From the start it should be enthused/warned that this is a book by and for the comedy nerd. From the obscure title (it refers to an offhand 19th century barb from author Katherine Bradley to playwright George Moore, so that’s cleared that confusion) to the relentless cross-referencing of every act’s endeavor along with their back and future catalogue, Sunshine on Putty requires a working knowledge (or at least access to Wikipedia) of the very era we’re looking to learn about. It is possible to simply dip in and read what interests you, as this biography (rather than a straight encyclopedia) of the era is arranged more or less chronologically and the chapters are boldly labeled (if as laboriously contrived as books title, ‘Constructing the Citadel : the comedy edifice needs bricks and mortar, just like any other (in five more parts)’ is not alone on its pomposity), but the chapters and their subjects intertwine so frequently (they were often bed-hopping in each other projects, even sharing the bill after all) that to get anywhere near a clear view you’re going to have to take it all in.
But listen to me, becoming just as stilted as the book, that is very. Its long and convoluted and in simply hard yakka. Ben Thompson, the author, above all seems to have trouble making the gulf between comedic commenter to humor historian. Not that he doesn’t try, and in many ways succeed, but for every on-the-money pinpoint of a comedians inner workings eloquently contrasted through a historical and contemporary looking glass, there’s also a fair bit of wank. Comparing either side of the all-right eighties comedy glut we can use, overviews of the rise of New Labour and hammering home the class structure of Britain since the middle ages is pushing us a bit. As much as comedy reflects the times, I don’t think I need attitudes towards soccer and the differing styles of gossip magazines and the evolution of the Jerry Springer programs. ENOUGH, tell me more about Johnny Vegas! The real bugbear was when he went the other way, and flippantly reduced passing comedians to one line-reviews (Tracy Ullman is simply ‘heinous’ apparently, and why is Johnny Vaughn tops while Graham Norton is a bottom feeder….no pun intended). In a history book expressly and supposedly exclusively on a specific scene, this casual criticism is nigh on unforgivable (‘It was then that Duke of Wellington met Napoleon, who was shit, on the battlefield. Napoleon lost, and the Duke of Wellington began the long trek home that will fill out my book. Treks have been around since the dawn of man, at least 8500 BC….’) I think I’ve proved my point.
It’s just not done; a historian has to at least appear not to hold personal opinions. When the author was a reviewer (for NME, Sight and Sound and The Independent, among others), he could have whatever opinions he liked. Just like how I, a reviewer, can suggest this comedy expert wouldn’t be very fun at parties.
All this sounds so negative, but I said it was a good book, right? Right. It is, written by someone who clearly loves the writers he is writing about, and more importantly can see their flaws as well. And being one of the first to cover, what he calls, the golden age of anything as enjoyable as British comedy goes a long way to recommending a book. And recommend it I do, I will no doubt reread my copy several times over. But then, like the author appears to, I have little in the way of a life. If you’re in the market for an entertaining book of academia or an academic book of entertainment then this is a go-er, but admittedly few people are.
With Sunshine on Putty, you are definitely getting bang for your buck. It just takes some effort to get the fireworks going. Or something.
‘Sunshine on Putty’ is published by HarperPerennial and is available through Amazon.co.uk amongst other retailers.