BBC’s Big Night In was an earnest joy marred only by Little Britain’s racist return
There’s something supremely comforting about Dawn French. Davina McCall, too. And Matt Baker. Hell, in this scary time, even Gary Barlow feels like something of a balm. Which is just as well, because all of these famous faces crop up in tonight’s lovingly cobbled together BBC’s Big Night In, a joint effort by Children in Need and Comic Relief to raise money for the coronavirus pandemic.
It’s difficult to review something so ramshackle, so hit-and-miss, and yet so sincerely public-spirited. “Lots of famous people are on TV,” sings David Walliams as his Little Britain characters Dennis. “They’re not as funny as they normally are. But that doesn’t really matter, ‘cus it’s all for charity.” I’ll come back to that atrocious Little Britain reunion later, but for now, I’ll try and remember that latter part.
From Vicar of Dibley to Catherine Tate via The Trip, there’s a lot packed into tonight’s three-hour marathon – which is presented by McCall, Baker and Lenny Henry, all standing the requisite two metres apart. McCall’s only there for an hour before Zoe Ball takes her place, but she finds the time to break down in tears at least thrice. Which, to be fair, just about matches my own cry-count. Even a Strictly Come Dancing boogie to Dua Lipa’s “Physical” feels strangely emotional.
If you like Miranda Hart’s brand of sweetly cringey comedy, it works just as well over webcam. After an endearing musical montage involving the whole cast of her hit BBC sitcom, she tells us, in character as Miranda, “Remember, it’s OK if you’re struggling, it’s OK if you’re bored, it’s OK if you’re OK, it’s OK if you’re not OK. Be kind.” Most of tonight’s comedy bits end on an earnest note. Except for Little Britain‘s, which ends on a racist note. But again, I’ll come back to that.
Dawn French dons a dog collar once more for a slightly underwhelming Vicar of Dibley revival. It was always going to be tricky to recreate the magic of French’s beloved Nineties sitcom, which follows an unconventional vicar and her oddball parishioners. It’s returned sporadically, and with mixed results, over the years – but since 2014, three of its most cherished cast members, Emma Chambers (the lovably dim Alice), John Bluthal (the doddering Frank) and Roger Lloyd-Pack (loner farmer Owen), have died. There are a few chuckles here as French goes it alone – “I suggested going for a WALK in the woods, so could the group of elderly gentleman who have taken my misprint literally please stop doing that immediately” – and one baffling moment where she puts two halves of a chocolate egg over her breasts. But without Geraldine’s cohorts, it’s not quite the same.
There are lots of in-between moments, too. Someone’s granddaughter sings her happy birthday; a trio of people subject themselves to DIY haircuts; Greg James does an inappropriately titled “virus virals countdown”; a load of sportspeople spin round in circles 10 times and then try and kick a ball / score a try / play a golf shot; Sting implores us, “Don’t stand so, don’t stand so, don’t stand so close to each other.” Oh, and UK chancellor Rishi Sunak pops up to smugly confirm that the government will match the donations we give. Which is all well and good, until 20 minutes later when a segment about food banks – during which it’s stated that “demand for food has doubled from what it used to be” – reminds us of his government’s ruthless austerity measures. Anyway, here’s Catherine Tate.
Actually, I have to admit that Tate’s is my favourite skit of the night. The comedian reprises her role as the lippy but loveable schoolgirl Lauren, while David Tennant shows up as a teacher attempting to wrangle her into a Zoom lesson. “You’re standing too close, sir, you’ve got to be two metres away from your computer,” she tells him. “You could be asymptomatic.” “I’m not asymptomatic,” he sighs. “Are you Chris Witty though? Are you? Are you Chris Witty?” When he tells her that her grades are heading on a downward trajectory, she shoots back, “Just tryin’ to flatten the curve, innit.”
What a lovely idea it is to recruit Doctor Who’s past and present Doctors – Jodie Whittaker, Matt Smith, David Tennant, Colin Baker, Paul McGann et all – to sing the praises of our more terrestrial ones. “Never give up and never give in,” they tell us. “We are at our best when we work together. Tonight, we have all come together for one important reason – to praise, salute and give heartfelt thanks to real-life special doctors, nurses and everyone working in the frontlines of our NHS and care homes and hospices. Thank you.”
As with all Children In Need and Comic Relief fundraisers, there are a few very serious moments. A boy with severe autism is struggling to cope with the fear that his dad might catch the virus. Calls to domestic abuse are hotlines going up. “We get 10 per cent of the story,” says a police officer of the people who dial 999 fearing for their lives. “But they have to live with the other 90 per cent.” It’s moments like these that jolt us out of our passive viewing and remind us to actually bother to donate. There are also regular segments singing the praises of various huge corporations – sorry, “friends” – such as HSBC, Apple and Barclays, the latter of whom have invested around £100bn in fossil fuels since 2016.
Next, Stephen Fry resurrects Lord Melchett, his character from the beloved historical comedy Blackadder. Prince William turns up in this one, and makes a joke about, er, not wearing any trousers? The future King of England might not be able to act, and the monarchy might be an antiquated relic upholding a fundamentally inequitable society, but Will is a good sport.
There’s also an excellent isolation version of The Trip. “Did you get this phone call from Richard Curtis?” asks Steve Coogan over Skype. “I didn’t take it, ‘cus it’s always asking for something,” says Rob Brydon. “It’s always asking, Could you do this thing for Comic Relief or Sport Relief or something.” “It’d be a ‘relief’ if he stopped calling.”
Now, I have to confess, it’s brought me a lot of joy to see Little Britain fade from the cultural lexicon over the past decade. Not just because in my teenage years, I was called Vicky by friends, classmates and even, once, a doctor, but because David Walliams and Matt Lucas's brand of comedy was crass, racist, ableist and homophobic. So my heart sinks when Ball announces the return of “all your favourite naughty characters”.
And somehow, they are all even more horrifying when recreated not with proper makeup and costumes, but with bits and bobs the duo have found around the house. Instead of wigs, there are toilet roll tubes. Vicky Pollard’s hair is made from what looks like spaghetti. Andy, the intellectually disabled wheelchair user played by Lucas, has strips of felt hanging from the sides of his head. “What do you want for tea?” asks his carer Lou (Walliams). “Bat.” Hilarious! Emily and Florence, two “comically” (I cannot emphasise those quotation marks enough) unconvincing women, reappear next. “I’m a lady!” “I am also a lady, but I’m not sure we should be doing this sketch anymore.” You can say that again. The horror show ends with Walliams as Women’s Institute member Maggie Blackamoor, eating a “delightful” piece of cake someone left on her doorstep. “Yes, that was that very nice Mrs Gupta,” says Lucas as Judy. Maggie promptly vomits all over Judy. Yep. They’re still doing that.
After that aberration, the night draws to a close with a host of celebrities performing “Sing” by Gary Barlow. And I’m not saying a word against it. It is, by comparison, a sheer delight, and rounds off a warm and moving night in.
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