Recently I’ve been listening to a lot of
Radio 4 comedy. On Sundays they’ve been showcasing abridged Edinburgh hours –
my favourites being Pippa Evans Grows Up and
Geoff Norcott’s Right Leaning But Well
Meaning – and during the week new sketch and sitcom commissions. Although
the station has its old favourites, like Just
A Minute and I’m Sorry I Haven’t A
Clue, it does more to promote comedic talent than any other
broadcaster.
I try to be in the know when it comes to
comedy, but I’ll be honest and say I’ve missed the boat when it’s come to John
Finnemore. I don’t quite know how I’ve missed the boat: it’s been at port for
the past ten years, festooned with a flag that reads ‘LISTEN TO ME’ – and given I live
by the port with a flat that overlooks it, it's a wonder I haven't cottoned on earlier. ( I think that analogy for my ignorance started well, but fell away at the end.) Anyway, I’ve somehow managed to miss
the man’s output- something I wish to amend.
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| He wrote for these two. |
For the forlorn few that haven’t heard of
the man, he is something of a big deal in radio comedy. He has won the Writers
Guild Award for Best Radio Comedy in 2011 and 2017, and been nominated for more
comedy.co.uk awards than any other writer. At the start of his career, he
worked alongside David Mitchell and Robert Webb on That Mitchell and Webb Look; over time though he's gone from being a
pen for hire to firing out his shows – the first being Cabin Pressure.
Cabin
Pressure was something of a phenomenon in radio terms. Typically, radio
is a cult concern. Only breakfast shows pull in huge audiences, and even then
listeners are often only half-listening. For a comedy to create a loyal
following, tuning in week after week, to specifically listen is quite remarkable. The fact Benedict Cumberbatch was in the cast admittedly helped
too: as his star grew so did the focus on the show (one recording received thousands of requests when just 200 tickets were available). Although I missed
the plane on Finnemore’s sitcom, I’m determined to go back and source it out.
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| Finnemore on the left. The 'Batch on the right. |
From there, Finnemore went on to produce the
long-running sketch show John Finnemore’s
Souvenir Programme- but I’m not going to talk about it, since I haven’t
heard it. (I missed the train on that one too. Despite it being on the same
network for the past seven years and running at a regular time, and despite the
fact the train line runs through my room, I've still managed to miss it. Call yourself a comedy fan!) No, the
programme I’m going to talk about is John
Finnemore’s Double Acts.
As a regular Radio Times reader, I look out
for what good comedy is on. I noticed this week Finnemore was in the listings.
Having heard the man speak on the excellent Richard Herring Leicester Square Theatre Podcast, I thought
I would give it a go. I’m glad I did. The episode I listened to was sublime. In
fact – and I mean this without hyperbole – it was one of the finest things I’ve
heard in a long time.
I loved it for a multitude of reasons. The
first was its concept: it’s called Double
Acts because it only features two people - like that Dot and Ethel
euthanasia episode or
Parky in the 70’s. Because it only
contains two, the writing has to be perfect. In other dramas and comedies, a
slew of players brings dynamism to a production as characters constantly enter and exit scenes. With just two, an audience is stuck with them for
better or worse. The fact Finnemore brings together such interesting couples makes for a happy congregation.
The second reason I loved this particular
episode was because I’m a sucker for love. And this one was a romantic one.
It’s titled ‘Hot Seat’ because it’s about two people that trade desks at 7: 7am
and 7pm. The first character is a receptionist; the second a security guard.
Initially, the conversations they have are banal: small-talk pleasantries about
the weather; soon though these pleasantries become pleasant, as the two get to
know one another. The episode is structured quite beautifully: I guess a bit
like David Nicholls’ One Day, only
instead of being about a particular day each year, this is about a specific
time each day. Seeing the talk between the two evolve and devolve is both beautiful and painful.
Personally, I’m at a loss to think of something I’ve enjoyed as much in a thirty-minute form. It was like a Daniel Kitson story put to an editor’s pen – as a
huge Kitson fan I can think of no greater compliment.
Having fallen in love with this episode, I
downloaded all the other ones and listened to them on my journey to and from
London. I appreciate this setting is extraneous, hardly essential to the review, but it’s nice to have some colour, isn't it? (See reader: you’re picturing me now on that Underground, being buffeted this way and that, like an inverse ‘Bitter Sweet Symphony’ Richard Ashcroft, smiling though, oblivious to the uncouthness around me,
all because my headspace is far and away with Finnemore gold.) I
put that image there reader, and it’s all because I mentioned London. So before you criticise my choices reader, let me tell you there’s method behind this inaneness.
 |
| Ashcroft's languishing pop career is karma for 90's pavement rage. |
The other episodes retain the high
standards of ‘Hot Desk,’ showing Finnemore’s skill at crossing time and genre.
Two of the episodes are set in the past: ‘A Flock of Tigers’ set in 1934 and
‘The Goliath Window’ in 1820, with the others set in the very real present. ‘A
Flock …’ was one my favourites. It’s about two characters (Do I still need to
say two characters? I think you’ve understood the format of the show); it’s
about two characters (in case you haven’t) who meet on a train. The first
introduces himself as Willard, which tells you everything you need to know
about the man. He’s a repressed Englishman that exists in a world of surnames;
first names being an unpardonable act of informality. The second is Dolores, an
American from the South, here in England to deliver a lecture. Over the course
of the journey, Dolores makes Willard yield his first name – and a lot more
besides. Like an Alan Bennett monologue, we go from finding a character
unpleasant and shallow to discovering depth and pain. The fact this is achieved
with laughs along the way is a testament to Finnemore’s writing.
Another episode I really enjoyed was ‘Red
Handed.’ It’s set in the modern day and about a man called Joel, who arrives
home early from his job to find a burglar in the house. The burglar though
isn’t from the contemporary school of breaking and entering; instead he’s from
the black and white finishing school of duplicity. Quite simply, this thief could talk the
hind legs off a donkey. It isn’t long before we as an audience feels sorry for
this felon, despite the fact he’s holding Joel’s possessions in his
hands.
‘You don’t look like a burglar.’‘What were you expecting a stripy jumper, a bristly chin, one of those perculiar tiny masks that for some reason only cover the eye sockets.’‘I just thought burglars were well…
‘What?’‘Younger for a start.’‘That’s a little hurtful.’
I’ve already mentioned Daniel Kitson and
Alan Bennett in assessing Finnemore’s work, but someone else worth citing is
Simon Rich. Rich is someone who walks across time and genre to create stories
that pull the rug from under you. Finnemore does the same too; although I
would argue with more heart.
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| Simon Rich is well worth checking out. |
I may have been in the dark about Finnemore’s work
up until this point but I’m pleased to say I’m not now. It’s exciting when you discover something old as new. I hope this blog will encourage you to do the
same.
You can listen to the episodes I've mentioned here:
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