Ray Galton

Variations On A Theme was the worst of the Galton and Simpson plays I have seen. And I think I have already described the second as the worst in the world.

In the first of the Galton and Simpson Playhouse comedy series (Yorkshire), Arthur Lowe was trapped in a broken-down Swiss cable car, and looked like some small but bellicose bird, resentfully sharing his perch with fancy foreign breeds.

Well, it was a Galton and Simpson comedy about three soccer supporters and three ballet devotees (and three weird sisters shrieking under the carriage seats). And you'd expect it to be better than it was. One for the lads.

Les Dawson starred in Holiday With Strings (Yorkshire), a Galton and Simpson fantasy made suddenly topical by the Court Line floppola. Les was off on a dreadful package holiday, flying with an airline so broke they were raffling the meals. The script was fairly average, but Dawson is easy on the eye: a roly-poly panic merchant who looks as if his whole life is booked with Clarkson's.

Galton and Simpson's Comedy Playhouse (BBC1) was black beyond belief. It had the Dr Who-ish premise of the world vacuum-cleaned empty of people. Except a mother and son in Hampton Wick.

At first I thought that a great blow for originality had been struck and the studio audience omitted. But they were there all right. It was just that they took a while to warm up and when they did they were appreciative. They liked the visual jokes best and so did I.

I was quite unprepared for the blazing loathing and passionate tension that still twangs between Steptoe and his son. As it can between any two people or peoples who are too close for comfort. It is the only comedy going that can follow the news (as it does) and not sound ridiculous.

The first episode was necessarily a tour of Clochemerle, introducing the inhabitants as they answered assorted calls of nature. The other, too, appeared to be wine and women. It is embarrassingly rich in talent. So much so that the cast list in the Radio Times doesn't bother to mention that the narrator is Peter Ustinov. Possibly the pissoir is by Picasso but they didn't bother to say so.

Steptoe and Son has swung TV humour into a brilliant new dimension. How distant it all seems from the days of Mr. Pastry and the lingering red-nosed humour of television's equivalents of Workers' Playtime. Instead of pumping out mere buffoonery or joke-a-minute patter, the little screen now thrives on adult comedy, tailored to the mood of the times.

Poignant moments lengthen all the time in Steptoe and his son stories. Writers Simpson and Galton take the most appalling risks - and somehow pull them off. Triumphantly.