Kascion Franklin

"So, uh, we've got a young cullah'd fellah coming on next. I don't think it's fair to laugh at the afflicted, but... you know the reason their palms are all pink? It's the way they stack 'em before spraying..." For most of us it took about 10 seconds of watching Danny and the Human Zoo, though I'll accept 20 if you're from outwith the M25, or a full 40 minutes if you happen to live in Sunningdale or Midwich, to suss that this was not an utterly valid depiction of Britain today.

And we'd have been right. Early 70s. Early 70s Dudley, in fact, and Mark Benton playing, albeit terrifically, a sweatily odious nimrod (as they said in the 70s). Here he was playing to the woeful gallery (near-empty, chain-smoking, and the beer were as flat as the stomachs weren't) and introducing a 15-year-old Danny Fearon to the stage. Danny was, as some may know, a lightly fictionalised Lenny Henry.

Mr Henry, Sir Lenworth Henry as now is, has been a stout heart in the business they call show for as long now as the stalwarts - Tommy Cooper, Michael Crawford - he first set out (aged 14) to impersonate. As with those troupers, his act has not always satisfied all humours. In fact, there are some (me) who say he might have sideswiped the comedy altogether and gone straight to straight acting, apparently his natural metier, according to the many garlands for his Othello; and earlier this telly year, as Godfrey in The Syndicate, he waltzed off with the show.

But that wasn't going to be an option, was it, for the lad from Dudley. Rada would have been as closed to him as would running through the Garrick naked. His only way ahead, other than dying a daily death in the British Leyland shop, was to refine and sculpt a natural gift for mimicry, and (at least as portrayed here by Kascion Franklin, avowedly another big star in the finding), a graceful mix of ebullient anger. And then get on dirty stages in trodden towns - as one teen pal says, "I'm white, and even I'm scared for yow" - and then get gothically shafted by sleazy managers and agents, and sleazy white girlfriends, all in it for the goldbricking. And then, as happened back then, sell out: Danny's/Lenny's minstrel show segments made for incredibly queasy viewing, not least for their portrayal of the all-white audiences ponying along to blacked-up ruffed-up chintzery. In my, in your, lifetime.

Written by Lenny Henry himself, this was a beautiful and a valuable programme, which is to make it sound less fun than the huge fun it was. (And not least because of the soundtracking: ironies wholly lost on Dudley, they were still dancing then to James Brown, Stevie W, Curtis Mayfield, Shirley & Co.) Many scenes, particularly those between young Danny and his father - "What do you know about happiness? You never laugh..." - resonated with bittersweet pith. It may have been hard for the real Henry, here portraying Danny's (ie his own) father, to bear, given the story's arc of a mother's infidelity and a compromised marriage, but bear it he did, acting with style and two grumpy smiles throughout. I will never again underestimate Mr Henry. I retain the right to find him a glowing actor and a less than funny comedian. But nor, after this programme, will I gaze with my old demeanour upon those who excuse 70s racism as "accidental". We were all culpable.

Danny and The Human Zoo had a big named attached to it in the form of Lenny Henry who served as both writer and supporting actor. The ninety minute feature focused on Henry's first flushes of fame and his attempts to the rather racist landscape of 1970s Dudley. Danny (Kascion Franklin), is the dramatic version of the young Henry; who was regularly abused for the colour of his skin but found his voice by impersonating other people. At some points Danny and The Human Zoo resembled the stereotypical biopic as we saw Danny's struggles with his family, the bullies and the unscrupulous entertainment industry. However the fact Henry was writing the script meant that everything felt authentic and he made you sympathise with several of the key characters. The latter part of the drama painted Danny in an incredibly sympathetic light as he was forced to be part of a touring version of The Black and White Minstrel Show something that he hated doing. Danny's lowest moments were excellently scripted and ended with a rather poignant moment in which Henry got to write the conversation that he never had with his own father. The only element of the drama which I felt was a little weak were the moments that dealt with Danny's love life namely his relationship with a possessive Irish barmaid (Evanna Lynch) and the potential romance he could have with his neighbour Cherry (Leonie Elliot). While he wrote an enjoyable script I think that Henry's best contribution to the piece was his performance as his own father Samson. His turn as the quietly stoic patriarch of the Fearon clan was possibly the drama's best and made me hope that we see Henry in more serious roles in the future. Also worthy of praise is Franklin who perfectly anchored the drama with a performance that allowed the audience to sympathise with Danny's various personal traumas. Although there was very little new about it, I really enjoyed Danny and The Human Zoo and felt it was perfectly scheduled on Bank Holiday Monday. Ultimately this was a biographical drama that was full of heart, humour and one that was bolstered by a well-paced script and a fantastic central turn.

Danny and the Human Zoo was Lenny Henry being granted an hour and a half of prime time to cement his own myth. I mean myth as in idealised conception - given his first gig as a TV writer, Henry chose to cloak the story of his life growing up in Seventies Dudley in a veil of fiction ("Almost every single event in this story is... kinda true. Honest", read the opening caption).

Lenny thus became Danny, and unsurprisingly Danny came out of the whole thing rather well. The black country in the Seventies, the drama made clear, was a pretty horrible place, full of casual racism and terrible haircuts, but dear Danny was an irresistible talent. He only had to do his Frank Spencer impression and women fawned, the world laughed, and fame of the sort that would one day allow him to embellish his own story on BBC One beckoned.

Loose autobiography is generally bad biography. A combination of selective memory and latent narcissism means that given the option to be only vaguely honest about their past, few authors can resist the temptation to make themselves look better. That's not to say that playing fast and loose with the truth can't be fun, but if they're going to be "kinda true" stories, they had better be darned good ones. Danny and the Human Zoo was simply not that good a story, predictably told and unsure when to be serious, when to be funny. It trod similar sociocultural turf to Zadie Smith's White Teeth, both the novel and the subsequent Channel 4 adaptation, and it suffered by comparison.

Dare I say it, given that national treasure Henry wrote it, but I think the problem was in the script - it veered alarmingly from some quite brutal, prolonged fight scenes to a lot of plodding, sentimental schlock. The dialogue was workaday, and the supporting characters - Danny's close childhood mates, in particular - were barely fleshed out at all. The young actor Kascion Franklin made a good fist of playing the young Lenny Henry, doing passable impressions of people like Muhammad Ali and Elvis whom he can only have seen on YouTube. Yet he was being asked to play a character who, to all intents and purposes, was brilliant, unimpeachable, irrepressible, attractive and hilarious. That person doesn't exist, or if he does he's not a very interesting character to watch for 90 minutes. Then again, what did the BBC expect by asking Henry to write a drama all about himself: a self-administered hatchet job?

In Lenny Henry's Danny and the Human Zoo (BBC One), his thinly veiled autobiographical drama of rising as a black comedy star in the 1970s, the last 20 minutes dealt with the self-disgust our hero felt after performing on the same bill as white men in blackface.

Earlier, we saw Danny and his family watching telly in their Dudley home. Like the rest of the TV nation, they giggled at Brucie on The Generation Game and Michael Crawford's Frank Spencer. And then the Black and White Minstrels came on. Smiles switched to open-mouthed disbelief. Just as, you'd suspect, happened in Henry's family living room.

Much of the appeal of Danny and the Human Zoo was the light it cast on its writer, that outlier for black British entertainers, and the compromises he made as a naive teenager in this racist realm. That wasn't how the Queen put it when she knighted Henry in June, but, you'd like to think, it's one of the reasons he was honoured.

In the drama, Danny blew up his showbiz career by coming on the Blackpool stage naked apart from tribal makeup - and telling his audience a few home truths. As security goons chased Danny, looking like a naked Fela Kuti, around the stage, Benny Hill chase music started up. Nice period touch. I wish they'd let that scene run longer.

There was wish fulfilment in this and the denouement in which, having rebelled, Danny returned, tail between his legs, to Dudley. There, Danny (a pitch perfect performance of innocence from Kascion Franklin, if not quite as disarmingly cheeky as the young Lenny was) got the girl (the sweet stand-up black one, not the fair-weather white one) and reunited with his fond but invertebrate white mates, and with his family. "Jamaicans don't have parents," Danny told his mates. "They have drill sergeants lamping them around the house." Really? In the drama, the love that Danny's endearingly firecracker mom (Cecilia Noble played her superbly as hard as nails and brittle as pressed flowers) had for her son looked unconditional.

And then there was Danny's sad British Leyland drone of a Jamaican stepdad, played with masterful restraint by Henry himself. Nice to see him inhabiting previous generations' ground-down shoes so empathetically. For 90 minutes Henry had a face like a wet weekend in Lower Gornal until, very near his and the drama's end, he gave us an unexpected laugh, sounding as lubricious as Lenny Henry's comic character Theophilus P Wildebeest. It was good to hear.

The truth about Henry is probably more painful than Danny and the Human Zoo suggested. Those photos of the young Lenny from the 70s, giggling amiably while flanked by two Black and White Minstrels with whom he was contractually obliged to appear, make difficult viewing in 2015. But white people like me don't get to call Henry on what he did then, nor, quite possibly, should anyone else.

One-off film inspired by the teenage years of Premier Inn doyen Lenny Henry who - in a meta twist - plays the father of main protagonist Danny Fearon. In 1970s Dudley, the would-be impressionist persuades his strict Jamaican parents to let him pursue a showbiz career, but a family secret and a greedy manager mean that Danny's 15 minutes could soon be over. Warm and poignant with comic touches, this feature-length drama showcases the talents of a multi-racial cast headed up by newcomer Kascion Franklin.

When Lenny Henry called for greater representation of ethnic minorities on TV did the BBC have to respond by simply giving us more Lenny Henry?

I'm all for seeing a greater mix of races on TV (and a greater range of ages and classes) but must the loud, unbearable Henry be involved? Not only does he star in this drama, but it's based on his life. This, surely, is too much?

Despite my irritation, this fictionalised re-telling of Lenny Henry's childhood in grim 1970s Birmingham, is actually quite good, as long as you can prise it away, in your mind, from the politically correct box-ticking enterprise which probably led to its commissioning.

Henry has described it as "my life in a parallel universe".

The teenage "Lenny Henry" is transformed into Danny Fearon, played by Kascion Franklin, who's an aspiring comedian. A win in a local talent show sets him on the road to success, but he faces racism along the way - it was the 1970s, after all - and he has to struggle against this and assert his real character.