My Hero: Ben Miller On Tony Hancock

My Hero: Ben Miller On Tony Hancock was a gentle affair: a sweet tribute to a comedian more dependent on his writers. When he died in 1968, I didn't appreciate this. My school playground reckoned he was the funniest man who ever lived and used to chant his name, pointing to the relevant body parts: "Toe Knee ..." (You can guess the rest.)

Tony Hancock had no children, but for decades his descendants have been all around us. Basil Fawlty, Rigsby from Rising Damp, Brian Potter from Phoenix Nights, Mark Corrigan from Peep Show, Alan Partridge - all inherited his genes, or at any rate his character's genes (it isn't easy to be sure of the difference, given that by far his most successful role was as a miserable actor-comedian called Tony Hancock).

It would be absurd to suggest the listed characters are identical - every one of them is a brilliant creation in his own right - but all are irritable, stuffy, pompous, emotionally constipated and prematurely middle-aged; they tut and sneer and grumble and moan, each convinced that Fate has singled him out for mistreatment he doesn't deserve.

All are in some way thwarted, yearning impotently for stardom (Partridge), status (Fawlty, Potter), a beautiful woman (Rigsby, Corrigan). And each, most importantly, exudes an air of pathos. No matter how wretchedly they behave, the viewer can't hate them. They remain somehow heroes, awful heroes, and against our better judgement we're on their side. Just as we were with their father, Hancock.

On Tuesday the great progenitor was the subject of BBC One's occasional series My Hero. Ben Miller, of Armstrong & Miller, was the man paying tribute, rummaging through his life and shaking his head in admiration at old scripts of Hancock's Half Hour. These scripts were written not by Hancock but by Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, whom Miller interviewed.

Given Hancock enjoyed vast success while Galton & Simpson were writing for him, and next to none after he'd got rid of them, it might be tempting to wonder whether My Hero should have been about them instead. But if Hancock's Half Hour was the biggest thing on radio and TV, it wasn't just because of the dialogue. Hancock himself - and again I'm not sure whether I mean the character, the man or both - stood for something. He stood for England, the England of the 1950s. Weary, glamourless, frustrated, frayed, but battling grumpily on - that was England, and that was Hancock. Hancock's success came to an end not long after the Fifties had. He killed himself in 1968.

My Hero - Ben Miller on Tony Hancock; TV review

Ben Miller gave us a profile of Tony Hancock with an unexpected depth of insight.

In 50 years from now, will some young comic be picking through Whitehall's career to proclaim him their hero? Unlikely.

But that was the deal with My Hero: Ben Miller On Tony Hancock (BBC1), in which Alexander Armstrong's ex sidekick paid tribute to the man who inspired him to pursue a career in comedy.

Hancock's 'cuddly, ineffectual misery' tickled Miller, who was filmed here chortling away at one of Hancock's old scripts.

Miller offered an affectionate portrait of Hancock's ultimately sad story, charting the great man's career from early stage fright, through dry-retching before filming a sketch to later performances fuelled by booze and autocues. As an advert forgetting into comedy, it was a pretty powerful deterrent.

Hancock committed suicide aged just 44, blighted by the eternal curse of the failing funny man. As Miller said: 'There was part of him that doesn't find anything... enough.'

Review - My Hero: Ben Miller on Tony Hancock

It was the smaller corners of this tribute to a comic genius that made My Hero: Ben Miller on Tony Hancock worth watching.

Daily Mail review

This tribute was crammed with clips of Tony Hancock's brilliance, from his radio days in the Fifties, when he had matinee-idol looks, to his dishevelled and slurred performance at the Royal Festival Hall 15 years later.

Fair play to any comedian who, even by implication, places himself next to Tony Hancock. This fond tribute comes from the amiable Ben Miller, who wisely keeps himself firmly out of the story.

Miller doesn't seem the agonised type, whereas Hancock redefined the notion of the sad clown during his sadly truncated life. And, as Miller explores his hero's career, he finds plenty of betrayal, disappointment and dysfunction. 'A moody perfectionist with a great interest in money and no sense of loyalty,' was the BBC's verdict.

Still, while Hancock's output isn't characterised by any great consistency, his finest moments suggest a true original. As he retraces Hancock's footsteps through life and meets various of his comedy co-conspirators, Miller's excited engagement with Hancock's traces becomes palpable. Enjoyment of the resulting film will still largely depend on your feelings for Hancock himself but, if you're a fan, this will be a treat.

Radio Times review

Ben Miller perfectly describes his dolorous comedy hero, the incomparable Tony Hancock, as "carrying a sheep-like despondency and a cuddly intellectual misery". Miller first fell under Hancock's spell as a child, when his dad told him he had to watch The Blood Donor, arguably Hancock's finest half-hour. "I'd never seen anything so funny in my life."

In this sweet tribute Miller potters through Hancock's life, visiting the hotel in Bournemouth where he was brought up and chatting to his biographers. Best of all, he visits Hancock's writers, the brilliant Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, who had a sometimes fractious relationship with a difficult man. And Miller has some fun with papers from the BBC archives that describe the volatile Hancock as "a moody perfectionist with a great interest in money and no sense of loyalty to the Corporation". Ouch.

As a slip of a lad, Ben Miller fell under the lugubrious spell of Tony Hancock, the legendary comic actor whose hit radio series Hancock's Half Hour, followed up by a TV version called simply Hancock, propelled him into the ranks of Britain's all-time comedy greats.

So what was it about the perpetually grumpy Hancock that touched the funny bone of the young Miller? Here he explains how watching Hancock's classic sketch The Blood Donor changed his life.

Final episode of the series in which comedians wax geographical about their forebears. Here, Ben Miller revisits the places, people and performances of the man who would become the most famous resident in East Cheam history. Delving deeper than most Hancock retrospectives - Miller even pores over bitchy memos from Beeb bigwigs about Tone's petulant nature - this is a welcome opportunity to take in Hancock's rise to popularity rather than merely his sad demise.