Rory Bremner - Something Else Entirely

Everyone loves a good impressionist. Whether in a guest slot on a variety bill, on a chat show or in their own series, there’s something we find particularly entertaining about a performer sounding and looking like a contemporary celebrity, sports star or politician, especially if they’re taking the piss out of them. Radio is the ideal medium, and I feel that Jon Culshaw’s Dead Ringers suffered from its transfer from Radio 4 to TV, partly because he and the gang aren’t notably visual or otherwise physical mimics.

There have been lots of examples on our screens over the years. Mike Yarwood was ‘Mr Saturday Night’ in the Seventies, Peter Goodwright one of the more competent all-rounders on ITV’s ‘Who Do You Do?’ and I can testify that Phil Cool was a brilliant live act whose Rolf Harris remains unsurpassed. In contrast, I find Bobby Davro’s celebrity status utterly unfathomable! Alastair McGowan is probably a better comedian than impressionist while Tracey Ullman is more of a supreme sketch comedienne, relying on prosthetics in her recent TV series (eg her Angela Merkel). 

John Sessions and Phil Cornwell were outstanding in the under-rated ‘90s schedule-filler Stella Street while Enn Reitel was also a master of his craft back in the ‘80s. Spitting Image gave free rein to a whole range of up-and-coming names, from Harry Enfield and Chris Barrie to Jan Ravens and Steve (Margaret Thatcher) Nallon, not to mention Steve Coogan, whose competitive ‘take offs’ with Rob Brydon in The Trip are often hilarious. But for me one man totally transformed the art of impressionism. No, not Monet or Renoir; I’m referring to Rory Bremner.

I’m not sure when I first saw him but it was probably on the very first early evening Wogan chat show back in February 1985. Barely out of Oxford and sporting an eye-catching barnet of blonde curls, he was a game-changer. I can’t find it on YouTube and can’t recall his victims – sorry, subjects – but it certainly made an impression (sorry) on me. First he was so young, actually just three months older than me, his voices were uncannily accurate, he exuded energy borne of student cabaret not the Northern club circuit and, crucially, he was funny with it. 

Shortly afterwards he was on Top of the Pops, in the guise of The Commentators, channelling the voices of cricket in a comic riposte to Paul Hardcastle’s hit ‘19’ and at first it was sport which provided the source of his most memorable targets. His Geoff Boycott, Richie Benaud, David Coleman and, best of all, Des Lynam always made me laugh, as did the Bremner versions of Michael Parkinson and Roger Moore. He had the natural advantage of an open face with few distinguishing features, making it easier for us to believe in his impersonations. 

In 1986 BBC2 signed him up for his own TV show Now, Something Else and it wasn’t long before it was his own name in the programme title: yes, The Rory Bremner Show. Around this time a group of us saw him live at the Cliffs Pavilion, Westcliff, and thoroughly enjoyed it. He was on top of his game. 

In November 1987 Rory lent his voices to ITV’s satirical puppet show Spitting Image, ranging from Prince Philip to Ronald Reagan, Jeffrey Archer to Roland Rat. Here he is playing Cabinet minister Norman Fowler to Harry Enfield’s Douglas Hurd. His stock was rising so high and fast that for producers seeking a guest to launch a new series, Bremner was the first name on the teamsheet. Besides Wogan, he appeared on the very first edition of comedy sport panel show They Think It’s All Over, one of my faves of the decade, in 1995, (then again five years later) and was on an early Have I Got News For You opposite Ken Livingstone in ‘92. He has brought his gift for impressions to several other panel games/quizzes. I actually saw him recording the Radio 4 perennial The News Quiz in 1990 and for a few series in the mid-Noughties he served as team captain on Mock The Week.

He was also an occasional guest on Channel 4’s improv comedy show Whose Line Is It Anyway? Unfortunately, in the company of seasoned experts Greg Proops, Ryan Stiles, John Sessions et al, he seemed somewhat out of his depth. I remember willing him to be funny, to mix it with Tony Slattery and come out on top. Just once. Please? It helped that the scenarios often involved sports broadcasts and his John Major glasses prop came in useful more than once but, in a series which rarely failed to generate side-splitting laughs, they weren’t his career’s finest moments. On the other hand, he is always an engaging booking for a chat show, as on Parkinson back in 2000.

It wasn’t all commentators and film stars. Rory was steering a course towards more satirical, political territory. Of course, today’s topical satire is tomorrow’s history lesson and, with the exceptions of Mandela, Clinton, Kinnock and their ilk, reliving his trademark opening monologues today involves racking my brains to remember who the hell Malcolm Rifkind was. They may have dated but, in the moment, such machine-gun impressions were top-notch. In the early Nineties, his show also breathed new life into the careers of those TV satire stalwarts, John Bird and John Fortune. Their apparently unscripted two-handers became as, if not more, popular than Bremner’s own segments. The scene was set for the three to command not only their own series but also equal billing. 

I tried to watch Bremner, Bird and Fortune as often as I could but the early evening weekend slot on Channel 4 wasn’t favourable. The showbiz themes were dispensed with completely; political satire was the only game in town. It became slightly heavier in tone but usually hit its targets with the accuracy of a heat-seeking missile. The landscape had changed, though. The old-school adversarial party politics of the Thatcher/Major era had been replaced by the very different age of spin. The Tories were a forgettable bunch but Bremner could ‘do’ Tony Blair and Gordon Brown to a ‘T’ and the other absurdities of life were superbly handled by the two Johns. The programme lasted ten years but sadly Fortune died on the final day of 2013.

The last decade has been peppered by Rory Bremner specials but they’re not the appointment to view they once were. General elections, Brexit and the Scottish independence referendum have provided enough material for such one-offs but, quite frankly, many have possessed enough comedy without the need for lampoonery. I’m not sure what Bremner can do with such grey non-entities as Raab, Starmer or Sunak but while there are characters such as Donald Trump, Boris Johnson and Jacob Rees-Mogg I guess there is plenty for him to sink his teeth into. 

The fluffy curls are but a distant memory but I think Rory Bremner remains an important – and I choose that adjective with care – part of the broadcasting landscape to this day. He’s more niche, less mainstream than the Yarwoods or McGowans but, at a time of political or social crisis, it’s comforting to know that a Rory Bremner special is waiting to twist a sharp satirical knife into the bilious bellies of those causing it.