Miranda Hart

by Sophie Johnson

  With Miranda, there’s no need for a laughter track, because genuine laughter is being heard. Apart from the show being a success with audiences sat at home watching television, there is the fact that things are always funnier live. Hart explained to BBC Writersroom: ‘You’ve had the warm-up, you’ve had me tripping over a cable on the way to do some warm-up… Even in between scenes when you’re doing costume changes, there’s the warm-up and there’s this great atmosphere and people want to laugh or they like you or someone in the show so there’s a general feeling of goodwill. There’s no one really going, “Come on then. I’ve come all this way. I bet you’re rubbish.”’

  Journalist Stephen Armstrong, in a piece for The Sunday Times, attended a recording of the show, and reported that the audience was a cross-section of the British public, ‘hipsters, housewives and handymen’. The one thing they had in common was a love for Miss Hart. ‘When Miranda stepped onto the studio floor and asked how many people had been at the previous week’s show, more than half of them put their hands up and cheered. Studio audiences may respond like that for Have I Got News For You, but not for an as yet unscreened BBC Two scripted sitcom with no big names. As the show unfolded, though, it was clear why they had returned.’

  Somehow, Hart had recaptured the feeling of a huge, knockabout 1970s British classic comedy such as Are You Being Served?, but with a goofy modern edge. One of Miranda’s biggest fans, a 16-year-old called Jess who is part of Miranda’s NBLF (Nutty But Lovely Fivesome), has stated on her YouTube account that Miranda is her hero and ‘the most amazing time of [her] life was meeting Miranda Hart after sitcom recording (14.11.10)’.

  It seems, though, that critics and bloggers will still carp about Miranda’s style as either negatively old-fashioned or a guilty pleasure. One Daily Mail critic, Paul Connolly, wrote, ‘Miranda really shouldn’t work. If it were any more mired in Seventies sitcom clichés it would feature Terry Scott and June Whitfield in a shop called Grace Brothers. It’s also terribly blighted by awful canned laughter and comedy signposts probably visible from Mars. Yet, despite all this, Miranda is occasionally very funny indeed.’

  Quite apart from yet another misunderstanding of studio audience laughter, the writer is mostly right about the secret to Miranda’s success. But why does it have to be funny despite these things, rather than because of them? One of the writers on the show, James Cary, says, ‘A show is no better or worse for harking back to the old days or having a feel of a bygone era about it. Miranda has attracted praise for being old-fashioned. But that is precisely the reason that some people hate it – or more specifically say daft things like “I shouldn’t like it but…”.’

  So what is the future of British sitcom? Has Miranda heralded a move forward in looking backwards? It certainly seems so. Both Miranda and Mrs Brown’s Boys have been recommissioned, and, for its third series, Miranda Hart and co. will be heading to BBC One primetime. Both shows play with the format, using new ways to break down the fourth wall and interact with the audience directly. But, as critic Bruce Dessau put it, ‘This is not Brechtian Verfremdunseffekt, it is more about having a giggle.’ And there’s not much wrong with that, eh?

  It’s this spirit of fun that has made Miranda such a hit. And there are hints that to enjoy the show may soon become a socially acceptable stance. Hart has said that people have started telling her on the street that it is their guilty pleasure. ‘It now feels like people are allowed to openly like an uncool show… I just thought, That’s the kind of comedy I love, so why not embrace the genre wholly and go, guys, this is what I’m doing, and you really will have to like it or lump it.’

  16

  CLASS DISMISSED

  ‘Forget class, it’s the laughs that count in comedy.’

  – Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, creators of Steptoe and Son

  Her privileged upbringing informs much of Miranda Hart’s writing, both in the characters she has created, and the situations they are put in. While she has tried to step away from that background, for example in downplaying her accent when she was temping, she has defended others from similar origins: ‘I have had a few conversations with people going, “Oh, I can’t bear Jodie Kidd or Tara Palmer-Tomkinson, they’re just spoiled,” and then I find myself defending public-school people and going, “They can have suffered.” It doesn’t matter if you were brought up in a castle, you can still have tough times. I wasn’t brought up in a castle, though!’

  In late 2010, something happened that seemed to lock the comedy industry in a passionate debate. The Daily Mail reported that Danny Cohen, controller of BBC One, said that there were too many middle-class sitcoms, drowning out the ‘blue-collar’ sitcoms of the past, such as Porridge, Only Fools and Horses and Steptoe and Son.

  At first, there was doubt as to the reliability of the statement. As writer James Cary noted, ‘It isn’t clear exactly when, where and how Danny Cohen said this, although he’s made no secret of this desire over the last few weeks.’

  Many of the papers quoted BBC insiders, who gave more insight into what the BBC One controller wanted. The Telegraph had this from someone who worked at the Beeb: ‘[Cohen] feels the BBC has lost its variety and become focused on formats about comfortable, well-off, middle-class families whose lives are perhaps more reflective of BBC staff than viewers in other parts of the UK.’

  But it was the separation of class that upset some people, the idea that shows were being target at disparate groups. Another insider quoted in the Daily Mail said, ‘If you look at My Family and Outnumbered they are a bit more middle class. It may be that, rather than having a comedy based in a nice house in Wandsworth, you could have it in a factory or something like that. The key point is to make everyone feel like they are engaged with BBC One.’

  There was something of a knee-jerk reaction to this from some journalists. One Daily Mail reporter wrote, ‘The suggestion that the BBC is “too middle class” has echoes of former director general Greg Dyke’s claim in 2001 that the corporation was “hideously white”.’

  To avoid further speculation, Danny Cohen issued a press statement refuting any agenda based on class: ‘We will work hard to capture the lives and experiences of a broad range of British people, but it’s not right to suggest any one group will be given priority over others. BBC One is focused on working with Britain’s most talented comedy writers and performers to get the best programming for our viewers.’

  Despite Cohen’s efforts, this did not calm the storm and the debate continued to rage. Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, the writers of Steptoe and Son and Hancock’s Half Hour, who have been honoured with OBEs for their contribution to British television, felt impassioned to write a reactive piece for the Daily Mail about Cohen’s reported remarks. ‘You might think we’d be right behind this,’ they wrote. ‘After all, you can’t get much more working-class than the two of us – the son of a milkman and the child of a bus conductor. And the characters of Steptoe and Son, the sitcom we created nearly 50 years ago, were working class, too.’ But they went on to explain that, in their view, humour was more important than class: ‘Cohen is missing the point, because good comedy is classless. It’s not working-class characters in working-class situations that are inherently funny. It’s people, families, relationships – wherever you find them – that make audiences laugh.’

  The success of Miranda bears this out, and the audience figures suggest that people don’t exclusively enjoy watching comedies which reflect their own lifestyles. James Cary has pointed out, ‘Let us not forget that, at its peak, Bread pulled in about 22 million viewers. Let us also not forget that To the Manor Born pulled in 24 million viewers. Was it the same 20-odd million watching both programmes? Probably. I used to watch both of them. I didn’t care. They were both brilliant.’

  Writing for the Telegraph, Andrew Pettie echoed this sentiment: ‘The idea that you should commission TV programmes along class lines is patronising and absurd; it implies that viewers only respond to a fictional world that mirrors
their own. And what an idiotic notion that is: 10 million viewers were glued to the climax of Downton Abbey, yet I can’t imagine many live in stately homes or ring a tiny, silver bell when they feel like changing the channel.’

  From its first episode, screened five decades ago, Galton and Simpson’s Steptoe and Son attracted a huge audience of all classes. It was an enormous success, running from 1962 to 1974. ‘Though our protagonists were working-class men, our audiences came from all walks of life,’ Steptoe’s creators claimed, and added, ‘The show attracted 28 million viewers at its peak… We were so popular that the Prime Minister, Harold Wilson, asked the BBC to delay transmission of our show on the night of the 1966 General Election until after the polls closed, so people could go out to vote rather than plonk themselves down in front of Steptoe.’

  A key appeal of television is to reflect the lives of others and to explain different worlds, whether that be on the news, in documentaries or through soaps, dramas and sitcoms. Comedy writer Jeremy Lloyd (Are You Being Served?, ’Allo ’Allo!) also entered the debate, insisting that the current state of Britain should not affect programming: ‘Nor is the woeful state of our economy a reason to focus on blue-collar Britain. At times of difficulty we want to be taken out of ourselves, to laugh, to enjoy flights of fantasy. We do not always want to see our lives reflected back at us. That is what soap operas are for.’

  Sam Leith at the Guardian extended the discussion to look at other class biases across television, but disagreed with a point made by Jeremy Lloyd: ‘So we can concede Cohen’s point; while suggesting, too, that he turns his eye to a far greater imbalance in the programming of another TV genre. What everyone with an earldom and a grouse moor will wonder is: where are the non-working-class soap operas?’

  The truth is it doesn’t matter – famous fans of EastEnders include Camilla, the Duchess of Cornwall. People will watch what they like, irrespective of their background or that of the characters in the show. Some comedy fans thought the whole debate laughable and made sarcastic comments on discussion boards. On the forum of the British Comedy Guide, one user called Dan, or ‘swertyd’, said, ‘I watched that The Smoking Room and thought it was really good. But I’ve never smoked and generally get pissed off by those who do. Also, I like Red Dwarf a lot but have never been a spaceman nor have I been in the future. What should I watch? If somebody could inform me, that would be very pleasant.’

  Comedy transcends class and unites what at other times may be disparate groups of people. The novelist Zadie Smith wrote about this in her essay Dead Man Laughing. She explained how going to Cambridge University and entering a middle-class world meant she had little in common with her father – apart from their appreciation of comedy: ‘When meditating on the sitcom, you extrapolate from the details, which in Britain are almost always signifier of social class: Hancock’s battered homburg, Fawlty’s cravat, Partridge’s driving gloves, Brent’s fake Italian suits. It’s a relief to be able to laugh at these things. In British comedy, the painful class dividers of real life are neutralised and exposed. In my family, at least, it was a way of talking about things we didn’t want to talk about.’

  To suggest that Miranda, which affectionately mocks middle-class and upper-class life, is only for those it depicts is ridiculous – it is for others to laugh at, and those who recognise themselves to laugh with. Jeremy Lloyd also wondered whether sitcoms endorse or send up the lifestyles of the people they depict. ‘Take The Good Life, another enormous success in its day. Did it promote the woolly idealism of the middle classes, or make them look absurd? Or was it just plain funny?’

  Boyd Hilton, Heat magazine’s TV and reviews editor, says that the executives seem to be the only people not to realise that comedy appeals to all walks of life. ‘I bet most viewers of all social backgrounds would be chuffed to see Miranda, for example, on BBC1, even though that show is also “painfully” middle-class (not painful for me, you understand, but painful perhaps for people who worry about these things – ie middle-class TV bigwigs).’

  Other BBC shows whose impeccably middle-class credentials must have worried some of the Corporation’s executives include the now-cancelled My Family and Outnumbered. My Family is set in a leafy part of West London, where dentist Ben Harper and his wife Susan live in an impressive family home. Together they have three children and Susan, who works in an art gallery, has an MBE for her charity work. Outnumbered, starring Claire Skinner and Hugh Dennis, is set in a similarly imposing house set in the fictional borough of Limebridge. Parents Pete and Sue are a teacher and part-time PA who deal with their rowdy and disobedient children while trying to save face with friends and neighbours. So far, so middle class. So what?

  A puzzled Vicky Frost wrote in the Guardian, ‘It’s the kind of idea that leaves me scratching my head… Miranda, joke and trinket shop owner with pushy mother and “jolly hockey sticks” school friends, would presumably count as solidly middle-class. And yet I’ve always thought of her comedy – being rubbish with boys, rubbish at not being clumsy, rubbish at managing her mother – as being universal.’

  Let’s look back to James Cary’s recipe for sitcom success: ‘character + conflict + confinement +catastrophe +catchphrase +casting = comedy’. All those Cs – but no mention of class.

  Conflict and confinement, agree Galton and Simpson, are far more important aspects: ‘For all it mattered, Albert and Harold could have been vets or carpenters. What was most important was that they aspired to be somewhere else, but were stuck in their lives and with each other. Old man Albert Steptoe, played by Wilfrid Brambell, knew that if he loosened his grasp on his 38-year-old son Harold (Harry H. Corbett) he’d never return. But snobbish Harold saw glimpses of life outside Oil Drum Lane and knew he was missing out.’

  Fellow veteran comedy writer Jeremy Lloyd feels much the same, arguing that ‘situation’ is the less important component of the sitcom: ‘It is a mistake… to assume that a setting, be it a housing estate or a mansion, is what defines the humour on offer.’

  More important than class or profession is that the characters are trapped and have aspirations they can never realise. Miranda is doubly trapped – both by her mother and the societal expectations imposed on her. Galton and Simpson wrote of her, ‘Though her character is from a well-to-do family, she is still a loser with ambitions that will never be fulfilled and a love life that will never succeed.’

  It could also be argued that, despite Danny Cohen’s reported call for more ‘blue-collar’ sitcoms, times have changed. The Guardian’s Sam Leith wrote, ‘The simple thing to say is that, since a working class doesn’t exist in the form it did 40 years ago, sitcoms depicting it as if it did aren’t to be expected. The notable successes in recent years – The Royle Family and Shameless – both portrayed a working class unrecognisable to the Galton and Simpson generation.’

  Leith went on to suggest that Cohen’s statement may have been a warning against a growing belief that everyone is now middle class, ‘not because it’s unrepresentative, but because it’s less funny. The best British sitcoms have tended to probe the deepest British anxiety: that is, class itself.’

  It is true that British comedy focuses on class, not just in sitcom, but in stand-up comedy and sketches. Armstrong and Miller’s sketches involving the World War Two RAF pilots who talk like 21st-century ‘youths’ is a case in point. Catherine Tate’s schoolgirl character Lauren ‘Am I Bovvered?’ and Little Britain’s Vicky ‘No but yeah but’ Pollard are examples of popular working-class characters, while Harry Enfield’s Tim Nice But Dim and The Fast Show’s Ralph, played by Charlie Higson, are affectionate caricatures of upper-class society. In stand-up comedy, Steve Coogan’s Paul and Pauline Calf characters are much-loved portrayals of Manchester’s working class. More recently, Russell Kane’s award-winning Edinburgh show, Smokescreens and Castles, focused on the differences between his archetypal working-class father and him, an arts graduate with a love for yoga and Penguin Classics. It was the first show in history to win
both the Edinburgh Comedy Award and the Barry Award for the best show at the Melbourne International Comedy Awards.

  The debate about BBC One sitcoms and class inspired members of the public to speak up about contemporary comedy about Britain’s working-class population. They may not be the bygone, almost romantic, portrayal of the working classes in Galton and Simpson’s era, but readers of the Guardian website offered some modern illustrations: ‘How is The Office not a working-class comedy?’ asks stlemur, while LondonPhil suggests, ‘aren’t Gavin & Stacey working-class?’ The same could be said for dinnerladies, Peter Kay’s Phoenix Nights, Still Game, Gimme Gimme Gimme, Rab C Nesbitt, Early Doors, Time Gentlemen Please and BBC One’s latest BAFTA-nominated hit Mrs Brown’s Boys.

  Miranda’s transfer to BBC One for its third series seems to fly in the face of the recent concerns about sitcoms being too middle class, and suggests that such a commissioning agenda wasn’t so clear cut. It doesn’t get much more middle class than Miranda – the product of a public-school education who spends her inheritance on a joke shop, but spends most of her time as a lady of leisure, panicking about various social occasions. There are no worries about where the next rent cheque is coming from; it is more about reacting to her mother’s middle-class expectations and eccentricities. One of the most vivid examples of this is when Penny comes to the shop to give Miranda ‘social training’ ahead of attending the Henley Regatta.

  Some of the idiosyncrasies are based on recognisable aspects of middle- and upper-class society, while the writers give it an additional surreal quality. The idea that there is a ‘laugh of the season’, usually a pop song for ladies to base their laughs on – in the first series it is ‘Barbie Girl’ by Aqua and in the second series ‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga.