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Views & Reviews In and Out of Hospital

The late show

BMJ 2012; 344 doi: https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.e2445 (Published 04 April 2012) Cite this as: BMJ 2012;344:e2445
  1. James Owen Drife, emeritus professor of obstetrics and gynaecology, Leeds
  1. J.O.Drife{at}leeds.ac.uk

Comedians are living longer these days. In the past century few reached their 70s, and one or two famously died onstage aged around 60. Comedy, like medicine, benefits from the authority that comes with age, but it is a hard life and these days its practitioners tend to ease up as they get older. Even Dame Edna Everage, now 78, is hanging up her frock.

All the more remarkable, then, is that Britain’s most successful comic, Ken Dodd, is still touring at the age of 84. He recently filled a 1500 seat theatre in Leeds, and tickets were scarce. Venues used to print their brochures with “Sold Out” over his picture, and a woman behind me said that she had been trying for years to see him perform.

We knew what we were in for. He came on at 7 pm and was scheduled to finish at midnight. Neither of his supporting acts was very long. During the interval, at 9.30 pm, the audience swapped reminiscences (“Last time he went on till . . .”) and then filed back with a determined air. We would see this through.

He was wonderful. His troublesome cough soon disappeared. There were fresh stories, silly images, sharp observations, songs, and cheerful self deprecation. The show, with its costume changes and two man band, was carefully structured. What a joy to hear five hours of jokes with no swearing. (His comment on modern stand ups: “I blame the parents. They learn that language at home, you know.”)

He still does his ventriloquist act. Near the end he and Dicky Mint shared a quiet conversation under a single spotlight. People stood up to take photos, suddenly aware that this was living history.

Indeed it was. In the 1950s he had played the Leeds Empire (“None of you remember it.” . . . “Oh yes we do!”) where a woman at the top of the bill advised him, “Always leave them with a tearful earful.” Tonight it came naturally. Another famous contemporary had died, and Doddy, pointing out that we really were watching the last of the red nosed comics, sang “Absent Friends.”

As we emerged, a coach was waiting to take an elderly group home, 60 miles away; tired but happy, no doubt. A man with no agenda except generating laughter is worth a long bus trip, even after midnight. And it’s nice to see a professional your own age; a pleasure that you can’t get on the National Health.

Notes

Cite this as: BMJ 2012;344:e2445

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