The Return of Tony Hancock

Many years ago my parents had a Grundig reel-to-reel tape recorder and of a Sunday lunchtime it would be put to use by me, recording BBC radio comedies on the Light Programme, shows like Round the Horne, The Clitheroe Kid, and my particular favourite at the time, The Navy Lark. At some point we upgraded to a cassette recorder (which rather shows how long ago it was) and because of my interest in radio comedy, my parents bought me a tape of Hancock's Half Hour comprising two episodes, The Reunion Party and The Missing Page. Immediately I was hooked on Hancock.

The Navy Lark

Hancock was undoubtedly a genius; episodes of the show like The Blood Donor and The Radio Ham have passed into legend.My personal favourites are The Wild Man of the Woods and Sunday Afternoon At Home, but frankly it is difficult to favour one episode over another. His genius was in his delivery, his pauses laden with comic possibilities; there can be few performers who have been able to generate such laughter from silence on radio, a medium in which silence is normally anathema.  But his genius was in his interpretation of the lines written for him by Ray Galton and Alan Simpson and his interplay with cast members like Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Hattie Jacques and Bill Kerr. Hancock split with writers Galton and Simpson, ditched co-star Sid James (Hancock apparently resented James's popularity and the public perception of them as a double act). Although he remained popular, his post Galton and Simpson period was less successful and he committed suicide in June 1968; he was 44.

The Boy Himself

Hancock's legacy endures. In 2002 BBC radio listeners voted him their favourite British comedian and recordings of the majority of his shows remain available, however thanks to the slightly haphazard BBC system of archiving, some recordings have been lost or the tapes have been recorded over. Twenty or so episodes have been lost forever but fortunately the scripts have not and five years ago these came into the possession of the actor and rare book dealer Neil Pearson (probably best known for Drop The Dead Donkey). Researching their provenance, he realised that these represented episodes of Hancock's shows for which the recordings no longer existed. Working with the writers Galton and Simpson, Pearson persuaded the BBC to commission new recordings of five of the lost episodes and these will be broadcast in November this year to mark the sixtieth anniversary of the original shows under the banner The Missing Hancocks.

Neil Pearson

The cast includes Simon Greenall, Kevin Eldon and Robin Sebastian as Sid James, Bill Kerr and Kenneth Williams respectively; the part of The Boy Himself is taken by Kevin McNally. Recordings began this week and I was fortunate enough to be in the audience at the Radio Theatre in Broadcasting House for the first episode, The Hancock Festival.

What is striking is that, had we forgotten, the humour is timeless; sixty years old and as fresh and as funny as the day it was written. This wasn't just nostalgia making us laugh, this was genuinely some of the funniest stuff you will hear this year when you tune in come November. Of course there are a couple of gags particular to the period in which it was written; Neil Pearson (who co-produces the series) primed the audience about these before the recording, but otherwise the script was as relevant as if it had been written yesterday.

The cast are good, very good, but Kevin McNally (Pirates of the Caribbean) as Hancock is superb; the inflection, the voice, the phrasing and the pauses are faultless. Even on the odd occasion when he fluffs a line he stays in character, "I'll do that again, shall I?" he says exactly as Hancock would have. For those of us of a certain age (and that must have been 90% of the audience) it was as though we had been transported back in time to the originals; close your eyes (or indeed listen to it on the radio) and it is difficult to tell McNally from Hancock.

Kevin McNally proves to be a perfect choice for the role of Hancock.

It was a special treat that Ray Galton and Alan Simpson were in the audience, not more than three rows behind where I was sitting. The ovation that they received when they were introduced before the recording, and at the end, was huge, genuine and richly deserved. At the end of the show I bumped into Neil Pearson in the foyer, giving me a rare opportunity to thank someone responsible for such an show in person, an event that I had thoroughly enjoyed. Looking forward to the show as we sat in the cafe at Broadcasting House, I hoped that my anticipation of it would not be misplaced, that my enjoyment would not be spoilt by my having unrealistic expectations. In part this was due to the fact that this was a new episode (well, new to me); would it be less enjoyable than a show I had heard before, like going to see your favourite band and wanting them to do the old numbers, the familiar rather than the new and less well known material? There was no danger of that; if anything the show exceeded my hopes. Frankly it was nothing short of brilliant.

Galton and Simpson; still going strong.

In the 1950's, when television was not as all pervasive as it is today, radio was king and Hancock was radio royalty. These days it would be easy to believe that radio has less relevance, but the BBC continues with its output of quality programmes and innovations like the BBC iPlayer Radio app make it even more accessible. Lately I've seen a number of radio recordings and radio comedy is obviously alive and well, thriving in fact, but as good as the new stuff may be, classics like Hancock's Half Hour remain at the pinnacle of the Beeb's output.

Hancock, the embodiment of the tragic clown, descended into depression and alcoholism before taking his own life; "Things just seemed to go too wrong too many times" he wrote in his suicide note. We are fortunate that he left behind a rich legacy and a body of work that will undoubtedly be enhanced by these new recordings; I look forward to November.