Frankie Howerd

Howerd's Ways: The radio times of Frankie Howerd

Busy year, 2012. The Olympics, The Queen's Diamond Jubilee and the Year of Shakespeare are all vying for our headspace so it's easy to overlook notable anniversaries. I'm sure that anyone above the age of forty will be shocked to realise that Frankie Howerd died two whole decades ago, on 19th April 1992.

The year's 1908. The scene is the sitting room of old Oxford chums and modern men about town Felix (Ben Miller), an inventor, and Murdo (Alexander Armstrong), the ghosts of the past for a whole slew of sitcom characters to come.

Simon Nye's affectionate Edwardian version of Men Behaving Badly is a gleeful and (presumably) knowing mash-up of every anarchic comedy you can think of, from The Young Ones and Blackadder, to Ab Fab and, of course, Armstrong & Miller (the best bits of which follow), and it's a total hoot; as surreal, silly and puerile as you'd expect - and Armstrong & Miller fans would demand.

Produced for the Comedy Showcase season, this pilot was held over for C4's Christmas season despite having not a flake of snow or festive motif in it. It should stand out like a beacon amid all the repeats of second-rate sitcoms, Christmas specials and period dramas, whilst offering some fun period jokes of its own.

The mad, loose plot of sorts is surprisingly topical, taking in as it does the arrival of the Olympics to the capital and the world of banking, but largely it acts as a tree on which hang such baubles as scatological jokes, laugh-out-loud sight gags, a surreal clubbing scene, lots of Viz-style lewd humour and plain stupid lines such as: 'What is all this boats for women nonsense? Just give them all a boat.' Titter ye, as Frankie Howerd might have said.

The Jonathan Ross Show review

There's a part of Ross that knows he must one day morph into an old-fashioned fromagey US show host channelling Frankie Howerd.

On Saturday, the network took a tip from The X Factor with the live final of its New Comedy Award, presented by Patrick Kielty. Six hundred acts were boiled down to six, voted on by the audience. This being Radio 2, the audience sounded about as edgy as a Parent Teacher Association drinking Merlot, but that came as a relief to one comedian who said, "There's nothing worse than looking at the crowd and thinking I've got things in my medicine cabinet older than you." There was lots of encouraging applause and no one heckled. My favourite was the acerbic Joe Lycett, with his mordantly Frankie Howerd-esque story of a driving lesson in Manchester, but Pat Cahills ingenious rap about having your dog put down was also very good. The winner was Angela Barnes from Maidstone whose weapon was the one-liner ("It's no mistake that the anagram of Maidstone is I am Stoned - that's all there is to do!") and who should fit seamlessly into the throng of talented female comedians on radio and TV.

The Beeb's drama department has carved out a neat niche with its biopics of beloved British comedy stars: from Kenneth Williams and Tony Hancock to Frankie Howerd and Morecambe and Wise. This latest film, first shown on BBC Four in January, is a worthy addition. Gavin & Stacey's Ruth Jones stars in an acclaimed dramatisation of Carry On star Hattie Jacques's life. Though she played an austere matron on screen, Jacques's private life was actually rather racy. The story focuses on the early 1960s love triangle between Jacques, her chauffeur (Aidan Turner) and her husband, Dad's Army star John Le Mesurier (a heartbreaking turn from Cold Feet's Robert Bathurst) - whom she continued to love, even when she moved her toyboy into their bed. It's a bittersweet story, superbly acted, and followed by a repeat of Jacques's 1963 appearance on This Is Your Life.

"I never touched your mother until after we were married," announces Alf Garnett. "Well after," adds his wife.

Sex and the Sitcom was all very enjoyable but over far too quickly. Provide your own punchline.

Narrated by Madeline Smith, the cause of erotic frenzy in many a seventies sitcom male - and my adolescent self - the documentary chronicled sexual mores and manners in the UK as reflected in its situation comedies.

Frustration featured quite prominently, as did inadequacy, embarrassment and anxiety, mostly located in male characters like Rigsby, Reginald Perrin and Hancock. Even the arrival of the permissive society failed to loosen the British sitcom's stays, although the programme did find a bizarre and disturbing clip featuring Terry Scott and June Whitfield planning an orgy.

For years the only man seen revelling in the physical delights of the opposite sex was Frankie Howerd in Up Pompeii, testament to what a fine actor he was.

When sex itself eventually made an appearance it was women characters who were invariably in the vanguard - the insatiable Dorian from Birds Of A Feather, Mildred trying to seduce George, Miss Jones' pursuit of Phillip in Rising Damp.

Leslie Phillips did play a sexually predatory man in Casanova '73, but public outrage caused it to lose its prime time spot after three episodes. The sitcom male has remained resolutely inadequate ever since.

This might look like yet another excuse to wallow in light entertainment's golden era and be reminded once again of Eric & Ernie, Frankie Howerd et al. But while a dire clip of Max Miller may make you wonder quite how golden this era actually was, this is largely wonderful stuff, rich with anecdotes told by veteran showbiz raconteurs. Variety didn't just involve comedy, but jugglers, musicians, hoofers, and acts who spent their entire careers doing just one turn. Among those recalling the high jinks and dismal lodgings of those bygone days are Ken Dodd, Val Doonican, Roy Hudd and Mike Winters.

Miranda really shouldn't work. If it were any more mired in Seventies sitcom cliches it would feature Terry Scott and June Whitfield in a shop called Grace Brothers.

It's also terribly blighted by awful canned laughter and comedy signposts probably visible from Mars. Yet, despite all this, Miranda is occasionally very funny indeed. This is mostly down to Miranda Hart's bravery. How many 6ft 1in women would write a scene in which they're running down the road in ill-fitting underwear and flesh-cloured tights?

It's Hart's heart that makes Miranda so endearing. And because she falls over a lot and is oddly reminiscent of Frankie Howerd.

The first in this second series sees her trying to get over the departure of her improbably handsome boyfriend by becoming the type of woman 'who just grabs a wheatgerm smoothie in between work and going out because that's enough to keep her going even though she went for a jog at lunchtime - and enjoyed it.' At this point mum (Patricia Hodge) pipes up: 'Darling, I'm putting on a whites wash - if your pants are dirty, pop them off and I'll pop them in.' Miranda shouldn't work but somehow it does.

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.

As the old song says, what a difference a day makes. On Wednesday night The Vote Now Show (Radio 4) did a sketch about the three party leaders answering questions but, as their team of talented mimics couldn't do Nick Clegg, his answers were delivered in the voice and style of Frankie Howerd, complete with "ooh er missus" expostulations. On Thursday night the actual party leaders' debate was broadcast. I doubt The Vote Now Show will be resorting to Frankie's voice again soon. Their problem of how to deliver a vocally recognisable Nick Clegg remains. If you listened to him on the real debate (Radio 4, Thursday) his voice had a sort of closed throat, reedy sound, a bit like John Major's but posher. If Brown was a bassoon and Cameron a flute, Clegg was a clarinet. A slightly angry clarinet too, one playing more tunes from the Ukip songbook than the classic Grimond-Steel-Kennedy album. But that was on radio, where a fresh face, a yellow tie and an easy relationship with the camera count for nought and what we're used to is proper address to issues.

Substance was already a problem for The Vote Now Show last week. Months ago, it must have seemed a good idea to do a late night election comedy show three times a week, scripted on the day, recorded a few hours before transmission, performed with an audience. The general lack of anything much to make fun of last Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday nights was, however, apparent. I admit to falling asleep while washing the dishes to it on the first night, waking up to cold suds and studio laughter. Maybe this week will be hotter.