The No 1 Ladiesrsquo; Detective Agency was what Africa deserved
April 1st, 2008, 6:23 am Hobbies Ideas
In a week of lamentations, we had three deaths, three final curtain calls
through the invisible fourth wall among those who put on the motley. The
rude mechanicals must now cast aside Thalia%26rsquo;s smiling mask to wear
Melpomene%26rsquo;s tragic visage. Anthony Minghella, whose shocking exit came just
as his last film was about to be shown; Paul Scofield, a truly heroic actor.
I watched the six o%26rsquo;clock news as the caster, some Autocue plug-in with a
muted accent from semidetached nowhere, arranged his face into that bland
gravitas they keep for the latterly famous and freshly demised. He said:
Today, a great and dearly loved actor passed away, best known for his
portrayal of one of the old gits in Last of the Summer Wine, and the prison
officer who wasn%26rsquo;t the main one in Porridge. Brian Wilde will be greatly
missed. Then we saw a couple of unfunny clips and a hasty interview with a
cardiganed denizen of decrepit sitcoms, and it was back to the studio, where
the Noddy rote-reader added his own little Sadly missed, and looked up at
the Autocue with a flicker of panic.
Oh no, there was another dead actor. What were the chances he had peaked too
early, already using up his famous-deceased face? So, he quickly slipped
into the one reserved for announcing small tornadoes in Cornwall and said:
Another actor died today: Paul Scofield, best known as that religious bloke
in A Man for All Weathers. There was a blurred photograph of Scofield from
behind, as Lear, and it was back to weather or sport or an alsatian that was
living in sin with a duckling. This happened on both ITV and the BBC
early-evening news.
I don%26rsquo;t often bellow at the television. I don%26rsquo;t have to. I can do this
instead. But I went properly radio rental %26ndash; the complete Basil Fawlty, all
on my own in the living room, screaming at the inoffensive, lick-spittle,
Andrex-puppy newsmonger and the smiley, culturally relative, accessible,
nonjudgmental, multi-cultural, mouthwashed, soulless, fearful Tristrams who,
in the final billing of death, had placed the man with two supporting parts
in defunct comedies before one of the truly great postwar British actors.
This was not Wilde%26rsquo;s fault, but not even his agent would claim he was a
panoramic, life-changing talent. I know that, as both approached the pearly
gates, Brian would have said: After you, old man.
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