Posh Funnies
Constantly in Pursuit. By Patrick Campbell. (Hutchinson, 18s.)
ACCORDING to a friend of mine who was once' briefly but gloriously, Golliwog Correspondent to the Guardian's 'Miscellany' column, Michael Frayn (or Frain, Frane, Froan, Frayne, Frame) is still alive. It seems that none of the lynching parties which used regularly to set out, on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, for the Guardian's London office ever succeeded to tracking the monster to his lair; so presumably the column of gentle fun-poking which now aP' pears in the Observer under the sayme nayrn is actually written by Frayn. Thousands of PR°5' admen, Russians, nuclear disarmers. politicians, archaeologists, mayors and Americans Will be bitterly disappointed at this news. At any moment the deadly sniping might start again.
It can't be easy to write even a weekly funny column. To be constructively funny—i.e.. satin cal—three times a week would seem an impos- sible task. Michael Frayn not only succeeded, he actually got better—a devoted follower could watch him exploring his way into a tricky form until he had the confidence to lash out one of those superbly accurate pieces of social criticism for which one either loves or hate; him. The Day of the Dog contains the best of these, and may come as a surprise to those Who are not already with it, Fraynwise. Michael Frayn actually holds a handful of opinions. and doesn't care if people discover the shameful fact' nor whether his opinions are fashionable ones or not. Inevitably, one's hackles sometimes, rise (dammit, a man who doesn't like dogs can t he good for much!), but even in the act of throUfr mg the book out of the window one suddenlY finds oneself chortling, and retrieving it for another shamefaced dip. Patrick Campbell is gentler, more urbane; the funniest thing in his universe is himself, and he is funny largely because he is, in his own Oct very tall, bald and gauche. The humour, 111; slapstick than satirical, is based on a hostile world in which things are always happening the author, without volition on his part. He ca s himself as a thick-eared stage Irishman thinly disguised as an English gent., hacking his Wae through a jungle of astounding, and in sorn, way never .quite relevant, phenomena rubber machete from Mullingar. What is 111„ about Patrick Campbell is that, behind the Ono' social bumbler there lurks, like the thin 013... in the fat man, a serious social comments A reliable Christmas present, this. The Lardner Report belongs to the snigger
with class of humour. It purports to describe the ac- tivities of some 'typical' American suburbanites, members of a tennis club, who attempt to do a Kinsey on the local housewives. The atmosphere is one of timid voyeurism, the tone that of a man trying to tell a dirty joke in mixed com- pany Without giving offence. It gave offence to this eavesdropper, all right. I like my dirt dirty.
JEREMY BROOKS
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