Mel Brooks was once asked about the boundaries of comedy. How do you know what’s funny and what’s just in poor taste. His reply was a pithy comment on the nature of comedy: “What’s funny is funny.” I find that’s true; if a comedian or writer makes me laugh, then it doesn’t immediately matter if I agree with their premises or ideas. If your job is to make people laugh, that has to be your primary aim. Everything else comes later.
Jeremy Clarkson was once described by Clive James, who gave him his first job on television, as an ‘intelligent yob’. Clarkson I suspect would love that description. The persona he has developed on TV in ‘Top Gear’ or through his columns in The Sunday Time is a macho, sexist, revhead, anti-environmental and intolerant bloke. And for all I know he may be like that in real life. But he is also intelligent, witty and has a way with words. And he’s funny. I’ve just finished a light browse through his latest collection of columns How hard can it be? And it hits Clarkson’s usual targets: Greens, increasingly intrusive legislation, people who don’t like cars, anyone on a cycle (bi or motor), petty officials and many more. He is deliberately offensive at times, and that is part of the package. He pulls out statistics, admits immediately he’s made them up, then assumes the real statistics would prove his point anyway. It comes across as if he is talking off the top of his head, or out of somewhere lower, but it’s all carefully crafted. And importantly, it’s funny.
The tone can be a bit much after a while. Perhaps they should be read at the same pace as they were originally published, once a week. I would recommend his book I know you got soul, about machines such as Concorde, the Spitfire, the Great Britain and other machines that go beyond being a collection of metal and rivets and seem to acquire that elusive quality of soul. It’s an engaging read, still with the Clarkson persona, but also showing his genuine love of the subject.
Look, if you’re a fan of Clarkson, you know what to expect. If you’re not – try reading a few columns in the bookstore, or online. It doesn’t take long, and you might be surprised.
I’ve also read 50 literature ideas you really ought to know, which is one of a series (mathematical, physics, philosophy, big etc.) The format is simple, fifty short essays on some key ideas in each field, with quotations and insets, under subheadings of (in this case) Some Basics, Mechanics: how it works, Literature’s devices, New ideas, Word crimes and Literary future. This one is a good book for dipping into if you come across terms you are unfamiliar with – particularly useful in the world of literary criticism, which has become increasingly self-referential. Perhaps a tad overpriced in the bookstores, but then I only see them in hardback – an odd publishing decision. (The above link is to the Book Depository, much cheaper, and free delivery!)
And I bought a second-hand copy of one of Clive James’ collections of his TV columns from the Seventies, The Crystal Bucket. Although it is naturally dated, the writing is still good. His description of Lou Feringo in the Incredible Hulk, whose lateral muscles are so huge he has to hold his arms out as if his armpits have haemorrhoids, is a priceless word-picture. Interestingly too his contemporary take on David Frost’s Nixon interviews is somewhat at odds at how they have been more recently portrayed.
It occurred to me that these days, with younger reviewers and net reviewers etc, TV critics may know a lot about television, movie reviewers a lot about film, music critics about music, but that’s not enough. A good critic has a wide cultural background to draw on beyond their immediate subject, in order to give the work context and meaning. This knowledge may not be explicit in every review – the writer would become quickly pedantic and dull – but it is implicit, adding depth to even the lightest column. It is James’ wide knowledge in part which makes his writing so good. Newer writers, including myself, should take note.
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