Ben Elton's place in the pantheon of British comedy is assured. He is that loudmouth of the 1980s who was too cocksure by half, and achieved popularity through sheer vulgarity alone. He is that anal little tic who tried to assure us during the "caring '90s" that he was actually a vulnerable little soul all along with a penchant for Dad's Army and Lloyd-Webber musicals. He is a disliked and ridiculed part of our cultural establishment, yet on Friday 5 November 1999, the BBC chose to celebrate his work as part of their Best of British series. At one point during the programme Elton commented that "being cool was holding things in contempt". You could see that he believes he has become a victim of this kind of assessment. Whilst Best of British failed to examine how Elton has come to assume such a low place in our affections, it offered considerable evidence for those willing to piece together how the most influential comedy writer of the last 20 years has come to be viewed by his once "groovy" public as a personification of one of his most teeth-grinding creations: the farty.
It is unquestionable that Elton has dominated and shaped modern British culture: the use of the ill-conceived simile can be overheard in any pub ("you're as small as a very small thing"), whilst the rhythms of The Young Ones still beat in university canteens. Andy Lowe (writing for Comedy Review in 1996) reasonably claimed that "outside of, say, John Cleese, [Elton] holds the most illustrious CV in British comedy". Certainly his immediate contemporaries herald his many achievements (Laurie calls him "an enormous brain on two legs"). However, he has never attained a place in our hearts in the same way that Peter Cook - for example - has. John Cleese is politely excused when he churns out such rubbish as Fierce Creatures, yet critics rounded on The Thin Blue Line with undisguised glee. Even those who have found success in his wake (Eddie Izzard, Frank Skinner etc.) are more affectionately thought of than Ben. Bob Monkhouse pondering the issue drew upon the following comment made by Brian Viner, "We Brits love only the comics who seem dumber, dafter or deader than us, and preferably all three, such as Benny Hill and Frankie Howerd. Sharp as a tack, Ben Elton or Bob Monkhouse, we either grudgingly admire or can't abide." I see the problem in a slightly different way: Perhaps Elton wouldn't generate such disdain if he wasn't so damned vocal and pleased about his own particular brand of fun.
It's difficult to examine any significant piece of innovative comedy produced in this country between the years of - say - 1982 (the end of Not the Nine O'clock News) and 1990 (the beginning of Have I Got News For You) without being able to sniff out Elton's contribution or at least influence (certainly Spitting Image is the only notable exception that springs to mind). Upon securing the regular compère slot at the Comedy Store in 1981 Elton felt like the "King of London". However, by the late '80s a more appropriate title might have been Britain's own "King of Comedy": The Young Ones (1982 - 4) "caught the vibe" of early '80s Britain, Blackadder (1983 - 89) determined how youths bantered, whilst Elton's Saturday Live (1985 - 88) lawyer-baiting monologues, ensured that whilst only 1.5 million people may have tuned in, by Monday everyone knew what had been on his mind that weekend. Filthy, Rich and Catflap's (1987) unremitting attack on British light entertainment made explicit the alternative comedians' intent to obliterate the Tarbuck-Davidson axis from British TV, and finally, Happy Families (1985) and The Thin Blue Line (1995) demonstrated that Elton wasn't just one of those "mockers who had nothing to put in the place of those things that they mocked" (an attitude his "colleagues" Fry and Laurie parodied in their own series). He was also willing to show mainstream sitcoms the way forward.
Best of British happily propagated the accepted critical response to Ben's canon: The Young Ones was groundbreaking but has aged badly, Blackadder was shit before Elton became involved and great afterwards (particularly that last one), Saturday Live should be remembered simply for the media furore it generated, Filthy, Rich and Catflap and Happy Families were crap and The Thin Blue Line is actually better then everyone thinks. Elton himself did little to dissuade such assertions, yet in cool retrospect one is forced to wonder if anything in his oeuvre besides Blackadder will stand the inevitable test of time. Certainly, it is difficult now to distinguish between The Young Ones and Filthy ... Both series' targets (accepted sitcom structure and showbiz, respectively) have since been dismantled (largely as a result of the kind of grilling they receive here) and the jokes at their expense appear clichéd and obvious as a result. Elton described Filthy ... as containing a few too many fart gags, and correctly identifies that The Young Ones strength lay with the characters and not the "sub-Beckett dialogue in the cellar" that consumed much of the programme's air time. The Young Ones place in the pantheon of British comedy seems determined purely by its structurally innovative qualities as opposed to any genuine comedic value, and Filthy ... appears derided purely for the offence of having being written after The Young Ones and not before. Of Elton's other work during this period, Fry asserts that Happy Families inhabited a very "un-Ben, Ealing world" and it is difficult to view the series as anything other than Elton's first (somewhat self indulgent) attempt to break out of the "shock comedy" genre he had created for himself. Ultimately, there is little here that will still provoke much of an amused response in the modern day audience. However, Blackadder is something of a different proposition.
Elton has talked of the differing creative processes between The Young Ones and Blackadder: The former is described as a hot bed of "anything goes" and the latter - his first serious lesson in self-editing. It is very difficult to quantify the impact of Curtis on Blackadder. One would initially assume that the much praised verbal interplay was the doing of the more sedate writer, however, it is accredited to Elton. Furthermore, the realignment of the Blackadder character to a figure of cunning guile was also a decision made by Elton. Yet there is a discernible difference between Blackadder and Elton's other work. Certainly the self-discipline that he talks about appears to be evident, perhaps more so here then in anything else he has written either previously or since Blackadder. One suspects that the historical nature of the comedy forced Elton to look beyond shock tactics and abandon his subversive attempts to penetrate the third wall (somehow such concerns appear inappropriate within a period setting). Instead, it would seem that Elton had learned from his Young Ones experiences and knew to focus on the characters.
The relationships between Blackadder and Baldrick and their societal superiors created a recognizable set of class tensions with which to play around (rather like the famous Frost Report sketch with Cleese, Barker and Corbett writ large). Certainly by the time the final series was broadcast, we could anticipate the likely reactions of each character to the unfolding situations, the familiarity adding to the enjoyment. This allowed Elton and Curtis to try something a little different: Hugh Laurie's views on Blackadder Goes Forth make for interesting reading, "One of the reasons it was so effective was that the character's and attitudes were similar it's just that the context was so massively different. It startled people."Of course the last episode of ... Goes Forth is held in particular regard, and although one may criticize the episode's balance of comedy and sentimentality, one cannot deny that is a demonstration of the writers' confidence in their format. Upon repeated viewing Blackadder stands as an intelligently written, tightly structured comedy. In my opinion the fourth series suffers slightly, re-heating old ideas and pushing the absurd similes riff perhaps a little too far. However, as a body of work there is a demonstrable consistency across the 18 episodes which Elton had a hand in. It will be interesting to observe how the millennium special shapes up.
The 1990s has seen - if anything - an increase in Elton's profligacy, yet his ability to deliver relevant material, coupled with his seemingly conscious attempt to alter his public image has ensured that the plaudits have not been as forthcoming. By my reckoning, the stink began in 1989 when for two weeks he presented Wogan. Aside from a sparky interview with Jeffrey Archer, Elton seemed to be determined to convince people that he was not the feared icon of the left as portrayed by the red top press. He was understandably bemused by the initial image that had been created, and was keen to show us that he was by not ill mannered or aggressive. Such concerns culminated in the genesis of his "farty" image. Gratifyingly, Elton (in an edition of Radio Times in 1993) conceded that "Yes, OK, farty is a silly word. I wish I'd never used it. I'm 34. Perhaps it was a word for my 20s." His first BBC1 series of The Man from Auntie (1990) may have delivered him a new audience, yet there seemed little point to it. Elton's observations on student life ("Hey look man it's only a sausage!") and human couplings ensured that he retained his ability to offend those with the most fragile of sensibilities. However, the politicking had changed. The man credited as one of the few commentators able to successfully land blows on Thatcher became absorbed with the personal politics of human relationships. Determined to display himself as essentially weak and - some might say - victimized it was difficult not to conclude that Elton was deliberately attempting to reposition himself in the public's mind. Almost as if he was aware of the capriciousness of "cool" he set about dismantling such artefact from his person before his fickle audience decided to begin the work for him. Yet perhaps this was where the disaffection finally flourished: Elton had been at the front of the pack declaring that British sitcoms were deeply unhip ("It depends on what you're offering, Gloria/Yes, Tom, bit of a rape innuendo, but who cares, it's only British comedy innit eh?") and had been the loudest to pour scorn on the politics of the common man. Of course this had never really been the case. But Ben Elton's fans were fans of the Ben Elton pilloried in the tabloid press. Not the real Ben Elton at all. It seemed the real Ben Elton was not be the campaigning champion that many had believed in.
One suspects that Elton is more at peace with himself now there is less of a discrepancy between his public and private personas. Certainly, this appears to be borne out by the type of projects he has busied himself with. Much though he may try to deny it, The Thin Blue Line is an indulgent homage to the ensemble comedies that entertained the youthful Elton, and his novels have addressed the concerns of a man passing out of young adulthood and heading towards middle age. In short, Elton is writing to amuse himself. Perhaps this has always been the case. But his traditional place in popular culture has always been at its more alternative fringes. This is an area perpetually dominated by students, antiestablishment sensibilities and a continuing search for the next cultural revolution. Elton was always going to grow old, but his natural constituency has a forever teenage agenda. The majority of his contemporaries have fared better because they have either been able to successfully appeal to a more mature audience (Stephen Fry), or have stubbornly failed to concede their niche areas (Rik Mayall - with ever diminishing returns). It seems that - as of yet - there is no natural audience for Elton. Perhaps we will eventually grow old along with him, or he might find his place on I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue. Regardless he will continue to churn out work of variable quality that will always provoke - at least - a reaction from his old constituency.
