The Unforgettable...

He [Jeremy Beadle] spent decades branded as serviceably absurd, but entertaining nevertheless. He was the original prankster, the master of the practical joke that brought 15 minutes of fame to nobodies. With his eternal quiff, stupid beard, rubber features and instinctive jocularity, his place in the national consciousness, harnessed over four decades, was owed to his being a peerless figure of fun. Angela Carter said comedy is tragedy that happens to other people, and by making himself the centre of attention - by inviting people to laugh at him and not simply with him - Beadle took the jokes, and the tragedy, upon himself.

What was marvellous about The Unforgettable... Jeremy Beadle was that it sensitively conveyed the rather sad point that this man was, of his own volition, completely misunderstood. There is a form of television comedy, whose vanguard he was in, where the comic plays the buffoon and invites his audience to come down to a level where all is absurd and frivolous. Beadle, especially the Beadle of You've Been Framed in later years, seemed just this, a kind of merry mountebank with limited intelligence. In fact, he was just the opposite.

Did you know that he raised over £100m for charity - more, as his friend Chris Tarrant put it, than probably every other television entertainer of his generation? Or that he was born in the post-war East End to a single mother, his father having abandoned her upon mention of pregnancy? Or that he was born with Poland Syndrome, which caused webbing on his right hand, and that he dropped out of school despite being ferociously intelligent? Or even that in his long-haired twenties he was better looking than most rock stars?

He was part of the brilliant brigade that ran Time Out in its early days and, when launching its edition in Manchester, organised rock concerts on the hoof, whereupon he'd ring up friends and nonchalantly declare that the Grateful Dead were headlining. Stints on LBC radio followed before his television breakthrough. By the time he peaked with Beadle's About, he owed his career chiefly to his extraordinary ability to play dumb - which, in retrospect, required a hell of a brain. And yet, as this show proved, it was convincing, so that the last laugh was his, and the real joke on us.

I was never a fan of the practical jokes of The Unforgettable Jeremy Beadle - in fact, I think I had forgotten him until this tribute - but it certainly did its job in changing my opinion of the man himself. Frankly, it's almost impossible for me to dislike someone who loved books so much that he had an extension built onto his house to hold his library of 30,000 - that's living the dream! He was even buried under a gravestone representing books, with the epitaph "Ask my friends" and that's what this show did, eliciting what seemed to be genuinely heartfelt memories of a decent chap.

As well as being an apparently good father, stepfather, husband and friend, he relentlessly raised money for charity through marathon quiz sessions and auctions - around £100 million. "Oh, that's just showing off," said his former Game For A Laugh co-star Matthew Kelly, in awe.

But he still became something of a hate figure, once coming second to Saddam Hussein in an unpopularity poll, and a by-word for a type of trashy telly which, nevertheless, flourished even after he was dumped from his prime time slots. His family said he was hurt by the reversal of fortunes and, as fellow quasi-hate figure Chris Tarrant pointed out, it was strange how he went from being over-exposed to being a TV pariah for years, only able to appear in panto villain roles like Ant & Dec's Banged up with Beadle slot.

Ironically, he'd have probably fared better in today's celeb-crazy television environment; he could have made a good guest on Who Do You Think You Are, fronted a documentary on disability or just gone round the country on a spacehopper or something. And yet, there's a lesson there: Jeremy Beadle's fall wasn't due to his own failings or a sudden turn against cheesy pranks (still going strong on John Barrowman's excruciating Tonight's The Night). People just got sick of the sight of him - and today's actors, presenters and rent-a-guests should probably take note.

For much of his career The Unforgettable... Bob Monkhouse (last Sunday, ITV1) was only memorable in an off-puttingly creepy sort of way. It wasn't until near the end of his life that he found his bite and his subject - mortality. Then he became both brave and brilliant. Prior to that the bouquets had a pretty limp air: 'He was one of the great game show hosts.'

This was a franker tribute than most with his daughter, Abigail, recalling that the only way she could get to see her father was by watching him perform. A friend who visited Monkhouse in Barbados described how he pulled off his wig, patted his paunch and said, 'This is the real me.'

As a rather insecure and self-deprecating man, it would, I imagine, have amused him that this programme was sponsored by a bed manufacturer which promised its customers long nights of untroubled slumbers.

When TV prankster Jeremy Beadle died in 2008, at the age of just 59, the obituary in this newspaper observed that he had the "paradoxical double distinction of being voted the second most hated man in Britain (after Saddam Hussein) and of being the most avidly watched presenter on television." This biographical compilation is affectionate in tone, but the Beadle Quandary endures: was he able to redeem his cruelty - he had a vicious tongue in an argument - with the kindness that saw him raise £13million for charity?

If, like me, you enjoy watching tributes to dead British comedians, you'll be familiar with their essential ingredients. The crème de la crème is a contribution from veteran comedy writer Barry Cryer, who knew and worked will all the greats and whose ubiquity demands the question: who will programme-makers turn to when Cryer passes on? Anecdotes about Les Dawson don't grow on trees, you know.

Other hardy perennials include promiscuous use of the word "consummate", usually in conjunction with "entertainer", "timing" or, in less guarded eulogies, "alcoholic" and explorations of private sadness behind the public mask. All were present and correct in The Unforgettable Bob Monkhouse.

Featuring candid contributions from people who knew him, rather than the usual roster of quacking heads, this documentary offered a fair and balanced account of a man who polarised public opinion throughout his long career. To some he was merely a smarmy game-show host, the epitome of shiny showbiz insincerity, whereas others recognised him for the imperial comedy craftsman he was.

Though not without his faults Monkhouse emerged from this profile as a shy, sensitive, bright and introspective man who carefully delineated between his public and private personas.

More self-aware than many gave him credit for, Monkhouse was hurt by accusations of insincerity, arguing that his gushing over-enthusiasm, especially in the presence of fellow comedians, was caused by genuine admiration for their talent. Monkhouse was, to his credit, an unabashed comedy nerd, as evinced by his support of younger comedians, his sprawling personal archive of films and TV shows (curiously not mentioned in the programme) and his famous hand-written joke books, containing thousands of gags on almost every conceivable subject, which made headlines when they were stolen in 1995.

That Monkhouse was devastated by their theft and tearfully overjoyed when they were returned, tells you everything you need to know about his dedication to the craft. He took comedy seriously, as only someone who really understands it can. Cryer made the point that Monkhouse wasn't an instinctive comedian, but rather he trained himself to become one through voracious study of the art. Perhaps that's why many thought him lacking in natural charm.

Very much a brisk skip through his life and work, this was nevertheless a fitting tribute. Neither sycophantic nor hagiographic, it doubtless would've pleased the man himself.

The Unforgettable Bob Monkhouse

The Unforgettable Bob Monkhouse was timely reminder of a much-missed star.

The Unforgettable Bob Monkhouse review

This excellent documentary shed light on his whole career, and gave a few more clues to understanding his complex personality.

The Unforgettable Bob Monkhouse

We saw interview footage of him stressing that his public performing persona was a deliberate construct that bore no relation to the inner Monkhouse.

ITV has been raiding the archives this summer more often than Katie Price is raiding the Fake Bake.

You can't switch on the channel without a celebration of the good old days. Not that we mind - a genial trip down memory lane is often preferable to a cop show repeat or yet another telly cooking competition.

And there's no one we'd rather remember from times gone by than Bob Monkhouse, one of our best-loved showmen, who kept us entertained for half a century right up until his death in 2003. It means that there's no shortage of clips from his old shows like The Golden Shot and Opportunity Knocks, and from his stand-up routines. Here, his showbiz friends and family members look back at Bob's great contribution to the British showbiz scene.

The Unforgettable Bob Monkhouse Review

Bob Monkhouse, as we're repeatedly told at the beginning of this unlikely homage, is "one of the most prolific entertainers", "a master of all trades", "the quintessential quiz show presenter"...and so it goes on. A more accurate assessment is provided by Barry Cryer who compares the permatanned presenter to Marmite.