Television

So bad he's unwatchable

James Delingpole

Ionce wrote an incredibly pompous defence of the rude comic Viz, in which I argued that the character of Farmer Palmer was the most incisive piece of agri- cultural satire since H.L. Mencken. Con- trary to received wisdom, I still think Viz is as funny as it used to be, and I continue to be amazed by the cleverness of the writing.

Take Finbarr Saunders and His Double- Entendres, in which the grown-up charac- ter says things which sound incredibly rude — e.g. 'I sucked away at her big pink jub- blies' — while the little boy, Finbarr, snick- ers at the innuendo. The cunning part is that, however filthy the language, it's always referring to something completely innocent — in the above case, 'those straw- berry-flavoured frozen semi-tetrahedral soft drinks which were briefly popular in the Seventies'.

Well, I think it's clever anyway. And it's certainly a thousand times better scripted than its television equivalent, All Rise For Julian Clary (BBC 2, Friday). Clary plays the Finbarr role, leering and sniggering at the merest hint of salaciousness; while his sidekick (Frank Thornton — sadly reduced since his Are You Being Served? heyday) and sundry members of the public supply the innuendo.

The problem is that most of the double- entendres are so pitifully strained you want to cringe. I suppose this would be for- givable if they came up naturally in the course of Julian's conversations with his studio guests. But these ones have quite clearly been written and rehearsed before- hand.

When, for example, a man from Croydon (Ho! Ho! Joke town) is asked how many bedrooms he has, he says 'front and back', thus enabling Julian to smirk at the rather desperate buggery innuendo which would have been denied him had Mr Croydon simply said 'two'.

Clary's dialogue with Frank Thornton is more powerful yet. 'I did a coloured load this morning,' says Thornton, referring, of course, to his washing. thought he had a spring in his step,' quips Julian. If there were such a sexual phrase in the English language as 'doing a coloured load', this would no doubt have been highly amusing. There isn't and it wasn't.

Still, I'm actually rather grateful for Clary's decline from `so bad he's good' to `so bad he's unwatchable' because his show is on at the same time as Friends (Channel 4, Friday) and it saves me having to muck about with the video. Had his slot been occupied by the new series of Shooting Stars (BBC 2, Friday), it would have been a different matter.

Like Clary, Vic Reeves and Bob Mor- timer have been through dodgy phases in their comic career when only the saddest student-types could possibly have found them funny. But, with the possible excep- tion of At Home With Slade and the 'Hey You! Yes You!' on their Big Night Out series, Shooting Stars is surely the best work they've ever done.

If it were shown on the Japanese equiva- lent of that 'Clive James laughs at funny foreigners' programme, I'm sure it would raise howls of oriental laughter at the stu- pidity of the English. But as Shooting Stars fans know, the idiocy is deliberate — for this is a post-ironic, post-post-modern game show for people who think they're too sophisticated for game shows.

Despite its studiedly traditional format — two teams of celebrity guests, quiz rounds, a musical interlude, complicated games, prizes etc. — it's really just an excuse for Vic and Bob to crack a succes- sion of bizarre in-jokes, say surreal things and humiliate everyone.

Gorgeous team captain Ulrika Jonsson, for example, is constantly accused by Vic and Bob of being bald, flatulent and of having weeping sores under her wig; her opposite number, surly comedian Mark Lamarr, is persistently taxed with being a greasy Fifties throwback — and, if he isn't, he is certainly very good at pretending.

The invited guests fare even worse. The pretty ones (like Sam Beckinsale) are sub- ject to Vic's leering advances (he demon- strates sexual excitement by vigorously rubbing his thighs); the cool ones usually end up having to do a ridiculous stunt (John Peel had to be a baby in a giant pram; Richard E. Grant had to get inside a barrel which was then rolled down a slope so that it knocked an assortment of Victori- an fruit into a series of chamber pots); and the has-beens (e.g. rib-tickling duo Cannon and Ball) are asked along so that we can laugh at their rictus grins as they pretend to be enjoying themselves.

Just so you can get an idea of its deli- ciously inane pointlessness, here are a few of last week's quiz questions: 'True or false — weasels are the only animals whose babies are larger at birth than when fully grown?', 'What was the most popular colour for tents in 1975?', 'Elizabeth Hur- ley keeps her breasts in trim by a) rubbing them with linseed oil, b) with dubbin or c) pointing them in the right wind direction?', `Who knows where my rosemary grows?' and 'Jeremy Clarkson?'

Oh, and there's also George Dawes, a bald man dressed as a baby, who keeps the scores and talks in black street jive; a round called 'The Dove From Above' in which everyone has to make cooing noises to encourage a giant hardboard dove to come down from the ceiling; and the two vital words — 'Uvavu', meaning you've got the right answer; and 'Eranu', which means you might have won this week's useless special prize.

It's an acquired taste.