Alan Coren 1938-2007

_42653195_coren203.jpg

So, farewell then, Alan Coren.

I used to read his stuff in Punch. Not that I ever bought Punch, but it was always in the dentist’s waiting room, and Alan always raised a chuckle, which I suppose is what you want when you’re at the dentist.

It’s not very PC nowadays, but his impersonation of Idi Amin (the most amazin’ man there has ever been) was a classic. Somewhere I have the LP, with John Bird on narration.

Then of course there was The News Quiz and Call My Bluff… how flat would they have been without Alan’s flights of fancy? Such a fixture was Alan, that I don’t think anyone could replace him, and I don’t think anyone should even try. That’ll just be another sad gap in our culture.

Search of the week

thelateshow_1.jpg

Just wanted to say, I really enjoyed Johns Bird and Fortune giving a rare interview to Belvid for last night’s South Bank Show. Nice to see the overview of their whole career going right back to Cambridge. Also, I never knew that as a young man Bird had joined the Socialist Party of Great Britain. It makes some sense that, were he to join a left group, it would be the uniquely intelligent and charming SPGB.

Time now for Search of the Week, to see what waifs and strays Google has brought our way. Newton Emerson feminism turns up, as does Donegal Mafia – and I repeat, any serious student of Irish politics should really take a look at Sacks’ classic book on the Blaney machine. And those readers who remember the CPI(ML) will be delighted that I have a hit for David Vipond Trinity.

There are several sex-related local searches, beyond the usual punters interested in Methody girls’ skirts. I am slightly alarmed at sexy loyalist girls Belfast, in case this indicates that the priapic Johnny Adair is thinking of making a comeback. We also have Newtownards gay, Portadown brothels and Buncrana porn, all of which are beyond my ken. And Sikh women sex makes some sense, but gay tracksuit fetish really has me scratching my head, as does dungarees porn.

There is one for saucy Eoghan, which I really hope isn’t our favourite senator, and political searches include Kate Hoey BICO, Kevin Myers homophobic Belfast Telegraph and National Rosary Crusade Ireland Hibernian.

We have Jackie Gleason and Irish mafia, which would put a whole new slant on Smokey and the Bandit; criticism of Marcus Brigstocke; and I’m pleased to get one for Power Man and Iron Fist, obviously from an aficionado of early 1980s comics.

In third place is Than Shwe’s philosophy of life. Hmm, maybe practice of death would be more accurate.

Our runner-up is money for old rope columnists, of which there are many doing the rounds. I think that leads to a discussion of Carole Malone, who certainly believes in recycling.

We have a runaway winner this week, and that winner is Chomsky wearing saucy schoolgirl uniform, an image I’ll find hard to erase. Beat that, Volty.

From New Laddism to Raunch Culture: the far left versus Lucy and Michelle

w020060809517613132840.jpg

So I’ve been wanting for a while to write about this “raunch culture” debate, but, having recently covered the lad mag circulation crisis and the culture of sexual hypocrisy on the left, now seems as good a time as any. This is something that you associate on the left with our old friends in the SWP, and can be seen as a revival of their campaign against “New Laddism” in the late 1990s. Their championing of Ariel Levy’s Female Chauvinist Pigs (a real curate’s egg of a book – there are sharp insights alongside half-developed ideas and some outright silliness) provides the official logic for the current line. I direct readers to this excellent treatment by Anne McShane, but there is more to this than meets the eye. The SWP, of course, are not straightforward puritans, as you might gather from the swinging lifestyle of many of their leading cadre, and their ultra-libertarian defence of Tommy Sheridan. Nor are they simply adapting to their conservative Muslim allies – there is a bit of that, but they still attack Catholic moral teaching with what can only be described as gay abandon.

The root, I think, is to be found in the organisation’s uneasy relationship to popular culture. This is encapsulated as well as anywhere in a 1996 Pat Stack column in Socialist Review. Unfortunately, it’s not one of Pat’s better articles, and tends to make him sound like both a humourless git and a puritan, neither of which he is. But Pat does cover the main bugbears of the New Laddism period: Loaded, Men Behaving Badly, Fantasy Football etc. Over to Pat:

The new lad is apparently harmless. Unlike the traditional ‘working class lad’, the new lad is not violent, nor is he racist. He is an educated, middle class, witty character who is only reclaiming parts of harmless masculinity from the horrors of feminism and the terrible wimpishness of the ‘new man’ era.

The new lad is, according to his defenders, only reaffirming the fact that men like a pint, like their sport, and find women sexually attractive. The new lad is still ‘alternative’ when it comes to comedy, but is free of the sexual prudishness of the original alternative comedy scene.

In fact, Pat’s description sounds a bit like, well, your average straight man. There is an interesting idea here struggling to get out about the embrace of faux blokishness by a layer of middle-class youth, but Pat quickly leaves that aside to bang on about the political virtue of the alternative comedy scene in banishing demons like Bernard Manning and Jim Davidson, who thought that minorities were fair game for comedy. New Laddism, apparently, was rolling back these gains.

Now, I’m not sure about this. We don’t often like to admit today that Terry and June regularly got three or four times the audience of The Young Ones, but I’ll go along with the idea that the alternative comedy scene was massively influential in terms of comedic fashion. Where I take issue with Pat is that he’s assuming a list of taboo subjects and arguing in favour of a good, progressive comedy that takes aim at the right targets. I find that profoundly problematic. It seems to erase the context and nuance that a lot of humour depends on – for instance, an ethnic joke from Sanjeev Bhaskar or Jackie Mason will be rather different than one from Bernard Manning or Jim Davidson. Besides, only very strange people will listen to a comedy routine while preoccupied about whether it is PC to laugh at this or that joke. To someone who didn’t know the SWP in the flesh but only from its press, the long-running debate on the letters pages about Ali G would simply have appeared insane.

Then we have the dreaded “irony”. Often this was amped up to “postmodern irony”, but since Alex Callinicos doesn’t know what postmodernism is, and most comrades never got past page four of his little book, we can assume PoMo in this context to be an all-purpose intellectual swearword. The line was that New Laddism was all about “using postmodern irony to rehabilitate sexism”. This was deployed particularly in relation to the SWP’s official Most Evil Show On TV, Men Behaving Badly. If you watched the show, you might have noticed the traditional sitcom device (you find this also in Till Death Us Do Part, Love Thy Neighbour and Home Improvement, to name a few) of showing the men as idiots and the women as the sensible characters. How could a show portraying sexist men as idiots be endorsing sexism? You see, comrade, this is merely a cunning use of postmodern irony. Portraying the men as idiots is just a sly ruse to allow them to talk about Kylie’s arse.

Maybe this is just me, but I find this a paranoid mode of thought. I’m reasonably sure that, when Loaded was launched in 1994, it had a business plan rather than an intellectual manifesto. And I’ll lay money that, when Frank Skinner writes his routines, he does not say to himself, “Hmm, what bit of patriarchal ideology can I sneak in under the guise of postmodern irony?”

I think, and I’ll stick my neck out here, that there is a certain amount of class-biased thinking involved. As Des Fennell likes to point out, the working class is more concerned with how things are and the middle class with how things appear. An anecdote from Mark Steel’s autobiography springs to mind. The young Mark has heard middle-class comrades talking about “sexism” and, while he knows what racism is and why it’s bad, he isn’t sure about this sexism. A comrade explains that pinups and Page Three girls are sexist, to which Mark’s response is “Thank God I wasn’t a socialist when I was fourteen.”

Women face plenty of material obstacles in society. The absolute worst feature of the Dworkin-MacKinnon school of feminism was its idealist assumption that the major obstacle women faced was “sexist” imagery, extremely broadly defined, and this was the logic in Dworkin looking to the Reagan administration to “liberate” women from porn at the same time as it was gutting equality legislation, slashing social programmes and restricting abortion. Levy’s Female Chauvinist Pigs, which is a good deal better, nevertheless has a strong streak of this idealist thinking.

But this sits rather well with a milieu saturated in middle-class PC thought, where it is considered sexist for men to find women physically attractive (I suspect too much reading of Jane Austen is a factor here) and where working-class women who wear revealing clothes are damned as suffering from alienation and false consciousness. Consider Judith Orr’s interview with Levy in SR. Some of the most interesting comments are to be found in Judith’s editorialising, as in “the sexual freedoms the women’s movement won have been swallowed up by capitalism, commodified and sold back to young women as boob jobs and push-up bras”.

Well, commodity fetishism is basic ABC Marxism. But the sneering tone is the key here. I suspect the push-up bra has become a symbol of evil because it’s a garment you associate with the slappers on the estates. At its crudest level, this becomes the argument – which I actually heard at an SWP public meeting a year or two back – that capitalism is forcing women to have boob jobs. No it isn’t. Yes, cosmetic surgery is a profit-making enterprise, but women have boob jobs because they want bigger breasts. That can be explained with reference to psychology, media images of women or what have you, but the capitalist system does not require women to be lugging around big plastic breasts.

It’s all quite delicious, isn’t it? Of course you need to stand by “the sexual freedoms the women’s movement won”, or it might begin to cramp your own lifestyle, but the deity forbid that anyone might express these. You have an opposition to legal censorship combined with horror at what the plebs are reading and watching. Nudity in art-house cinema is perfectly fine, but Michelle Marsh in her undies on the cover of Nuts is the death of civilisation. What we end up with is a sort of systematic doublethink, perfectly mirroring the Orwellian template in that its skilled practitioners don’t even notice the inconsistencies.

Memo to Beeb: Give this woman a new series!

karen_taylor.jpg

I want to see more of Karen Taylor. If you’ve been watching Touch Me, I’m Karen Taylor, you may not think there’s much more to see. But I came to this series without many expectations - Karen had impressed on The Sketch Show, but we’ve seen other performers’ solo vehicles sink without trace - and ended up warming quite considerably to the potty-mouthed Cumbrian lass.

TV comedy has been going through a bit of a dry spell for, oh, several years now. The good old British sitcom has died on its arse, with most of the decent shows now on coming from America. The sketch show has been pfuttering along on an empty tank, running off the reflected glory of The Fast Show. The fashion nowadays is for Office-style docucoms, which are notoriously hard to pull off, and satirical panel shows, which have pretty much reached saturation point.

So if you see something with potential, grab it with both hands. Touch Me has been hit-and-miss, sure, but such is the nature of the sketch show, and a relatively high proportion of hits is the most you can hope for. Plus, some bits - the pervy schoolteacher was a standout - showed genuine inspiration. Another series please, or at least a rerun on BBC2. This blog demands it.

McDoughnut: the revenge

_1517672_mcdonald_pa150.jpg

I was fully prepared to hate Sir Trevor McDonald’s new vehicle, News Knight, but much to my surprise – and against my better judgement – was soon roaring my leg off. Thankfully, Trev eschews any fancy-schmancy panel game stuff à la Have I Got News For You, and the show is quite simply Trev and his comedy panel quipping about events of the week, interspersed with amusing TV bloopers. The very basic and ramshackle nature of the show only adds to its charm, and is helped along no end by being hugely funny.

Some of this no doubt is due to timing. The satirical show has a habit of starting off with a bang and then declining. Readers old enough to recall Hall’s Pictorial Weekly will remember it reached its best-before date after not too many years, and so did Spitting Image. HIGNFY itself has been almost unbearably smug for years now, and this might explain why I’ve gone off Private Eye lately. Well, that and Wheen’s neocon editorialising, which threatens at times to spin out of control and turn the Eye into Democratiya with jokes.

So, back to Trev. The great man himself is possessed of a deadpan delivery coming from his thirty years of anchorman solemnity. Good performances too from his panel, regular sidekick Marcus Brigstocke and guests Clive Anderson and Reginald D Hunter (Reginald being quite hilarious). And remarkably un-PC humour by today’s standards. Don’t know if this can be sustained, but I’ll watch next week with anticipation rather than morbid curiosity.

Rud eile: In the spirit of being nice, I’ll just mention the appearance on Big Brother On The Couch by friend of this blog Johann Hari (age 13¾), whose psychological insights have been most entertaining. This leads me to think that Johann should scale down his “issues” journalism and do more personalities and pop culture. Anyway, ádh mór, Johann.

Rud eile fós: Another small joy of the weekend’s TV, watching John Simm’s Master pull off the crime of the century by comprehensively stealing Doctor Who. And it’s nice to see the Master finally get a close female companion.

Bernard the working-class hero

bernard_manning_lead_203x152.jpg

It may surprise readers to know that I had something of a soft spot for old Bernard. He was essential, I think, for anyone wanting to understand northern working-class culture. This proud working-class Mancunian, whose Jewish family background few would have guessed, was in my opinion one of the most important figures in post-war British comedy, and had a stage presence and sense of timing that could make you laugh at the corniest old gag.

You come up, of course, against the race thing. What’s surprising is – although a repeat of The Comedians would put the Big Brother hoo-hah into some perspective – in his heyday Bernard wasn’t known as a racist comedian. Others specialised in that sort of thing, but Bernard’s reputation was as a blue comedian, and it was his language that initially got him banned from the airwaves. Race served as a justification for not bringing him back in later years. By that time, most of the Comedians generation were dead or retired, and only Bernard and the terminally unfunny Jim Davidson were still doing the dodgy ethnic jokes – though, perplexingly, that never stopped Jim getting on the box.

But, unlike Benny Hill, Bernard’s life was not sunk into TV, and he could just return to his real spiritual home in clubland. It’s fair to say that there would be no Phoenix Nights, at least not as we know it, without Bernard. And such was his legendary status that he could inspire take-offs from a younger generation. Readers will, I’m sure, recall John Thomson’s politically correct Bernard from The Fast Show, or maybe Kulvinder Ghir’s turn as a Sikh Bernard, complete with spangly turban.

There are two episodes from his later life that come immediately to mind. One is Bernard’s Bombay Dreams, where Channel 4 sent the great man out to India. Nice liberal people who didn’t know much about Asians were bemused to find that his Pakistani jokes went down a storm with the Indian audience.

The other is from a few years ago, I think the last time he played Belfast. I didn’t go to the show, but do remember him being interviewed on Talk Back. It went something like this:

Dunseith: Do you know some people are going to be picketing your show tonight?

Bernard: Who’s that?

Dunseith: The Socialist Workers Party.

Bernard: Workers? Workers?! I’m a worker! I’ve worked every day of me life! They should be supporting me!

And doesn’t that tell you something?

Why we loved Linda

I’ve been reading I Think the Nurses Are Stealing My Clothes, a compilation of the best comedy work of the late and sorely missed Linda Smith. Edited by Linda’s long-term partner Warren Lakin and old friend Ian Parsons, it collects highlights of her stand-up routines going back to the mid-80s, together with her most memorable radio and TV appearances, interspersed with tributes from her friends. It really is a wonderful book to dip into.

I never met Linda Smith, but I suspect like a lot of people, after hearing her on the radio a few times you felt you knew her. She had a terrific likeability and accessibility that caused audiences to warm to her immediately, as well as a great comic voice that fairly leaps off the page here. And, although she came up with the generation of 1980s political comedy, she had her own distinctive style that actually reminds me a lot of another comic genius, Dave Allen. This is probably best explained by contrast – today an awful lot of comedy, even in the mainstream media, seems to be based on the idea that effing and blinding is funny in itself, or that you can get an infinite amount of laughs out of knob jokes. Like Dave Allen, Linda wasn’t averse to the odd bit of swearing or smut, but those become minor parts of your act when you actually have something to say.

And this was the thing about Linda – she did have something to say, and she said it in a way that was uniquely Linda. Although she was definitely a woman of the far left, and her political edge is much to the fore in this book (her wonderfully vicious bitch-slapping of Neil Kinnock is here, and if there’s any justice David Blunkett will never live down her “He’s Satan’s bearded folk singer. How can someone who looks so much like a jolly fisherman be such a miserable bastard?”) but she wasn’t a ranter. Her observational humour was as likely to take in English literature or Test Match Special as politics. And even when she stuck the boot in, she would do it in such a nice, disarming way that you couldn’t really take offence. This is probably why the Radio 4 audience took her to their hearts as they did.

I think there are a couple of reasons why Linda stood out as a political comedian. In the first place, she was a genuine working-class intellectual, coming from Erith (which the maps say is in Kent but at ground level looks like Magnitogorsk) and living for years in unglamorous Sheffield. This background gave her observations an edge that was denied to those comedians who were middle-class kids slumming it; it also meant she didn’t romanticise the English working class. She struck a fine balance between idealism and cynicism.

She also, like most leftwing comedians, was sensible enough not to join a leftwing group. She was therefore free of those left vices – dogmatism, a concern with orthodoxy, political correctness, internecine feuds with other left groups and backstabbing within the group – that, apart from being just plain unpleasant, would be deadly to any comic sense. Imagine if you will a comedian who was a fervent member of the Militant Tendency. Hard, isn’t it? Mark Steel I suppose is the exception who proves the rule, managing to combine membership of the SWP with being a very funny man. But even Mark tends to shy away from mining the rich seam of comedy in his own organisation.

But I think the key point in Linda’s success, and why she is so fondly remembered, is the personality that shone through her work. The tributes in this book invariably focus on her tremendous warmth and kindness – unlike an awful lot of socialists, she not only hadn’t forgot why she was a socialist, but she practised what she preached and embodied those characteristics that I think a better society would encourage in the population at large. Combine those human qualities with a fantastic ability to communicate, and it’s easy to see why Linda was a beacon for any of us who have ever had to say, “I’m a socialist, but I’m not weird, honest.”