When describing what makes something funny, Tony Hancock’s response to his interviewer indicated that he thought displays of pretentiousness and arrogance, combined with the insecurity that often inspires those traits, were central to his craft.
Even if Hancock had experienced success prior to being given his own program in 1954, the creation of the ludicrously named Anthony Aloysius St John Hancock was to make him one of the most popular comedians in the United Kingdom for several years.
In a tribute to Hancock on what would’ve been his 75th birthday, BBC News Online maintained that:
Tony Hancock was arguably the first comic everyman. The millions who tuned into his shows saw in his comedy alter-ego a man who lived in a world they knew and shared their highs and lows.
The radio version of Hancock’s Half Hour (HHH) ran for five years and chronicled the miseries and misadventures of a rarely-employed comedian and his rather odd “friends”.
HHH’s cast included Sid James as an affable criminal who regularly conned the gullible Hancock, and Kenneth Williams, who later appeared in the Carry On films with the ubiquitous James.
Williams was most admired when he played characters who were camper than a row of tents and as thick as a lamppost.
If he’d lived to see Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant’s Extras, Hancock would have sympathised with Andy Millman’s frustration with the BBC and their treatment of his art.
In Cliff Goodwin’s When the Wind Changed: The Life and Death of Tony Hancock, the author relates the comic’s irritation with what he regarded as the “gimmicks” used by Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, the writers responsible for his most loved shows.
The fans took pleasure in Williams’s use of the catchphrases “Good evening” and “Stop messing about”.
Although Hancock had a slogan or two himself, (e.g. “Stone me, what a life”), he was aiming for something else, to the detriment of his mental health.
It’s well documented that Hancock suffered from “nervous exhaustion”, which is a euphemistic way of saying he was an alcoholic depressive who worried about his work so much he didn’t always turn up to it.
When asked to choose the episodes of the radio version of HHH they liked best for a CD released in 2005, Galton and Simpson picked, along with a couple of others, Sunday Afternoon at Home and The Poetry Society.
According to the writers Hancock sacked in 1961 to his eventual regret, the latter reflected, “A typical English attitude: if you don’t understand it, hold it up to ridicule”, while the former revealed the comic actor’s satirical bent.
Forty-seven years after it was first broadcast, the show provides an insight into how dreary life was in the days when nothing was allowed to open on the Sabbath.
Even though Hancock’s big screen attempts failed to take off, his fame on radio was emulated on television with Hancock’s Half Hour (1956-1960), The Tony Hancock Show (1956-57) and Hancock1 (1961).
Despite the fact that devotees who wanted him to continue his professional relationship with James would disagree, Hancock is viewed as the Birmingham-born star’s greatest achievement.
“The Blood Donor” from that series is said to be Hancock’s best episode ever.
Nevertheless, it’s “The Bedsitter”, which Hancock performs on his own, that remains a hilarious mix of those elements Hancock believed were needed to make comedy.
David Brent from The Office would relate to the pseudo-intellectual, angry and lonely individual who can’t understand Lady Don’t Fall Backwards let alone a book by Bertrand Russell.
The loser in a minuscule Earl’s Court flat engages in meaningless philosophising to (barely) conceal his disappointment when a date with a woman who rang his flat looking for somebody else is called off:
That was a lucky escape; I nearly got sucked into a social whirlpool there; diverted from my lofty ideals into a life of debauchery.
With such monumental accomplishments behind him and an addiction to alcohol that became so chronic that the last time Sid James saw him he was a scruffy uncomprehending wreck, it was probably too much to expect Hancock to retain his golden touch.
Appearances in programs like Hancock’s never garnered the critical or popular acclaim of previous efforts, and by 1968 Hancock flew to Australia to make a series for the then ATN7.
The project soon experienced problems and on 24 June Hancock ended his life with a combination of pills and booze, thus ensuring his presence on those romanticised lists of self-destructive artists.
1 After failing to please Hancock with their endeavours after the end of this show, Galton and Simpson came up trumps again with Steptoe and Son, which starred Wilfrid Brambell as a bigoted old crank.