Tag Archives: comedy

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I thought I was going to have a heart attack

Laughter, so they say, is the best medicine. Until it (almost) kills you! Like the other day. I could hardly breathe I was laughing so hard. It was painful. I had to close the video clip I was watching and get my breath back.

So who nearly brought about my demise?

Billy Connolly, of course. The Big Yin! Comedian, story-teller, musician, actor, artist, documentary maker, Knight of the Realm! And one of the funniest persons (in my opinion) to grace our TV screens. There are many clips from his one man shows on YouTube, and I delve into them from time-to-time if I need cheering up. I find myself laughing just as much after watching for the umpteenth time as I did the first. There are few comedians who really make me laugh, and laugh out loud. Billy Connolly never fails.

Born in Glasgow in 1942, he grew up in the tenements of the Anderston area of the city that were demolished in the 1970s and residents moved out to barren housing estates on the outskirts of the city.

He became a welder in the Glasgow shipyards after leaving school, but knew that there was a brighter life beckoning him. Turning to folk music, he paired up with fellow Scot and singer-song writer Gerry Rafferty to form The Humblebums. But, as Billy himself acknowledged, it was his patter between songs that began to attract interest from the audience. Thus began his transition to stand-up comedian and story-teller.

And that’s how I see him, a raconteur rather than as a traditional stand-up. Yes, he tells jokes (perhaps much more in his early career), but his act developed much more depth than that. He weaves stories, narratives, heading off at a tangent almost to the absurd, before reining the tale back in to its original direction. He is a brilliant master of story telling. That’s all I can say. Watching his performances, it’s clear he holds his audience in the palm of his hand. Given his propensity for using his Glaswegian vernacular (rather a lot of swearing) no-one would attend one of his shows if they were about to be offended.

He got his big break nationally appearing on the BBC’s Parkinson, a weekly chat show hosted by journalist Michael Parkinson, in 1975, telling this joke. And over the years he made 15 appearances on that show before it came to an end in 2007.

I still haven’t seen Connolly alongside Dame Judi Dench (as Queen Victoria) in Mrs Brown, the 1997 film that cast him as John Brown, a servant of the Queen and believed to have had a relationship with her. From the clips I’ve viewed, Connolly’s performance was outstanding, and he did receive nominations for several acting awards.

In recent year, documentaries of his travels throughout the USA, Australia and New Zealand, as well as his native Scotland have been widely acclaimed.

He was made a Knight Bachelor in the 2017 Queen’s Birthday Honours for services to entertainment and charity.

In 2013 he was diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease and has become increasingly frail. In this clip he talks about the challenges he faces.

Anyway, enough of my musings. Sit back and watch (if you dare) some of the videos by Sir Billy Connolly that I’ve enjoyed recently.

WARNING: If you are offended by strong language, take care.

This is is the video that got me going on Christmas Day. It was the balsamic vinegar . . .

 

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“I’m all for censorship. If ever I see a double entendre, I whip it out.” Kenneth Horne

Round Mr HorneI’ve just finished a very readable biography of the late Kenneth Horne, one of the comedy greats of the 20th century, written by Barry Johnston (son of the late cricket commentator Brian Johnston). I’m sure, however, for many readers of this blog outside the UK or who did not grow up in the 50s and 60s, the name of Kenneth Horne will mean little if nothing at all. But he was the lynch-pin, so-to-speak, of some of the most successful comedy series on BBC radio in the 1940s, 50s and 60s until his untimely death from a massive heart attack at the age of 61 in 1969.

From: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Kenneth_Horne.jpgKenneth Horne was the youngest of seven children of inspirational preacher Sylvester Horne (later a Liberal MP) who died when Kenneth was seven. In the 1920s he enrolled for an economics degree at the London School of Economics, but not prospering there, one of his uncles – a Pilkington of the glass making company – managed to secure him a place at Cambridge University (also to study economics). But Kenneth was more interested in sport (it seems he excelled at a whole range of sports), and never finished his degree. He then went into business, joining the Triplex Safety Glass company based in Birmingham. Over the years he rose through the ranks, becoming marketing director.

I discovered a number of things about Kenneth Horne that I had never been aware of.

All the while he was a radio (and then TV) personality, he combined this career with one in the glass business (and later toys).

He appeared on a whole raft of radio and TV shows (Twenty Questions, Top of the Form, and many others), many of which I’m sure I used to listen to or watch without ever making the connection with the comedian who fronted two of the most successful shows to be broadcast on the radio: Beyond Our Ken and Round the Horne.

During the Second World War he saw ‘active’ service in the Royal Air Force (RAF) at the Air Ministry in London rising to the rank of Wing Commander. But he also combined his war duties with a serious broadcasting schedule, joining forces with comedian Richard ‘Dickie’ Murdoch in the wartime comedy hit, Much-Binding-in-the-Marsh, set in a fictional RAF station, which continued right into the 1950s.

He was married three times, first to a daughter of the Duke of Newcastle, and during his second marriage he lived in the village of Burcot, about 2 miles from where I live in north Worcestershire.

But Kenneth Horne will be best remembered for the two iconic comedies Beyond Our Ken (which ran over seven series between July 1958 and February 1964, with 123 episodes) followed by Round the Horne (broadcast over four series from March 1965 to June 1968, and 67 episodes). Both had strong writing teams, with Eric Merriman, Barry Took, Marty Feldman and others involved. Just think how many episodes were broadcast in a single series. Today we’re luck if we hear or see any more than half a dozen (or fewer) in a series.

And there was a strong supporting cast: Kenneth Williams, Hugh Paddick, Douglas Smith, Bill Pertwee, Maurice Denham, Ron Moody, Betty Marsden and Pat Lancaster among others. The format of each show, with its introduction, sketches and musical interludes hardly changed over the various series. But the writers (and performers) did push the boundaries of comedy and were increasingly accused of peddling filth on the radio, and scripts becoming more and more ‘smutty’. However, if you read the scripts there was nothing to complain about (then BBC Director General Hugh Greene was asked to intervene and ban the shows but, admitting to enjoying a little bit of ‘dirty comedy’, did nothing to curtail the broadcasts) – it was all in the delivery, and how the cast milked the scripts for every last laugh and innuendo. They were wonderful. Broadcast on a Sunday afternoon or evening, Beyond Our Ken and Round the Horne attracted listening audiences in the millions – making them possibly the most successful radio comedy shows of all time.

With the various characters on the show having strange (and often suggestive) names, such as folk singer Rambling Syd Rumpo and J. Peasemold Gruntfuttock (played by Kenneth Williams), Dame Celia Molestrangler (played by Betty Marsden) and ‘ageing juvenile’ Binkie Huckaback (played by Hugh Paddick, as well as the outrageously camp Julian and Sandy (played by Williams and Paddick) – who spoke in polari, a slang often used by gays in the theatrical profession (when homosexuality was illegal in the UK), each show was a riot of mirth and laughter. It’s clear that the cast got on famously together. What shone through in Johnston’s biography was Kenneth Horne’s humanity – he was an extremely kind and generous person. And listening to the shows 50 years after they were first broadcast is the vitality, the freshness, and the earthiness of the humor.

I’m no prude when it comes to bad language in the media, and I’m not averse to using the odd word myself for emphasis from time-to-time. What I don’t find funny, however, is gratuitous ‘effing and blinding’ that seems to be the norm today of many stand-up (so-called) comedians (such as the awful Frankie Boyle), unless of course, your name’s Billy Connolly and his bad language is just part of his Glaswegian vernacular. Beyond Our Ken and Round the Horne were in a different league. There was never a hint of bad  or explicit language.

It’s impossible to describe these shows in detail. Here, however, is a clip that you just might enjoy. I did, and whenever I hear them on BBC Radio 4 Extra, they never fail to bring a very broad grin to my face. Happy childhood memories!