Eddie Izzard

Eddie Izzard fronts Labour election broadcast

Labour's next broadcast features Eddie Izzard criticising the Tories as 'Thatcher's children'.

You might remember a great slab of television from 2007 called The 100 Greatest Stand-Ups. This is an updated and revised version of that particular epic; four hours devoted to one long list, padded with clips and interviews. The winner last time was Billy Connolly, closely followed by Peter Kay and Eddie Izzard. But could Izzard's recent successful tour and his staggering Sport Relief marathons hike him up to the number one slot? Or will Michael McIntyre, who wasn't even on the 2007 list, surprise everyone? The answer lies in the hands of the voting public.

Who'd have thought it? Multiple marathon-running hero Eddie Izzard also turns out to be the funniest stand-up comedian on the planet.

Here's a show he performed 10 whole years ago at New York City's Town Hall, a classic set which would also help launch his Hollywood career. It's worth watching for the Darth Vader Death Star canteen routine alone.

Phone call put Phill Jupitus back on comedy stage

When Eddie Izzard telephones to ask why you gave up stand-up comedy, the least you can do is give it another go. That is what happened to Phill Jupitus last year when the eccentric comedian called him. But the strange thing was, Phill didn't think he had quit stand-up.

Surreal comedy often treads a very fine line. While the likes of Eddie Izzard, Reeves & Mortimer and Charlie Chuck are able to invoke seemingly random non sequesters to hilarious effect, many others have tried and failed. The BBC Three pilot This is Jinsy, a fun, low-budget sitcom set on an island community so eccentric and bizarre, it makes Royston Vasey look like Slough, just about manages to raise enough smiles and, in particular, has enough charm to deserve a return for a full series.

Written, directed by and starring Chris Bran and Justin Chubb, and script edited by TV's Emma Kennedy, This is Jinsy is by no means perfect, and certainly doesn't reach the heights of its predecessor on the channel, The Mighty Boosh. The pilot's story, about extending the "tessellators" (strange televisions/cameras throughout the island, like something from Orwell's 1984) to the tribe-inhabited Old Jinsy was full of many more clichés than you'd expect from such an outlandish concept, and many of the plot developments and punchlines could be seen a mile off. But it still managed to win me over, thanks to Bran and Chubb's affable performances, some fun songs and some very funny moments along the way.

Booming sales of live comedy DVDs lift ailing market

Over 2.26m live comedy discs were sold in 2009, with Michael McIntyre and Eddie Izzard among best sellers.

Last Thursday's edition of QI was interesting for the guest-appearance of US comedian/actor John Hodgman, a regular on The Daily Show and "PC" in the original "Mac Vs PC" commercials. Hodgman's a big fan of the show, and was recently filmed extolling the virtues of QI during a public appearance where rallied support for a campaign to get BBC America to broadcast it (article). Clearly someone at QI noticed Hodgman's support and he was here rewarded with an appearance on the gameshow itself. I'm sure he enjoyed himself, but it made for an awkward half-hour...

Put simply, Hodgman was one of QI's worst guests - although not as bad as scruffy Scotsman Phil Kaye. It didn't help that his presence (not just as a rare guest from overseas) was highlighted by the unfair decision to stick him in the middle of teammates Sandi Toksvig and Sean Lock for the show's first ever three-person team. It felt very much like Hodgman had been crowbarred into the episode, and the show thus felt unbalanced. It also brought too much attention to Hodgman, who was suddenly given a weight of expectation - after all, why else would they upset the delicate balance of QI if he wasn't going to be comedy gold?

Of larger concern was the fact that QI's brand of comedy generally relies on wit and a certain level of surrealism. Sean Lock and Bill Bailey have that corner of the market sewn up between them. Americans in general don't seem to have the madcap comedy gene in their makeup. I'm struggling to think of any US comedians who have similar acts to Monty Python, Eddie Izzard, Vic Reeves, or Harry Hill. So, Hodgman was instantly lost during most of the rounds, while everyone else swam around talking bizarre nonsense.

Maybe Hodgman would be able to find his footing if he came back for future editions, as I'm sure it was very nerve-wracking to suddenly find yourself in the show you dearly love and have publicly championed. It's also worth mentioning that the comedy panel show subgenre is practically unknown in America, so he came in a little unskilled. At times, Hodgman just settled for answering questions in a straight-forward manner (which helped him win the show), in-between forcing out a few half-hearted attempts to be offbeat and funny. Still, at least he actually DID get involved. There are far worse examples of British comedians guesting on panel shows and saying literally four sentences. Which is even worse when you stop to remember these shows can take hours to film and they edit it down to a half-hour of highlights.

He may have diversified into straight acting (in The Riches and Valkyrie) and multiple marathon-running, but stand-up is still where Eddie Izzard shines brightest. Recorded in New York in 2000 during the international leg of his Circle tour, he's on fizzingly good form, even if some gags go over his audience's heads: God's wife as an elven queen elicits no response at all. But there are some classic riffs on Popeman and Altarboy, how God created dinosaurs in the image of his cousin Ted, and what would whales sing if they swam at 45rpm rather than 78.

Why does Eddie Izzard worry that he's boring?

He's funny, fearless and a film star - so why does Eddie Izzard worry that he's boring?

Chain Reaction (Radio 4, Tuesdays, 6.30pm) has been the highlight of my late-summer listening. Through it I've come to like Frank Skinner, discovered that Eddie Izzard can still throw aside the ponderous trappings of Hollywood semi-stardom and be himself again and found, in Alastair Campbell, a charm that he managed to hide so successfully during his years as Tony Blair's minister of propaganda. And every week I've told myself that, this time, I'll resist the temptation to write about it here and focus instead on the new.

But then last week Campbell only goes and interviews Alastair McGowan and all best intentions exit stage right. Last Tuesday's Chain Reaction was probably the best of the series so far, as McGowan gave a masterclass in how he does what he does so well. Slipping from one voice to the other, frequently during a single sentence, he analysed how they came to be. The Nerd Voice, for example, which he was already using as a generic, suddenly acquired a real-life person to attach it to: John Major. "The reason why it's the Nerd Voice," he said, "is because it's completely devoid of emotion and heart.

"Technically, it derives from the back of the throat, which is also used by Brian Perkins" - changing gear ever so slightly to become the legendary Radio 4 newsreader - "but Brian has a connection with his chest, so you have this wonderful, resonant open voice, while Major" - shifting the voice a couple of inches upwards - "is stuck in the throat, so he's cut off from feeling.

"Michael Heseltine," he continued, on a roll now, "had a fabulous oratory voice. He had a trapped 'R' and he couldn't speak properly, but when he really got going he was trapped and there was a little bit of shyness there and there really was a great power to it."

And by God he was right. So simple, and yet so intricate. "There are places the voice goes to," he summed up, "and the deeper it goes, the cooler you are."

Prompted by Campbell, McGowan gave us his Tony Blair, which derives much of its authenticity from the former PM's habit of replacing his "I" sounds with "U" sounds - "Uff the Honourable Member thunks..." but confessed himself stymied by the next PM, David Cameron: "Just sound posh and whisper."

But of course, McGowan is best-known, not for his political voices - Rory Bremner has that covered - but everything else. David Beckham, for example, is an unconfident Stuart Pearce, and when McGowan segued from one to the other you saw exactly what he meant. The same voice, but with a different man behind it.

Look, the latest series of Chain Reaction will soon be naught but a beam in the eye of memory (McGowan talks to Simon Callow today; should be interesting), and I'm going to write about something else in a minute, but there was one last McGowan moment to warm our way into winter. "I've recently discovered Neil Oliver, of The One Show," McGowan said, in Scots character, "and one thing I've noticed is that he's really passionate about everything he does, but he really has to keep his passion under control, because if he ever gets carried away with it, he's just going to turn into" - mid-sentence segue - "Billy Connolly!" The mind's ear caught the connection and thought 'I could do that.' As if.