Sanjeev Bhaskar

How we made Goodness Gracious Me

Sanjeev Bhaskar: 'How could a show with more than 100 characters in it be peddling stereotypes?'

Radio Times review

If you've seen Richard E. Grant being interviewed before, you'll know it's only a matter of time before the subject of breaking wind crops up. The man is obsessed. True to form, he cheerfully expounds on matters flatulent in the latest edition of this affable comedy chat show.

Joining him on the couch in the Kumars' flat of chat are actresses Emilia Fox and Caroline Quentin. The apparently rib-tickling double-meaning of Fox's surname is ground into the ground, although host Sanjeev Bhaskar does crack a decent gag at the expense of her illustrious acting dynasty: "As kids, were you, like an Indian family, forced into the family business?"

The Kumars return to celebrity-obsessed Britain

The Kumars' Sanjeev Bhaskar and Meera Syal on the return of the family that welcomes celebrity into its living room.

Back after a seven-year absence, the Kumars return with some top-of-the-range acting talent dropping in on their downsized Hounslow home for a dysfunctional family grilling.

With Olivia Colman holding her own against an onslaught of inappropriate questions from Sanjeev (Sanjeev Bhaskar), Daniel Radcliffe getting his cheeks tweaked by Ummi (Meera Syal) and US comedian Chevy Chase quivering under the gaze of new landlady Hawney (Harvey Virdi) we're all set for the chuckles to pick up right where they left off.

Well, apart from the fact they're now on Sky, not the Beeb, so let's hope they haven't left too many of their old fans at home alone.

Radio Times review

Remember the Kumars? You should, because their BBC show The Kumars at No 42 (which ran from 2001 to 2006) was one of a kind, steering a path between Asian sitcom and cheeky chat show that occasionally teetered on the edge of shambles, but mostly paid rich dividends as celebrities squirmed in Sanjeev Bhaskar's hot seat and the ad libs zinged.

Since we last saw them, our fictional family have fallen on hard times, with Sanjeev, Dad (Vincent Ebrahim) and Ummi (Meera Syal) now living above Dad's gift shop in Hounslow. That hasn't affected the quality of their celebrity visitors, however, as Daniel Radcliffe, Olivia Colman and Chevy Chase pay a call.

Although Jimi Hendrix's Purple Haze loudly informs us that it's now 1966, nothing much has changed in the Welsh village of Trefelin over the past three years. The villagers have generally accepted Prem Sharma (Sanjeev Bhaskar) as their local GP, although his clever, sophisticated wife Kamini (Ayesha Dharker) is still pushing him to expand both his practice and his horizons.

Her hopes are dashed when Robert and Basil Thomas, the flashy sons of the former mine-owner, return, throwing money around and announcing their plan to build a new town where the houses will have... wait for it, central heating and constant hot water. Imagine!

This gentle character-led period drama (think Heartbeat in Wales, with medicine instead of policework) was rightly garlanded with awards for its first series. Its third series is just as polished and charming.

Sanjeev Bhaskar: Daytime viewers deserve decent TV too

Daytime television is generally regarded as cheap, schedule-filling fodder for housewives and the retired, but with the schedules facing cuts, actor Sanjeev Bhaskar has spoken up in its defence.

In this week's episode of The Reunion - the first in a new series - monstrous egos were nowhere to be found and tone was, for much of the time, joyful. Presenter Sue MacGregor, best known for calmly making mincemeat of politicians on The Today Programme for nearly 20 years, reunited the brains behind the BBC comedy Goodness Gracious Me, which first aired on Radio 4 in 1996 and later transferred to television. There were no histrionics here, just pride in a series that helped break the largely white, xenophobic mould of mainstream comedy.

Goodness Gracious Me - named in "tribute" to the Peter Sellers-Sophia Lore song inspired by their 1960 film The Millionairess - was the first series in the history of the BBC that was conceived, written and performed entirely by British-Asians. In examining the tensions between traditional Asian ways and modern British life, it yielded a host of celebrated sketches including "Going for an English", in which the cast get tanked up on lassis and order 12 bread rolls and a pint of ketchup, and "The Six Million Rupee Man", a daft re-working of The Six Million Dollar Man.

Here the show's major players, including Sanjeev Bhaskar, Meera Syal and producer Anil Gupta, discussed their early days as the toast of British comedy like people who couldn't believe their luck. "There was a general feeling amongst British Asians that they were finding their identity, and we were part of that," noted Bhaskar, who had, until the show's early success, been working in marketing.

But there was a discernible sadness too, in the fact that the door they had opened for the next generation of Asian performers seemed to slam shut after them. After three series, Good Gracious Me was cancelled and, soon after, the BBC and its rivals seem to forget the non-white audience. "We used to play the spot the-Asian-on-the-telly game when I was a kid and I find that I'm doing that again," sighed Syal.

If the irony of making this point on Radio 4 - the station that first championed them and yet remains dominated by white, middle-class presenters - had occurred to Syal, she was too polite to mention it.

Could the prolific John Lloyd be about to come up with yet another long-running programme idea? His one-off celebration The Meaning of Liff at 30, in the company of Sanjeev Bhaskar, Terry Jones and Helen Fielding, was such good fun you felt it was a panel game waiting to happen.

The simple premise of The Meaning of Liff, the bestseller Lloyd wrote with Douglas Adams in the 1980s, was to impose silly meanings on British place names - for instance, Pontybodkin became the stance adopted by a seaside comedian that tells you the punchline is imminent, and Plymouth was to relate an amusing story to someone without realising it was they who told it to you in the first place.

For this anniversary show, Lloyd invited listeners to submit their own reinventions, some of which were every bit as witty as the originals. Helen Fielding - or "Helly", as Lloyd insisted on calling her - was especially taken with Tildonk (a village in Belgium, so not strictly within the rules of the original Liff) to define the wedge-shaped object on a supermarket conveyer belt used to separate one person's shopping from another's. How brilliant was that?

There was also Badgers Mount, describing the sexual position you knew wouldn't work despite your partner's eagerness to try it, and Norwich - any snack where the filling drops out as you take a bite.

John Lloyd marks the 30th anniversary of the book he co-wrote with the late Douglas Adams. It's a strange dictionary, as you'd expect from the inventor of The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy and his radio producer. In The Meaning of Liff you'll find definitions in a new dimension, as place names become definitions for experiences we recognise but don't really have a word for. It started as a game for Adams and Lloyd but Stephen Fry and Matt Lucas now tell Lloyd why they love it. Fellow devotee Professor Steven Pinker talks about the psychological relief and sense of bonding that comes from realising you're not alone in having the thoughts and feelings that Liff captures. And the studio audience throw in their own suggestions, too, to be judged, accepted or rejected by Lloyd and his distinguished judges Helen Fielding (creator of Bridget Jones), ex-Python (and Chaucer scholar) Terry Jones and actor/writer Sanjeev Bhaskar.