Steve Punt

"Every time I see it I'm re-astonished by it," says comedian Steve Punt of the Rons' renowned Mastermind spoof. But as its writer David Renwick reveals, he came close to tearing it up: "I thought the premise was too contrived." It's these insights that have lifted this retrospectacle from papery clipathon to something more substantial. An influential 1937 photo of Ronnie Barker's dad provides another little frisson.

The final part focuses on the duo's song-and-dance finales and serials such as "The Worm That Turned" (set in a dystopian future of 2012!) and "The Phantom Raspberry Blower of Old London Town" (written by Spike Milligan with a pseudonymous Barker). It rather glosses over the eye-watering sexism of some of the Ronnies' sub-Benny Hill fare. But the mini-scoops make this a must-see for comedy completists.

I've always had a vague idea that Three Men in a Boat, with the participants' interminable discussions of the state of their innards, renditions of unfunny jokes and constant trips to the pub, just wasn't for me. Boys' stuff.

Then along comes a Sparklab production for BBC Radio 4's Classic Serial that leaves me helpless with laughter and admiration. So I recant my former unthinking critique - the kind of thing the book's author Jerome K Jerome was well used to as he declared himself "the best abused writer in England" for a good 20 years after its 1889 publication.

The tale of a trio of under-the-weather Edwardian gents who think a paddle up the Thames will be good for their constitutions is adapted by Chris Harrald and produced by Melanie Harris with a fine attention to detail and an ear for the nuances of a comic literary style.

The glorious prelude to getting afloat - the haphazard packing, the oversleeping, the ineffectual navigation of Waterloo Station - is a cumulative humour attack, as are the thought bubbles about previous comic mishaps, which are worked up into delightful setpieces.

Most striking is how contemporary are the characters' preoccupations. Okay, there are no smartphones, takeaways or hip hop, and J has to visit the British Library to indulge his hypochondriacal tendencies. But his conclusion that he suffers from every condition listed in an A-Z of diseases, barring housemaid's knee - which he finds rather hurtful - will be familiar to many who google their suspected symptoms.

None of the cast - Julian Rhind-Tutt, Hugh Dennis and his erstwhile double-act partner Steve Punt - aims to grab the comic glory or play to the gallery. In fact, they are all rather Pooterish, and, as in the Grossmiths' The Diary of a Nobody, whose protagonist begat that term, the emphasis is on a wryness of tone and a synthesis of apparently unintentional hilarity.

Ann Widdecombe has been leading the Christian counterattack for years now - whatever your views on her politics and social attitudes, she's rarely dull. But is she the right person to address the vexed subject of comedy and Christianity? Well, as it happens, she's often quite funny, if not necessarily intentionally. For example, the reaction shots of her watching everything from Goodness Gracious Me to Monty Python's Life of Brian will raise a few sniggers.

Ann's indignation is easy to understand but hard to agree with. Sure, Christianity is much-mocked and plenty of the satire is both gratuitous and lazy. But what Widdy fails to accept is that, as Steve Punt puts it, 'The comedy itself is a reply.' For years, Christianity set the British agenda. Much of the humour is simply an acknowledgement of how much has changed. Oh, and she fails to mention Father Ted, an unforgiveable ommission from the point of view of both entertainment and analysis.

Steve Punt and Hugh Dennis embark on a new series of live satire with the Olympics as the butt of the jokes. It could be the athletes, it might be the BBC's coverage or perhaps even G4S's security service that feels the sharp end of their javelin-sharp wit.

A mainstay of Friday nights (whenever The News Quiz of the Edinburgh Fringe isn't on), Steve Punt and Hugh Dennis's satirical comedy returns for its 37th series.

Along with other regulars Mitch Benn and Jon Holmes, this week's guests were Pippa Evans and John Finnemore. While all had their strengths, my favourite moment was Finnemore's routine about the Eurozone crisis using what was described as, "the longest, most torturous and yet simultaneously the most over-simplistic analogy in Now Show history."

One of the other things I found enjoyable was the show's coverage of the Diamond Jubilee, mainly due to the fact I got just about all of my jubilee coverage from satirical shows. It's less tedious and more spiritually up-lifting than watching the news. I'm not a monarchist - I couldn't care less about some posh lady in a rather fancy hat - so for me this was a nice way of getting all the news while cutting out all the rubbish filling-in that TV channels feel they need to do.

The Now Show proves once again that it's a highly competent satirical comedy that could well continue for another 37 series...

This comedy drama is an "accurate" retelling of the events surrounding the making of Monty Python's Life of Brian and the accusations against its blasphemy.

You know right from the start what you're letting yourself in for when Jesus comes onto the screen speaking Aramaic and then farts into a disciple's face. The main cast; Darren Boyd (as John Cleese), Charles Edwards (Michael Palin), Steve Punt (Eric Idle), Rufus Jones (Terry Jones), Tom Fisher (Graham Chapman) and Phil Nichol (Terry Gilliam) are great at portraying the original stars, or rather exaggerated versions of them. For example, Cleese is characterised as Basil Fawlty, Palin is the nicest man in the world and Idle is a "greedy bastard."

The programme was full of references to both Python and events relating to the modern day, and introduced by a rolling credit sequence akin to the way many episodes of Flying Circus had, which I personally found hilarious. There are other connections to the Python saga, too, like Palin's wife being played by Jones in drag (Rufus or Terry, take your pick).

Then there are the links to the actual film, such as the debate between bishops and devils which is akin to the People's Front of Judea talking about "what the Romans have ever done for us". Holy Flying Circus also refers to offensive comedy incidents in the present day, like Jerry Springer the Opera and just about anything to do with Frankie Boyle.

My favourite scene in the entire programme, however, was a cameo from Alexander McQueen as the BBC's Head of Rude Words. His wonderfully stiff performance as a typical Beeb executive reading out the rudest words he could think of was delightful. There was no racist, sexist or homophobic language - but there was a member of the Ku Klux Klan earlier on so you could argue that was covered as well.

I know many critics were dissatisfied by the fact it wasn't entirely factual. All I have to say to that is if you want something factual then watch a documentary.

Holy Flying Circus, a comedy drama based on the furore that surrounded the release of Monty Python's Life of Brian in 1979 was bold but disappointing. The decision to go for the full Monty, as it were - the programme erupted with animations, fantasy and sketches, amid multiple warring sitcoms featuring feckless church hall Christians, wacky TV executives and bantering Python lookalikes - was a recipe for silliness, but little else. The putative battle between freedom of expression and religious sensitivity rumbled lightly on, but you got the feeling that everyone was having too good a time to take it seriously. I'm not sure I was. The impersonations were quite uncanny - Darren Boyd as John Cleese (in Basil Fawlty mode) and Steve Punt as Eric Idle - but also quite unfunny. A homage to Monty Python is a hostage to unfavourable comparisons with the real thing (and following it up with Life of Brian on BBC4 wasn't the masterstroke it might have seemed), but more important, Pythonesque humour - its loud irony, its juxtaposition of opposites, its attack on the dullness of accountants, its gleeful anachronisms, its men dressed as women - has had its moment at the cutting edge. How else could Spamalot have happened? I had to put my fingers in my ears during some mirthless scenes with Michael Palin (the excellent Charles Edwards notwithstanding) in bed with his unattractive wife (supposedly Terry Jones in drag). As for the Christian protesters - should we still be depending on speech impediments for our laughs this far into the 21st century?

But in the spirit of saving the best till last, I should say there was a brilliant sword and lightsaber fight between Cleese and Palin, the pair of them flying about as puppets on sticks. If it's not on YouTube by the time you read this, I'll eat my parrot.

These days it would be blasphemy to suggest that Monty Python's Life of Brian isn't one of the funniest films ever made. But it was a very different story back in 1979 when the Pythons found themselves practically crucified and accused of making fun of Jesus Christ.

Here, Tony Roche's ridiculously funny film pulls off an ingenious balancing trick with its accurate and affectionate pastiche of Pythonesque humour, while looking back at the furore Life of Brian created.

But as well as getting in lots of jokes at the expense of the BBC (the scene starring Alex MacQueen as the BBC's Head Of Rude Words is priceless), it also sends up the comedians themselves.

For instance, Michael Palin (played by Charles Edwards) is described as the nicest man in the world, but what's even more pleasing for Python fans is that his wife really is just Terry Jones in a dress.

Rufus Jones who plays Terry is brilliant, but all the casting is a delight. Steve Punt finally gets to capitalise on his resemblance to Eric Idle, while Darren Boyd, despite cheap-looking hair, is absolutely bang on as John Cleese. Or is it Basil Fawlty?

It all leads up to the now infamous live TV debate on the BBC talk show Friday Night, Saturday Morning, on which Cleese and Palin defended Life of Brian against the Bishop of Southwark and satirist Malcolm Muggeridge. This part of the film needed no script - it's an edited version of the actual debate, which has been partially seen before in other documentaries.

It's being shown again in full for the first time in more than 30 years straight after this at 10.30pm.

On the radio, this event had all the appeal of a party next door, full of people laughing uproariously at each other for no reason perceptible to anyone not actually present. Tim Minchin, the host, lacked any facility to describe to his radio audience what was going on. Papier mâché horses' heads were mentioned, ditto lavatory seats and plungers, none of them visible, audible or worth imagining. Kit and The Widow came on, making fun of Andrew Lloyd Webber and Stephen Sondheim but not very well. A melancholy song about pollution followed, then soprano Susan Bullock joined them for what was described as curry-oke, a singalong version of Nessun Dorma which was said to be in Punjabi and sounded quite astonishingly patronising and racist.

The interval talk was a bit better, but not much. Comedians Natalie Haynes and Steve Punt talked about comedy in literature, acting out one little scene from Aristophanes and another from Shakespeare badly enough to contradict their claims that, this way, they made sense. The Prom second half began with one of those pastiche piano pieces that meander from parody to parody, Rachmaninov to Tchaikovsky to Gershwin to Nino Rota to Pop Goes the Weasel and Roll Out the Barrel. All praise to the BBC Concert Orchestra for playing throughout with gusto and good humour. Curses on everyone else who took part in this grim exercise in condescension.

I am glad to welcome back this reliably inventive humorous review of the week. And relieved. Hugh Dennis and Steve Punt (not to mention their supportings artists) are in such demand on TV these days that it's a wonder they have the time to do little old radio any more (let alone work for the tiny fees). But they do and let's be glad of it. We all deserve a laugh or two at the end of yet another disaster-laden, gloomy, wintry week. And here's the show where the skits and songs can be counted on to prove it's not just you and I who think the world's gone mad.