May 28, 2007
Peter Cook and Dudley Moore stand as one of the most significant alternative comedy act of the last few generations. For all Monty Python’s innovation, Pete and Dud arguably pushed the limits of comedy further, working with inspired spontaneity rather than scripted subversion. They picked up on Spike Milligan’s momentum, developing a body of improvisational humour that paved the way for radical comedians everywhere, of radically variable quality, and have yet to be convincingly outdone at what they did best. In the touring version of the West End hit, Pete & Dud Come Again, we are plunged back into the golden age of the chat-show, being fed the narrative through the alternating formats of a television interview with Dud (and later incorporating Pete) and recreations of key events. This ambitious production is up for cramming over 30 years into two hours, in a blend of old gags, new humour and biographical insight, to mixed effect.
Simon Lowe, a familiar face from television, puts in an uncannily convincing performance as Dudley Moore, the well-observed mannerisms and personality combining with his genuinely Moore-like appearance to remarkable effect. Gareth Tunley, in the Peter Cook role, fares a little less well. He has the harder task, of course; where Moore’s attributes were largely visible and immediate, Cook was an inscrutable character whose deadpan exterior was a front for a much darker and more disturbing talent. The writers have worked hard to put across Cook’s obsession with malevolence and Schadenfreude, but even Tunley’s obvious ability fails to capture the demonic aggression of Cook’s wit. Cook’s famous line about being an only twin is more than just a play on words, of course. It reflects the loneliness of being unique, without the sense of having an equivalent in the world, however hard impersonators might try to be just that.
The structure of the play is a little problematic at times. The chat-show format is a clever framing device, and well executed, but the chronological flow never feels entirely lucid, leaving the viewer with a slightly disjointed biography of the duo. There is an identity crisis at the heart of the production; neither pure comedy nor pure documentary it is, at times, at a loss as to where to devote its energies, to the extent that neither element is fully realised. Nor is it quite daring enough, when tackling the Derek and Clive era, to really reflect the extremes to which the pair were willing to go, which defeats the object. It is almost like getting a censored potted history that sanitises the gory bits in case the audience is offended. Which, of course, was the whole point.
That said, the writing is intelligent in its interpretation of key events, from the duo’s early solidarity in subverting the Beyond the Fringe material to the later tensions between the two, offering an occasionally provocative and always broadly entertaining account of the mute dissolution of the relationship, played out here in the kind of public environment that might have appealed to them both. This shouldn’t be taken as an attempt to recreate the duo’s comedy, which would be a redundant affair, but rather as a speculative homage that is more likely to inspire a comforting nostalgia than to offer anything really new.
Simon Lowe, a familiar face from television, puts in an uncannily convincing performance as Dudley Moore, the well-observed mannerisms and personality combining with his genuinely Moore-like appearance to remarkable effect. Gareth Tunley, in the Peter Cook role, fares a little less well. He has the harder task, of course; where Moore’s attributes were largely visible and immediate, Cook was an inscrutable character whose deadpan exterior was a front for a much darker and more disturbing talent. The writers have worked hard to put across Cook’s obsession with malevolence and Schadenfreude, but even Tunley’s obvious ability fails to capture the demonic aggression of Cook’s wit. Cook’s famous line about being an only twin is more than just a play on words, of course. It reflects the loneliness of being unique, without the sense of having an equivalent in the world, however hard impersonators might try to be just that.
The structure of the play is a little problematic at times. The chat-show format is a clever framing device, and well executed, but the chronological flow never feels entirely lucid, leaving the viewer with a slightly disjointed biography of the duo. There is an identity crisis at the heart of the production; neither pure comedy nor pure documentary it is, at times, at a loss as to where to devote its energies, to the extent that neither element is fully realised. Nor is it quite daring enough, when tackling the Derek and Clive era, to really reflect the extremes to which the pair were willing to go, which defeats the object. It is almost like getting a censored potted history that sanitises the gory bits in case the audience is offended. Which, of course, was the whole point.
That said, the writing is intelligent in its interpretation of key events, from the duo’s early solidarity in subverting the Beyond the Fringe material to the later tensions between the two, offering an occasionally provocative and always broadly entertaining account of the mute dissolution of the relationship, played out here in the kind of public environment that might have appealed to them both. This shouldn’t be taken as an attempt to recreate the duo’s comedy, which would be a redundant affair, but rather as a speculative homage that is more likely to inspire a comforting nostalgia than to offer anything really new.