Dawn French

Dawn French was let down by dated material in Mastering The Universe, by Christopher Douglas and Nick Newman, a retread of domestic sex wars which might have found a home with Terry and June.

Joan Of Arc really loves the cows she looks after for a living, so when those b*****d English put them to death by fire she's on the warpath. And she's going to save the whole of France as well. Dawn French plays the Maid of Orleans with a Jam and Jerusalem West Country accent and there are constant references to her large girth. She's in her comfort zone, but so are we.

Written by Patrick Barlow and co-starring Anne Reid, Maggie Steed and Jim Broadbent, this play's comedy credentials are impeccable. But when events turn more serious, the sound effects conflict, trial and fire are full-on and genuinely moving. As Joan trips towards her famous fate, she loves and loses not just cows.

Patrick Barlow and Jim Broadbent were the original National Theatre of Brent, with an approach to the great themes of drama somewhat akin to that of the painter LS Lowry's to the industrial north: apparently naive but actually perceptive. Barlow and Broadbent, on their own, tackling everything from the nativity to Shakespeare, were very funny. This is Barlow's take on the story of St Joan, maiden warrior and martyr, played here by Dawn French. Broadbent appears in the unexpectedly large cast list which includes Cheryl Campbell and John Ramm, with Anne Reid and Maggie Steed as Joan's guardian angels.

Miranda Hart is shaping up as the Big Lady of the future. If Dawn French built a career out of being hefty without mentioning it, and Jo Brand did it by mentioning it incessantly, Hart's new sitcom (so much a trailer for a TV version that they are already filming the TV version) trades on her not only being big, but very tall and extremely posh. And frequently taken for a man. She has never had sex (a consignment of chocolate penises comes into the shop. They're very lifelike, she says. No they're not, says her waspish co-owner). She has terrible chat-up lines: I weighed my breasts. They cost £1.48 to post, and you'd have to use Parcel Force. She's terrific. Wasted on TV.

Jam and Jerusalem is distractingly top-heavy with star turns. Appearing in Jennifer Saunders' new sitcom is clearly a prestige gig for an actor, so much so that Hywel Bennett can be recruited for the sole purpose of being killed off and getting the plot moving.

Sue Johnstone stars as grieving widow Sal, forced by bereavement and redundancy into the companionable embrace of the local Women's Institute. Cue a host of comedy cameos from people accustomed to having their own shows.

My inclination is to despise Jam and Jerusalem, like Chelsea FC, for greedily snapping up all the available talent. However, like Chelsea FC, the show is rather successful. Saunders' script is poignant and amusing - there was even a moment of comic genius featuring a false arm - the characters just the right side of eccentric and the starry cast certainly deliver the goods. My favourite performance was Rosie Cavaliero's bereavement counsellor, gently admonishing Sal for processing her feelings of grief in entirely the wrong order.

Two main gripes. First, how come Sal was completely composed and unaffected by her husband's funeral? Second, what is Dawn French doing? Everyone else in the cast has adopted a naturalistic acting style, whereas French has opted for a more panto approach in playing the village idiot.

A brand new game for Friday nights: spot Joanna Lumley. She's absolutely unrecognisable as a bonkers bicycling pensioner in Jennifer Saunders' gentle rural comedy set in Clatterford in Devon - one of those imaginary villages where you can't step out of your cottage without tripping over a dozen or so gurning eccentrics.

But what this lacks in laughs it makes up for in star names. As well as Saunders playing a rich, horsey, friend of Madonna-type, there's Pauline McLynn from Father Ted, Sally Phillips from Smack The Pony, Maggie Steed as the leader of the Women's Guild, a bubble-permed Dawn French as the village idiot, and David Mitchell of That Mitchell And Webb Look.

The piece was actually written for Sue Johnston who plays Sal Vine, the practice nurse whose doctor husband rather thoughtlessly keels over and dies.

Perhaps because of the huge cast, and the way slapstick comedy runs alongside sadness, this first episode feels like a patchwork quilt knocked up from leftover wool.

But some scenes, such as when Sal is visited by a hopeless grief counsellor (the brilliant Rosie Cavaliero) suggest it might be worth giving it a chance to find its feet.

The omens are good for this new Friday-night comedy: it's packed with talent - including Joanna Lumley, Sue Johnston, David Mitchell, Pauline McLynn, Dawn French and Sally Phillips. It's also written by Jennifer Saunders, whose flappywomen comedy formula may not be universally popular, but it has a devoted following among viewers.

But, my goodness, it's hard to find laugh-out-loud moments in this first episode - or even smile-politely ones even though the setting of the action should inspire them: a small Devon village characterised by League of Gentlemenly oddness.

In a week in which Dawn French began her so far failed attempt to show that her comedic skills can embrace radio as well as TV, Sally Phillips' turn as the social worker who is just not a people person edged ever closer to classic comedy monster status.

Mastering the Universe must have looked very funny on paper. When I look back at the lines I noted while listening, they're really quite ticklish. Dawn French playing Professor Joy Klamp, reader in Passive Aggression at Sussex University, describes "sorry", when delivered grudgingly, as "the most exciting, mysterious, liberating, non-apologetic word in the dictionary". She then extols "the fulfilling empowerment of sulking, and mooching, and staring into the middle distance and making little ticklish noises when anyone says something funny".

But it didn't make me laugh. Dawn French did the same act as ever, and in a restless, unsatisfying performance made it clear how much her comedy relies on facial expressions. The script was also overwritten and featured too many lame sketches. It's a pity because the concept behind the show is indeed funny, yet listening was a reminder that unsuccessful comedy is one of the grimmest things. Even the majestic Brian Perkins, delivering the opening and closing lines, couldn't make this the stuff of chuckles.

This is funny. Sadly, its star Dawn French is the worst thing about it. While everyone else is letting their acting play second fiddle to the words - by Nick Newman, of Private Eye, and the great Christopher Douglas, who gave the world the failed cricketer Dave Podmore, and the even better Ed Reardon's Week, the failed writer - French presents her character as though she were Dawn French without the large bosom jokes. As that character shows promise - her job is teaching people how to be miserable - it is to be hoped that French gets the hang of this radio comedy lark soon.