Monthly column on the arts

The launch of the new TV channel BBC4 has been cautiously welcomed.

Some see it as a move to shift the good stuff off terrestrial TV on to satellite and cable. Certainly this cable-less, satellite-deprived columnist wasn't happy on launch night when BBC4 paraded its goodies on BBC2. The gloom-sayers speculate that BBC2 is going down-market in search of a wider audience, in a licence-fee-driven recruitment campaign. Channel 4's film channel doesn't compete as such with Channel 4, and BBC Choice was never advertised as 'a place to think' - but that's how BBC4 is being promoted. Pardon me, but some of us have cherished BBC2 for years as a place to think (with occasional thoughtless lapses), and are pessimistic about the future.

On the other hand there seems to be a thinking renaissance going on in radio - or perhaps I'm just listening more (my post-op convalescence means I spend a lot of time in the bath with a radio for company). For example, a recent morning series on the apostle Paul was hardly an evangelical thesis but did offer radio at its best - the chance to engage with a thoughtfully articulated argument and emerge feeling stretched and challenged. I'm constantly surprised these days by the quality of radio items.

Sadly, however, the Achilles heel of radio is still there. Despite being the prime market for high-quality audio drama, it still sets dismally low standards when it comes to comedy. Many sitcoms are embarrassingly contrived and plain un-funny, and the occasional brilliant exception just makes one long all the more for the days when radio comedy was innovative, biting and made you laugh.

Spike Milligan

Those days were being much celebrated this month as news came of the death of Sir Spike Milligan (let's give him the title which protocol didn't allow him to use in life - like Bob Geldof, Milligan being Irish could only be awarded an honorary knighthood). He was quite simply the lodestar of the comic sky, the reference point to which all later genius of British alternative comedy looked back. The Monty Python team rehearsed next door to Spike's manic 'Q' programme, and watched in awe (he accused them of pinching his material, and they were constantly finding he'd anticipated their latest comic inventions, thus pushing them further and further beyond the boundaries of comedy).

The Goon Show made him a world-famous name half a century ago, its story-based structure a wonderful vehicle for Milligan, Harry Secombe, Peter Sellers and for a time Michael Bentine. It was above all radio comedy. An attempt to transplant it to TV in the 1960s was a failure - understandably, for it was the inspired use of sound effects and purely verbal gags that made the Goon show what it was. For most of the show's long life Milligan wrote all the scripts, and even then they show the hallmarks of his style: unconventional punchlines, or none at all; bizarre transitions between scenes; verbal nonsense; and much more that the Pythons and others would later inherit.

Helpless with laughter

After the Goons he wrote and starred in a TV series, 'Q', which was widely admired and left many of his colleagues perplexed. Forbidden to explore satire - 'We could have been lethal', he lamented - the show was pure anarchy. Sketches finished prematurely, transitions were surreal, actors were frequently helpless with laughter. There were influences from music-hall and avant-garde theatre and film, and a streak of the grotesque that added to the public bewilderment. Those who loved the show loved it passionately, but it was never re-shown, which hurt Milligan deeply.

He served in the Royal Artillery during the war and left with shell-shock and mental stress that marked his long career. He suffered ten breakdowns and ongoing manic depression. If ever there was a clown who wept, it was Milligan. Some of the complex emotional strands of his humour can be seen in his comic war memoirs, including Adolf Hitler, My Part in His Downfall and his televised interviews of the last decade or so.

He was a man of many distinguished parts. His comic verse has been compared to Edward Lear's. He was an accomplished jazz musician. He appeared in various film cameos, for example in BBC's Gormenghast (admittedly his cameo didn't call for much acting, but it was moving to see him surrounded by many of his comic heirs). He was a powerful campaigner for several causes. If he had not been a comedian, he could have starred in a number of other fields.

Humour and humans

Above all I will remember him as somebody who showed us what Peter Berger and other pundits have long argued: that humour is not just a diversion, but engages the heart of our humanity. For Spike, it was a costly and strenuous exploration. He was once asked if he was happy. 'I'm contented,' he replied. 'I do all right. But when I look into the face of a seven year old child and see her happiness, if you ask me, am I happy like that? I would have to say no, I haven't got that at all.' It seems oddly appropriate that Spike Milligan's legacy is that he gave joy and gladness to millions past, present and future.

David Porter

© Evangelicals Now - April 2002
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