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| BAKED BEANS AND BOY SCOUTS: PART TWO Jack Kibble-White on Comic Relief |
June 2001
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It's 1993 and what else is there to say about Comic Relief? Only a scant five years after the first big night, and Total Relief was eating itself. Formulaic in the extreme, this was to be the last ever pre-Coogan Comic Relief. Knowing Me Knowing You had concluded its first radio run two months earlier and its television incarnation (along with sister programme The Day Today) was just over a year away. Of course, Have I Got News For You had sauntered along in the interim (starting on 28 September 1990). Collecting together a central cast previously best known for Private Eye, Whose Line is it Anyway? and the Hee Bee Gee Bees, Have I Got News For You had been essential viewing from the start. At this point though, Deayton was still hedging his bets a little, and another series of KYTV was to come in the autumn. Nonetheless, pitting the Deayton gang against the Question of Sport team said perhaps less about the MOR-ish mentality governing Comic Relief, and more instead about a television world in which only one amusing television panel game existed. Come and see the battle of wits that ensues between Merton and Beaumont! This of course is eminently forgettable, but at least at the time there was some credibility attached to Have I Got News For You (the most recent series had included Peter Cook, Frank Skinner, David Baddiel and Stephen Fry amongst its guests). Survey the 1993 Comic Relief schedule and it becomes clear that British comedy is in a perilous state. The targets are even more outdated than ever. In particular, the Mr Bean on Blind Date special seems to last forever doing very little with the character and relying on a set of shared jokes directed at Cilla and the programme that have been around as long as Faith Brown's act. As if it is not already obvious enough that this was a fallow year for creativity, the star studded sketch show compilation is unimaginatively title "Star Crazy!" and Chris Evans (appearing for the first time) gives us his spoof of the National Lottery - "The Snottery". Still this is nothing more than an accurate representation of the state of British television comedy at the time. This was the year - remember - that gave us the first series of Newman and Baddiel in Pieces and The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer, both of which were positioned as cutting edge at the time yet neither of which is now remembered as anything other than the death throes of late '80s student comedy. Perhaps only Victor Meldrew escapes the evening with dignity intact. Surprising this, considering the eight-minute One Foot in the Grave sketch features Richard Wilson in the bath. Thankfully though, there are no baked beans here only a rather welcome opportunity for Meldrew to ponder as ever on some of life's little mysteries. Even this year's accompanying song is rather off the mark, causing us once again to wonder if this the best Comic Relief can do? In truth, Right Said Fred's Stick It Out has little of the catchiness of I'm Too Sexy nor the charm Deeply Dippy. Tellingly, it was to be the Fred's last major hit to date. The night's other big song turns out to be rather more entertaining - at least in retrospect for those who can't resist a look at the BBC's breakfast telly set, or a glimpse again at daytime presenters of yore. Apparently the inclusion of the cast of Red Dwarf (then embarking upon recording of series six) into this montage of celebs crooning along to Bohemian Rhapsody was to compensate for the cancellation of a sketch written by Grant Naylor in which the boys from the 'Dwarf were to be pitted against the Daleks. Fact fans might also care to note that Kryten's nose is missing as a result of Craig Charles ripping it from the face of Robert Llewellyn just prior to this sequence being filmed. Although 72% of the British public might have taken part in Red Nose Day 1993 (including 3,307,000 who purchased a red nose) it seems that - on this evidence - the abstaining 28% were the ones with the comedic talent. 1995 finds us entering a new dawn of comedy: one presided over by Chris Evans. Just doing something stupid is the new funny! The kind of lame, time wasting stunts pervaded on Don't Forget Your Toothbrush and TFI Friday seem to be the perfect way to pad out 425 minutes of live telly. The two prime examples this year are the cowpatting of Patsy Palmer and the snogging of Hugh Grant. In an admission that '93 had indeed been dismal, a number of format changes were introduced this time around. Most noticeably, the actual broadcast itself was split into "six staggerblasting shows, each presented by a different, very well dressed presenter." Much had happened in the intervening two years though and a new era of inclusive comedy was upon us. The pseudo student posturing of Newman and Baddiel (the ultimate logical extension of the absorption of a predominantly politically left wing movement into the acceptable popularity) has left modern British alternative comedy, non-political, and resolutely mainstream. In the year in which Fry and Laurie moved to BBC1, the term "alternative" comedy had finally become obsolete. Still not everything had changed, comedy was still closely aligned with pop music (for Alexei Sayle and The Clash, read Chris Evans and Oasis), and traditional light entertainment was still a major target (although Alan Partridge offered a far more sophisticated parody than Filthy, Rich and Catflap had back in 1987.) However, comedy in '95 is now part of a lifestyle choice encompassing Britpop, laddism and all those other movements that you have only just been allowed to forget about. Sorry for reminding you again. Another break with tradition found Comic Relief abandoning the "Star Crazy" format of yore and instead bringing together myriad talents under the aegis of one ongoing "story". "Oliver 2: Let's Twist Again" retained the endearing habit of titling a section using the first name that came in to Richard Curtis' head, and also attempted to - once again - pick up on a popular trend. Remember when "costume drama" was de rigour for any serious conversation about British television? Some things seldom change though, and this year's Bean special was the torturous "Torvill and Bean" which - like the Blind Date sketch previously - seemed to be never ending. Thankfully this was to be the rubber-faced goon's last major Comic Relief appearance. Although as part of the trade in we had to accept Patrick Kielty in return. Here was a career that was strongly shaped by the charity event. "I did Comic Relief in Belfast in 1995", he said during a BBC interview. "Lenny Henry, Jo Brand, Ben Elton and Julian Clary were all there, and I was the local Belfast lad they had on as well. So that was a great break, and off the back of that BBC Northern Ireland gave me my own show." Still all in all, this was a slightly spunkier show than before, and the introduction of Evans and his ilk at least showed that Comic Relief was staying true to its ultimate vision and using the most popular elements of the contemporary scene to fill its coffers. The decision to change the strategy of the accompanying record signified too that there was a desire to ensure the charity remained relevant and modern. Unfortunately, the resultant Love Can Build A Bridge suffered due to the charity's decision to use big name artistes (as opposed to currently popular ones). Also the song was just plain awful. So, more changes were still required. By 1997, Saturday Live (now with Lee Hurst and on ITV) had come and gone again, Never Mind the Buzzcocks had arrived on BBC2 - as had The Simpsons, and later in the year we were to enjoy I'm Alan Partridge. The big thing in comedy though was none of these. Men Behaving Badly had picked up a BAFTA in 1996 for Best Comedy as well as notoriously that year being voted the best comedy in the BBC 60th Anniversary Awards (just five years later and the lads are conspicuously absent from the Channel 4 list of the all time Top 100 TV characters). It is difficult now to explain the passing but all encompassing popularity of Gary and Tony. Certainly the scripts were sharper than most, but essentially the only logical conclusion one can reach is that the public have a voracious appetite for an essentially bog standard sitcom which is actually not just complete crap. The inevitability of the duo's appearance was made all the more predictable thanks to their brief turn on Children In Need two years previously. This time out, Comic Relief chose to adopt the tried and trusted method of bunging a celebrity guest appearance into the mix. In truth, the Kylie/Men Behaving Badly team-up did little to dissuade the duo's hardcore fans that this was a series on the wane. Also one was left to wonder yet again just how many more times Comic Relief could actually get away with that hoary old chestnut: the unrecognized celebrity gag. Amusing juxtapositions though, was the theme of the night as in Prime Cracker Fitz and Tennison found themselves memorably thrown together in a nicely produced sketch that (in treating the two characters with a little more reverence) seemed to indicate that Comic Relief was at least able to recognize when it was in the company of good raw material. That Coltrane and Mirren chose to gurn their way through the sketch, distracted only marginally from the stature of their fictional alter egos. Unfortunately, Del Boy and Rodney fared rather more poorly in the transition from sitcom to sketch. Unbelievably written by John Sullivan, the last ever TV outing for the Trotters, whilst full of the warm hearted Cockney spirit that had secured Del and Rodney a place in the nation's affections, is bereft of the series' usual snappy patois. To whit, Del says to Rodney "I had a thought last week". Rodney replies, "Oh you should have said something - we'd have had a little celebration!" Although churlish to expect comedy as wonderful as the duo's famous chandelier scene (which could have done with a repeat viewing at the time anyway - just to stop people going on about David Jason's wine bar pratfall), Del's final pay off line ("Yeah, alright. Goodnight sweetheart. Yeah don't be so stupid, Albert. I'm not a Detective Inspector, but even I can work that one out!") is just another variation on Comic Relief's strategy of deploying celebrities in unusual or throwaway roles, and is hardly a fitting final farewell to this most treasured of sitcoms. Some years on, people still recall the demise of Loadsamoney on Comic Relief, yet (perhaps happily) our lasting final image of the Trotters remains that which closed their 1996 Christmas trilogy. Our "star crazy" format made its return in the form of "The Great Big Stupid Celebrity Sketch Show" and the spectre of Evans was back again in the form of a special TFI Friday. Father Ted too found its way from Channel 4, and all in all this eclectic mix suggested that the low points of the early '90s were perhaps behind us for good. Certainly the mid decade reinvigoration of British comedy was making Comic Relief appear more relevant to an up and coming younger demographic, whilst still being able to retain those who had grown up with the charity and had since succumbed to the winsome charm of The Vicar of Dibley. Best of all though, this year saw the return to form of the Comic Relief single. It was exactly the right time for Comic Relief to ride the coat tails of the Spice Girls, then at the absolute peak of their popularity, and one of the few popular entertainment artefacts of the time able to outgun the charity itself. The video was a reversion to the Help antics of some years previous, but nonetheless the Comic Relief single always was the best indicator of the charity's credibility and hooking up with the Spices was certainly a more "on the money" collaboration than that of just two years ago. Whilst many might have ached for a street cred link up with Oasis or Blur, manufactured pop was cool at the time too (largely thanks to the trailblazing work of Take That) and Lenny, Griff and Jonathan's appropriation of the Spice Girls built a generational bridge that was to prove far more successful than the one Cher and company had attempted to construct out of mere love. Now it's 1999 and our trawl through the annals of Comic Relief is almost at its end. By this time the TV comedy scene is almost identical to that which we know today. The cult of Chris Evans was finally on the wane, and now we had The League of Gentleman (who's first TV series ended just weeks before Comic Relief: Red Nose Day 1999 - The Record Breaker), Ali G, The Royle Family and Trigger Happy TV - pretty much the current comedy "Royal Family" then. This year's Comic Relief line up though was unwilling to accommodate any of these new favourites. Instead we were presented a rather outdated collection of comedians and programmes sacrificed at the altar of the charity behemoth. Most noticeable perhaps is the inclusion of a series of Doctor Who spoofs. Discussed in greater detail elsewhere on OTT, and appreciated by many at the time, it was still rather symbolic of charity - once again - having difficulty identifying the hip from the passé. If further proof was needed then just weeks after the BBC had cancelled Noel's House Party, time was given up to Griff Rhys Jones' attempt to gunge 1000 people. Similarly there was still a home here for Chris Evans with one hour devoted to the ailing TFI Friday. Worst of all though was the choices of mini-episodes. These things seem to have become almost trophies to the comedy community, with the belief that only the best and most popular programmes will be invited to dine at the Comic Relief table. As such, the choice of The Vicar of Dibley, Harry Enfield and Chums, Men Behaving Badly and The Fast Show represents a line up that is neither innovative, nor (more importantly) representative of the current state of Britcom. Victoria Wood's place is - of course - rather different, and like Rowan Atkinson her appearances transcend mere current vogue. Yet, the malapropism of "Wetty Hainthropp" was as good an indicator of any as to what she had on offer this time around. Still for every Wood there has to be a Partridge, and Coogan's creation was in masterful form providing a series of links to comedic and serious clips "live" from his Norwich Radio studio. This is very fine stuff indeed, purposefully sticking to the mundane and shunning the opportunity to "go big" with the concept as de rigour for Comic Relief. Even the choice of arbitrary guest celebrity (Bryan Ferry) is handled well, with Ferry providing just the right amount of "has been" frisson that is so important to the fictional life of Alan. Still, if the last Comic Relief of the 21st century did seem a little behind the times, at least the obligatory single was still on the money. Boyzone were the biggest singles band that Comic Relief could have picked at the time, and if the desertion of the comedy record now seemed a permanent state of affairs, this was probably a justifiable trade-off in the pursuit of a number one record and evermore funds for the charity. Once again the fact the record was intensely annoying was neither here nor there. That Comic Relief was to return to form in 2001 was a pleasing, if predictable state of affairs. Innovation in television comedy has been thin on the ground in the last two years, thus allowing the charity to take breath, catch up and come back at us with the most relevant and interesting broadcast since the inaugural telethon. In truth Comic Relief has always told us much about the health of our national humour. Sometimes it has been a little off the money or behind the times, but this has been merely symptomatic of the varying speed in which our dominant culture has been able to absorb new and challenging ideas. Looking back across the years there are only a few notable absences (perhaps the untrustworthy Chris Morris is the most obvious) from the cast list of the great and good, and the recent decision to broaden Comic Relief's perspective has allowed it to address national preoccupations outwith its original remit of comedy broadcasting. The inclusion of a Big Brother special might just hint at the future for the charity. Its biannual broadcasts may soon become a vessel for all sorts of specially made variations of popular programmes. Rather like a second Christmas special. Whatever the future for Comic Relief one still senses that the guiding hands of Richard Curtis and Lenny Henry will remain on the tiller, always more mindful of the charity's ability to generate money, then of its place as an unofficial celebration of the Best of British Entertainment. This - in the end - is absolutely right and as it should be. Just please no more Vicar of Dibley, specials - okay? |
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| PART ONE | ||