Count Arthur Strong

'I think I would know how to liquid eyebrows a pizza!' Who else but the majestic Count Arthur Strong (BBC2) could turn such absurd mangling of the English language into comedy gold?

Or maybe it leaves you stone cold: it's pretty clear this comedy, an oddball blend of the banal and the surreal, is the definition of Marmite TV.

Not having heard the radio version, I came in as an Arthur virgin, without the baggage of preconceptions. And I'm thankful for that, because on its own terms, here was a sitcom that worked its way under the skin so that, as last night's final episode faded into the night, it packed an emotional punch far stronger than you might expect from a show which delighted in gags about false legs and big-boned spiritualists: as in 'my mother was an extra-large medium.'

There were some decidedly old-school set-ups, not least the fledgling romance between Michael, Arthur's biographer, and café waitress Sinem, but somehow that only added to the charm.

And Steve Delaney's turn in the title role, just the odd hint of vulnerability beneath a shell of eccentricity, was a joy to behold. Awards must surely follow, because this is a classic in the making - just catch last night's demented seance ('I smell bricks!') if you don't believe me.

It's the series finale, and Arthur is struggling to deal with the death of Katya ("She was my biggest fan, Michael ... She was my only fan!"), while Michael, book completed, prepares to return home to York. It's a bittersweet end, primarily because, Steve Delaney's Arthur has gone from feeling like a character parachuted in from a 70s sketch show to someone who's multi-dimensional and heartbreakingly self-aware, making this a sitcom that it's almost impossible not to emotionally invest in.

Katya's sudden death has rocked Arthur (Steve Delaney) and he's no longer in his familiar seat at Bulent's cafe. So his friends rally round to see if they can lift his spirits. What follows is the kind of surreal silliness mixed with a touch of tragi-comedy that has won this comedy a devoted following. There are groan-worthy jokes, word-mangling madness and a clutch of characters who have moved over the weeks from bit parts to credible personalities. At the centre of it all is Delaney's irascible yet oddly lovable Arthur and this first series closes with a surprising lump in its throat. Hurry back, Arthur.

The television version of Steve Delaney's Radio 4 series has jaggedly divided both audiences and critics. But I will heretically declare that I think it's been a hugely successful transfer and I love the Count (Delaney) on television even more than I do on radio. So there.

There's been a subtle poignancy to the TV series and the feel of a proper ensemble comedy as Delaney and co-writer/director Graham Linehan surrounded Arthur with a clutch of endearing misfit friends. And one sensible friend, Michael, biographer and son of Arthur's one-time music hall collaborator, played by the peerless Rory Kinnear. As the series ends Arthur is still mourning the loss of his friend Katya and decides to hold a seance. It's sad and funny.

Why I'm going to miss Count Arthur Strong

"Beneath the laughter there needs to be a web of relationships and characters I can grow fond of. And I'm so fond of Arthur".

Inept human being Count Arthur Strong (Steve Delaney) has become a dog walker and decides to enlist one of the pooches in a bid for stardom when he auditions for a Britain's Got Talent-type show. It's all as hopeless as you would expect - and by you, I mean the two or three other people who are watching Count Arthur Strong. I knew it would be a niche delight, but there you are, it's still a delight, albeit one withering in obscurity.

The brilliant Rory Kinnear is brilliant again as hapless biographer Michael, this time under anaesthetic after a dog bite, minutes after he's tried to describe his assailant to the world's worst police sketch artist. A surreal treasure.

Populated by doddering characters and stylistically channelling the old-school British sitcom, Steve Delaney and Graham Linehan's comedy isn't the most exciting prospect. That's a shame, because it's very funny. This penultimate episode, in which Arthur inadvertently infiltrates the staff of a hospital where Michael (Rory Kinnear) is being treated, climaxes in an incredibly artful punchline pile-up. In great sitcom tradition, there's emotional resonance here that goes beyond farce, with nods to loss and loneliness scattered throughout.

'Round, like a spiral in a spiral, like a wheel within a wheel, never ending or beginning, on an ever-spinning reel...' Pat yourself on your back if you're singing the lyrics to Windmills Of Your Mind, the theme tune to The Thomas Crown Affair and, up until last night, only allowed to be sung by Noel Harrison, son of Rex.

Having that brilliant song mauled into submission by a demented loon in a trilby hat would, in the ordinary run of things, have had me crawling the walls.

But in the hands of Count Arthur Strong (BBC2) it turned into two minutes of inspired comedy joy, the images unwinding across the screen as Steve Delaney's Arthur took another step up the ladder of classic comedy TV characters. And we're only four episodes in.

Like a clock whose hands are sweeping past the minutes of its face, Count Arthur Strong is the business. Or a door that keeps revolving in a half-forgotten dream, whichever you prefer.

Improbably lovable loon Count Arthur Strong, this summer's surprise comedy hero - take a namecheck, the hitherto unsung [p[Steve Delaney] - is on a roll this week 'entertaining' the human flotsam and jetsam trapped in Bulent's café while riots break out on the streets. Arthur ritually discombobulating assorted musical standards in his own inimitable style really should be a crime but it's rib-ticklingly funny.

There's a tour de force of furious farce from Count Arthur Strong (aka comedian Steve Delaney) tonight when he "entertains" his friends with a ramshackle, thoroughly unhinged version of Windmills of Your Mind. It's as gloriously terrible as you'd expect, yet even this cannot prepare you for the demented montage of songs from popular musicals that follows. The Count as the Phantom of the Opera, with a piece of bacon on his cheek? As Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music? The hopeless ex-music-hall "star" decides to do what he does best (ahem) when the gang are trapped in the café while riots rage outside. It's a cavalcade of deep silliness and I'm still laughing.