Free The True History of the Blackadder by J. F. Roberts Page B

a rough try-out by any standards, did contain several sketches now considered classics, including a stand-off between trade union leaders and management which called for a guest spot from Jim Broadbent. Acting was a calling that seemed fated for Jim since he was born to artist parents, conscientious objectors in World War II who were sent to the village of Holton-cum-Beckering to work the land, and founded a theatrical company there. By the age of thirty, eight years into his acting career, Broadbent had barely had a glimpse of a TV studio when he landed the Not job, and Lloyd knew he would be a handy name to remember for future comic roles.
    A further quickly established memorable feature of the programmewas Atkinson’s turn as a hectoring, reactionary member of the public (ultimately monikered ‘Eric Swannage of Liverpool’), who was liable to interrupt the proceedings with a litany of outrageous complaints at any moment. For the general public, who had not seen the young comic’s live shows, this persona was surely their first opportunity to pigeonhole him – a bizarre, anoraked figure ranting as he struggled through the audience, very much not part of the crowd.
    One final sketch in the last episode has gone down in history, Lloyd himself claiming it as the moment when the series really gelled. As a timely reaction to the outcry attending the release of Life of Brian (and, more specifically, the famed clash between Cleese and Palin and Malcolm Muggeridge and the Bishop of Southwark on the TV discussion programme Friday Night, Saturday Morning ), regular contributor Colin Bostock-Smith penned ‘The Life of Christ’, twisting the issue round by presenting Atkinson as the director of a movie accused of blaspheming against the hallowed name of Python. Langham, who had been a support player in the real film, was uneasy with what he saw as self-indulgence and comedic incest, but that alone was not the reason he wasn’t invited back for the second series in 1980. His own problems relating to addiction to sundry narcotics at this time had helped to warrant a call from Head of Comedy John Howard Davies for his removal from the team – a task which Lloyd was dismayed to have to carry out, and finally left to his boss, despite Atkinson putting pressure on him to give Langham a reprieve.
    Nevertheless, with the trusty Rhys Jones elevated from bit-part player to full member of the team, it was the second series in the spring of 1980 which saw Not take off as a real cogent comedic voice for the new decade, famed for its edgy piss-takes of every public figure in the news, its gross extended spoofs of TV hits, its talking daffodils and, of course, hedgehog abuse. The show became a haven not just for the cast, but for a whole host of great writers spilling out from the BBC Radio contacts book. The first among equals, however, was Richard Curtis. His fatherhad suggested that a career in personnel at Unilever might be a more suitable career, as Curtis recalled on Desert Island Discs in 1991. ‘He was very keen I should do a proper job, and he wasn’t sure that writing was a proper job. So after I left Oxford he said, “I’ll give you a year, and at the end of it we can see how much money you’ve earned.” And I think I’d earned about £367 or something like that, but just before the year was up, Rowan got asked to do Not the Nine O’Clock News , and all was well.’
    Looking back at the stress required to get the show made every week, Lloyd says, ‘It was a nightmare of overwork, I mean, everything was stressful, we used to be green with exhaustion. We were within an ace of disaster more or less every week. It was amazing what we did, and we were only able to do it by basically going without sleep for a week. But for the actors it was a very nice job.’ He estimates that Curtis contributed ‘about half’ of the scripts, becoming a major part of the show’s voice, though this is only partly confirmed by Curtis himself.