And then I don't feel so bad
Jonathan Cecil
TO WIT: IN CELEBRATION OF COMEDY by Penelope Gilliatt
Weidenfeld & NicoLcon, £17.95, pp. 304
No book can be all bad which contains a tribute to Mrs Shufflewick — the inspired creation of the late comedian Rex Jame- son. Throughout the 1970s my wife and I followed this great monologist from seedy pub to run-down theatre with unfailing wonder and delight. The wistful little figure, 'weak willed and easily led', 'broad- minded to the point of obscenity', voice marinated in gin and gentility, was a live performer in the Ethel Merman class. My only disagreement with Penelope Gilliatt here is over her description of him/her as a drag act. Neither transvestite nor panto dame, Shufflewick was quite simply a real character — as is the very different Dame Edna.
Mrs Gilliatt's Celebration of Comedy conjures up many such heroes and heroines. Her mention of Christian Duvaleix from the Robert Dhery troupe happily recalled for me an old Paris revue in which this solemn clown tried and failed time after time to mount a racing bicycle: as good an expression of futility as a Beckett play.
This brings me to the book's main defect: a maddening eclecticism. As come- dians it claims not only Beckett but also von Stroheim, Wajda, Orson Welles — a curiously unfunny Falstaff — Pirandello and the Bee Gees. Que diable allaient-ils faire dans cette galere alongside Ken Dodd and Carole Lombard? In a rather heavy- handed chapter on unintentionally comic films, Mrs Gilliatt mocks Hammerstein's lyric 'A few of my favourite things' — but that would make a goodish title for her own unco-ordinated catalogue. By the end I felt that had she particularly liked the third Brandenberg concerto, Bach would have been hailed as a master of slapstick.
Nevertheless, when the book is good, it is very good. Harry Langdon — whom I find the funniest if most uneven silent clown — is charmingly described as con- veying 'a mind gently lolling at rest like a punt'. Mrs Gilliatt pinpoints the special quality of the enchanting Judy Holliday not dumbness but native intelligence kept down by a touching lack of self-confidence; for me this is epitomised in her voice — a wounded seagull's cry issuing from a radiant face. The author also understands the delicate nature of farce acting: worry- ing and bafflement rather than panic and pain.
At her best an acute critic, Mrs Gilliatt is even better as a reporter. There is an excellent description of Chaplin directing, reminding those of us who cannot quite warm to the Little Tramp how exquisitely detailed is his work with other actors.
There is also a moving portrait of the elderly Buster Keaton — still talking of movies in the present tense. His beautifully logical, dignified comedy is clearly the only kind he knows. He criticises the Marx Brothers for being 'sometimes ridiculous' — a point-missing understatement. I have heard a sad story about Keaton, fallen on hard times, trying unsuccessfully to devise gags for Harpo. Keaton was an oasis of calm in a chaotic world, Harpo the exact reverse. Ironically, both approaches are sublimely subversive.
'Big Smoke or non-Big Smoke?' The reverential interview with Jacques Tati showed me why I find his late films patchy and overblown. He theorised his comedy away and lost touch with his music-hall roots. He says dismissively: `People would have liked me to go on with Hulot in the old way of course'. Of course! Talking seriously he is sententious: 'Our world becomes every day more anony- mous'.
Unlike Mrs Gilliatt, I have found that dedicated artists are generally only at ease when discussing their art. Tati speaking of legs and comic rhythm becomes fascinat- ing, taking us back to the glories of Jour de Fete.
This lively book reaches no real conclu- sion. It fails to define comedy — but who ever has? It is overpriced and at times overwritten. To describe Ken Dodd as having 'forgetful Pre-Raphaelite hair' is pretentious and — if it has any meaning — inaccurate. Tynan, that other virtuoso Ken — from whom, as from Orwell, Mrs Gilliatt sometimes borrows without ack- nowledgement — was a brilliant writer but a dangerous influence. The clever-clever easily degenerates into the kitsch-kitsch. Nonetheless, comedy fans will find this an enjoyable addition to their shelves.
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