Miles Jupp

Have you heard the one about vicar's son Miles Jupp?

Forget Frankie Boyle, Russell Brand and the comedy of shock. Stand-up is cleaning up its act and getting politer. A growing band of dissenting comedians out there do not tell smutty stories and crude gags - and the leading light of this new wave of niceness is Miles Jupp, a divinity graduate and son of a United Reform minister.

The News Quiz Benefit

This week's News Quiz lineup consists of Andy Hamilton, Miles Jupp, Sue Perkins and Jeremy Hardy. But as we had a picture of most of them last week, instead here's Sandi with one of our excellent script writers - Simon Littlefield.

Michael McIntyre's perpetual effervescence fizzes in Blackpool, a town ripe with potential for gags about fags, chips and people with funny accents wearing fleeces. McIntyre also has some sport with members of the Blackpool football team, who are in the audience. The headline act is a hectoring John Bishop, whose coarse schtick about stag dos, hen nights and sex toys is an acquired taste. Much more interesting is Miles Jupp - who was so good in the BBC2 sitcom Rev - mining his background. "I'm privileged, not just to be here, but in general." Elsewhere, the unsettling Terry Alderton, with a strange, tangential but often winning act, has fun with body-popping cockneys, while Justin Moorhouse is rude about fat people.

Edinburgh Interview: Miles Jupp

Miles Jupp returns to Edinburgh with his seventh solo show about attempting to become a cricket journalist. Emma McAlpine speaks to the actor and stand-up comic about meeting your heroes, David Bowie's recycling and his best TV work to date.

Journalism ruse just wasn't cricket for Miles Jupp

Award-winning comedian and TV actor Miles Jupp has told STV about why he's used his disastrous attempt to become a cricket journalist for his latest show at the Edinburgh Fringe.

Miles Jupp: Fibber In The Heat (A Cricket Tale)

Miles Jupp would not have an Edinburgh Fringe show this year without the Western Mail.

Tales from the boundary on the Fringe

Throwing himself in at the deep end, Miles Jupp, who presents the BBC Radio 7 topical comedy show Newsjack, decided to try his luck as a cricket writer by following England's winter tour round India.

Edinburgh fringe grilling: Miles Jupp

Next up to hop on the wild ride of Sport.co.uk's Edinburgh Fringe grilling is comedian/actor Miles Jupp[ who, when not appearing on the BBC making grossly inappropriate comments in The Thick Of It or inventing things as Archie in Balamory, can often be found saying very funny things on a stage.

Miles Jupp: the telly bit of the interview

While he's currently focusing on taking his stand-up show about cricket to the Edinburgh fringe, we grabbed the chance to pick Miles Jupp's mind on Rev, Newsjack, and putting lines into Malcolm Tucker's mouth...

If I said that Rev was better than The Vicar of Dibley it would raise to a disgraceful new level of felony the crime of damning with faint praise, like saying Le Gavroche was "better" than a place with the word carvery in its title. The comparison is going to be made, however, because both are - I'm taking much of this on trust rather than memory, having watched the few bits of the Dibley thing I saw with my mouth hanging open like a guppy, knocked punchy by its violent mediocrity, and I think some of my brain escaped - about, yes, vicars, dropped into new surroundings.

Where Dibley relied for laughs on, oh, I don't know, I assume someone fell into a jelly-cake at the fete every week, or there was a misunderstanding about a local spy or werewolf or some such with hilarious consequences, Rev doesn't. It relies on characters, and writing, and the laughs come along as do zephyrs on these hot muggy parkland days: welcome, but not absolutely necessary.

Tom Hollander stars as the Rev Adam Smallbone, who has come from rural-land right into a mouldering parish in east London. The rain, the lorries, the endless bollards: oh, London looks truly horrid. Adam's parish is that of St Saviour's-in-the-Marshes - even the name's smart (wouldn't the one marsh have been enough?) - and the church is not, as a less adroit production might have had it, one of those squat blue prefabs tagged onto a council scheme and built identically to the knifers' pub round the other corner. Instead, it's a broken piece of once-sepulchred glory, standing proud and apart in its dirty-white marbled "formerness", ignored by the cranes, the drizzle, the people: a fine pathetic fallacy for the church today.

Adam drinks too much, and soon meets the rag-tag regulars, from the devout to the desperate to the borderline criminal, and discusses them in cheerily humanly bitchy fashion with his solicitor wife, played by the ever-splendid Olivia Colman, who makes him take off his dog-collar before he even dares to come into the bedroom, which we'd never really thought about before, but you would, wouldn't you? Soon, too, he meets the new breed of churchgoer, the parents, the moneyed mean, flocking there after a rumour that the related faith school is about to get a fine Ofsted report.

Nominally, this opener was about a broken stained-glass window, but that's like saying The Great Gatsby was about a party. Even the broken window, incidentally, has character. We never need to see it, just its boarded-upness, but Miles Jupp as Nigel, the worryingly intense bearded polymath of a parish assistant, tells Adam of its Burne-Jones influences, of its strange "fauvist brutalism but with figurative depictions of the mentally ill", and you sort of know just the mad kind of mid-Victorian artsy window it was, and probably well broken. But that's just the window. It's really about, of course, the tensions within the church today: the need for everyday hypocrisies, the money worries, the secular appetites, the consequences for more mainstream British religions of rising Islamophobia, and, nicely, the continuing relevance of everyday kindnesses, even of the church itself. And, of course, the schools issue, turning the building into a pantheon to hypocrisy on the part of both church and parents. I worry, or rather hope, that Nigel will go quite loopso at some time in the series: somebody, surely, has to remember the sordidity of the moneylenders in the temple, and angrily kick over the tables. Hollander, curiously reminiscent in his boy-man features of Tom Hulce (Mozart in Amadeus, all those years ago), lets all the layers of frustration, disappointment, childish hope, sweep across his face like summer storms; his is a great expressive face to be left with pouches of sadness, and lines of glory.

What I'd love to see, later, in what I hope will be other series, is a walk-on part for Richard Dawkins. It's a very cleverly written (by James Wood) programme, this: I'd like to think he might just do it.