Barry Cryer

When Richard Herring met Barry Cryer

Does Barry Cryer need an introduction? He's a familiar face from TV, a familiar voice from the radio, and he's written comedy for most of the big comedy names of the last half century (and more) as far as we can tell: Morecambe and Wise, The Two Ronnies, Richard Pryor, Les Dawson and Tommy Cooper, to name but a few.

There is no better place to seek out a little light relief than I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue, now incredibly in its 55th series. Doubtless many long term fans of the show who still pine for Humphrey Lyttelton as chair, but Jack Dee does a fine job, especially when he throws in a few dry asides.

In the first instalment of the new series, recorded at Nottingham's Royal Concert Hall, regulars Graeme Garden, Barry Cryer and Tim Brooke-Taylor were joined by relative newcomer Marcus Brigstocke, the latter managing to impress his cohorts with a classy move during a round of Mornington Cresent. With Colin Sell at the piano and Samantha on the scoreboard, the endless nonsense and wit was still laugh out loud funny, my favourite moment on this occasion being Summertime sung to the theme from Jim'll Fix It.

The main problem I have with I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue as a reviewer is that it's impossible to review such a classic show, one which has been on the air for nearly 40 years. What can you say about it that hasn't been said already?

Well, let's start off with the guest panellist - first-timer Marcus Brigstocke. Out of the four panellists (the others being the three regulars, Tim Brooke-Taylor, Barry Cryer and Graeme Garden), he seemed to have the funniest bits. Maybe he was the funniest, maybe it's the show's view to make the guest look the funniest, I don't know. However, he did seem to have many high points in the episode I listened to - his rendition of "Common People" to the tune of "If You're Happy and Know It", for example, was great.

There was also the introduction of a new round in this show called "Heston's Services". This was akin to similar rounds such as "Book Club" and "Film Club", in this case coming up with meals that Heston Blumenthal would serve at a motorway service station.

The other main component of the show, of course, is host Jack Dee. I know that there are lot of people out there who won't accept him as host and won't be happy until Humphrey Lyttelton is exhumed, reanimated and blowing his trumpet in the chair for all eternity, but Dee does a good job as far as I'm concerned.

Enter a lost world of entertainment with this celebration of the post-war heyday of variety, in a BBC4 programme shown last month. Michael Grade is our qualified guide - he joined the family theatrical agency in 1966 - and delivers a warm and funny show, full of good anecdotes. That's because he lets veteran entertainers and agents do much of the talking - Val Doonican, Bruce Forsyth, Ken Dodd, Roy Hudd, Barry Cryer and Janet Brown among them. Although largely filmed at the London Palladium, many of their recollections concern the third rate halls, the "number threes" - Bilston Theatre Royal and Attercliffe Palace keep cropping up. They are unforgettable, but for all the wrong reasons, as are tales of theatrical digs. A parade of clips features comics, ventriloquists, dancers, jugglers and animal acts - from Max Miller to Memory Man, and Kardoma the flag act to Koringa the lady snake charmer. Nostalgia, social history, however you label it, there's nothing po-faced about this supremely entertaining show.

This two-part documentary received glowing reviews when it debuted recently on BBC Four. Lord Grade (whose various roles in broadcasting have included chairman of the BBC, chief executive of Channel 4 and executive chairman of ITV) looks back at the postwar golden age of variety theatre and meets an array of well-coiffed, cardigan-clad old school entertainers including Val Doonican, Ken Dodd, Barry Cryer, Roy Hudd and Janet Brown - whose memories of performing with Max Miller are particularly amusing. Grade is knowledgeable and passionate about his subject: his father was a theatrical agent, his uncle Lou a celebrated impresario and he spent much of his childhood roaming round music halls. The result is a warm, nostalgic elegy for a lost world - one ultimately destroyed, of course, by the very medium through which this lament is broadcast.

Enter a lost world of entertainment with this celebration of the postwar heyday of variety. Michael Grade is our qualified guide - he joined the family theatrical agency in 1966 - and delivers a warm and funny show, full of good anecdotes. That's because he lets veteran entertainers and agents do much of the talking - Val Doonican, Doreen Wise (widow of Ernie), Bruce Forsyth, Ken Dodd, Roy Hudd, Barry Cryer and Janet Brown among them. Although largely filmed at the London Palladium, many of their recollections concern the third-rate halls or "number threes" - Attercliffe Palace in Sheffield and Bilston Theatre Royal keep cropping up. Unforgettable, but for all the wrong reasons, as are tales of theatrical digs. In contrast, a parade of clips features comics, ventriloquists, dancers, jugglers and animal acts - from Max Miller to Memory Man, and Kardoma the flag act to Koringa the lady snake charmer. Nostalgia, social history... however you label it, there's nothing po-faced about this supremely entertaining show.

If the names Captain Kremmen, Marcel Wave, Sid Snot and Cupid Stunt mean anything to you, then it's a safe bet that you're familiar with the work of the late Kenny Everett. Jeremy Beadle, Barry Cryer, Barry Took, and Steve Wright celebrate the work of a comedian who was always in the best possible taste.

Bob Monkhouse, comedian and quiz show host, once confided to the comic writer Barry Cryer that he thought of himself as the "Marmite man... you either like me or can't stand me". With the help of archive footage and contributions from friends and family, this profile tells the story of the private face of this outwardly slick operator, one that shows him to be an obsessive collector and a performer with a fear of failure. He collected comedy videos, records, whisky glasses and matchboxes, and also kept everything related to his own career, which may be linked to the suggestion that he never felt accepted by his peers. Perhaps he was trying to prove something, but his public image can't have helped: in 1977 he was voted both the most loved and the most hated in a poll of TV stars.

Interview: Barry Cryer

He is the funny man's funny man and has worked with the best - Norwich Evening News attempts to quiz Barry Cryer.

If, like me, you enjoy watching tributes to dead British comedians, you'll be familiar with their essential ingredients. The crème de la crème is a contribution from veteran comedy writer Barry Cryer, who knew and worked will all the greats and whose ubiquity demands the question: who will programme-makers turn to when Cryer passes on? Anecdotes about Les Dawson don't grow on trees, you know.

Other hardy perennials include promiscuous use of the word "consummate", usually in conjunction with "entertainer", "timing" or, in less guarded eulogies, "alcoholic" and explorations of private sadness behind the public mask. All were present and correct in The Unforgettable Bob Monkhouse.

Featuring candid contributions from people who knew him, rather than the usual roster of quacking heads, this documentary offered a fair and balanced account of a man who polarised public opinion throughout his long career. To some he was merely a smarmy game-show host, the epitome of shiny showbiz insincerity, whereas others recognised him for the imperial comedy craftsman he was.

Though not without his faults Monkhouse emerged from this profile as a shy, sensitive, bright and introspective man who carefully delineated between his public and private personas.

More self-aware than many gave him credit for, Monkhouse was hurt by accusations of insincerity, arguing that his gushing over-enthusiasm, especially in the presence of fellow comedians, was caused by genuine admiration for their talent. Monkhouse was, to his credit, an unabashed comedy nerd, as evinced by his support of younger comedians, his sprawling personal archive of films and TV shows (curiously not mentioned in the programme) and his famous hand-written joke books, containing thousands of gags on almost every conceivable subject, which made headlines when they were stolen in 1995.

That Monkhouse was devastated by their theft and tearfully overjoyed when they were returned, tells you everything you need to know about his dedication to the craft. He took comedy seriously, as only someone who really understands it can. Cryer made the point that Monkhouse wasn't an instinctive comedian, but rather he trained himself to become one through voracious study of the art. Perhaps that's why many thought him lacking in natural charm.

Very much a brisk skip through his life and work, this was nevertheless a fitting tribute. Neither sycophantic nor hagiographic, it doubtless would've pleased the man himself.