweep and through to the sedate, yet eminently fun Crosswits, you
were spoiled for choice if you were: a stay at home mum, lazy student or victim
of the rising unemployment rate.

The
thrills contained within these shows were almost as cheap as the studio sets
they were filmed in, but the fervid hosts and larkish contestants elevated
these shows to cult classics. Gibberish, though, remains forgotten in
amongst this menagerie of shoestring budget quiz shows, but is this entirely
fair?

Unfortunately,
I missed Gibberish at the time, mostly due to being at school and far
from a TV set. However, this lack of first-hand experience has rarely deterred
me from donning my investigative cap. And when I discovered that Gibberish was
the final outing for Kenny Everett, I just had to head down to the BFI archive
to catch an episode.

Now,
given that Kenny was fast approaching 50 and had been diagnosed as HIV positive
just 3 years earlier, he still manages to mine into his rich seam of exuberant
brilliance. Naturally, his frenzied introductions for the show can’t be
maintained, but even at his most restrained, Kenny still possesses a natural
and charming effervescence.

The
contestants that Kenny oversees are just about decent, but, as you can
imagine with the timeslot, Gibberish is never going to be cramming the
A-listers in like sardines. Thankfully, despite Jan Ravens and Jessica Martin
failing to captivate, the rest of the celebs manage to cultivate a lively and
devil-may-care atmosphere.

With
national treasures in Baker, Cryer and Vorderman, it’s not surprising that they
conjure up an intriguing, yet seamless, mixture of boisterous laddish antics,
old fashioned wit and convivial intelligence. Steve Punt, despite being a
relative newcomer, also brings his Footlights smarts to Gibberish to
complete a rather holistic representation of British wit.

It
would appear that Gibberish is building up a head full of steam towards
TV gold, but as we move closer towards the core concept of Gibberish it stalls
frustratingly.

Perhaps
the most galling factor which frustrates is the impact of Gibberish’s mid-morning
scheduling; the true capability of the contestants’ uproarious potential feels
debilitated by this early timeslot. As a result, Gibberish veers too
close to ‘cosy’ territory at times and is restricted by a governing leash which
demands it never goes too overboard.

This
is fine, of course, for Crosswits, whose very spirit is forged in the
sanctity of defined rules and direction, but Gibberish needs that
little bit of room for offbeat manoeuvres which match the show’s contestants
and basic premise of gleeful nonsense.

The
end result of curbing the anarchic spirit which Gibberish craves is that
the limitations of the rounds are exposed.

Sure,
they’re serviceable little slices of panel show fare, but they fail to push
past this level of adequacy due to their lack of edge. Kenny and the
contestants still manage to purloin moments of joy from the rounds on offer,
but it never quite feels enough.

Gibberish?

I
doubt there’s much which could truly dampen the legendary status of Kenny
Everett. He paid his dues long before Gibberish, but that’s not to say
his contribution here is anything less than joyful. In fact, it hints at a
slightly more relaxed Kenny exploring new grooves for his maturing talent.

However,
whilst the contestants around him are all chomping at the bit to make Gibberish
a barrel of laughs, it never quite comes together. The show’s scheduling
contributes to Gibberish’s accompanying obscurity, so it’s disappointing
to see Kenny’s final project not realising its full potential.

However,
although Gibberish certainly isn’t troubling the big boys of British
panel shows, its light-hearted larks act as a fitting closer for a career
packed full of laughter.

This is David Lander / David Harper

Channel
4

31/10/1988
– 05/12/1988

02/11/1990
– 07/12/1990

The
truth can be a difficult concept for people to handle. Not only can it be a
painful pill to swallow, but the ramifications of the truth can lay bare the
most atrocious behaviour. Consequently, in order to conceal the truth, those
that are morally degenerate tend to lie and cheat to avoid detection.

Now,
the world would be in a right old state if these out and out louses were
allowed to go about their nefarious activities, so thank God for investigative
journalists. With a keen eye on society’s well-being and a penchant for door
step confrontations, they readily sniff out the truth.

And,
one man, well two actually, decided to take investigative journalism to new
(and surreal) heights in This is David Lander / David Harper.

Searching
for the Truth

David
Lander (Stephen Fry), and his successor David Harper (Tony Slattery), are
investigative journalists not only on the trail of some of Britain’s most
notorious conmen, but also burrowing deep down into various establishment
cover-ups and whitewashes.

Using
a variety of techniques ranging from orchestrated door step ambushes to
unwittingly becoming entangled in the scams they’re investigating, the two
David’s are tasked with delving into some intriguing scandals which risk
leaving them bruised and missing the occasional spleen.

And
what sort of unscrupulous characters will our two David’s be chasing down?
Well, there are crooked surgeons hell-bent on implanting monkey testes in
patients’ cheeks, builders with tall tales of spontaneously combusting cats and
whole police forces unable to control their supergrasses.

Planning
an Investigation

This
is David… didn’t,
of course, emerge blinking into the dazzling RGB light of television with all
the innocence of a new-born show. Under the title of Delve Special, with
David Lander at its helm, it had already clocked up four BBC Radio 4 series’
when it made the great leap to TV.

The
majority of the crew from Delve Special made the transition to This
is David… and, most importantly, this included the writer and creator Tony
Sarchet who had previously written for Spitting Image, Jasper Carrot and
Lenny Henry.

Although
the team remained mainly the same, This is David… did not find a home at
the BBC as Tony Sarchet recounts:

“We
couldn’t get BBC Television interested in it. At that time, I don’t think it
fitted their idea of a comedy – it wasn’t a sitcom, there wasn’t an audience
laughter track and it wasn’t in studio (even some of the radio series was
recorded ‘on location’, although often that location just happened to be
outside on the roof at Broadcasting House).

Some
of my friends had just set up Hat Trick Productions so I asked them if they
thought we could get it on anywhere. They suggested we should all go and talk
to Seamus Cassidy at Channel Four and luckily he went for it.”

With
the team in place and a new home for This is David… work could begin on
the series, but how would it’s new medium of TV affect production? Tony Sarchet
delves into his memory banks to explain:

“Moving
the show on to TV gave me the chance to play around with a whole range of
visual gags – camera stills, graphics, captions, ‘archive footage’, people
talking in silhouette, Stephen talking to camera during an operation,
commenting on the items a surgical team were removing from his stomach, all
that sort of thing.

It
also meant that the producer, Paul Mayhew-Archer, and I knew we had to find the
right director, someone completely on board with the deadpan style, who would
ensure that it was all played absolutely for real. Graham Dixon was perfect,
very skilful, he knew exactly what was required.

The
wide-ranging interview format meant we needed to assemble quite a large cast
and often we only had an actor for a day or two, which was a shame when you’re
talking about people as talented as Tony Robinson, Neil Pearson, Alun
Armstrong, Frances Barber, Caroline Quentin, etc.

It
was shot on film on location in disused hospitals, outside Wandsworth Prison,
in a church, on an airfield, in a public lavatory and in lots of small,
cramped, very hot rooms. I learnt a lot about filmmaking.

I
learnt, for example, that when as a writer you have a notion for a montage of
photos of missiles which have crash-landed in all sorts of random places, this
will one morning result in somebody from the art department having to wade out
into the middle of a cold, filthy pond with a large painted plywood rocket and
somehow find a way of anchoring it to the bottom so that the end could stick up
in the air.”

This
is David Lander first
aired in a six-episode series on Channel 4 in 1988 and went out on Monday
evenings. Stephen Fry was unavailable for the second series, so his Footlights
alumni Tony Slattery entered the breach, but in the guise of David Harper. This
is David Harper followed and was another six series episode which aired on
Friday evenings.

Tony
Sarchet was keen to continue with further series of This is David… but
reveals:

“I’d
like to have done some more, I had ideas for new targets but C4 felt it had run
its course.”

Doorstep
Confrontations

I
missed the mini-dynasty of Davids who comprised This is David… at the
time of its airing, but, thankfully, several years later I became acquainted
with Messrs Lander and Harper through repeats which aired on The Paramount
Channel.

And,
by this point, I had guzzled up several series worth of The Cook Report which
This is David clearly has in its sights. The Cook Report, of
course, was never positioned as a comedy, but it was always packed full of inherent
hilarity.

Part
of the comedy came from Roger Cook - a man who was certainly not match fit for
physical confrontations - relentlessly putting himself in harm’s way to glean
answers. Naturally, this led to many comedy tumbles, but also a sense of
intense frustration on the antagonists’ parts which translated into comedy
gold.

And,
from what I could recall, This is David… had taken this valuable
currency and increased its worth by also spoofing the more serious aspects of The
Cook Report. Nearly 20 years had passed since I viewed This is David…, so
it was high time for a reappraisal.

Neither
David is an exact facsimile of Roger Cook, but they both retain a passion for
reasoned confrontation and a desire for the truth. Stephen Fry brings a softly
spoken, slightly bumbling charm to David Lander, whilst Tony Slattery conjures
up a slightly more hardnosed journalist in the guise of David Harper.

It’s
difficult to single one of the two David’s out as the more successful take on
investigative journalism and this isn’t me playing peacemaker. Quite simply,
Fry and Slattery are both blessed with a natural disposition towards hilarity.
I guess that Fry had made the role his own through the radio series, but
Slattery comfortable takes over without missing a beat.

Whilst
the two David’s are, obviously, the stars of their titular shows, they’re also
accompanied by a fine supporting cast packed full of British comedy stars.
Caroline Quentin, Tony Robinson, Mark Arden, Arthur Smith and Neil Pearson all
contribute their comedic skills to ensure there’s a rich pedigree of comedy in
every scene.

And
the entire cast are privy to a fantastic format which closely follows the
letter of The Cook Report’s law. We’re treated to a rampaging and
cavalier theme tune mixing synths and horns composed by Phillip Pope, violent
confrontations and ramifications keep the antagonists dukes busy and then
there’s the nature of the investigations.

Tony
Sarchet recalls that This is David… was clearly shaped by The Cook
Report, but he was also keen to use the genre to explore narratives:

“Obviously
The Cook Report was a big influence but I wasn’t simply out to do a spoof of
it. The idea was to hijack the format of investigative programmes like that and
use it as a different way of telling a story.

Some
of our targets were similar to theirs – a case of miscarriage of justice, a
diet clinic with bizarre weight-loss treatments; others, like the development
of a hugely expensive, totally useless weapons system and the story of the
Cambridge Spies weren’t really in their territory.

That
said, we had fun playing around with the kinds of confrontational interviews
that were such a big part of Roger Cook’s approach – tracking a crooked
councillor down to his local hairdressing salon so that he was forced to answer
questions while he was having his hair cut, that sort of thing.”

These
investigations are fantastic little lightning bolts of surreal comic genius
forking out from Tony Sarchet’s old grey matter. What Sarchet does here is take
standard investigative targets such as corrupt builders, but then heightens the
ludicrousness of their actions to open up a rich vein of comedy.

This
is why we see clumsy builders constructing houses without a single right angle,
witness lazy police chiefs pinning major art thefts on schoolboys and finally
discover the truth behind Roy Orbison’s part in the decline of British farming.
Frankly, it’s madness and completely unbelievable, so, therefore, it’s what all
good comedy gets up for in the morning.

Complete
madness with flourishes of offbeat genius, then, but how could Tony Sarchet
ratchet up the ridiculousness and hilarity a few notches further? Ah, yes, make
sure that it all plays out against a landscape of absolutely deadpan resilience.

Yes,
no matter how crazy things get, the world of This is David… resolutely
fails to acknowledge it and, instead, tosses it to the side in the search of
the truth. Discussing the deadpan approach of This is David.. Tony
Sarchet comments:

“It
was a matter of keeping just on one side of a line and occasionally jumping
across into the daft. Although I always felt that most of the really daft stuff
was true anyway.

The
trick was to try to get into the mindset of the interviewees, have Lander or
Harper throw a question at them, and fasten on some ludicrous but almost
plausible explanation for them to come up with. Actually it seemed to me that’s
what their real-life counterparts were up to as well.”

And
it’s so funny that it’ll leave your sides aching more than the two David’s
bruised and battered bodies.

Case
Closed

This
is David… is
perhaps one of the most meticulously produced spoofs that British TV has seen.
A bad spoof is one that mines the original source material for cheap, hackneyed
laughs, but Tony Sarchet is too clever to fall into that trap.

Instead,
he teases out the essence of comedy already lurking in the genre and then gives
it a surreal twist to deliver something very special.

And
it’s a show which revels in the creative freedom offered by making the big step
from radio to TV. This is most evident in the conversational approach that the
Davids can now strike up with the viewer as they show them round this slightly
distorted reality. It’s a true gem of British comedy and one that’s deserving
of a lot more recognition.

My Summer with Des

BBC1

25/05/1998

The
romance of football is a difficult concept to communicate to non-believers. As
far as they’re concerned it’s just a load of men (or women) charging around and
hoofing a ball towards a net. However, what these naysayers fail to grasp is
that every minute of every game is weighed down by a whole world of ecstasy and
heartbreak.

And
what’s romance without those two emotions?

Euro
96 was, indubitably, the zenith of these duelling football emotions for any
Englishman (or woman). The mercurial genius of Gazza’s career defining goal
against Scotland provided the euphoria, but Gareth Southgate’s penalty miss
against the Germans was a pertinent reminder of romance’s cruel nature.

Football
didn’t quite come home that summer but, helped by the philosophical bon
mots of Des Lynam, one Englishman discovered that, from this romance, he could
learn some wonderful life advice in My Summer with Des.

It’s
Coming Home

Martin
(Neil Morrissey) has found himself in a bit of a quandary. Still struggling to
get over the emotional heartache of splitting with his ex, Anna (Tilly
Blackwood), Martin has slid deeper into the doldrums after calling his boss
Angus (Graeme Garden) “melon arse” and walking out of his job.

To
rationalise this troubling state of affairs, Martin consoles himself with the
fact that Euro 96 is about to kick off. After all, the witticisms of Des Lynam
and rampant jingoism are surely enough to take his mind off things. Well, that
and drinking himself stupid.

Thankfully,
lager isn’t Martin’s only crutch. He’s also got a couple of chums to provide
emotional support and football watching camaraderie in the guises of Cameron
(John Gordon Sinclair) and Barbara (Arabella Weir).

Cameron
is Martin’s Scottish flatmate and, with England playing Scotland in the group
stages, there’s a heady sense of competition between them, but will this be
limited to the football?

Barbara,
meanwhile, is Cameron’s long suffering partner and has a particularly
accommodating ear for Martin’s various woes. However, Martin needs much more
than a platonic sounding board to extricate him from the assortment of pickles
he’s got himself in.

And,
blowing in on the summer breeze, his saviour appears in the form of Rosie
(Rachel Weisz).

A
breathtakingly attractive woman, with eyes which promise sanctity and carnal
lust, Rosie has slept with Eric Cantona and appreciates the finer points of Des
Lynam’s moustache. Enigmatically revealing little, but delivering sparkling
brilliance, Rosie glides in and out of Martin’s life like McManaman on the
wing.

Martin,
naturally, is stupefied by her beauty and when this is combined with her sage
words of wisdom and passion for carpe diem, he falls madly in love with her.
It’s a love Martin believes will resuscitate his limp emotional state, but,
eerily, it also appears intrinsically linked to England’s success at Euro 96.

And
England v Germany is coming up…

Team
Tactics

My
Summer with Des was
a one-off 80 minute romantic comedy which aired on BBC1 in May 1998. Written by
professional grump Arthur Smith – aka the Bard of Balham – My Summer with
Des started off as humble story in the Independent on Sunday.

And,
the day after its publication, Arthur was offered a commission to adapt it for
TV. Nice work if you can get it and, as Arthur recounts in his fantastic memoir
My Name is Daphne Fairfax, it was an offer served up with a confounding
and once in a lifetime ease.

Arthur,
of course, was no stranger to footballing comedies having penned the similarly
titled An Evening with Gary Lineker for, first, the stage in 1991 and
then, in 1994, adapting it for ITV. He had form in the medium and, thank God,
someone had faith in his previous endeavours.

Despite
this external faith in his abilities, Arthur found himself perpetually grousing
during the production of My Summer with Des.

His
prior TV work had left a sour taste in his mouth, so in somewhat of a caustic
frame of mind, Arthur bailed on his planned cameo and buggered off to the West
Indies to watch England flail around miserably in the cricket.

My
Summer with Des received
only a solitary outing, but managed to justify a VHS release shortly after the
BBC transmission.

Kicking
Off

Euro
96 is a pain which, quite rightly as an Englishman, I still feel to this very
day. As the tournament unfolded it genuinely seemed as though England were
finally going to lift their second competitive trophy. And it was all playing
out against an emotionally charged soundscape of Three Lions and Stuart
Pearce’s screaming.

We’re
all aware of why this national jubilation came to a cataclysmic halt one night
at Wembley, but, for some reason, I just can’t stop revisiting Euro 96. Perhaps
it’s because I want to recapture the elation of the Netherlands game, maybe I
thrive off the brilliance of Seaman against the Spanish or could it be that I’m
just a masochist?

And,
in 1998, after all these emotions and memories had been fermenting in my limbic
system for a couple of years, My Summer with Des suddenly appeared out
of the blue.

On
paper it sounded like a nice warm up for France 1998, but as the show unfolded
I realised that it went much deeper than a gentle hamstring stretch. It laid
bare the whole gamut of human emotion and did it with an intoxicating
philosophical charm.

As
you can tell, I loved it, but what would happen when I viewed it, again, nearly
20 years on?

In
Game Analysis

If
ever there was someone born who epitomised being male in the mid-90s then it’s Neil
Morrissey. With his doe eyed good looks he conveyed a harmless affability which
women adored, but at the same time, his childish grins hinted that he was just
itching to get his end away.

Sure,
the character of Martin is barely a stone’s throw away from the postcode
inhabited by Tony in Men Behaving Badly, but Martin is marginally more
mature and equipped for life to differentiate the two characters.

Naturally,
Morrissey invokes Martin with his trademark idealism and innocence to endear
him to an audience who are on his side from the opening scene. And Martin’s
love interest floats onto screen in the form of Rachel Weisz with a beauty that
no man (or woman) could ever deny.

We’re
never entirely sure who Rosie is, she could be an angel or she could be Des
Lynam’s daughter, but it doesn’t really matter. She’s there to be the physical
embodiment of life’s possibilities and is the perfect foil for Martin’s morose
sorrow.

It’s
a relatively early role for Weisz and this is evident as her lines are
delivered slightly off kilter to the rhythm of the other characters. She’s
brimming with confidence and sass, though, and you can’t argue with the natural
chemistry between her and Morrissey. It comes as no surprise that Morrissey and
Weisz dated briefly after My Summer with Des.

As
for the rest of the actors, well, their stories are generally kept on the
touchline of the main narrative, so it’s a struggle for them to make their mark
on the plot. Arabella Weir and John Gordon Sinclair help contribute to the
breezy feel of My Summer with Des, but, ultimately, they’re mere pawns
in a much bigger story.

And,
my God, that story’s a multi-layered tale of brilliance!

On
the surface, My Summer with Des appears to be a charming affair which
takes in the usual romantic comedy tropes which litter the genre. However, once
you begin to look a little deeper you discover that the tension and torture
coursing through Martin veins is immense.

His
spirit crushed by the depressing realities of relationships and employment,
Martin’s life has tumbled into an alcohol fuelled state of disarray. Euro 96
promises some distraction in the form of a three week long drunken night out,
but Martin faces the mother of all hangovers in the morning.

Arthur
Smith, however, decides to send Martin on a journey of self-discovery guided by
the erotic joie de vivre of Rosie. Backed by choice Des Lynam quotes, Martin
begins to discover that life can indeed be fantastic.

The
moment that Rosie slips out of his life, for good, is as agonising as Gazza’s
fruitless lunge towards the German goal in extra time, but it’s crucial for
Martin’s progress.

It’s
a stark reminder for Martin that fantasies can’t live forever. The lessons
learned through his time with Rosie, though, have given him the rope to haul
himself out of his personal quagmire. Most importantly, he’s discovered the
value of a positive outlook on life and the will required to shape your own
destiny.

And
Martin’s evolution into the stronger (and moustachioed) Martin of France ’98 is
neatly demonstrated by the scenes which bookend My Summer with Des. Sat
in Paris, soaking up the atmosphere, it’s a fine epilogue which gives Martin
time to reflect on the impact that Rosie’s guidance has had on his life.

Despite
all the deep seated philosophy, My Summer with Des never descends into a
weighty epic which questions the foundations of Aristotelian virtues; we’re
saved from this by Smith’s boisterously funny script.

Smith
cleverly weaves Des Lynam’s witticisms and the Euro 96 footage in and out of
Martin’s unfolding narrative to provide plenty of laugh out loud moments.
Martin scores with Rosie as Sheringham quite literally scores against the Dutch
and Barry Davies’ commentary provides the perfect soundtrack to Martin’s
triumphant resignation speech to Melon Arse.

The
laughs aren’t just limited to these converging circumstances either. There’s a
generous helping of charmingly chortlesome dialogue and set pieces.

From
booze fuelled discussions about the godlike status of Des Lynam through to
Martin’s disastrous attempts to reconcile with Anna and, finally, Rosie’s
playful banter with a WPC who interrupts her and Martin mid coitus, My
Summer with Des is hilarious without ever being broad.

Yet,
it’s a humour which everyone can crack a smile over thanks to its
breezy, accessible vibe. And, even a good hour after the end credits have
rolled, you’ll find that smile is still lingering.

Final
Score

Richard
Curtis may be the go to name when it comes to defining British romantic comedy
in the 1990s, but it almost feels as though My Summer with Des has been
unfairly brushed under the carpet. It’s a curious combination of football,
laddish philosophy, romance and even a touch of the supernatural, but the cast
and crew pull it off with an insanely likeable ease.

It
still doesn’t erase the heartache of Euro 96, but watching it back now
we suddenly realise what Martin’s talking about when he says, at the end to
David Seaman, “You can look out the window and say ‘Oh. It’s raining.’ or you
can say ‘Oh! It’s raining!’”

And
what a wonderful slice of life advice that is.

Heil Honey I’m Home

Galaxy

30/09/1990

Even
in the most heinous corners of humanity there lies humour. In fact, you’d be
hard pressed to find a subject which hasn’t been put through the comedy
wringer. And, I for one, welcome this awkward exploration of taboo subjects.

In
the hands of an amateur comedian, of course, it’s a disaster. They fail to
apply any subtext and, instead, just deliver a nasty stream of bile.
Nonetheless, when it’s done right it’s an opportunity to look past the
controversial exterior and ask deep questions about humanity.

Unfortunately,
just as amateur comedians fail to apply any subtext, many audience members fail
to spot the context. I say ‘fail to spot’, but the truth is that they see it as
an excellent chance to dust down their sanctimonious soap box and preach to us
about the ills of society.

And,
half the time, they’re not even audience members, just folk who wake up and
think “Oh to be enraged! What can I find in The Enraged Times to turn a shade
of mulberry over?!” An excellent case in point is Heil Honey I’m Home.

A
Sitcom About WHAT?!

The
intriguing premise behind Heil Honey I’m Home is that it’s a long
forgotten sitcom commissioned by Brandon Thalburg Jnr and billed as ‘not so
much a sitcom, but more a hitcom’. Mysteriously, though, the entire series –
and Brandon – appear to have become lost to the sands of time.

Lost,
that is, until these seemingly forgotten recordings turn up in a Burbank
backlot. And, now, in the modern age, it’s time for Brandon’s comedic vision to
gain the recognition that the decades have held back.

Deployed
in the manner of a US sitcom from the 1950s atomic age, it stars Adolf Hitler
(Neil McCaul) living in an apartment with Eva Braun (Denica Fairman) where they
jostle for domestic bliss amidst the icebox and the Eva’s loose tongue.

Oh,
and wouldn’t you know it, they only live next door to the Jewish couple Arny
Goldenstein (Gareth Marks) and his wife Rosa (Caroline Gruber).

It’s
a setup which promises the coming together of what can only be described as
‘the odd couple to end all odd couples’. And it’s coupled to a hearty dose of
knowing clichés straight out of the ‘How to Lampoon a 1950s US Sitcom’
handbook.

Preparing the Storm

Heil
Honey I’m Home was
devised and written by Geoff Atkinson, but writing duties were also shared with
Canadian writer Paul Wayne who had written for several large US comedy shows
such as Sanford and Son, The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour and Three’s Company.

Atkinson,
of course, also had an impressive set of credits to his name and had previously
written for The Two Ronnies, Spitting Image and Rory Bremner. More
recently, in conjunction with Bremner, Atkinson set up production company Vera
Productions.

The
series was backed and produced by Noel Gay Television who have also been
involved in Don’t Miss Wax, Bottom and The Untold Tommy Cooper. Noel
Gay Television was a company founded on the comedy brilliance of director Paul
Jackson who acted as executive producer on Heil Honey I’m Home.

The
first episode of Heil Honey aired in September 1990 on the long defunct
Galaxy satellite channel. Galaxy was part of the British Satellite Broadcasting
(BSB) corporation’s package of channels, but following BSB’s merger with Sky
Television, Galaxy shut down on 2 December 1990.

Now,
despite several episodes being recorded, only one of them ever aired.
Naturally, BSB’s merger with Sky Television meant that a whole new hierarchy
was in place, but there was also the little matter of an almighty uproar caused
by the pilot episode’s content.

Criticised,
at the time, by Hayim Pinner – then secretary general of the Board of Deputies
of British Jews – as “Anything that trivialises Hitler is to be deplored.
Someone who caused so much human misery and grief is not really fit subject for
humour and trivialisation”, it’s clear to see that there was a weighty
outrage caused by Heil Honey’s main character.

Geoff
Atkinson is unsure of what exactly caused Sky to can the rest of the series,
but reflects:

“Now,
of course, Sky have poured money and talent into comedy but back then giving
airtime to the Nazis was probably less of a priority than building up Andy Grey
and Richard Keys. How times have changed. Premise was this was a show made
thirty years ago which has remained on the shelf, twenty years later it’s odd
how it’s playing out its own premise.”

Heil
Honey has
since gone on to gather a reputation of being rather controversial and, in the
year 2000, it was voted at number 61 on Channel 4’s 100 Greatest TV Moments
from Hell. The pilot episode has never been repeated, but certainly hasn’t
been wiped from the face of the planet as rumoured on the internet.

Atkinson
still has copies of all the episodes, but as to whether these will ever see the
light of day, he comments:

“Well
I do have a set of VHS’s gathering dust, yes. There’s a bit of me that would
like them to play, the other bit feels with time to reflect on it all, and the
inevitable holes you spot, the thing I’d like most was to return to the front
line and do it again, a bit better, a bit sharper, a bit more audacious. In
other words, the second series that never was.”

The
pilot episode, plucked from original home recordings, has found its way on to
YouTube, so accessing a taster of the show’s flavour is easy. And, as a
tempting appetiser, further evidence of the show abounds in some clips form
unaired episodes in Gareth Marks’ showreel on YouTube.

An Outrageous Sitcom?

I
first heard of Heil Honey when it was included in 100 Greatest TV
Moments from Hell; it was portrayed as, unquestionably, one of the most
disastrous forays into bad taste television in the history of mankind.

And,
I have to admit, my initial reaction saw me questioning the ethics behind the
show. After all, the Holocaust is one of mankind’s darkest moments, so any
comedy which focuses on the two main characters of that event is going to be a
touchy affair.

The
names behind Heil Honey, however, gave me a glimmer of hope that this
wasn’t a sitcom trading on shock value. And that’s what made Heil Honey all
the more intriguing. Surely there had to be something at its heart which turned
the spotlight on our own prejudices and inadequacies.

First,
though, let’s take a look at Heil Honey’s characters and premise.

Hitler
is, obviously, Hitler, but not as we know him. Sure, the haircut and silly
moustache are there, but this isn’t the Hitler of Downfall. This is
Hitler as fed through Jackie Gleason in The Honeymooners and dressed in
an Argyll jumper. He’s still a monster here – consumed by a desire for control
– but it’s more Basil Fawlty than genocidal nutjob.

And,
if you’re lampooning a 1950s US sitcom, it’s essential that you build in
a sense of neighbourly competition. Arny Goldenstein is less sophisticated than
Hitler and of a much lower social standing, but possesses the one thing Hitler
lacks – the ability to relax.

As
a result, Arny is much more of a good time guy capable of delivering wisecracks
much to the chagrin of Hitler.

Eva
and Rosa are, on the surface, mere 1950s housewives caught up in apron strings
and marigolds, but they’re far from Stepford wives.

In
fact, they’re more than capable of going toe to toe with their respective
halves thanks to their social aspirations. Their sensibilities, though, are
traced from the same lines, so they do feel derivative of a thousand other
sitcom wives.

These
characters all inhabit a spoof of a genre which forgoes the subtle nuances of
naturalistic acting and, instead, demands a tour de force of high octane
performances. Razor sharp comic timing is the order of the day, but so is the
ability to varnish proceedings with a real sense of America’s golden age.

For
an actor, donning such a fiendishly iconic hairstyle and moustache whilst the
making the role your own must be a tough task, but Neil McCaul achieves this
with élan.

By
breaking Hitler down to his constituent desires and then rebuilding him in the
mould of a 1950s sitcom lead, McCaul opens up a hitherto unthinkable take on
Hitler; the gusto he pulls this off with is admirable.

And
Denica Fairman is just magnificent as Eva Braun. Fairman is blessed with a
dazzling and cheery Hollywood smile which is used to good effect, but all the
while there’s a sense of smouldering desire to push her man to the top. Quite
why she failed to make the series proper is a mystery.

Gareth
Marks – fresh from playing The Big Bopper in the West End – injects Arny with a
sense of everyman charm and good time vibes. It makes for a fantastic
counterblow to Hitler’s highly strung predilections and Marks’ natural comic
glee allows him to relentlessly wind Hitler up.

The
scripts, however, are less than kind to Gruber; her character is landed with a
tendency to henpeck Arny and a middling subplot to set up her niece with
Neville Chamberlain, so it’s no surprise her impact is limited as she’s reduced
to a stereotypical Jewish wife.

When
considering the quality of the stories that these actors inhabit, it’s a
difficult task as I’m only privy to one episode of Heil Honey. And this
is a pilot episode, designed to help the show find its feet and plan future
directions. However, seeing as Heil Honey draws up its plot from an
established well of narrative beats, it’s difficult for it to completely fail
here.

Indebted
to the screwball comedies of the 1950s, it’s no surprise to discover it’s
packed full of farcical mishaps as Hitler prepares for the visit of Neville
Chamberlain. It’s derivative, but it is a spoof. Many critics fail to take this
lampoon into account and, instead, judge it as a straight sitcom which rather
misses the point.

The
gags, too, come in for an awful lot of flak, but again, they’re not supposed to
be early 90s pearls of comedic wisdom slipping out from Newman and Baddiel’s
mouths. Quick, snappy gags are supposed to drench the script and the writers
certainly achieve this.

Admittedly,
I wasn’t roaring with laughter at this multitude of gags, but there’s some
great comic dialogue such as Hitler answering the phone with “Hi! Hitler Here!
No, Bob Hitler, who do you think?!” and Hitler’s fury over Rosa’s propensity
for noseyness with “When I finally get to invade Poland, who’ll be the first to
know? The Poles? No! Rosa Goldenstein!”

Most
of the comedy, though, comes from puncturing the aspirations of Hitler. Forced
to suffer the ignominy of Arny’s boorish ways, Hitler also has to contend with
the rabid gossiping of Eva and Rosa whilst simultaneously trying to placate the
increasingly eccentric Neville Chamberlain.

As
we all know, Hitler convinces Chamberlain that he’s a “nice fuhrer” but we
doubt the real Munich Agreement was achieved after Chamberlain performed an
impromptu rendition of ‘I’m a Little Teapot’.  There are several moments of
silliness, such as this, sprinkled throughout the episode and I feel this helps
to stamp a British slant on the whole affair.

Once
all the factors of production, performance, plot and laugh ratio are taken into
account, I need to decide whether Heil Honey is actually offensive.

Hitler,
undoubtedly, was a warped take on humanity and ambition, but not once does Heil
Honey celebrate this fact. There are no gags about concentration camps, but
instead they’re more about Hitler the man and those around him. In particular,
Geoff Atkinson wanted to shine a light on society’s inability to rein Hitler in
as he reflects:

“One
thing to remember about Heil Honey is it was set in 1938, before the war, but
the West had a good idea what Hitler was up to. Yet we appeased him. Maybe the
thought of another war was too much. This is about that moment, what do you do
when the guy next door is a thug and a bully but you can hardly report him.

Sometimes
you can destroy bullies by laughing at them. Sometimes you may not win if you
laugh but at least you have the satisfaction of seeing them for the fool they
are. This isn’t about denying what happened – how could you, it was wicked and
inhumane – it’s about being human in the face of inhumanity”

And
on the reaction that Heil Honey received (and continues to receive to
this day) he goes on to say:

It
was always going to be a controversial piece. That wasn’t the reason for making
it but equally wasn’t a reason not to. The reaction when it came was
interesting – there seemed to be two strong views.

It
was insensitive, or it was absolutely legitimate territory. The cast – three
quarters Jewish – were in the latter camp and had no problem and a lot of
others were in there too. My feeling is with time we could have won the
doubters round, most of the reaction was to the idea without seeing it.

It
is a subtle mix, wrapped around a less subtle idea. Something you glimpse,
react to, glimpse a bit more, and find yourself drawn to for a slew of reasons.
It’s partly about setting out something an audience may not immediately think
they’re going to like and watch them come round”

And
Atkinson’s passion for the show is still evident as he describes his conviction
that the show remains a viable option:

“Tastes
do change – one of the reasons for setting Heil Honey as a fifties sitcom was
to reflect on the way different periods accept or deny certain things. It’s
curious how this sometimes throws up anomalies and occasionally the fear is
that rather than open up, we shut down.

I
suspect Till Death Us Do Part would be a hard pitch today. Comedy isn’t always
about creating role models, characters are often flawed, damaged, or
unreconstructed. We laugh at them not because we share their views but because
we see through them.

But
there are no rights in this, writers and producers just have to bang on the
door, back their convictions, and hope those making the decisions haven’t got
one eye on their pension”

Auf
Wiedersehen, Honey

Personally,
there’s no outrage from me. Heil Honey is by no means perfect, but there
are shoots of comedy joy in amongst some of the flatter moments. The nature of
the perfectly executed pastiche perhaps smothers the appeasement angle
somewhat, but this certainly isn’t a TV moment from hell.

I
do find myself questioning whether the initial concept is strong enough to
maintain a complete series, but without viewing the unaired episodes it’s a
rather redundant and unhelpful point.  Perhaps the show would have worked
better as a recurring sketch delivering Hitler shaped laughs which made their
point quickly.

Ultimately,
though, it’s a show which was unfairly treated by the broadcaster and the gut
reaction of a minority of viewers who failed to see the show for what it was.
It’s the epitome of what makes a series into a curio of British TV and Geoff
Atkinson feels it’s time for a re-appraisal:

“Paul
Jackson recently told me that when he travels people always want to talk about
it and where there was reluctance there’s now enthusiasm. Maybe twenty years on
it’s time to try again. Any takers?”

Biffovision

BBC3

05/06/2007

Saturday
morning children’s TV was, for decades, one of the most foolproof ways to drag
kids out of bed when they could have happily lay there festering in their own
dribble.  And this irresistible allure was all thanks to the marvellous melange
of programming awaiting them.

Producers
had cottoned on to the fact that kids get bored pretty quickly, so the best way
to arrest their attention was by constantly diverting it. And this is why we
were quickly shuffled from a pop star to a puppet and then onto a phone in
competition, or sometimes all three at once.

The
killer ingredient, of course, was that the shows lasted around 3 hours and went
out live. This meant that literally anything could happen – just ask Matt
Bianco – and not a single kid wanted to miss out on the scandalous antics which
would dictate the playground gossip on Monday.

And
it was this mixture of variety and anarchy that was squarely in the targets of Biffovision.

Wake
Up, Kids!

Hugo
Visage (James Lance) is the host of Biffovision, a Saturday morning
children’s TV show where the aim is to “shove fun into your face” for three
hours. Clad in the most horrendous leather jacket (with sleeves rolled up)
imaginable, Hugo is joined by a couple of co-hosts to navigate the choppy,
unpredictable waters of Biffovision.

Comprised
of a curious combination of anxiety, malice and psychopathy is the resident
puppet BW (voiced by Simon Greenall) who peddles a nice line in self-pity and,
as a bit of eye candy for the dads watching, we’re treated to Peggy Pigstrap
(Ingrid Oliver), an enthusiastic and relentlessly professional host who wears a
meaty ‘snack belt’ with elegance.

And
our hosts will be overseeing a weird and wonderful range of features such as
learning the ins and outs of how to pickle a tortoise (it’s a lot of fun
apparently), watching the adventures of Mr Botton and subjecting the youth
minister Ralph Stramps (Jim Howick) to the viewers’ inane questions in ‘Ask Me
Do’.

There’s
also the small matter of dealing with megalomaniac Professor Doctors (Simon
Greenall) who is most definitely not keen on electro noiseniks Sensorium
Girlybox, but does possess a certain penchant for murdering mischievous
children with his nifty laser skills.

Building
Biffo’s Vision

Biffovision
was
a BBC3 comedy pilot which aired in summer 2007 and was written by Paul Rose and
Tim Moore. Now, for those of you who are familiar with the gloriously surreal
computer games slice of Teletext pie known as Digitiser, you’ll know these two
clowns better as Mr Biffo and Mr Hairs respectively.

Mr
Biffo recalls a relatively straightforward commissioning process as he winds
back the years and comments:

“It
was ridiculously simple. I mean, it’s never ever as easy as it was with
Biffovision, but I was riding high at the time, a bit flavour of the month, in
TV circles (it wasn't to last!).

I’d
just had two other pilots made, one of which looked very much like it was going
to be the replacement for My Family (the story of why it never happened is kind
of gutting, but typical of what happens all the time in tellyland…). So, for a
while, people wanted to work with me.

I’d
been contacted by Hartswood Films by their head of development about writing
something – and I said I really wanted to do a sketch show, ideally co-written
with Tim Moore, who I’d written Digi with. We came up with a vague pitch,
Hartswood sent it to the head of BBC Comedy.

She
commissioned it. And that was that. It helped that the head of BBC Comedy at
the time was a bit of a fan of mine – we’d worked together previously on
something else – and that the department had a chunk of money left over which
needed to be spent that financial year.

Biffovision
was a punt, and came along late enough in the day that they were willing to
spend their leftovers on more niche shows. We pitched it as a show that “Half
the people who watched it would hate”… which they professed to love as a pitch.
Unfortunately, that half also included the BBC commissioners…”

Producing
Biffovision was Mark Freeland whose CV is stuffed to the gills with
comedy brilliance such as Stewart Lee’s Comedy Vehicle, That Mitchell and
Webb Look and Early Doors.

And
the magnificent comedy pedigree was completed with Richard Boden in the
director’s chair; a man who knows his comedy onions so well that he’s directed The
IT Crowd, Blackadder and 2 Point 4 Children.

Recalling
the writing and filming process, Mr Biffo discloses:

“I
think Tim and I only got together at the beginning and end of the process. In
between we both wrote different scenes or sketches, then we’d bounce them back
and forth to one another over email – each of us would rewrite the other’s
work… until the end result is what you see.

There’s
very little in there which I can point at and say is definitely one of my
lines, or one of Tim’s. A lot of the show was actually put together in the edit,
particularly the opening five minutes or so. That was scripted very
differently, and we just completely restructured it, and changed it in the
editing suite to make it work.

We
were both quite hands-on in terms of giving directions to the actors – and the
director for that matter. During the voice-over sessions Tim had to be asked to
leave, because he burst out laughing every time Ingrid Oliver said “Sherriff’s
hair and poo”

Biffovision
received
only one airing, at midnight on a Tuesday evening in June. The pilot failed to
be commissioned for a full series as Mr Biffo remembers:

“As
I mentioned, the commissioning process was weirdly easy. I think we were a case
of them just spending whatever they had left in the budget.

The
odds were always stacked against it from that point of view… but more than
that, Tim was in his 40s, and I was in my 30s, and BBC Three was a youth
channel. It didn’t help that we chose to spoof 80s kids TV – which Danny Cohen,
the then-controller of the channel, felt the target audience wouldn’t
understand.

Plus,
we’re writers, not writer-performers. If you look at any of the shows on that
channel, pretty much all of them are writer-performer led. If you’re just a
writer in this industry, you’ve next to no chance of getting your own show away
unless you’re a comedian or comic actor too. Commissioners tend to be
starstruck”

Tuning
in to Biffovision

As
a teenager I used to hurtle down the stairs at a breakneck speed to catch up on
the wonderfully surreal happenings of Digitiser on Channel 4 Teletext. There
was nothing else like it and, as a result Mr Biffo and Mr Hairs gleefully
pushed the boundaries of what you could get away with.

And
when I heard that they’d secured a TV pilot I almost suffered an entire body
prolapse; this was potentially earth shattering stuff. Digitiser translating
its avant garde and Dadaist sensibilities into real life action was very
exciting, but would it live up to the giddy hype of my own expectations?

Well,
it gets off to a tremendous start by casting James Lance as Hugo Visage.
There’s a suave, laid back affability to Lance’s acting, but it always hides a
sneering, cynical undercurrent. And in Hugo we see a man who perhaps feels as
though he has more to offer the world than Biffovision.

Hugo
is more than capable of fronting a Saturday morning kids show, but his façade
of contentment occasionally cracks. He’s frustrated with production values,
cannot stand the unprofessionalism of BW and he’s not averse to lighting up a cigarette
on ait. It all hints at someone who wants to be presenting The Tube, but
whose career hasn’t quite worked out.

And
when you’re paired with BW then you know your career’s heading in the wrong
direction. BW’s an intriguing take on the puppet sidekick role, all drenched in
psychological stress and instability. It’s a nice counter to the emotional
dearth of the genre, but, at times it feels a little stretched and you just
want to cut his head off. Much like Edd the Duck.

Less
irritating is Ingrid Oliver as Peggy Pigstrap. Despite being confronted with
features such as a robotic version of Hugo vomiting out an ice cream for her,
she maintains a sense of professionalism which hints at a desire to succeed as
a presenter. She doesn’t always get the best lines, but she provides a cheery
resilience of normality to the insane antics around her.

These
antics, of course, all stem from the somewhat banal and clichéd features which
came to dominate Saturday morning kids TV shows for decades. Music videos are
reviewed, politicians are interviewed and there’s an over-enthusiastic crowd of
children pumped to the gills with e-numbers to provide atmosphere.

Mr
Biffo, however, reveals that there was a much deeper impetus for harnessing the
malleable structure of Saturday morning children’s TV:

“It
wasn’t so much the genre that we felt we were lampooning, as we were looking
for something that gave us a structure. The thing about Digitiser was that it
had a structure – News, Reviews, Letters etc.

The
great thing you have with a format like that is that you can later sort of
deconstruct it… which surprises people. No expectations or preconceptions makes
it harder to surprise. And surprise equals comedy.

Plus,
as well, the whole thing was really a love letter to everything I enjoyed
growing up, from shows like Grange Hill and Swap Shop, to Python, to Scooby Doo
and Ivor the Engine. Looking at it now, it seems inevitable that I’d end up
working in kids TV”

Whilst
it’s a pretty decent spoof of Saturday Superstore, Going Live et al,
where Biffovision becomes an entity all of its own is through its
humour.

An
absurd mixture of wandering non-sequiturs and gloriously silly premises are all
dished out in abundant quantities. It taps into the rich heritage of surreal
British comedy stretching from Monty Python through to Vic and Bob and
up to Big Train.

And
it’s the sheer ridiculousness of Mr Botton’s frustration with his surname, the
children mistaking a sinister, goateed magician for Santa Claus and the ghost
train featuring a ghost tramp (he’s not quite dead yet) which leaves me
guffawing loud enough to wake the neighbours.

Mr
Biffo and Mr Hairs, quite obviously, enjoyed writing Biffovision and Mr
Biffo reveals that it’s the type of show they would want to laugh at:

“It’s
just what makes me laugh the most, really. It’s death to try and explain a
joke, but I like stuff that isn’t always obviously funny, but weird and
surprising. That the laugh comes from those sort of unexpected juxtapositions
of two seemingly conflicting ideas.

Plus,
with Biffovision, as with Digitiser, it was very much a case of Tim and I trying
to make each other laugh, as much as we were trying to make ourselves laugh.

Often
what made us laugh was writing stuff which we knew would annoy people. I love
comedy like that – it feels more personal, like you can own it, because SURELY
you’re the only one laughing?”

Why
then did Biffovision not join its influences in the hallowed corridors
of comedy greatness?

Well,
unfortunately, it doesn’t all work. Some of the features fall flat and
slow up the rumbustious energy that the more successful sections generate. Biffovision
thrives off its unrestrained imagination, but a bit more of a brutal
editing approach could have produced a truly sublime slice of comedy.

There
are also the limitations of the setup. For 30 minutes Biffovision probes
and mocks this very particular cul-de-sac of children’s TV and, on the whole,
pulls it off. However, over the course of a series the unexpected nature of
items – such as the music video reviews – would degrade into repetitive
exercises.

And
the last thing that Biffovision wanted to be labelled as is predictable
as Mr Biffo explains:

“I
can’t speak for Tim, but I know I wanted to deconstruct the show as the series
went on, so that every episode was slightly different to the one before, so
that the final episode would’ve been unrecognisable from the first. Except, it
was gradual, so you wouldn’t notice as you were watching it.

I
had this vague idea of a rival show on another channel – a sort of evil version
of Biffovision that was trying to take over, by inserting right wing propaganda
in there (“Vote Conservative”).

I’ve
no idea why that amused me. Possibly because so much comedy seems to be left
wing, that it felt subversive to tell people to vote Conservative or
Republican. So… more of that. More right wing propaganda!”

Shining
Vision?

Comedy
is a very subjective genre, but when it comes to surreal comedy then opinion
becomes even more sharply divided. Personally, I love it and found some
absolute gems in Biffovision, but where I see remarkable nonsense,
another man sees puerile nonsense.

And,
even in my eyes, Biffovision isn’t perfect, but as a one-off it provides
a magnificent insight into the minds of Mr Biffo and Mr Hairs. There’s still
time for them to create a comedy masterpiece and I’ll be waiting for it. I’ll
even get up first thing on a Saturday morning for it.

Grundy

ITV

14/07/1980
– 18/08/1980

What
passes for acceptable behaviour in society is constantly evolving and reflects
the changing times we live in. And these, sometimes radical, shifts in decency
and morals can horrify the old guard.

Where
once, they had been assured of a landscape governed by a shared moral
yardstick, they may suddenly find themselves adrift of society’s progress.It
clearly creates a sense of discord between the generations, but you know what,
discord breeds comedy. And sometimes it can be a real side splitter.

You
only have to take a look at grainy 1960s news footage of old chaps shaking
their heads and spluttering “Have you ever seen the like? A skirt which is
miniaturised?! Dear heavens!” to see how the preposterous and sanctimonious
guarding of moral decency is hilarious.

And,
of course, the comedy doesn’t necessarily come purely from old fashioned values
held up against the modern world. That, after all, would be rather one
dimensional. The real comedy enters the equation when there’s a conjoined level
of hypocrisy, so would we see this in Grundy?

The
Modern Ills of Society

Leonard
Grundy (Harry H Corbett) has had his marriage dissolved and it’s left him
feeling a little paranoid. As he leaves the court a single man, he becomes
convinced that a reporter is on his trail and keen to uncover the salacious
details of his marriage.

And
the last thing that a newsagent needs is for the intricacies of his private
life to be splashed all over the very product he sells. After all, it’s a
highly lascivious tale what with his wife leaving him for Burt Loomis, bed
salesman extraordinaire with the tagline “Bounce with Burt, the best beds in
Basingstoke”.

Luckily,
his scarlet haired pursuant isn’t a journalist. In fact, Beryl Loomis (Lynda
Baron) – yes, wife of Burt – is simply a fellow divorcee. And it’s this common
ground they share which she believes could lead to a beautiful, yet platonic
friendship with Grundy.

It’s
a relationship which appears – despite Beryl’s enigmatic flirting – to lack the
romantic frisson developing, quite by chance, between Grundy’s daughter Sharon
(Julie Dawn Cole) and Beryl’s son Murray (David Janson).

Nonetheless,
Grundy views both sets of relationships as equally repugnant to his moral
compass which is struggling to point true north in a society where erotic
magazines are embraced and as he spies in an issue of Love and Romance “half
the London population practice oriental lovemaking techniques”.

But
why does he keep letting Beryl into his life?

A
Moral Blueprint

Grundy
was
a six episode ITV sitcom which aired during the summer of 1980. The series had
been planned to air at the end of 1979, but after the first episode was
recorded in summer 1979, a 10 week industrial dispute brought ITV programming
to a halt.

And
in more depressing news, Harry H Corbett suffered a slight coronary after
recording the first episode.

Behind
all this chaos, though, there was a series of scripts which had been crafted by
Ken Hoare. A stalwart of television comedy, Hoare had written extensively for
Stanley Baxter and scripted shows such as Beggar My Neighbour and Turnbull’s
Finest Half Hour.

And
Hoare’s scripts managed to pull in some very respectable viewing figures. The
first episode garnered 12.15 million viewers and was the fifth most viewed
programme that week. Ratings dipped down to 9.5 million during the middle of
the series run, but leapt up to 11.95 million for the final episode.

Loose
Morals Laid Bare

With
vivid blue eyes and a characterful face built upon the foundations of a strong
jawline, Harry H Corbett was a captivating sight whenever he stepped onto stage
or screen. And it’s no surprise to hear that he was touted as “the English
Marlon Brando” in the early days of his career.

With
highly nuanced facial expressions, Corbett could convey a thousand emotions and
words with just one turn of the head. The success that this brought Corbett on
the stage meant that it was inevitable that television would soon come calling.
And, with Steptoe and Son, Corbett found himself catapulted into
the public’s consciousness.

As
Harold Steptoe, Corbett seared his face into the British consciousness with an
iconic intensity which has traversed the decades and delighted millions, but
the majority of people know little of his other work. In particular, his final
transmitted piece of work, Grundy, remains curiously consigned to sitcom
oblivion.

And
if there’s one thing that piques my inquisitiveness more than a forgotten
sitcom starring a sitcom great then, quite frankly, it’s nothing more that
witchcraft and deserves to be hurled into the village pond. So, with no witches
making themselves known in my local vicinity, I trotted off to the BFI Archive
to watch three episodes of Grundy.

When
looking back at a beloved actor’s final piece of work it’s difficult to
separate the tragic context of death from a truly objective point of view.
However, I’m not a foolish man and when I say that Harry H Corbett is
absolutely fantastic in Grundy you have to believe me that these words
are much more than just a schmaltzy, hollow tribute.

Because,
frankly, Grundy itself is not the finest vehicle for an actor to be sent
off in, but Corbett manages to raise his head proudly above the parapet of
mediocrity.

Leonard
Grundy - a knowing nod to Mrs Grundy, fictional 18th century doyen
of respectability – is most certainly a character primed for comedic hilarity.
With a sanctimonious relish he rejects the permissive society around him, but
his pomposity in underlining this sets him up for almighty fall after almighty
fall.

And
what seems to really grind Grundy’s gears is the modern obsession with sex. For
Grundy, it all went wrong for society when sex education started getting a bit
too graphic and real. In his day he was taught about the life cycle on the
salmon and that was spicy enough.

Naturally,
this aversion to enjoying the pleasures of the flesh no doubt ruined Grundy’s
relationship with his ex-wife, Vera.

Whereas
Grundy views Vera as failing to stick to her moral principles, he prides
himself on a resolute moral rigidity. This clashing outlook on life is best
typified when, discussing whether he enjoyed their sex life, Grundy quips “I
had far too much respect for my wife to enjoy anything of that nature.”

Corbett,
of course, was a highly talented actor, so it’s always a delight to see him
exercising his acting ability. And he doesn’t disappoint with Grundy who feels
unlike any other character he portrayed over his long career. It also helps
that he’s paired with the legendary Lynda Baron.

Baron’s
CV is as dazzling as Corbett’s talent and, truth be told, she matches him scene
for scene when it comes to thespian smarts. And Baron has been blessed with a
particularly mischievous and saucy smile which provides the perfect catalyst
for riling up Grundy’s moral yardstick.

And
the premise of Grundy is one which is just ripe for plenty of comedic strife.
Setting up Grundy with the ex-wife of the man who ruined his marriage is a
clever move, but then romantically pairing the respective offspring of both
these families is a sublime touch.

However,
the relationship between Grundy and Beryl is a rather baffling affair and this
is where the problems begin to seep into Grundy. Beryl is constantly
sending out mixed signals which not only confuses Grundy, but also leaves the
viewer mystified as to her intentions.

Sure,
she’s lonely, but from the very first episode she makes it clear she’s not
interested in Grundy physically. YET SHE FLIRTS OUTRAGEOUSLY. And there’s no
progression to this relationship whatsoever throughout the course of the
series, which makes for a frustrating watch.

Adding
further fuel to this frustration is the character of Grundy himself. Now,
whilst he’s played with assurance by Corbett, the actual character is nothing
more than an incredible bore. With a suffocating sense of fear pervading his
every step, Grundy becomes an unlikeable character punctuated by nothing but
misery and negativity.

Perhaps
the only thing which brings Grundy any joy is his daughter who he claims is the
best thing to survive from his divorce. Unfortunately, Sharon, along with
Murray, feels pushed out of the main narrative and remains forgotten for long
periods, so any sense of engaging parental relationships are struck off from
the get go.

So,
with the main thrust of Grundy being centred on Grundy – and, to a
lesser degree, Beryl – what are we left with in terms of storytelling? Well,
there’s certainly a lot of talking…

Yes,
that’s right, Grundy delights in two hander scenes. Now, there’s nothing
wrong per se with long stretches of dialogue, but they have to have a point.
They should tease out character traits and slowly build up tension in order to
provide a worthy payoff.

Grundy,
however,
eschews this for tedious exchanges which sadly fail to advance the plot or
characters. And this leads to some particularly boring episodes.

The
very first episode, for example, repeatedly hammers home the point – in a train
carriage – that Grundy doesn’t like sex or anything remotely immoral. This
appears to continue for 5 years, but I suspect it’s closer to 20 minutes.

When
you compare this to, say, the first episode of Whatever Happened to the
Likely Lads – also set on a train – there’s absolutely no parallel.
Admittedly, the reveal at the end of the first Grundy episode is nicely
realised, but it feels like such a trek to get there.

Ken
Hoare was a fine comedy writer, but in Grundy he struggles to ever get
to the heart of the characters. Their motivation is poorly calibrated and as a
result it’s difficult for them to produce any humour which truly resonates.

Sure,
there are some nice lines such as Grundy claiming Sharon and Murray’s date at
the Indian restaurant will result in Sharon being "swept along on a tide
of promiscuity and poppadoms", but in three episodes I barely uttered a
snigger.

The
final episode is perhaps the funniest with Grundy receiving a selection of porn
mags meant for a rival shop. Claiming that he needs rubber gloves to handle them
followed by a wash with carbolic soap afterwards, Grundy is sent on a farcical
journey to offload the offending magazines and reclaim his issues of ‘My
Poultry World’.

Closing
the series, this episode, rather than aligning him in some erotic liaison with
Beryl, instead sees Grundy being arrested for handling copies of ‘A Pictorial
Treasury of Scandinavian Au Pairs’. Finally, there’s an ignominious end for
Grundy and it certainly titillated my comedy receptors, but it was too late to
endear the series to my heart.

Missed
Opportunity

There’s
a fantastic premise lurking deep within Grundy’s soul, but sadly it’s
obstructed by subpar humour and sloth like plots which lack any dynamism. The
brilliance of Corbett and Baron’s performances can’t be denied, but I just wish
they were acting in a different sitcom.

Corbett’s
career contained many highs, however, and I don’t feel as though Grundy detracts
from his legacy in any way. It just feels like a wasted chance to channel the
talents of a great actor into something very special.

And
this leaves me as morose as Leonard Grundy would be if a strip club opened next
to his newsagents.

Hardwicke House

ITV

24/02/1987
– 25/02/1987

Growing
up in the 1980s, my only reference point for life at secondary school was
through the exploits of those oikish urchins at Grange Hill. And, truth
be told, the sheer thought of stepping foot into that adolescent realm
absolutely terrified me.

Okay,
there was the rare promise of hunting down ghosts with the caretaker, but
breathing heavily down the back of my neck was the threat of heroin, brain
haemorrhages and the toupeed terror of teaching’s fiercer side in the form of
Mr Bronson.

Even
though these early experiences were viewed through the exaggerated lens of
television, I was still quaking in my boots on that first day of term at
secondary school. With hindsight, though, it’s possible that I could have felt
much more anxious and panic stricken.

Grange
Hill,
after all, may have been hard hitting for its audience, but children’s TV
demands a little restraint when it comes to portraying the real world.

And,
if my prior knowledge of secondary school had also been shaped by the sadistic
cruelty of Hardwicke House, then it’s likely I would have been on
the edge of a nervous breakdown as I approached the school gates.

Sinister
(and Seedy) Scholastics

The
focus of Hardwicke House centres on the academic shenanigans bubbling
away amongst the blackboards, textbooks and school bells of infernal secondary
school Hardwicke House. In charge of these troubled halls of education is
headmaster RG Wickham (Roy Kinnear) who, unfortunately, can’t call on his
colleagues to help temper the unfolding anarchy.

His
fellow teachers’ inability to stop the rot at Hardwicke House is driven by a
mixture of narcissism, sadism and egotism. So, yeah, all the crucial ism’s, but
who ever said teachers were perfect? Certainly not the staff at Hardwicke House
who seem to have much more pressing matters on their minds.

Deputy
headmaster Paul Mackintosh (Roger Sloman) is determined to undermine Wickham at
every given opportunity, Herbert Fowl (Granville Saxton) is a man obsessed with
control over his pupils whom he views as a disposable currency and Dick
Flashman (Gavin Richards) has a slick, crafty nature that he employs to make a
few quid to spend at the Dog and Duck.

Not
all of the teachers at Hardwicke House, though, are complete miscreants. Peter
Philpott (Nick Wilton) is a geography teacher for whom the crushing realities
of teaching are yet to erode his optimistic outlook. And Cynthia Crabbe (Pam
Ferris) is a French teacher who positions herself as an impassioned liberal
with a whole host of ready-made protest placards.

Although
Hardwick House primarily looks at the teachers at its disposal, it would
be a little foolhardy to ignore the pupils cluttering up the hallways, so the
spotlight occasionally shines upon their scurrying antics.

Slasher
Bates (Kevin Allen) is the aggressively violent school bully who paralyses his
fellow pupils with fear, Spotty (Paul Spurrier) has a poor complexion and even
worse social skills and then there’s Donna (Cindy Day), the head girl whose
sultry beauty gets the male pupils (and teachers) in somewhat of a giddy
tiswas.

And
when these teachers and pupils are flung together in the pressure cooker of
school life, anarchy reigns supreme at Hardwicke House.

Episodes
see Wickham desperately trying to impress a South African Ambassador visiting
the chaotic school, ex-pupils return from borstal to take up grievances with Mr
Fowl whilst the final episode sees Mr Philpott staging a school play which
features a live crucifixion.

Calling
the Register

Hardwicke
House was
the first writing efforts from Richard Hall and Simon Wright to be
commissioned. And teaming up with these writing newcomers to direct their
scripts was John Stroud who had previously directed Who Dares Wins, Spitting
Image and Educating Marmalade.

Together,
this crew produced a series of seven episodes for Central Television which
would begin airing on ITV in February 1987. The series was filmed at St
Bernadette’s Secondary School, Sneinton Dale; Nottingham during the late summer
of 1986.

The
premiere episode was an elongated 60 minute episode which aired at 8.30pm on 25
February 1987. Later episodes came in at the more traditional sitcom length of
30 minutes.

However,
what’s interesting about these later episodes is that barely any of them were
ever transmitted.

And
when I say barely, I do, of course, mean that five out of the seven remain
completely unaired. Only a short outtake from episode five featuring Adrian
Edmondson and Rik Mayall has ever seen the light of day.

But
why is this?

Well,
thanks to a public outrage over Hardwicke House’s content, the rest of
the series was promptly pulled from the schedules. Outraged parents screeched
with disbelief “How dare they put it out so early when children are still
watching telly?!” and Mary Whitehouse was even rumoured to be waiting in
the wings ready to pounce with her sanctimonious élan.

Were
the writers concerned by the threat posed by the matriarch of TV censorship?
No, not really, least of all when Simon Wright batted her away as “A stupid old
woman”.

Plans
to air the rest of the series in a later timeslot were considered, but
ultimately this never materialised and the rest of the series remains one of
British comedy’s most enigmatic mysteries.

One
thing I must address is that, despite the rumours, the tapes of Hardwicke
House were never erased to preserve Britain’s moral fortitude. Where
the exact master tapes are is not entirely clear, but ITN have access to all
seven episodes, so a full release remains a viable proposition in the future.

Back
to School

Much
like the furore surrounding Heil Honey I’m Home, the storm of
controversy hanging over Hardwicke House endows it with an irresistible
curiosity. It’s easy for a sitcom to become forgotten to the sands of times,
but when it sends viewers into a foaming frenzy it takes on a whole new
narrative which is difficult to shake off.

By
a stroke of luck, the two episodes which were transmitted and caused such
outrage were recorded and preserved over the decades. These found their way
onto the internet many years ago, so are readily available to watch. And,
having taken on near mythical status as an oddity of British TV, I was
salivating at the prospect of it, so duly investigated.

Hardwicke
House gets
off to a good start by cementing a firm concept in place. Teachers, usually
positioned as the responsible adults, are shown to be just as horrendously
immature and self-centred as their teenage pupils.

Exposing
the fragile foundations of those in power has always been an essential part of
comedy, so Hardwicke House is well positioned to attack this.

And
with swarms of hormone fuelled youngsters at its disposal, Hardwicke House has
a rich array of resources to call upon when the frenzied anarchy, so entwined
with alternative comedy, is required to create spectacles of mass rebellion.

However,
the attempts to mock authority and let mob chaos run are severely restricted by
the characters of Hardwicke House. Sure, in the real world, many pupils
paint teachers out to be cruel tyrants, and I’m all for a bit of heightened
reality in my comedy, but Hardwicke House stumbles into nothing but
exponential cruelty too often.

Sitcoms
often demand their characters to be monsters, but it’s usually countered by a
level of sympathy from the viewer as per David Brent in The Office. In Hardwicke
House, though, sympathy is a feeling which barely registers on the viewer’s
emotional radar.

In
particular, Mr Fowl is a noxious concoction who, with an almost psychopathic
lack of empathy, is hell bent on degrading and debasing students and staff. The
second episode sees Mr Fowl electrocuting a pupil to a smouldering wreck purely
to demonstrate the security of his beloved stationary cupboard. Charming,
right?

Mr
Fowl is not the only ghoul on the books at Hardwicke House as he’s joined by Mr
Mackintosh, an untrustworthy degenerate who has a creepy obsession with the
bodily development of his young charges. Admittedly, there was always a teacher
with these dubious interests at school, but here it feels far too sinister.

With
the consummate cockney charm of any good TV wideboy, Mr Flashman appears, on
the surface, to be at odds with the nastiness of Fowl and Mackintosh. However,
peel away the exterior layers and you discover there’s a nasty undercurrent of
vanity and ego; one which allows him to manipulate pupils and deliver them a
swift punch to the gut when necessary.

Not
everyone at Hardwicke House is a complete monster though. RG Wickham
strives to bring some semblance of calm to the school, Ms Crabbe is permanently
looking out for the oppressed and Mr Philpott has a wide-eyed puppy love for
teaching.

The
problem with these more likeable characters is that they fall flat on their
face. They all fail to achieve their goals which, despite being a key part in
the tragic power behind comedy, carry little pathos.

Okay,
Wickham definitely has a sense of warmth which plays nicely against the chaos
surrounding him, but Crabbe’s morally superior intentions are hamstrung by
being sketched as a one dimensional liberal. And, as for Mr Philpott, well,
he’s just a sickeningly optimistic wet lettuce.

The
teachers of Hardwicke House are a disappointing bunch who fail to fully engage,
but what about the pupils? Do they fare any better?

Slasher
is easily head and shoulders above his peers thanks to a combination of fine
acting on the part of Kevin Allen and a strong character. He’s a mini menace to
society and proves this with some comic flair. Sure, he’s no different to any
other school bully we’ve seen on TV, but his character fits in perfectly with
the anarchic agenda.

Spotty’s
barely worth a mention as he’s too much of a dorky stereotype, but even more baffling
is Donna. Given alternative comedy’s propensity for rejecting stereotypes,
Donna seems to be employed as nothing more than a dolly bird in skimpy uniforms
for teachers to letch over without even a hint of irony.

And,
when people vehemently claim that Hardwicke House was a shocking
abomination, it’s incidents such as the disturbing, leering behaviour towards
Donna coupled with Mr Mackintosh’s unhealthy intrigue towards young bodies
which cause us the most concern.

Sure,
there’s plenty of violence on offer too, but it’s a brand of comic strip
violence which pales in comparison against the sleazy behaviour of the
teachers. Had there been some comeuppance for the teachers then it could have
justified such horrendous behaviour, but sadly the teachers simply get away
with it.

Mr
Fowl, however, does get quite literally crucified in the final episode, but,
despite this episode never airing, it seems to have caused consternation with
many would be viewers. The pay off for this crucifixion gag is that the crucifix
topples over and hits a vicar on the head.

Personally,
I’d dismiss this as frivolous fun, but religious iconography divides like no
other iconography, so, had this episode aired, I imagine it would have caused a
huge stink regardless of what time it aired.

Whether
Hardwicke House is truly shocking is down to a matter of taste, but
what’s truly shocking is the lack of laughs in the script. Instead, a series of
broad and lumpen gags hobble awkwardly through the script and clunk heavily
like a school dinner hitting the floor of the canteen.

There
are some nice sections such as Slasher auditioning wannabe lackeys and then
later putting them through an initiation ceremony of eating raw liver, but
these are in a moribund minority.

The
high level of emotionless sadism – impossible to confirm as knowing irony
thanks to a lack of a laughter track - that permeates Hardwicke House sadly
renders the series as comically impotent.

School
Report

Perhaps
I’ve been a bit harsh on Hardwicke House given that I’ve only viewed two
episodes, but I can only go on the available footage. And, sadly, it’s just not
up to scratch. It falls far short of the anarchic, alternative comedy it was
aiming for and instead resorts to bullying and arrogance for its humour.

However,
there’s something tragic about Hardwick House which can’t be denied. The
production team must have put in a lot of time and effort, so to see it shunted
off the schedules must have been terribly dispiriting.

Hardwicke
House needed
to go out after the watershed – a sentiment that Roy Kinnear agreed with – but
ITV kept it on in a primetime slot.

It’s
a complete and utter cockup by ITV as it’s clearly a post-watershed show
which would have been much more at home in their fabled Sunday 10pm comedy
slot. And the result is that we’re robbed of five episodes which could have
seen Hardwicke House redeeming itself and finding its feet.

Asylum

The
Paramount Channel

1996

Mental
illness is a frustrating malady which, at its worst, can strip you of all sense
of control. Furthermore, when you relinquish this grip on your fate, for just
one second, it can have devastating consequences. And, although, it may seem
like nothing more than a mere morsel of comfort for those affected and their
families, thank the Lord for psychiatric hospitals.

Providing
treatment and security, these institutions act as worthy pathways to
rehabilitation despite their dearth of funding. Mental illness, however, can’t be
reduced to some simple condition which is easily cured and many patients may be
committed indefinitely.

And
this can be particularly disturbing when you hear horror stories of inhumane
treatment being administered.

We’ve
all seen One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest where McMurphy is a ‘sane’ man
confronted to the horrors of mental healthcare, but what if all the patients
were sane? Well, it’d hardly make for a narrative packed full of the pathos
conjured up by Milos Forman’s classic, would it?

To
make things a little more interesting, what if all these sane fellows
voluntarily admitted themselves to help answer some questions on the constructs
of identity? In order to discover whether there’s any objective reality to our
personalities we need to head down the Asylum.

No
Man is an Island

Simon
Pegg (playing himself) is a pizza delivery man, but he’s no ordinary pizza
delivery man as he holds an A level in social psychology. And this means he’s
surely chomping at the bit to deliver a Beef Magic to the local asylum.

However,
despite turning up well within the 30 minutes delivery time, Simon isn’t going
to get paid for his food couriering. Instead, founder of the asylum, Dr Lovett
(Norman Lovett) will be making Simon pay by roping, well, forcing, him into his
curious experiment.

Dr
Lovett, six years previous, had advertised for volunteers to come and stay at
his isolated ‘mansion’ for an undetermined amount of time. Equally vague was
the premise for their stay, but gradually the volunteers discovered they were
to be part of a personality bending experiment.

Cut
off from the outside world, and unable to leave thanks to the readily
administered brain regulating drugs, the volunteers have found themselves
reprogrammed with new personalities.

Martha
(Jessica Stevenson) was, in another life, a politics graduate, but, now,
subjected to a diet of daytime TV, she’s obsessed with Countdown and
believes Carol Vorderman is communicating alien messages through the
conundrums.

Previously
holding down a steady job as a “bug eyed bank clerk”, Adam (Adam Bloom) was a
man for whom laughter was not part of his genetic makeup. However, after being
locked in a room with nothing but Lenny Bruce records, he truly believes that
he’s a stand-up comedian.

Victor
(Julian Barratt) has previously been a salt of the earth painter and decorator
from Barnsley named Julian, but is now far removed from worrying about the
contrast between asphalt blue and midnight peach paint. After being surrounded
by nothing but renaissance art, he now sees himself as highbrow artist and
writer.

Completing
the main set of inmates is Paul (Paul Morocco), a flamenco singer forced into a
vow of silence and only able to communicate with everyday objects. Much to Dr
Lovett’s disgust, this has also turned Paul into a juggler.

Looking
after the patients - in the loosest definition of health care - is the
dangerously attractive Nurse McFadden (Jessica Stevenson); a more extroverted
and unhinged take on Nurse Ratched. And completing the staff roster is shuffling
security guard Nobby Shanks (Mick O’Connor).

In
between the main characters’ trials and tribulations, the focus of Asylum moves
to interstitial segments featuring one-off routines featuring a host of
comedians performing monologues.

Comedians
appearing in these sections include David Walliams, Bill Bailey, Parsons and
Naylor, John Moloney and Paul Tonkinson. Episodes end with a song performed by
house band David Devant and his Spirit Wife.

Patient
Information Leaflet

By
the mid-90s, satellite TV was beginning to help evolve television into
something far removed from the archaic confines of terrestrial TV’s four
channel output. Problem was, though, that football, movies and imports aside,
there was a real shortage of original programming.

The
Paramount Channel, however, were keen to put a real stamp on this desolate
landscape and they went about this with a particularly British stamp. Shows
such as Mash and Peas and Dan Doyle: Space Person all hinted at a
youthful reclamation of comedy, so it’s no surprise that Asylum picked
up the baton and ran with it.

The
team behind Asylum were brought together by Paramount and tasked with
working through the initial idea written by David Walliams and Edgar Wright, a
duo who also worked together on Mash and Peas. Jessica Hynes was
recommended by Simon Pegg having previously worked together on Six Pairs of
Pants.

Remembering
his initial footsteps into the show, Adam Bloom comments:

“The
producer, Crispin Leyser saw my Edinburgh show in 1996 - my first ever solo
show - and we had a meeting during the festival. It was very exciting to be
offered a part in a sitcom at 25 years old, two and a half years into my
career.

They
just said that it was a comedy based in an asylum. One comedian turned it down
because he felt it was making fun of people with mental health problems.
Looking back, I can't help thinking he was right. Funny enough, it took me to
have some of my own before I could see his point”

Although
Walliams and Wright received the main writers’ credits, the cast also received
a group credit for their contributions as Bloom recalls:

“It
was fascinating process. We did improvised scene workshops and they wrote down
every word. The weirdest thing was that I didn't even know that's what they
were doing. Imagine my surprise when I got the script to learn and it was
crammed with things I'd said off the top of my head. “

The
filming, which took place at Hatchford Park, Cobham, took around a month, but
Adam Bloom remembers it being a tough time and the sleeping arrangements, in
particular, not being ideal:

“They
were very long days and I don't remember having much fun. Retakes and lots of
waiting. Julian and I were also touring 44 Universities together, so would very
often go straight from filming to somewhere halfway up the country.

Luckily
for us, his agent had got the production company to provide a driver to take us
to our gigs and back. It made a profound difference to that time in my life.
Once or twice I'd stay on Julian's sofa.

I
remember once getting back to his flat so late that we had enough time to get
one hour's sleep and then get up to go to location and start filming
again. We filmed it in a disused asylum and often stayed overnight if we
had late finishes and early starts. That was creepy to say the least”

The
filming was certainly on a tight schedule and Simon Pegg has commented that
Wright and Walliams were still writing Asylum as it was being filmed.
With the recording complete, post production was relatively brief and the six
episode series aired a few months later.

Assessing
the Patient

Asylum
remains
curiously unreleased despite its star roster, but the complete series has
stealthily uploaded itself onto YouTube for the world to revel in the hindsight
at what lay ahead. As I’m a huge fan of everyone involved in the series, I
decided I’d be a bit of a twerp not to watch it, so watch it I went and did!

Obviously,
the most jaw dropping aspect of Asylum is the ease in which it manages
to gather together such a stellar cast of stars. The scheduling must, surely,
have been a nightmare to get these global stars all in one place.

Oh,
but, hang on, they’re not stars yet. Well, Norman Lovett is well established,
but that’s about it. However, despite the small scale ambitions of The
Paramount Channel, there was a sense that they had seriously cashed in with
this collective talent as Adam Bloom fondly reminisces:

“I
remember during our first meeting, there were around ten of us round a table in
a room at a production company. Crispin opened with 'Wow, it's amazing to
be surrounded by this much talent in one room'. He said it with such emotion. I
just saw a room full of my friends and peers.

Julian
Barrett was my closest friend of the group and I'd done my open spots with him.
Looking back, it was an insanely talented group of people.

Edgar
Wright was around 19 years old. Matt Lucas had tipped me off that I was about
to work with Edgar and that he was going to be a hugely successful director. He
said it with no doubt whatsoever. Almost like Edgar was the future King and his
path wasn't debatable”

Talking
of Edgar Wright, he deserves special praise for the energy which he brings to a
decidedly low budget production. Okay, the direction isn’t as slick as Spaced
or his later big screen productions, but there’s a raw power which takes in
queasy and stark camerawork to help bring the asylum’s bewildering isolation to
the fore.

Wright,
of course, brings his trademark palette of movie homages, so we’re treated to
the uneasy atmospheres of low budget British horrors, spaghetti westerns are
resurrected in a bizarrely hilarious ‘spanish guitar off’ and, finally, the
disturbing and perplexing sense of fantasy borrowed from Terry Gilliam’s back
catalogue such as Brazil.

Thankfully,
for Wright, he has the added bonus of a fantastic set of accoutrements to dress
his direction with in the form of the cast. They’re much more than mere
trinkets, though, and their youthful buoyancy allows them to tread fearlessly
through the script with a comedic vigour which conceals their relative lack of
TV experience.

And,
as a result of the improvisational workshops and close knit comedy community,
these comedians are all comfortably in sync with each other. Pegg and Hynes are
sublime together and hint at great things to come, Bloom and Barratt form a
dynamic odd couple whilst Lovett manages to harmonise with everyone.

The
structure that these comedians find themselves in is perhaps the defining
aspect of Asylum. Eschewing the traditional sitcom approach, Asylum takes
a mad dash through sitcom, stand-up, sketch and music to highlight the talent
of all involved.

It
endows the show with an almost schizophrenic approach, but rather than
disintegrating the show’s personality it actually ties everything together.
Sure, it makes for a narrative which can be described, at best, as loose, and,
at worse, redundant, but you need to look a little deeper than the simplistic
breakout story arc.

It’s
the little flourishes of comedy genius in the asides from the main narrative
which provide the real value. Whilst one of the funniest gags in Asylum is
Victor holding up a Tucker Jenkins spin-off novel as one of the greatest works
of literature, there’s much more than sight gags on offer.

Perhaps
most engaging are the intimate showcase sections where the patients get to
demonstrate their comedy chops. Whilst the subject of mental health is
frequently tackled in these sections it’s never at the expense of the
condition. And, in Paul Tonkinson’s terrifying monologue, it’s a truly surreal
exploration of dementia.

Walliams
and Wright are far too clever, though, to allow Asylum to collapse under
the exhilarating weight of its constituent parts. And neither are they too
foolish to tie the series up without one final injection of disconcerting
whimsy. Whilst the patients reach the promised land of freedom, you’re still
left scrambling to decipher the true mystery of Asylum.

Final
Thoughts

Asylum
is
indicative of the new breed of comedy which was emerging from the shadow of
alternative comedy in the mid-90s. Not content with just being funny, it also
wanted to be arch and clever. In place of a condescending sneer towards the
audience, though, was an accessible set of inventive laughs.

Sure,
the narrative is hardly tangible and perhaps where it falls short in terms of
engaging with a huge audience, but it’s a refreshing and experimental take on
British comedy.

And,
Asylum, more than any other show acted as the blueprint for British
comedy over the following 15 years. Spaced, obviously, was the most
famous progeny of Asylum, but those involved also went on to create The
Mighty Boosh, Little Britain and fill up comedy venues night after
night.

Not
a bad legacy, is it?

Acknowledgements

Adam G Goodwin

Tony Sarchet

Geoff Atkinson

Mr Biffo

Adam Bloom

The Doc

BFI Archive

BFI Reuben Library

British Library

Everyone who follows me on Twitter