Custard pies and celibacy. Slapstick and no tickle. We've all heard about the tears and private pain of the post-war British clowns who still had one foot in the music hall and entertained the country via the new medium of TV: how Tony Hancock made half the nation laugh and killed himself. How Benny Hill chased half-naked milk maids on screen but lived a sad single life. Terry Johnson’s hit 1994 play ‘Dead Funny’ reminds us of these icons and their hold on our imagination. More than that, he seems to be saying that we get the comedians we deserve or need. It’s a funny, energetic farce with proper emotional foundations. Huge images of Sid James, Hattie Jacques, Norman Wisdom and others hang above the stage. Partly the play is a celebration of them. But it’s more interested in their fans. Their audience. Us. The English.
'Dead Funny' takes place entirely in a suburban living room over two Wednesdays in 1992. Benny Hill has just died and three members of the Dead Funny Club gather to mourn in the house of one of their number: Richard (Rufus Jones) is married to Eleanor (Katherine Parkinson, the star of this show), but their marriage is a disaster.
Richard won't touch Eleanor anymore; she's depressed, alcoholic, thinks the worship of comedians is pathetic and is forcing him to go through the motions of VHS-based sex therapy. A hilarious and awkward scene ends up with Richard naked on the stage while Eleanor can barely bring herself to touch him. When Benny Hill’s death is announced (with Frankie Howerd’s following), another couple come to mourn: lively, clubbable but vulnerable young mother Lisa (Emily Berrington) and her boorish, eyes-closed husband Nick (Ralf Little). Joining them is camp, single Brian (Steve Pemberton). The men – joined by Lisa – indulge their dead heroes, repeating their lines, acting out their sketches. Eleanor hangs about the stage like a ghost, grimacing, drinking, throwing barbs. She’s suffering openly. Everyone else is hiding their problems beneath gags. Parkinson is excellent as Eleanor – bitter, truthful, hurting.
Both very funny and pointedly sad, 'Dead Funny' explores how laughs and jokes and jibes can be masks – veils that allow us to sidestep looking seriously at our own lives or even properly living them. That all might sound a bit serious, and there’s much to chew on here. But this is no dry, po-faced look at comedy. Johnson directs this West End revival of his own play and turns in a brilliantly timed, often hilarious and lively production that's also poignant.
Twenty-two years later, some elements have dated. Jokes framing Ben Elton and Rik Mayall as disrespectful youngsters now amuse. But mostly this still feels fresh and relevant. 'Carry On England', you could call it instead. Same old country. Same old jokes. Same old hang-ups.