Dick Emery

Who could forget Mandy, the peroxide blonde bombshell with the catchphrase "Ooh, you are awful but I like you"? During the sixties and seventies, it must have been quoted at parties, pageants and playgrounds up and down the land as often as Vicky Pollard's "Yeah but, no but" or Victor Meldrew's "I don't believe it" decades later.

Yet Mandy's creator, Dick Emery, seems to have been largely erased from the nation's comedy memory bank. Unlike Tommy Cooper, Morecambe and Wise and the Two Ronnies, whose work is deservedly kept alive by repeats on Gold as well as the terrestrial channels, the brilliant Emery has been curiously absent from our screens since his death 30 years ago.

None of the contributors to Dick Emery - A Comedy of Errors could account for this glaring oversight, including presenter David Walliams, clearly a big fan in his youth. The best they could come up with was that Emery's success predated the marketing boom of the eighties when artists like Cooper and Morecambe and Wise were immortalised on T-shirts, mugs, greetings cards and the like.

While the documentary was a fitting tribute to an outstanding comedy talent, it also revealed the troubled man behind the many funny faces. Nervous, insecure and incapable of fidelity, Emery's early childhood had been spent on tour with his parents, a variety double act, not the most stable of upbringings.

His love life - five failed marriages, umpteen love affairs - reflected a restlessness and terror of being alone. One of his children, Eliza, now a singer-songwriter, said he sought constant reassurance that she loved him, even though it was probably his kids who needed assuring the most.

Walliams concluded in characteristic Emery style, "What we need is more Dick on our screens," followed rather predictably by a rousing "Ooh, you are awful but I like you".

Come Fly with Me, a spoof documentary series from Matt Lucas and David Walliams, was a little unlucky in its timing, following a week or so in which the only airport stories that mattered were about cancellations and flight delays. Quite a few of its potential viewers must have felt sick at the thought of even looking at a terminal building. It needed some luck too, because although it had some good characters there's a coarseness to much of the comedy that matches the unconvincing prosthetic work. Perhaps it's all meant to be cartoonish and obvious, and I'm guessing that Little Britain fans will have a good time. But with all the blacking-up and dragging-up and camping-it-up it sometimes felt as if it had been resuscitated from the Seventies without any modernisation work. Dick Emery would have loved it.

We do love a bit of camp, we Brits. Frankie Howerd, Larry Grayson, Dick Emery, Mr Humphries aka John Inman all perpetuated the non-threatening camp stereotype in the sixties and seventies - unlimited innuendo but no sex please, we're British.

That all changed in the eighties with the coming of alternative comedy and the black leather-clad Julian Clary. Camp's hidden agenda was well and truly outed, paving the way for Rhona Cameron, Graham Norton, Simon Fanshawe and others to do full-frontal gay comedy, warts and all.

In The Archive Hour, Simon Fanshawe traced the history of gay comedy over the past 30 years, from the double standards of Howerd and Grayson, always fearful of alienating the audience by appearing openly homosexual, through the overtly gay material of Clary and Cameron to today's more androgynous approach, where the quality of the material counts for more than any concerns about sexuality.

You got the impression Julian Clary quite missed the shock and awe days of the eighties - "I enjoyed the sharp intake of breath when I crossed the line" - though Fanshawe was in no doubt that today's open-minded audiences were much to be preferred.

Graham Norton said he soon got bored with doing gay jokes, having traded on his gayness at first, and consciously started to introduce other subjects. "I was lucky in that I could do Irish jokes as well as gay jokes," he said.

I'd never heard of the Australian Brendan Burns, a straight stand-up who does a funny line in anti-homophobic material, nor the Anglo-Bengali gay stand-up Paul Sinha, but their contributions sent me scurrying off to YouTube to see further exposure.

Radio review: Dick Emery: The Comedy of Errors

A troubled childhood revealed a lot about the comedian Dick Emery.

Fans of contemporary and classic comedy have had plenty to enjoy thanks to Radio 2 and Radio 4 lately. Following profiles of Frankie Howerd and Stanley Baxter, Dick Emery was the latest comedian to be featured in Radio 2's Comedy Greats series. An admirer of Emery, host David Walliams paid an affectionate tribute to a performer whose work seems sadly neglected nowadays. This despite the fact that The Dick Emery Show once pulled in TV audiences of 17 million.

Walliams and the other contributors to the programme made a convincing case for an Emery retrospective. Perhaps some of the material is un-PC or out-of-date nowadays, but that does not stop Carry On movies being broadcast on a regular basis. Time to give Emery a chance, I would say.

Don't watch this just because you're a fan of the Pub Landlord in Happy Hour. Al Murray's new sketch show is in a different and altogether filthier league. It's very funny at times, but it's outrageous, too. In the very first sketch we meet Prurient Dad, a West Country father who cheerfully grills his daughter's new boyfriend on what she likes best in bed. Later there's a sketch involving an absurdly camp Hitler aide whose Nazi uniform is cut from pink latex. In this mode, Murray resembles a super-caffeinated Dick Emery - it's comedy painted with a brush so broad it's hard not to be swept up. There's a boardroom spoof involving a meeting dominated by a giant baby, and the sketch involving two voiceover artists for radio ads is inspired, as are the politically correct PCs: "Give it up, son," the cops bark in a siege. "You're surrounded by counselling professionals."

Al Murray is so convincing as the Pub Landlord that, like Ricky Gervais, you start to worry where the actor ends and the role begins. That's why it is such a wonderful surprise to see him playing so many different characters in this new sketch show. One of the best is the gentleman safe breaker who, having been caught, talks his way out of arrest. Better still is the airline pilot who rambles on over the intercom about his sex-change operation. A couple of sketches are based on great ideas - one being the trailer for an ITV drama starring Ray Winstone as Ghandi. And for lovers of old-fashioned vaudeville who yearn for the days of Dick Emery, Murray plays a Nazi dressed in pink who can't wait to get down to some serious interrogating.