Shooting Stars

Like any right-thinking person, tvBite loved Shooting Stars in its mid-1990s pomp. Does the world need a return? We're prepared to err on the generous side and welcome back The Dove From Above, George Dawes et al, but you do have your worries. Must be a strange life, that of the 50-year-old comedian: how do you stay funny once you are rich and successful? Is it harder to be an edgy outsider when you're guzzling champagne with lapdancers? Whatever. We will be watching, for old time's sake.

I'll admit it. There was a point when I didn't quite 'get' ­Shooting Stars. There were so many questions. Why was a man who looks like a pickled walnut dressed as a baby? And why was he playing the drums? Why were they asking: "True or false: Bill Cosby is the world's first black man?" And why was the answer false, but only because the correct answer was "Sidney Poitier"? Why did the hosts - Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer - occasionally hit each other with comedy homemade ­objects, and make noises ­resembling a llama giving birth, as if they were talking? Just what was Mark Lamarr?

Then I saw an episode where they made Ulrika Jonsson stand in the centre of the stage and swung a stuffed bear at her. On a rope. From the ceiling. Shooting Stars made no sense but once you mentally tuned in, it was brilliant - a panel show that took surrealist comedy mainstream for the first time since Monty Python. And now, 12 years after disappearing from terrestrial TV, it's ba-ba-back. With Ulrika-ka-ka... you get the point. So, is it as good as ever?

Well, yes, because beyond the bizarre rounds (tonight: who's disguised as Hitler?), surreal questions ("name someone with a face") and off-beat skits (what Care Home: The Musical would be like), you remember the real ­reason for Shooting Stars has always been satirical. The clue's in the double-edged ­title, for the hard of thinking.

Hence, Ulrika - the kind of person who'd make love to herself and sell the kiss-and-tell to a tabloid - remains as target practice as a team captain ("You're writing a book, aren't you?" says Bob Mortimer. "The first thing you need is a pen. And some ideas. Could come together.").

But far better than the celeb guests who "got" Shooting Stars, were the ones that really didn't. Step ­forward ­tonight's guest, DJ Ironic. He dresses all in black, wears shades in the studio, has a small fluffy toy on the desk he calls his mini-me, and is called DJ Ironic. I mean, could he be any more of a tosser? Oh wait, yes. Because he spells his name DJ Ironik. THAT'S how ironic he is: incorrect, phonetic spelling. He may as well add a question mark at the end and be done with it

But here is the thing: celebrity satire, especially with people like DJ Impossibly Massive Dickhead, is all too obvious. Slugging them with surrealism they aren't smart enough to get or quick enough to parry is the sucker-punch they never saw ­coming, and is very funny indeed.

Of course, there is a slight hitch to all this celeb-baiting fun. Namely, Vic Reeves's appearance on I'm a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, which could have made this the equivalent of Angus Deayton on Have I Got News for You trying to be all ­clever-clever about the excess of celebrity after a night with call-girls and Colombian bam-bam.

But somehow it doesn't - because Shooting Stars never took itself seriously in the first place. Looking silly was ­always the point.

After a successful Christmas Special, Reeves & Mortimer's 15-year-old comedy quiz Shooting Stars was recommissioned for a new series, which starts tonight. For such a well-loved show the BBC has rather tucked it away in a corner without much publicity (in fact I didn't realise it was back until I got George Dawes' "Lesbians" song stuck in my head and Googled the show) which doesn't bode well. Is it past its heyday? Probably, but it could still be worth a look.

On the Tube into work this morning, I saw a woman who must have been in her late eighties with bright, fuschia-pink hair, piled on the top of he head and held in place by matching fuschia-pink butterfly-shaped hair grips, a white dress with enormous red polka dots and what looked suspiciously like a ra-ra skirt, and shoes that wouldn't have looked out in place in The Wizard of Oz. By trying so hard, she just looked tired and out-of-date - a fitting metaphor for this completely unnecessary (and, criminally, unfunny) revival of something that was once the funniest show on television. Reeves & Mortimer return with Ulrika Jonsson and Jack Dee as team captains and Matt Lucas's George Dawes keeping scores.

After a one-off Christmas special, someone had the bright idea of bringing back Shooting Stars for a new series. It was an odd decision, as this surreal, not-a-panel-game feels threadbare and tired. Sadly, time has not been kind. Team captains Jack Dee and Ulrika Jonsson do their best, but they don't have much to work with. The guests, particularly The One Show's Christine Bleakley, are game and do their best but it's a slog. Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer still have their moments, of course; Reeves's impressions of an unintelligible club singer are still funny; and it's good to see Matt Lucas again as the excitable big baby George Dawes. At least he looks like he's having fun. But generally the humour is too scatological and the madness that characterised Shooting Stars in its heyday and which made the show feel fresh and unlike anything else, now feels forced.

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Matt Lucas introduces Angelos Epithemiou

Regular readers may remember that a few weeks ago we revealed some info about the new series of Shooting Stars, including news of a new permanent team member. Well, now you can find out exactly who he is and also about his van in this exclusive interview with Matt Lucas (aka George Dawes).