Oh, What a lovely chicken (1994)

Book Review from the November 1994 issue of the Socialist Standard

Ha Bloody Ha — Comedians Talking 
by William Cook. (Fourth Estate 1994. £8.99)

This book is largely a transcript of interviews with thirty or so of Britain’s top "alternative" stand-up comedians and is a welcome insight into the lives of these highly unusual workers. Stand-up comedy is one of the most stressful and cut-throat of professions and few do it successfully. Jack Dee claims that stand-up is the natural profession for those with a personality defect, and by that reckoning capitalism should produce plenty willing to risk humiliation in front of a live audience. Indeed, this book suggests that the numbers seeking success in this arena appears to be on the increase — perhaps that’s telling us something.

Several "political" comedians feature, including Jeremy Hardy who has regularly done spots for the SWP and Mark Thomas, a vociferous lefty who has appeared on TV with Jonathan Ross and who is a former member of the Socialist League. But the best insights often come from those who less ostensibly have an axe to grind. Lee Evans, manic impressionist, comic and working-class-lad-made-good, who does no overtly political material, is a fine example of this, commenting on his most memorable gig:

"I did a big ball at Trinity College at Cambridge University. It was seventy pounds a ticket and I was performing to them. They had it all set up for me, and they treated me like a lord. I couldn’t believe it. It was very classy. They had spotlights across the river, they were punting, the girls looked beautiful in their ball gowns, and the guys were very smart — and they were eating shit-hot food. I nearly cried. As I was walking out, with my bag over my shoulder, I thought 'Fucking hell, man! This is it! This is brilliant! This is how it should be for everybody.”

Compared to Lee Evans's wide-eyed innocence there is a certain self-righteousness about overtly "political" comedians that can be grating — as anyone who has ever seen Ben Elton will testify — and the trend in recent years has moved away from them. The best alternative comics are invariably those whose comments on capitalist society and its manifold absurdities go deeper than taking the piss out of Thatcher's mad glare or Major tucking his shirt into his underpants, which has only ever been one step up from making fun of teacher — and is where most comedians, it has to be said, appear to have started without ever having moved on much.

"Alternative" comedy, by definition, aims to take an alternative approach to comedy to that taken by the mainstream, which has long been a repository for scapegoaters of all kinds. It has not been an unqualified advance, however, and when the racism and sexism of the mainstream is not replaced by schoolboy classroom posturing, it is often replaced by tokenism and inverse snobbery instead. One of the best lines on this comes from Eddie Izzard: "Being white, male and middle-class is useless if you're a comedian — so thank God I’m a transvestite."

Budding socialist comedians — or indeed performers of any kind — would do well to read this book, personality disorders permitting. The chapter on heckling is to be particularly recommended and for whimsical leaps of logic. Harry Hill’s favourite put-down still can’t be beaten: "You may heckle me now, but I'm safe in the knowledge that when I get home, I've got a lovely chicken in the oven." Nice one, Harry. 

Dave Perrin

TV Review: ‘The Eleven o’clock Show’ (2000)

TV Review from the March 2000 issue of the Socialist Standard

No Rest For the Wicked?

Channel Four has just welcomed back its flagship nightly satirical review ‘The Eleven o’clock Show’ for another series, though whether the fact that it appears at almost any time in the late night schedules is part of the joke or not is anybody’s guess. This is the show that launched Ali G, the black “homeboy” from Staines who is played by a Jewish white man, and who endlessly employs a stilted Afro-Caribbean patois in his toe-curling interviews with politicians and academics who are singled out precisely because of their ignorance of the idiom.

There has been a debate of sorts in the press over recent weeks about Ali G, specifically over whether he is a racist creation of the actor who portrays him, Sacha Cohen. Whatever else he might be though, Ali G is no Black and White Minstrel. His dialogue is carefully scripted and intended as a comic caricature of a certain strata of British youth subculture where phrases like “wicked”, “posse” and Ali G’s ubiquitous “keep it real!” are trotted out as a substitute for joined-up conversation. That pompous authority figures with little or no conception of modern life and culture can be made to look foolish by their inevitable attempts to take Ali G’s moronic posturing at face value are the nub of the joke, none more so than the Irish republican leader who was asked by Ali G “Why are people always dissin’ da RAC?” and who then tried to answer the question.

What seems to be confusing to some of Ali G’s critics on the left is that his conversation is sprinkled with outrageous and politically incorrect language. But this is where the joke really hits the mark—whether Ali G’s interviewees will go along with his ignorant comments on the grounds that they do not wish to seem “unhip” or whether they will actually confront him—and if so, how. Many of course do not understand his questions and are in no position to form a rounded opinion. Fewer still seem to understand the various sexual references sprinkled throughout his speech, though Tony Benn did on one occasion memorably chastise him for his sexism—including his references to his girlfriends “me bitches”—and with some humour too.

By and large Ali G is well scripted and nicely performed, though unfortunately one suspects that his fame is spreading that fast that he will have no unsuspecting victims left before long willing to be interviewed. He has his own show coming up soon on Channel Four which will be worth looking out for as a follow-up to his Christmas special last year.

Send in the clowns

Now that Ali G has departed, ‘The Eleven o’clock Show‘ is left exposed and bereft. More than ever it now appears to be little more than a post-modern version of ‘Not the Nine o’clock News’, written by the politically ignorant and driven on by a desire to replace humour with shock-value in the hope that at that time of night no-one will notice the difference. A typical example of its approach surfaced—if that is the right word—in its first show back. Sitting behind presenters Daisy Donovan and Iain Lee was an electronic scoreboard labelled “The Dr Shipman Snuff-o-meter”, the score on which rose ever upward as the show progressed. But as the score increased, the tastelessness of the programme’s makers shot up exponentially.

Would Daisy Donovan and Iain Lee, it is tempting to ask, have willingly sat in front of this “joke” scoreboard if their own parents or grandparents had been among those murdered by Shipman? Hopefully not, though they might care to remember the effect this sight would have had on the many in precisely that position, and then feel suitably ashamed. Frankly, better than this could have been expected from a dysfunctional five year old.

It is also curious to note that the programme which spawned the controversial Ali G seems to have attracted few press comments about the little streak of homophobia which is evident in most editions. Perhaps this is because most TV critics still find jokes about Michael Portillo funny regardless of whether they really are or not.

That The Eleven O’clock Show lets itself down in this way is disappointing because it is certainly not all bad and there are occasional rays of sunshine which break through the fog. However, its makers must learn that no truly great comedy programme ever made it on the back of shock-value alone and Daisy Donovan and Iain Lee should note that they do not have quite as much to appear self-satisfied about as their demeanour would suggest. Well observed, original humour and characterisation is needed, and lots of it. Unfortunately, without Ali G ‘The Eleven o’clock Show’ can appear as naked as the emperor with no clothes and, for the most part, just as unsightly.

Dave Perrin

Get Your Repeats Out For the Lads (1998)

TV Review from the May 1998 issue of the Socialist Standard

Never let it be said that BBC2 runs voyeuristic programmes masquerading as concerned, serious television. And never let it be said that Politically Incorrect Night (BBC2, 13 April) was an example of it. This day being Easter Monday, BBC2 was especially keen to attract viewers from the other channels and networks and its attempt to do this was centred on the re-showing of copious amounts of dubious material, mainly from the 1970s, under the guise of examining British television before the supposed advent of “political correctness” a decade later changed things forever.

As Mark Lawson commented, it was difficult to see this night of politically incorrect material as anything other than a voyeur`s paradise, “excused” by the use of ironic remarks and carrying a public health warning, a ring-fenced series of programmes set apart from the rest of the schedule in a sort of televisual isolation unit.

The worst of the voyeurism concerned the programme on the history of Miss World (which may have had some tenuous justification) and a piece on pop videos which rate highly as classic teenage masturbation material (which didn`t). On the latter, the presenter reminded his audience to have the play and record buttons at the ready on their video recorders, and then undercut this remark by saying that they probably had already, anyway. To supplement the voyeurism there was a heavy dose of other material of an equally dubious nature, much of it racist. The On the Buses feature film had another run-out and there were numerous clips of Bernard Manning doing jokes about “the Pakis”, and Jim Davidson doing his “Chalkie” impression, which was always, ahem, at the cutting edge of social observation.

Get to the (low) point

Some of these compilation programmes were just cheap television aimed, as always, at the lowest common denominator. The revival in 1970s culture, fashion and styles has simply given the BBC the opportunity to resurrect some old faithfuls, testing the water for possible future repeats (following on from the recent success of Are You Being Served? on Saturday nights). One of the themes of Politically Incorrect Night was that there has now been a “loosening up” of attitudes towards racist and sexist television from an earlier era and Auntie Beeb is obviously now hoping that having got away with John Inman mincing across the screen in recent months it can bring back the likes of It Ain`t Half Hot Mum (even worse ITV could bring back Mind Your Language and Love Thy Neighbour).

This would be forgivable if it could be stated with any confidence that the BBC really knew what it is doing. Unfortunately, it manifestly doesn’t, and has demonstrated time and again that it can’t see much further than the next few months’ ratings.

Needless to say, this is not a situation which is entirely of the BBC’s making. The Beeb operates in a cut-throat competitive media environment and is under challenge on so many fronts it is now dazed and confused as to where the next attack on it is likely to come from. The BBC is increasingly a product of the modern market economy and must respond to the needs of that market at every opportunity, however distorted and twisted they are. Under the guise of “giving people what they want”—or more accurately, what they have been trained and encouraged to accept—it is likely to plumb the depths of the modern television experience like it never has before if it is to survive in anything like its present status and condition. BBC executives may laugh at Topless Darts on Live TV, but how much longer are they going to be able to resist that sort of temptation, however “ironically” packaged is open to doubt. The most likely answer, it would seem – judging by Easter Monday – is not for very long.

Dave Perrin

Proper Gander: Right whinger (2012)

The Proper Gander Column from the April 2012 issue of the Socialist Standard

If the Daily Mail made television programmes, they would probably look like BBC 2’s Rights Gone Wrong? This is a show designed to raise the collective blood pressure of that semi-fictitious breed of Little-Englander obsessed by ‘political correctness gone mad’. As its predictable title suggests, the show looks at whether our ‘human rights’ laws have become detached from the “decent mainstream majority”. Presenter Andrew Neil voices concerns that the European Convention on Human Rights is being used to take “away the rights of victims to protect the rights of people who don’t deserve them”.

Neil, with his permanent frown from years of indignation, tells us that the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) has drifted from its trusty British origins. He describes the instigator of the ECHR as “the greatest of great Britons”, “the man who saved Europe”: Winston Churchill. Ostensibly, these ‘human rights’ laws were first put together as a Europe-wide declaration against Nazism and the Soviet Union. But since then, according to Neil, they have been misused by distant judges and jobsworth lawyers. This yearning for the days when the ECHR was supposedly used responsibly goes hand-in-hand with being nostalgic for the days of routemaster buses and Magna Carta. Behind this dewy-eyed view often lurks xenophobia, which on this programme is directed towards European senior judges.

By describing the ‘human rights’ controversy as a conflict between Strasbourg diktats and ‘British common sense’, the programme misses the point. While it’s true that the controversy over ‘human rights’ legislation reflects the chasm between lawmakers and the general public, it also highlights how laws reinforce capitalist ideologies. But you wouldn’t find this interpretation in a show fronted by a right-wing whinger like Andrew Neil, the patron saint of patriots. Obviously Rights Gone Wrong? gives us little discussion of what we mean by ‘rights’, or the extent to which any ‘right’ is legitimate or really fulfilling within capitalism. Instead, Neil rhetorically asks if we want a new Human Rights Act “that is modern but quintessentially British – a sort of Kate Middleton or Daniel Craig of human rights laws”. Pitching the issue in this vacuous way is hardly likely to improve the debate.

Mike Foster

They say, we say (1996)

The 'A Word In Your Ear' column from the January 1996 issue of the Socialist Standard

Advertised on some carriages of the London Underground is a new spoof book called More Politically Correct Bedtime Stories. The assumption behind the joke, intended to arouse howls of tittering derision from dopey dupes of the tabloid press, is that the world has gone totally mad because these days people are generally a little more careful than they used to be about using language which is insensitively offensive. The term "political correctness" was not invented by blacks who objected to being called niggers and wogs, women who found rape jokes unfunny or disabled people who were uneasy at the use of the term spastic as a slogan of playground abuse. It was invented by sour and miserable types, angered by the fact that they are losing the battle for the control of popular language. So, who are these bores who persist in this tedious campaign of whining against what they, and nobody else, call "political correctness"?

Firstly, there are those within the political elite who for decades have assumed that language, like everything else on the earth, belongs to them. They have traditionally believed that they effectively owned words; do they not even call it the Queen's English? (Who wants their children growing up speaking with the stilted, pompous aloofness of that parasitic relic?) These arrogant monopolists of speech have been quite happy for many years to twist language into their own politically poisonous notion of "correctness". So, for the indiscriminate murder of war read "defence" and for kicking workers out of their homes read "repossession" and for throwing workers out of jobs read "rationalisation" and for beating up strikers read "public order" and for pauperism read "negative equity". These are the liars and frauds of language who propagandise endlessly to us about "the markets wanting lower wages" and "the markets being unhappy unless welfare expenditure is cut", when the "markets" is in fact simply the politically correct code word for them and their class interests. As they have twisted language, so they have done their best to liquidate those words which are a threat to them. So, in early 1991 Andrew Neil, the Murdoch messenger boy, announced on the radio that nobody but a lunatic would ever use the word socialism again. They do their best to discredit terms like class, and try to suggest that concepts like racism and sexism are mere figments of the fevered imaginations of people who think they are being oppressed.

Then there are the dead and the dying, largely readers of the Express or Mail, whose resentment against all change takes the form of a more-to-be-pitied-than-condemned conservative neurosis. "We always used to call poofters queers when I was a boy — why should we lose a perfectly good word like gay so that they can have it?" This is a linguistic siege mentality, the reaction of the frightened, mean-minded and disorientated who had no sooner got used to the awful idea of women having the vote than now they must psychologically adjust to traditionally disrespected workers being treated, at least on the cheapest level of language, without offence if not with respect.

Then there are the committed bigots. These are to be distinguished from the first group: the political elite whose possession of language was not a product of intended malice, but of ideological delusion. The bigots are people who take the view that there is something harmless about hate-speech. They think that jokes about smelly Asians and mean Scots and thick Irishmen and all women wanting to be raped by pot-bellied lager-louts are either good harmless fun or, if not, the kind of harmful fun which is perfectly harmless to them because the objects of their verbal hatred have difficulty in defending themselves. What has happened — not everywhere, not fast enough, and not always in the most appropriate way — is that defenders of hate-speak are being discomforted by a society made up increasingly of younger people who, confused as they are about lots of things (including the system which exploits them), are no longer happy for hatred against whole groups to be part of their daily vocabulary. Where Baden-Powell taught boys to speak of "nig-nogs" and to fear girls, there is now a movement the other way. This is not to say that there are not still plenty of young dummies who prefer to subscribe to the legacy of verbal insensitivity of their stupid parents or of Bernard Manning videos, but these are a declining and increasingly conspicuous, embarrassing number.

The decline of verbal division within the working class is clearly an irritant to certain people. Smug little public schoolboys who believe that language is what you learn at Eton and that wage slaves who are afraid to say "fuck" but happy to say "nuke" are the best kind, are simply bad losers. The unsuccessful campaign against what they call political correctness is no more than the sulk of the oppressors (so much more pleasing to observe than the sigh of the oppressed).

But we socialists won't mince our words: we don't say that these captains of industry will in the course of the constitutional process meet with a hearty challenge — we say: Watch out you thieving parasites because it won't only be the language you've arrogantly stolen, but the world you've thieved, which is going to be taken away from you, leaving you somewhat revolutionary-challenged. 

Steve Coleman