I got sidetracked tonight while attempting to catch up with email (oh, the delights of dealing with spam after a week away) by a great Arena programme on Dead Ringers. Once you get past the arty, somewhat pretentious Arena programme style (Modern Times did it so much better), there's often an interesting documentary in there, waiting to get out.
I'd forgotten how much I loved Dead Ringers on radio, before it all went pear-shaped on the telly. Like a lot of other things (The Mary Whitehouse Experience springs to mind) it benefited from a medium where you could really concentrate on the writing, rather than the peripherals. Sadly, the documentary focused too much on the impressionists for me (a weird bunch, as I suppose you might be if you spend most of your time immersing yourself in someone else's life) and not enough on the writers, who were the ones who came up with the funny material in the first place.
In other news: the first three minutes of the new Eddie Izzard series, The Riches, look good...
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