Why Morecambe and Wise remain the funniest on TV
Previous episodes in the Lost Tapes series have stretched the title a little. In the case of Les Dawson and Ronnie Corbett, the tapes were mostly old home movies and forgotten clips. But in Morecambe & Wise: The Lost Tapes (ITV), we had the real thing. An episode of their show from October 1970, wiped from the BBC archives (a common occurrence in that decade, a budget-saving measure allowing the tape to be reused), had been discovered in the Morecambe family attic.
There in grainy black and white were sketches not seen for 50 years. Of course, some of them were familiar: Eric’s paper bag trick, Eric appearing from behind the curtain. But there were plenty of others – of variable quality, if we’re honest, but still better than most British comedies on TV today.
Perhaps the best was the hospital sketch, with Eric coming to visit Ernie and bursting in to declare: “Who goes there, friend or enema?” There was a nurse in the room, played by Ann Hamilton. Nurse to Eric: “I can let you have 10 minutes.” Eric: “That’s very kind. Where shall we go?” Of course, given the times in which we now live, a modern-day celebrity (Robert Rinder) had to mention gender politics,
although he concluded – phew – that this interaction with a female NHS worker was not in any way offensive.
The bits of the programme in which celebrity fans watched these sketches occasionally felt a bit forced. But you could forgive that, and just enjoy the classic moments. They were all there: the one with André Previn, and Glenda Jackson, and the (never-bettered) gag about the ice-cream van. And as with all the episodes in this series, we got both a potted career history and a sense of how loved these performers were by their families.
The show was also generous in its recognition of Eddie Braben, who was responsible for writing many of the scripts for The Morecambe & Wise Show. Eric and Ernie had the comic timing and the performances drawn from their music hall roots, but it was Braben who hit on the idea of building up their on-screen personas and turning Ernie into the pompous playwright. Also Braben’s idea: having the pair share a bed. Eric’s widow, Joan, revealed that he had not been a fan of the idea, until someone pointed out that it worked for Laurel and Hardy.
This series has been wonderful in its warmheartedness; no attempt to find dark secrets, but simply a celebration of great comedy. Bring Me Sunshine brought it to a fitting close.
Why is Fake or Fortune? (BBC One) a ratings winner? It’s definitely not down to Fiona Bruce, whose presenting style involves repeating things back to people. In this episode she met Neil and Barbara Betts, who had stumbled across a sculpture while clearing a neighbour’s garden and were rather hoping it was a Henry Moore.
They explained that Neil had discovered the sculpture in some long grass when he hit it with his strimmer. “You hit it with the strimmer?” asked Bruce. The Betts said the sculpture was subsequently used as a doorstop. “As a doorstop?” marvelled Bruce. When the neighbour died, she left her barn and its contents to the Betts. “So she left you her entire barn and contents?” For this, Bruce earns a genuine fortune from the BBC.
Far better is Philip Mould, the art dealer who brings his expertise and silky smooth charms to the programme. But the foundation of the show’s success is really that it takes the best bits of Antiques Roadshow and boils them down to their essence: an interesting object, a little art history lesson, one family’s story and the central question of whether this is going to make them very rich indeed.
The programme keeps dangling the prospect of riches in front of the contributors. It’s the upmarket version of Jim Bowen’s “look at what you could’ve won” in Bullseye.
If this funny-shaped work of art was by Moore, the Betts were reminded on more than one occasion, they could be looking at up to a million pounds. “Up to a million?” goggled Bruce.
It’s a great advert for the good manners of the British middle classes. The Betts waited politely while Mould conducted his detective work. Alas, they eventually learned that the piece was the work of another, lesserknown, sculptor called Betty Jewson. They remained fond of it. And it’s a funny thing, but so did I; although I began the programme thinking it was an unlovely lump, by the hour’s end I had come to regard it as rather beautiful.
Morecambe & Wise: The Lost Tapes ★★★★
Fake or Fortune ★★★