Now that Kate Winslett has swept and wept her way through the Golden Globes, we know that the movie award season is upon us. Soon it will be the Baftas (8 Feb), then the Oscars (22 Feb) – six weeks of pomp and circumstance, glamour and glitz. All great fun, all very distracting, all highly self-important.
A good time, then, to direct one’s attention to other, smaller, more intimate forms of entertainment. And before your mind slips uncontrollably down a sewer, let me quickly say ‘BBC radio comedy’.
Specifically, “Trevor’s World of Sport”.
I know; its title is hardly a clarion call from the summits of brilliance. “Civilization”, “Life on Earth”, “Ascent of Man” – now there are names that shout Learning and Intellect. But “Trevor’s World of Sport”??
Bear with me; I will demonstrate that it is a thing of beauty and a joy to behold.
If you wanted to be mealy-mouthed, you would describe TWoS as a minor radio sitcom that transferred to TV, not very successfully. You would also say that Mozart’s “Musical Joke” was good enough to be the theme tune of ‘Horse of the Year Show’.
The comparison is apposite as both pieces are meant to make you laugh – so are easily dismissed - but on close inspection are expertly-designed, packing multiple layers of information into a very small space, with great humour and a delightful lightness of touch.
‘TWoS’ is written by Andy Hamilton, who UK viewers will recognise from QI and radio listeners will know from ‘The News Quiz’. With writing partner Guy Jenkin, he created newsroom satire ‘Drop the Dead Donkey‘, and is currently enjoying critical and audience success with ‘Outnumbered‘ on BBC TV.
In the late 1990s, Hamilton tapped into the increasing commercialisation of sport, and through fictious agents Trevor Hislop and Sammy Dobbs began exploring the morality and ethics of such businesses, their clients and the people who run the major institutions and clubs (Hamilton is a life-long Chelsea supporter).
The programme ran for three series of six episodes on Radio 4, and was then commissioned by BBC1. Same cast, same writer. Unfortunately, the broadcast of two mid-run episodes was postponed, and the rest moved to a different time slot. Hamilton (with good reason) publicly threw his word processor out of his pram, and ‘TWoS’ closed its office.
Much as I have reservations about the sheer scope of the BBC’s media presence, one of its glories is that the forgotten can be resurrected. ‘TWoS’ has just started again on Radio 7, which prompted me to listen again, and appreciate Hamilton’s undoubted skill as a writer.
Episode One, Series One:
It opens with John Humphries (a very distinctive radio voice that carries a lot of combative baggage) questioning Trevor about bringing sport into disrepute. Trevor is taken aback by the accusational tone and stammers an answer. Warming to his theme, Humphries asks Trevor about the less-than-wholesome reputation of his partner, Sammy. Trevor finds this even harder to answer. Humphries then changes tack, and asks Trevor about the state of his marriage. At which point Trevor realises that he’s in a dream.
In just 90 seconds Hamilton shows us everything we need to know about Trevor, his marriage and his business partner. We know what the programme – and, indeed, the series – is going to be about : Trevor’s struggle to do the decent thing in an increasingly corrupt world, his fight to keep his partner on the right side of legality, and his neediness / hope of clinging to the safe haven of his wife, Meryl.
All delivered with incredible economy, which Hamilton maintains through 18 short, pared-down exchanges:
1 Trevor dreams about being interviewed by John Humphries
2 Agency Reception: Trevor tells his colleagues about the dream. Sammy enters, proclaims his self-worth, then makes a play to ‘convert’ the Heidrun, the lesbian receptionist
3 Trevor’s Office: Meryl calls to arrange a meeting with him. Trevor then takes a call from Spicer, a football manager, who complains that the media is carrying a story about a major club being interested in Jason, a player that Trevor represents.
Hamilton has now set two hares running; the long story that runs across the series (Trevor saving his marriage) and the short story for the episode (reining in Sammy’s efforts to make a quick buck).
4 Reception: Ralph arrives – a not-very-competent TV presenter who is also a client. He manages to both insult and patronise Heidrun within 15 seconds.
5 Office: Ralph asks Trevor for help in preparing for an audition. It’s for a lifestyle-reality show with a religious twist (Hamilton never misses an opportunity to take a pop at the stupidity of TV formats).
Ralph is the comic-relief subplot, attempting to get back up the greasy pole of the TV presentation business.
All this, and we’re still only six minutes in.
6 Reception: Trevor asks the team to help Ralph with his interviewing technique.
7 Office: Sammy avoids the issue of the football rumour by demonstrating his new mobile. Trevor takes another call from Meryl, who asks him to collect bread on the way to her house. Trevor agrees, and Sammy remonstrates with him about being too compliant.
I catch my breath at the brilliance of this short scene. It reinforces the conflicts in Trevor’s life, shows just how weak he is with his wife, and shows Sammy turning an argument on a sixpence.
8 Reception: Ralph ‘interviews’ Barry (the office junior) about being a Muslim
9 Office: Trevor asks Sammy again about the media rumour. Sammy’s not-very-convincing defence is that he “walked into a trap”
10 Reception: Ralph ‘interviews’ Theresa (the bookkeeper) about being a Christian
11 Office: Sammy suggests that the big club started the rumour – then lets slip that he has also spoken to two other clubs
12 Reception: Ralph ‘interviews’ Heidrun about her faith in the context of being a lesbian.
13 Office: Trevor and Sammy now arguing about the meaning of trust and the importance of contracts. Trevor forcefully explains his principles.
14 Meryl’s House: She tells Trevor that he was right to make a stand. They discuss their marriage, and whether Trevor has ‘moved on’. While he says that he has, he obviously hasn’t.
In ’scenes’ 6 – 13, Hamilton builds the conflict between Trevor and Sammy so that there is something to be resolved by the end of the episode, while inter-cutting it with Ralph’s ham-fisted approach to interviewing. The section is funny, builds character, moves the drama forward and has great pace.
He then changes the tone by showing just how desperate Trevor is to save his marriage, while being equally desperate to put on a brave face.
Hamilton has anticipated the question ‘why should we like someone in an amoral business who is probably making a lot of money?’ and answers it by showing Trevor as a good man cast adrift; all he really wants is to return to the normal stability of home.
15 Trevor dreams again of John Humphries, who asks him if he’s a man or a mouse?
Of course, this is not Humphries – it’s Trevor asking it of himself, and letting us hear the doubt permanently running in his head: do I have courage?
16 Reception: Trevor recounts his dream (without the man/mouse conundrum); Ralph ‘interviews’ Barry again, this time about ‘yoof culture’ and faith. Sammy intimidates Ralph.
17 Office: Trevor and Sammy meet with Jason and tell him that the big club is not interested. Sammy then destabilizes Jason by mentioning other clubs.
Trevor’s done the decent thing; Sammy still won’t let go of the opportunity; the tension peaks.
18 Reception: Trevor and Sammy wish Jason goodbye; Trevor tells Ralph that he’ll be fine for the audition (he and Theresa later agree that Ralph hasn’t got a chance); Trevor takes a call from Spicer, who now wants to leave the club himself, and asks Trevor to represent him. Trevor points out the hypocrisy of the conversation, and declines. He tells Sammy to start touting Jason to other clubs.
Ralph exits, destined for comic failure. Trevor gets a chance to take a moral stand. Sammy gets to make his deal. The loose ends are all tied, except the marriage / separation problem with Meryl, which takes us into the next episode.
29 minutes of expert comic craftsmanship. And my description misses out the jokes about footballers, Sammy’s altercation with the Virgin Trains helpline, and the John Humphries coda. Nor have I mentioned the excellent ensemble performances.
What’s really astonishing about this mini-masterpiece is that it arrived fully formed. How many times have you sat and watched a pilot episode, or the first couple of a series, and wondered ‘when will it be funny’? Or read an interview with the head of a channel or commissioning editor about ‘characters taking time to establish themselves’?
TWoS was an exception. The lead characters had depth and well-defined drivers. The relationships were all long-standing and the source of the comedy grounded in believable reality. Most importantly, there was an underlying sadness about the eponymous hero.
Episode One was a perfectly taken goal and a home win. The quality play continued throughout all three series. The great pity is that Trevor and his team only lasted a single season in the Premiership.
‘Trevor’s World of Sport’ can currently be heard on BBC7 or via the BBC iPlayer
Popularity: 9% [?]
If you have never seen “Noises Off” – Michael Frayn’s farce-within-a farce – then you have missed one of the funniest nights ever spent in the theatre. (Don’t bother with the film; it’s deadly.)
You have also missed the start of a slippery slope that ends up at ‘The X Factor‘.
Frayn’s premise is simple: on stage, what happens behind the scenes is funnier than what’s performed front of house. So he created the first Act of a non-existent play (called ‘Nothing On’), showed it in rehearsal then revolved the set to show what was happening backstage while it was being performed. The climax of “Noises Off” is seeing the first act of ‘Nothing On’ performed for a third time, but full of gaffes caused by the tensions and rivalries of the cast.
The comedy is builds because the audience has seen what’s happening out of view, and understands that the animosity between the characters is putting the people on stage in jeopardy.
(If ever you want proof that analysing comedy isn’t funny, read the previous two paragraphs again.)
Frayn showed us things that until then we hadn’t seen – indeed, weren’t supposed to see: The horror when a prop is in the wrong place, the panic when a door won’t open, the quick grope with the leading lady while her partner is on stage. He broke the spell – the border between reality and performance - but his brilliance was to substitute this imaginary fence with a series of stacking Russian dolls; a fake reality in a fake reality in a fake reality.
Which, some 30 years later, brings us to Simon Cowell.
Cowell makes no pretence about being anywhere near as clever as Frayn. In his press interviews, the high-waisted one always makes the point that he is a man of simple tastes, pleasures and a very grounded individual. He’s a fish-and-chip man, a pop song man, a give-the-people-what-they-want man, and to hell with the critics.
But in one way, he’s as clever – no, as brilliant – as Frayn. Because he saw that what happens behind the scenes, what happens before the performance, is as compelling, as dramatic, as funny as what happens ‘on the night’. Indeed, by making it visible, it enriches the actual performance. We know what his contestants have been through, we’ve shared their pain. Even further, we start to root for them. We’re bought in, even before Mr Cowell and his Syco company have released the winner’s first recording. We’re hooked.
And there’s one further twist to the process that should make Cowell the envy of every business leader in the land: he turned a major cost into a revenue stream.
Talent spotting is an expensive business. It takes a lot of time, a lot of travel, a lot of wasted evenings and a lot of disappointments. In short, you have to kiss a lot of frogs. X-Factor, Pop Idol, Britain’s Got Talent all take that cost, and not only make it part of the purchase, but make it the purchase itself.
We don’t just see how a finalist got to the final – we see dozens of would-be’s and no-hopers (or, according to Ben Elton, “Singers, Blingers and Mingers”) go through the process. That would usually be a cost to Cowell; he’s turned it into revenue.
Of course, the by-product of this is that Cowell (along with his fellow judges) come out from behind that invisible wall. They become centre stage. They become as much of the act as the winning singer.
That wasn’t true of Billy Marsh. Never heard of him? No – me neither. And that’s the point.
He was featured on Radio 4’s ‘Great Lives’, which is usually about one of the more obvious great-and-good. However in this particular edition, TV producer William G Stewart and ITV Chief Executive Michael Grade put forward the case for Marsh, a post-war theatrical agent.
Even taking show-business ‘luvviness’ into consideration, it was a warm, heart-felt tribute to a man who had touched both their lives: he taught Grade the ropes of agency life, and gave Stewart the backing he needed to start own production company.
However, the core of their argument was that Marsh had actually touched the lives of millions. As agent and spotter, he ‘discovered’ Norman Wisdom, Bruce Forsythe, Harry Worth and Morecombe & Wise.
It’s easy to be cynical about these names, but at their peak (the 1950s to the 80s), these acts were the giants of UK light entertainment. Indeed, Forsythe is still fronting #1 rated TV shows. All of them discovered, developed and managed by one quiet man, who never went in front of the curtain, who never signed a contract with his artists (his word was his bond) and who gained vicarious pleasure by seeing others succeed.
Performers can be notoriously difficult to handle. The stage/screen persona is not the reality; even the most successful can be deeply insecure. Marsh didn’t seek to eclipse his acts; he didn’t look for the limelight or his fifteen minutes of fame. His contribution was to help others be the best they could possibly be.
What better measure of a great life?
In a time of 24-hour media, of OK and Chat and Hello, of Ozzy-and-Sharon and Katie-and-Peter ‘documentaries’, Marsh’s discretion has become deeply unfashionable. You’re no-one unless you have profile – whatever the personal cost.
Of course, Frayn’s play isn’t responsible for all this – but it was the first time that I was aware of the curtain being pulled all the way back to show warts and all; to show the mechanics of how the trick was done.
Now, the mechanics have become the show itself. There is no longer any mystery; everything is exposed.
Perhaps it’s time to reconsider our collective hunger for transparency, and to put some things backstage, where they belong – unseen and unsaid?
Popularity: 2% [?]
Terrific evening on Friday at a Mark Steel gig. For those who don’t know (outside the UK) he’s a comedian and writer who for the past 20 years has been challenging the establishment, airing his grievances, and sharing his love of history and ideas through comedy.
He started out as an angry young man; he’s now on the verge of becoming a grumpy old one.
His current tour is his mid-life crisis; the Left has left him him very disappointed, he’s split from his wife (I assume they were married) and he’s the father of two. While he hoped that life would have been ’sorted’ by now, he is as confused as he’s ever been – both at the personal and political.Hence his new book is called ‘What’s Going On?’
So there was a tinge of sadness that underpinned his routines; the description of night after night sleeping on the sofa in his own home, the rows about letting his children watch grown-up (albeit classic) movies, the search for a new place to live. He’s very open about his disappointments.
Open, and very funny. While his jokes are good, his stories are even better: ordering a sandwich in Subway; sitting backstage with Tony Benn; speaking to an audience of 10; going on Test Match Special with Geoff Boycott.
Very funny and very human.
Tags: MarkSteel, comedy, paulrutherford, stand up
Popularity: unranked [?]
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