Elisabeth Mahoney

Radio review: The Stanley Baxter Show

Eddie Izzard is all over the airwaves, says Elisabeth Mahoney.

Radio review: Titter Ye Not: The Frankie Howerd Story

Frankie Howerd - a mix of comedy, tragedy and rather more besides, finds Elisabeth Mahoney.

Radio Review: That Mitchell and Webb Sound

Mitchell and Webb are back on the airwaves, and very funny with it, says Elisabeth Mahoney.

Radio review: Bigipedia

Parodying print media is getting old hat - here it's Wikipedia getting spoofed.

Radio review: I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue

A radio institution returned last night minus a key ingredient: I'm Sorry I Haven't A Clue (Radio 4) is now Humph-less. It was an interesting listen, working out how much of the show can still flourish with new, rotating hosts - Stephen Fry last night; Rob Brydon and Jack Dee to follow - and how much is lost. The good news is that the show is as funny as ever, and the pointless, unscored rounds remain very ticklish indeed. What's gone, inevitably, is a rich layer of impish spirit.

Radio review: The Museum of Curiosity

The Museum of Curiosity (Radio 4) was a disappointingly lopsided listen. Before the contributors - Brian Eno, Chris Donald and Dave Gorman - gave their items to the museum, the chat was funny and flowing, and quite endearingly quirky.

Spoon, Jar, Jar, Spoon - The Two Sides of Tommy Cooper (Radio 4) was a great idea, looking at the comedian as a magician in particular. In its portrayal of London's specialist magic shops in the 60s and 70s, many of which were effectively private clubs for magicians, it was especially evocative.

"For a high-profile star like Tommy," said presenter Rob Brydon, "magic shops were a tantalising place to hide." Brydon went on to mention "the relaxed atmosphere, the comfy sofas, and cocktails from the small bar", all of which provoked a peeved cackle from contributor Paul Daniels. "I don't know about the cocktails," he laughed, sounding a bit stung. "I was never offered one." And those comfy sofas he pointedly remembered simply as "settees".

When the programme stuck to this angle, and resisted general assessment of Cooper, it added something new to our understanding of him. I liked hearing that he got his first magic set at the age of eight from his Aunt Lucy, and how magic-shop owners would teach and sell Cooper tricks that he then took to huge audiences. "His trick," observed Brydon sagely, "was to make magic look complicated, but entertaining look simple."

A Question of Royalty, the Afternoon Play, was a knockabout caper with top notes of topicality. "This could destabilise the whole country!" was an early line, on the day of the G20 protests. "The aristocrats go, the whole bloody lot collapses." And there was a nod to April Fool's gags, with a plotline about the Queen's marriage being invalid as it hadn't been properly officiated, "leaving all their offspring little bas ...", as light-fingered plasterer Bernie (Johnny Vegas) blurted out.

But mainly, Andrew Lynch's drama was concerned with timeless comedy dependables. Toffs versus "the lumpen proletariat", north versus south, skint versus affluent, true love versus a good marriage: these gave the play its structure and mood, and produced hilarious worlds-colliding moments.

Civil servants threw the might of the establishment at the plasterers, who had inadvertently stolen the royal marriage certificate ("you've admitted treason; we can hang you"), and Ricky Tomlinson, as the other bungling thief, tried to bribe them with goods of dodgy provenance ("we might even be able to get you some topsoil"). Every line from Tomlinson was gloriously delivered, and very funny.

Right from the off, Rockton Manor Studios (Radio 2) was funny. This new sitcom, written by David Cummings (Fast Show, Happiness) for his first radio commission, and starring Paul Whitehouse, is set in an ailing recording studio run by a former roadie. Early on, you could feel the sitcom staples easing into place - the hapless protagonist; impending change of circumstances; tangled family relationships - but pleasingly these didn't veer in expected directions.

It is also perfectly pitched for the Radio 2 audience, with music gags aplenty, and biographical landmarks told through songs and bands ("a Teardrop Explodes tour I was on"). Mostly, though, the pleasure lies in the performances from Whitehouse as the former roadie, and Mark Benson as his best friend. Whitehouse has great fun with railing against modern music, or any music that's not his mouldy old "canon of enduring quality".

Benson, though, almost stole the show with exquisite comic timing. His explanation of why he turned to selling houses ("I wanted to give something back") was as ticklish as his successive interruptions ("Who wants a Twiglet?") of a major family conference.

Will Smith's Mid-Life Crisis Management (Radio 4) began with a reasonably ticklish stand-up routine. Smith was explaining how he'd decided to evaluate his life at 35, comparing himself with what others had achieved by that age. Mozart, he noted, "died at 37, leaving a body of work unrivalled in western music". Christ had died and risen again by Smith's age. And then came the bathos. "Chris Tarrant," he added, "had already given us Tiswas."

From there, sadly, it was all downhill; a bit like middle-age itself, you might think. Once we dipped into sketches and characters, this was decidedly creaky and patchy stuff. It felt formulaic too, with Smith the inept bumbler for whom every social situation was a failure. It also featured the lamest Louis Walsh jokes on record, and two posh old fools confusing cars and their wives, with allegedly hilarious consequences. If you're approaching middle age, and worried, don't be: it's not as bad as this.