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The
song and chance man
The
Independent (London)
September
11, 1992, Friday
BYLINE:
By TRISTAN DAVIES
It's
tempting to think of Tony Slattery loitering in White City or Charlotte
Street, propositioning television executives as they leave their offices,
getting into their cars and steaming up the windows with heated negotiations.
You name it, Slattery will do it. Chances are you have seen him plying
his trade on television as talk-show guest, game-show host, film-show anchorman,
sitcom actor or leading player in the improvised comedy boom. He's a light
entertainment producer's wet dream, a telly tart who can't say no.
Although
his name has been linked with Clive Anderson Talks Back, Whose
Line is it Anyway, Saturday Night at the Movies, The Music
Game, That's Love, S&M and Malcolm the Mountie
Always Gets His Can (Labatt Lager Productions), to name but a few,
Slattery rejects accusations of indiscriminate promiscuity. ''There are
far more punters, to continue the metaphor, I've turned down than given
a hand-job to.''
Given
that on Monday he could be seen in The Krypton Factor, acting in
a two-minute soaplet designed as a memory-test for contestants hoping to
be ''the superperson of 1992'', Slattery must have turned down some real
dogs in his time. Among them, according to most critics, should have been
Ps
& Qs, the quiz-show on etiquette that Slattery hosted for the fifth
time on BBC 2 last night. The reviewers howled as a team of stately home-owners
played find- the-Beluga-caviare and groaned as contestants were asked to
pronounce the Duke of Buccleuch correctly. Not even Slattery's infamous
suggestion at a Bafta awards ceremony that Jeremy Beadle should be ''clubbed
to death'' generated so many shocked and outraged column inches.
Was
he surprised by the reaction? ''I was slightly taken aback by the amount
of fuss it caused. I felt like saying surely there are more important things
in the world to write about.'' So he wasn't upset by the criticism?
''Oh
no, no, no,'' he says, embarking on a lengthy free-flow rant about the
disgusting habits of television critics before checking himself and saying:
''I certainly don't lose any sleep over it. Stephen Fry envisages the scene
at the gates of Heaven and St Peter says 'So what did you do in life?'
'Oh, I was a critic.' 'I beg your pardon? What does that mean?' 'Well people
did things and I criticised it.' 'Well sod off out of here'. I reacted
less with disappointment than with a snort of derision.''
Given
the kind of abuse meted out to Slattery for Ps & Qs, his decision
to accept the lead role in the musical comedy Radio Times at Birmingham
Rep seems a shrewd tactical withdrawal from television's critical minefield.
But musicals are not the sound investment they were in 1985 when Slattery
took the starring role in Me and My Girl, and, while Radio Times
is also a nostalgic wartime comedy built around the songs of Noel Gay,
the fate of more recent musicals suggests he may once again be popping
his head dangerously over the parapet. Sitting in the stalls during a break
in rehearsals, looking sleek and slick in blue-checked show- suit and two-tone
shoes, he reflects: ''There's a bit of me which says that when people say
something will be the kiss of death then I'll give it a go. I've never
planned my career.''
It
began by accident, in fact. ''I bumped into Stephen Fry in the street at
Cambridge,'' he recalls. '' 'Dear boy,' he said, 'you must come and audition
for the Footlights'.'' From that point on, a promising academic career
(he won an exhibition to Trinity to read modern and medieval languages)
nose-dived. He left Cambridge in 1982, after a stint as president of Footlights,
with no money but bags of confidence (he invited his bank manager to revues
to stop him calling in his overdraft).
Slattery
established himself on the make-or-break London comedy circuit, doing ''a
kind of variety act, with bizarre turns'' with the pianist Richard Vranch.
It was while performing in the then hazardous, now defunct, Tunnel Club
that he realised, as he dodged the bottles, he would never be a stand-up
comedian. ''At the Tunnel I had to follow Chris Lynam, whose act that night
seemed to consist entirely of cutting himself with a razor and letting
blood drip on to the stage. I just got tired of it.''
Whose
Line Is It Anyway?, the improvised comedy game-show hosted by Clive
Anderson, was to prove the perfect showcase for his talents. Having watched
it on television, he put together a video-taped CV of his best material,
forced his way into the show and found himself at the centre of a small
revolution in television comedy. ''Impro was a good antidote to the excess
and waste and crappiness and smugness of a lot of comedy and to the naffness
of sketch-shows, where eight thousand quid will be spent on some naff-awful
quickie for The Les Dennis Show. Whose Line is just four
people and a couple of stools; it's just a brilliantly simple idea for
a game. The audience love to see you thinking on your feet.''
Impro
revealed Slattery as a great team player, and the rapport he built up with
Mike McShane led to the spin-off series S&M in which, most famously,
they improvised a day in the life of a pair of testicles. As a writer,
too, Slattery favours collaboration. He has a regular writing partner in
Richard Turner, an old university friend; they hope to improve upon their
joint credits for the incidental material on Ps & Qs and The
Music Game with a film script based upon the exploits of Bulldog Drummond.
And some of his best sketch work has come from collaborations, most memorably
with Craig Ferguson, Robert Llewellyn and Alan Cumming in a sketch featuring
a Russian defector who has learned all his English from reading pornographic
magazines (''I bulge with happiness. My head is purple and shiny. I plan
to insert myself in your country and grow to my full throbbing size as
a novelist'').
Slattery
was invited to perform ''The Dissident'' at the Hysteria comedy
benefit for Aids by the show's organiser, Stephen Fry, whose name crops
up frequently in Slattery's professional biography. Having followed him
into the Cambridge Footlights, Slattery delivered Fry's book for Me and
My Girl and took over his role as the spoof investigative reporter in This
is David Harper (ne This is David Lander). Their style of delivery
is almost interchangeable: they share an inclination towards wilfully decorous
speech, sparkling with huge clusters of adjectives and dripping with unctuous
charm. It is said by some that Slattery is obsessed with Fry and, in Kenneth
Branagh's new film Peter's Friends, to be released next week, he
has been given the chance to measure up to him.
In
what has been described as the British answer to The Big Chill,
Fry hosts a university reunion that, in fact, reunites the leading lights
of the Cambridge Footlights class of '80, Slattery joining Hugh Laurie
and Emma Thompson. Slattery is at pains to emphasise that he auditioned
for the part and won it on merit, as it would not be the first time that
false conclusions had been reached about his connections. The critical
comment that has most upset him was Gary Bushell's description of him in
the Sun as a ''classic Channel 4 man - smug, self-satisfied and middle-class''.
He is defiantly working-class, an Irish Catholic (one of five children)
brought up on a north London estate. It is to his considerable satisfaction
that in Peter's Friends he plays the part of a social outsider.
Still
buzzing with the excitement of his screen debut (''Ken's a genius''), it
is without evident embarrassment or irony that Slattery mentions Peter's
Friends in the same breath as Ps & Qs. ''Whether it's a
gameshow, a sitcom or a movie, the enjoyment is in absorbing the different
briefs and trying to get it right. If you worried about what people thought
the whole time you'd never do anything. You've just got to steam ahead
and do it.''
With
that, he slides out of the stalls of the Birmingham Rep, and slips quietly
into wings, waiting to be called.
''Radio
Times'' is at Birmingham Rep until 3 October (021-236 4455), and at
the Queen's Theatre, London W1, from 15 October (071- 734 1166). |