Jack Dee

The regeneration of the host of I'm Sorry I Haven't Got A Clue is complete: Jack Dee has finally fully transformed into the grouch we know and ... the grouch we know. Just A Minute returns next week, a handover Jack celebrated with a game entitled Just A Minim - "the teams' musical version of the longrunning wireless favourite hosted by Nicholas Parsons. I never miss him."

Earlier the teams had supplied us with some new definitions - internet is what the England team didn't do at the World Cup, asterisk is the chances of being hit by an asteroid and fallacy is "like a penis". The last gag was from David Mitchell - brilliant panel guest as ever, but I'm beginning to worry about him. Hasn't he got a home to go to? And if he has, does it contain a panel show in every room?

Dave Allen broke into British TV on Val Doonican's BBC TV show in the mid-1960s, soon graduating to a series of his own where a relaxed raconteur style, cigarette in one hand, glass of whisky in the other, distracted from his daring in choice of topics. Sex, death and religion were well within his witty compass and all, from time to time, got him into trouble with the press. He's been followed by observational comics such as Jack Dee, Dara O'Briain and tonight's presenter Ed Byrne, but he was funnier than any of them.

"Jack Dee, with your face like a neglected radish, like a cowboy's crack, like a forgotten tunnel..." Shooting Stars continues to be far funnier than a 17-year-old comedy on its seventh series should be, by way of sticking to what it does best. Tonight, that involves getting Tulisa from N'Dubz and John Simpson into the same room and throwing edam on to Brendan Cole's face. Angelos Epithemiou does a fine job of keeping score - something that doesn't always come easy to football pundit Chris Kamara, who gamely takes all mockery on the chin.

Even at its height in the Nineties, Shooting Stars was an acquired taste: some found it gloriously surreal, others thought it annoyingly puerile. Nowadays, though, it feels dated and superfluous. Still there are some enjoyable moments, mainly involving the lugubrious scorekeeper Angelos Epithemiou. Tonight, hosts Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer and captains "Ulri-ka-ka-ka" Jonsson and Jack Dee are joined by Strictly dancer Brendan Cole, cultishly incompetent football pundit Chris Kamara, war reporter John Simpson and Tulisa from pop group N-Dubz.

Anyone who remembers the joyously strange experience of watching Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer's quiz show when it first appeared in the early 1990s can forgive it almost anything. And they've needed to: it grew tired and staggered on past its natural life span. Then BBC2 revived it for a Christmas special in 2008 and what should have been a museum piece worked better than expected. Now George Dawes, the "big baby" drummer/scorer created by Matt Lucas has gone, to be replaced by shambling burger van owner Angelos Epithemiou (the excellent Renton Skinner). But the blend of surreal sight gags - at one stage a pair of disembodied legs walks across the set unremarked - and daft questions remains the same. Highlights tonight include panellist Jack Dee (with "a face like a scalded sea cadet", according to Vic) having to play a toy drum every time he wants to speak and a brilliant parody of Kerry Katona's TV ads for Iceland. Look out for the sticky potato pistols.

Jack Dee has been winning hearts and minds as the new host of I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue. Enough words have been spoken about the totemic Humphrey Lyttelton, so I'll not weigh them up here. But on the self-titled "antidote to panel games", Dee is the perfect antidote to the cloying comfiness of the audience clapping along to "one song to the tune of another". You're left with the distinct impression that he's flashing them a trademark pitying sneer, and it's like a palate cleanser, allowing you to enjoy the craftsmanship of panelists Cryer, Garden, Brooke-Taylor and, this week, Toksvig.

Bob Mortimer interview

Bob Mortimer reveals more about the series in which Ulrikka Jonsson and Jack Dee captain the celebrity teams, while Vic and Bob pose the questions - and really want to see those fingers!

Jack Dee is perfect host for I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue

The grumpy comic has taken over from the late Humphrey Lyttleton and proved a hit. But are some presenters simply irreplaceable?

I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue returns with Jack Dee in the chair solemnly reading his script and distributing questions. The audience (in Cheltenham) roar their appreciation throughout. In fact, the Clue participants seem under the dangerous delusion that they're at some private party rather than doing a radio show.

The phrase "celebrity roast" sounds like either an inspired idea for a bonfire, a romantic date with a footballer and his friends or some nightmare series, no doubt soon to be commissioned, in which minor soap stars share their favourite recipes. In fact, it refers to the practice whereby a group of comedians takes turns putting down a well-known entertainer as well as each other.

That's what the roast became in America, where it was popularised by Frank Sinatra, Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. Last week, we got the British version, A Comedy Roast (C4), in honour of, respectively, Bruce Forsyth, Sharon Osbourne and Chris Tarrant. For reasons of national morale, it doesn't do to dwell on the difference between those two sets of names.

However, the thinking appears to be that what the show lacks in personalities, it can make up for in vulgarities. Sometimes, that tactic worked under the caustic stewardship of Jimmy Carr, who looked as demonically thrilled as a class clown given permission to swear at his teachers. Carr was responsible for most of the moments of comedy that produced not a laugh, but a gasp, including a joke about Tiswas being the second biggest thing that Lenny Henry had ever been in.

More often, the coarseness was cover for an overreliance on the autocue. As much as he sometimes struggled with reading lines, Dean Martin was never known to resort to the c-word on US TV and nor, come to that, did anyone ever accuse Sinatra of mistaking breast milk for "man gravy". A dry roast this wasn't.

Yet the biggest failing was that no matter how crude the insults served by Jonathan Ross, Jack Dee and a variety of comedians, no one, including the guest of honour, had heard of, none could match the flame-grilled indignity of taking part in the show. A roast that was all sauce and nothing to savour.