Harry Enfield

Harry Enfield filmed in straitjacket for new show

Harry Enfield was kept firmly under control during filming - strapped into a straitjacket.

Picture: Harry Enfield is loaded Ma'amy

Harry Enfield looks the Queen of mean as he brandishes a machine gun while dressed as Her Maj. Harry, 51, was snapped in a London park as he filmed a new episode of TV series Harry & Paul.

Following on from a successful pilot in late 2010, BBC Four's commissioned a full series of this comedy drama loosely based on the novels by Douglas Adams, and starring Stephen Mangan as the holistic detective.

The first episode in the series, which sees Dirk deal with a murder that has links to the Pentagon, contains some funny situations created by Howard Overman, the man behind the adaptation. Such things include Dirk breaking into a house of the murder victim by smashing a glass door being witnessed by those inside. Then there's Dirk surveillance operation which goes completely wrong thanks to his partner/assistant MacDuff's (Darren Boyd) new chair.

However, personally speaking I'm one of those people who would have been happier with the original stories being adapted for the screen rather than having new ones developed. While it does contain some elements from the original books, such as Zen navigation (instead of using a map to go where you want to go, you follow someone who looks like they know where they go, often leading you to somewhere you need to be), it would be nice to see Adams's original tales on screen.

Still, if you too are annoyed by the lack of faithfulness in this adaptation, there are always the more faithful Radio 4 stories starring Harry Enfield, which does follow Adam's work much more closely (Electric Monks and Norse Gods included).

I love a spoof documentary, me. Not, you understand, of the nonsensical Life's Too Short variety, but rather those spot-on parodies of pop culture epochs such as Eric Idle's magnificent Beatles spoof, The Rutles: All You Need Is Cash, and Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse's criminally underrated Smashie and Nicey: End of an Era.

As well as being packed with exquisite gags, those mock-docs worked so beautifully because of their loving attention to detail, proving that the very best parodies are made by those who know their subject inside out. And while Peter Capaldi's the Cricklewood Greats doesn't quite reach such giddy heights, it certainly delivers in terms of affectionate irreverence and the care with which it's made.

Charting the wavering fortunes of a fictional British film studio - think Ealing by way of Hammer, and all stops in between - it functions not only as an impressively realised parody of the average BBC 4 entertainment documentary, but also of those insight-free films in which a celebrity hijacks an interesting subject in pursuit of their own meaningless "personal journey."

Written in conjunction with his The Thick Of It cohort Tony Roche - who also penned BBC 4's splendid Python biopic, Holy Flying Circus - Capaldi directs and also stars as himself, paying overly-reverential tribute to the ghosts of the Cricklewood dream factory, including thinly disguised versions of Gracie Fields, Peter Cushing and Kenneth Williams (the acutely observed pastiches of his withering diary entries are a particular highlight).

No "tears behind the laughter" cliché is left unturned in this modest treat for connoisseurs of archive film and television, which, although merely amusing rather than hilarious, is still witty and charming and thoroughly commendable.

Harry Enfield interview

The comedian Harry Enfield has killed off almost as many characters as he has created. His latest project sounds like the strangest yet: a film his next-door neighbour asked him to appear in - in exchange for a baked potato.

We see so little of The Comic Strip ensemble these days that it's easy to forget how long they've been in the trenches of British spoof, tossing out a grenade every now and then, as if cursed to spend the rest of their days striving to match the perfection of their hilarious first episode, "Five Go Mad in Dorset", which introduced high jinks to Channel 4's inaugural broadcast in 1982 and the term "lashings of ginger beer" to the cultural memory.

"The Hunt for Tony Blair" - a parodic splicing of noughties politics and 1950s British film noir (though what Herman's Hermits were doing on the soundtrack I don't know) - wasn't uproariously funny but it was handsomely made, with melodramatic shadows and enough money for fog, flat-footed policemen and steam trains. The plot, such as it was - a madcap chase across country, with the PM on the run for murder - threw up knockabout humour and vignettes from Blair's WMD fiasco, featuring a cast of the usual suspects: a languid Nigel Planer as Mandelson; Harry Enfield in East End shout mode as "Alastair"; the excellent Jennifer Saunders as Thatcher in her dotage (and full Barbara Cartland drag), watching footage of her Falklands triumphs from a chaise longue.

Director Peter Richardson, whose comic talents aren't seen enough on screen, played George Bush as a rasping B-movie Italian mobster ("I'm gonna get straight to the crotch of the matter here"). With the exception of impressionist Ronni Ancona (whose 10 seconds as Barbara Windsor seemed puzzlingly extraneous), no one went for a direct impersonation. Stephen Mangan didn't make a bad Blair, though he could have worked on the grin, and he couldn't quite make his mind up between feckless and reckless as he capered from one mishap to the next leaving a trail of bodies. Did Blair's moral insouciance ("Yet another unavoidable death, but, hey, shit happens") call for a look of idiocy or slipperiness?

The comedy had mischief at its heart in mooting that Blair had bumped off his predecessor, John Smith, and accidentally pushed Robin Cook off a Scottish mountain, while Robbie Coltrane's Inspector Hutton (aha!) tacitly invoked the spectre of Dr David Kelly (we never found out who Blair was charged with murdering). But it was hard to squeeze fresh satire from the overfamiliar stodge of the politics ("Tell Gordon to run the country and trust the bankers"). Mangan was at his funniest hiding among sheep in the back of a truck or kicking Ross Noble (playing an old socialist) off a speeding train, though there was amusement elsewhere. I had to laugh at variety theatre act Professor Predictor, shoehorned into the story to enable Rik Mayall in a bald wig and boffin glasses to answer questions from the audience. Would the Beatles still be at No 1 in 50 years' time?

"No. The Beatles will no longer exist. But Paul McCartney will marry a woman with one leg."

How the audience roared. "Pull the other one," someone shouted. Arf, arf.

Nearly 30 years after their debut, the famous alternative comic troupe returns to Channel 4. Here, new boy Stephen Mangan plays Tony Blair as a film noir-style fugitive from justice, on the run after he's been accused of murder, in a piece that's like Hitchcock's 39 Steps crossed with Kind Hearts and Coronets-style black humour. Alongside him are the old regulars from The Comic Strip's previous films: Nigel Planer as Peter Mandelson, Robbie Coltrane as the detective on Blair's case, with appearances by Harry Enfield and Rik Mayall. Jennifer Saunders almost steals the show by playing Margaret Thatcher as a sexually predatory version of Miss Havisham. At the edge of acceptable taste - is it too early to make humour out of the death of Robin Cook? - "The Hunt for Tony Blair" puts a smile on your face even if there are not many laugh-out-loud moments. This is largely thanks to Mangan's turn as a smooth killer always ready with a voice-over justification about the "tough choices" he has to make, even when murdering an Old Labour homeless man. But despite its satirical digs at our old PM, Mangan's charming performance serves as a reminder of how likeable Blair once was.

Comic Strip Presents: The Hunt for Tony Blair, preview

Ed West previews Channel 4's The Hunt for Tony Blair, a new one-off comedy by The Comic Strip team, starring Stephen Mangan, Jennifer Saunders and Harry Enfield.

Just what's needed after endless images of kids rampaging through the streets: a portrayal of a south London geezer from a housing estate that's nicely non-threatening (though he does diss the community support officer in the opening credits for a touch of street cred and a cheap laugh). Such is the comic construction of Simon Brodkin, anyway, who is back as Lee Nelson for a second series of studio tomfoolery and sketches. It's all pretty daft and probably funnier after a night in the pub, but it also feels terribly dated and wouldn't look out of place on an early Harry Enfield show.