No humour please, we’re British

Press, 10 September 1985, Page 11

No humour please, we’re British

Review

Ken Strongman

Moving through the week, there are three successive oportunities to see what changes have been prompted in British humour by several years of Thatcherism. It begins with “Home to Roost” which is a disturbing programme in more ways than one. Whatever character John Thaw attempts to play, he is irredeemably the hard-bitten Reagan of “The Sweeney.” It is barely possible to see him as a father, even one who purports not to be overly fond of his son. The humour in this programme is waspish. Father and son rasp at each other without much apparent enjoyment. There does not seem to be basic affection between them; and they score points from each other for the sake of pointscoring rather than goodnaturedly. The obvious comparison is with “Fawlty Towers,” but, even there, Basil hints at a fundamental affection of a sort for Manuel and, perhaps, for Sybil, no matter how much he kicks the one and would like to kick the other. The most that can be said of “Home to Roost” is that it has one or two amusing lines, but it leaves a slightly bitter taste. It is impossible

to dispel the image of John Thaw vastly hungover and about to erupt into violence. However, the series is streets ahead of Thursday’s “Assaulted Nuts,” which is a failing attempt, supported by rusty, leaking cans of laughter, to be all things to all (wo)men. It is a poor mixture of the zany and the vicious, and the British and American. The entire 30 minutes is made up of unfunny sketches, epitomised by a customer and an assistant shooting each other repeatedly in a gun shop. With the best will in the world, it is hard to find the humour in this. In fact, last week there was only one thing that was even smile-worthy. “I’m a lesbian.” “Oh, that’s nice’ how are things in Beirut?” Assuming that this lowly pinnacle took 15 seconds, that is less than one per cent of the programme. So far “Assaulted Nuts” is no more than a frenetically nervous, styles and, what is worse, humourless, pro-

gramme, that Tim BrookeTaylor should have known better than to be associated with.

Judging from these two programmes, one might be forgiven for thinking that Thatcher rule has driven the humour out of Britain. However, Friday’s “The Young Ones” shows that it is still there, even though in what is essentially a very late night, adults-only form. Well, for anyone over 12 anyway, if they can persuade the parental powers-that-be.

Of course, “The Young Ones” won’t do much to rebuff the tarnished image of students. Four of them share a flat (well, a roomsized rubbish bin) and between them summarise the modern world with remarkable exactness. There is a latter-day wide-boy-cum-gigolo, a meditating hippy, a revoltingly serious sociologist, and a terrific punk with studs in his forehead. They interact and they have lurid fantasies which are actually only a little more sordid than their realities.

In last week’s episode, they sought to overcome boredome. For instance, Vivian, the punk, when not hitting people, attempted to complete a newspaper com-

petition in which the aim was to match six famous noses with six famous bogies. Meanwhile, the hippy dug his own grave (“just in case”) whilst thinking: “The most interesting that ever happens to me is sneezing.” Their basic problem, like that of most people, lies in being unable to decide who should answer a knock at the door. The whole programme is very rude, utterly irreverent, and nicely satirises all manner of things which have so far been thought to be beneath satire. There are some lovely lines, especially from the hippy. “Hey guys ... why don’t we ... eat? I wonder how many lentils I’ve had in my life.” “Tomorrow, just as an idea ...

let’s try going in to college.” Cries of derision from all. “Things may be bad, but there’s no need to panic.” Quite. So there is humour left in Britain, but it is an extreme enough form to make Rowan Atkinson and “Not the Nine O’Clock News” look about right for the after school slot. “The Young Ones” has to be screened late, but it is well worth staying up for, or getting home early for, or, possibly, buying a television for.