Ken Dodd

Comedian Jimmy Cricket 'gutted' over wellies theft

A pair of concrete wellington boots given to the comedian Jimmy Cricket by fellow funnyman Ken Dodd have been stolen from his garden in Rochdale.

Britain lost one of its most cherished talents when Les Dawson died of a heart attack in 1993, aged just 62. He had been due to record An Audience with... two weeks later; now, thanks to the wonders of technology, a version of Dawson will at last "present" the show after 20 years.

ITV promises a television first: a "staggeringly realistic" 3D holographic projection of the comic. Friends Bruce Forsyth, Terry Wogan and Ken Dodd recall their memories and, courtesy of Dawson's widow Tracy, there's treasured family-video footage of Dawson with his daughter Charlotte, who was only eight months old when her father died.

Les Dawson: An Audience with That Never Was (ITV) was a not-terribly-snappily titled tribute, timed to mark the 20th anniversary of the much-loved comic's death. It told the story of the TV special Dawson was a fortnight away from recording when he died and attempted to recreate it using a 3D projection. The hologram was billed as "staggeringly realistic" and perhaps it was if you were in the same room. On TV, it merely looked like a cut-out image of Dawson wearing an unnaturally bright blue jacket and a low hairline, standing strangely still and occasionally moving jerkily.

Instead this was a glorified clip show. Venerable figures like Bruce Forsyth, Cilla Black and Ken Dodd sat in beige hotel suites, going misty-eyed over their memories. The celebrity audience watching the hologram's performance were noticeably one notch below - more the level of Debbie McGee and Lionel Blair. And those were two of the more familiar faces. Despite the presence of Dawson's widow and daughter, who were visibly moved, this still felt like a macabre cash-in. A tribute to Dawson would have been fine without a shoddy attempt to "bring him back to life".

The show was rescued by Dawson himself, whose wit rang down the decades. He rattled out mother-in-law gags and gurned with that rubbery bulldog face. We heard how he was an accomplished musician and frustrated poet, hence his artfully off-key piano-playing and relish for florid language. Best of all, there were copious clips of his "Cissie Braithwaite and Ada Shufflebotham" routines with Roy Barraclough, the cross-dressed pair gossiping like fishwives and silently mouthing more "delicate" words, before hitching up their ample bosoms. Cissie and Ada really were three-dimensional.

Interview: Ken Dodd

Ken Dodd's been tickling comedy fans for over 60 years now.

Chuckle muscles at the ready, I prepared to be simultaneously tickled and enlightened by David Mitchell's History of British Comedy.

Sadly, however, it turned out to be an all-too-familiar trawl through the early days of music hall, variety and radio, with precious little of the Mitchell magic we know and love from his prolific radio and TV output.

A catch-all documentary series such as this is only really as good as its clips and contributors, so it was disappointing to find Mitchell, or his producer, rounding up the usual suspects - Michael Grade, Barry Cryer, Ken Dodd and token academic CP Lee, all of whose reflections on comedy have been documented to death over the years.

The country must be crawling with people with a different take on early British comedy and its connection to the comedy of today, as well as people in their 70s, 80s and 90s who saw the likes of Max Miller, Sid Field, Robb Wilton and Jimmy James in their heydays. Where were they?

By far the most vivid and original recollections of early comedy came from 91-year-old Denis Norden, a living encyclopedia of British comedy and variety who merits a documentary series to himself.

The former chief exec of Channel 4 goes in search of the origins of the joke and attempts to discover its earliest example. So he starts in Liverpool with comedy legend Ken Dodd. Trawling history for evidence of what tickled our ancestors, Grade discovers it was basically the same mother-in-law gags and references to anal wind we all love so much now. Interesting contributions come from Tim Vine and the ever-sharp Barry Cryer. Seriously, he must sleep in an amber cave.

A jape, a jest, a gag, even a jewel or trinket in Old English. There are many ways to describe a joke, but pinning down why a joke works is about as easy as nailing jelly to the wall.

Here the jovial Michael Grade does a pretty good job of getting that jelly on the wall - with the help of esteemed gagmeisters Ken Dodd, Barry Cryer and Tim Vine.

His scholastic peregrinations in search of the world's oldest known joke prove we've always laughed at the same things - except we're not so fond of lettuce and herniated eunuch gags nowadays - while the scholarly analysis is tempered by a barrage of one-liners.

A shame that what could have been an entertaining foray into the history of joke-telling should be so lacking in humour. There's nothing inherently wrong with the premise of the documentary in which Michael Grade asks whether there is such a thing as a new joke or whether we are laughing at the same things our ancestors did - it's just that it's all a little boring. Ken Dodd, Barry Cryer and Tim Vine are among those pointing the way as Grade discovers what Romans and Tudors found funny, why lettuce was once thought amusing, why a 14th century papal secretary was responsible for one of the first joke books and why the BBC once censored some jokes - chambermaids and lodgers were among the banned topics.

Was there ever a time when Ken Dodd wasn't waving his tickling stick while firing off more gags than most of us ever learn in a lifetime? Now 85, the indefatigable jester of Knotty Ash is still knocking 'em in the aisles up and down the country with his famously overlong shows.

In How Tickled I've Been, Liza Tarbuck paid tribute to the comic with the help of Roy Hudd, the bishop of Liverpool, The Guardian's Michael Billington - a steadfast Doddy-holic - and her dad Jimmy, who does a very good impression of his fellow Liverpudlian.

The tax evasion court case that sullied his reputation briefly in the late 1980s - he was eventually acquitted - was mentioned only in terms of Dodd's ability to bounce back from adversity. The humiliating three-week trial was followed by a record-breaking 40-week engagement at the London Palladium, during which he introduced himself as "Kenneth Arthur Dodd, comedian, photographic playboy and failed accountant".

The one-time travelling salesman said he had the most wonderful job: "I only get to see people when they're happy."

Liza Tarbuck tries to get a straight word out of the unique talent that is Ken Dodd. After nearly 60 years in the business, his typically British brand of whimsy always raises a smile and a host of contemporaries line up here to pay tribute.

How in-depth it gets remains to be seen, but if anyone can pin the mile-a-minute gagster down, it's the ever-professional Liza.