Vic And Bob's Excellent Adventure

DURING THE '70s, Jim Moir comprised 20% of an ensemble known as the Fashionable Five who, for a laugh, once followed a complete stranger through their home town of Darlington, in single file, for half a mile. On another occasion, the same motley crew attended a Generation X gig in Newcastle. Identically attired in yellow jumpers and white pants, they sat together on a bench between the dressing room and the stage in order to gauge the lead singer's reaction when he was confronted by this peculiar spectacle. Needless to say, the normally unflappable Billy Idol was rather surprised and did a double take. However, it was nothing compared to his utter stupefaction some months later when he returned to the same venue for another performance, only to see the same five blokes sitting on the same bench, wearing the same clothes.

Years later in 1986, having flitted from job to job and band to band (Dig Me I'm Django and They Called It Rum, to name but two), but without ever having remained in any of them for long enough to achieve global domination, the 27-year-old Moir started running a club night at Winston's, a wine bar in Deptford, London. Lack of funds meant that live music was not an option so, in the wake of the spectacular failure of a one-off Gregorian chant night, comedy seemed the only alternative.

Completely unaware of the new wave of right-on left-wing comedians such as Ben Elton and Alexei Sayle who were expounding their militant routines to awestruck trendy liberals in Soho's new Comedy Store, Jim Moir chose instead to try and balance a carrot on the end of a stick for the amusement of a drunken rabble sporting Sylvester Stallone masks, which their jovial host had generously dispensed before the show.

A star was born. His name? Vic Reeves.

Sadly, several brawls later—including one siege involving an angry mob and the police—the Vic Reeves Variety Palladium was forced to up sticks and relocate to Goldsmiths Tavern in South London where it was billed as Vic Reeves' Big Night Out. The show featured an array of colourful characters, including Tappy Lappy, the Northern tap dancer, who wore a Bryan Ferry mask on his head and planks on his feet while dancing to easy listening music.

The Big Night Out was, according to Vic, "very Hogarthian" and soon achieved cult status, attracting a weekly crowd of regulars; among them Squeeze members Glenn Tilbrook and Jools Holland, actor Tim Roth and a young solicitor from Middlesbrough named Robert "Bob" Mortimer.

Transfixed by the weekly proceedings, Mortimer eventually plucked up the courage to participate and soon became known as The Man with The Stick, a short northern man who would come on bearing a stick, his true identity concealed by illustrated headgear.

According to Bruce Dessau, the pair's biographer, "The man with the stick was perfect for Bob. Wearing a mask helped him cope with early nerves, and the illustrations on the helmet helped Jim remember his lines."

An ace networker, Jim soon befriended Jonathan Ross and in 1988 guested as Silas Proudharvest, a farmer, on The Last Resort with Jonathan Ross. It was disastrous, prompting one onlooker to comment: "It was shit tonight. That farmer was useless. The only thing that saved him was the cucumber flute."

By now the Big Night Out had moved onwards and upwards to the Albany Empire, and Paul Whitehouse and Charlie Higson, who were making a name for themselves as writers with Harry Enfield, had clambered aboard what could now loosely be termed a bandwagon.

Having been courageously commissioned by Channel 4's Seamus Cassidy, Vic Reeves Big Night Out made the transition from stage to small screen in May 1990. The opening credits saw a chop being prodded by a stick, a trumpet being tickled by a feather and some Branston pickle being spread on a shin by a spatula. The Man with the Stick was also present, describing the illustrations on his headgear to viewers: "these rippling waves depict the feeling you get on a summer's day listening to Level 42."

According to Bruce Dessau, "it didn't matter how haphazard it looked, Vic Reeves Big Night Out was scripted to within an inch of its life." Vic sat behind a desk festooned with giant horse brasses with Elvis Presley's face on them and proceeded to mutter about spotting Richard Stilgoe pushing a wheelbarrow full of milk with little finches hovering above, before introducing his assistant, Les, played by Fred Aylward. At this stage Bob was never introduced—he never played himself; only a variety of characters in various disguises or, in the case of Rick Astley, no disguise at all.

Jim and Bob's career continued on its upward curve in the following years. Despite relatively low ratings, there was definitely a sense that theirs was a delightfully unique brand of comedy. A second series of the Big Night Out followed and Vic's chart-topping rendition of "Dizzy", with The Wonder Stuff, helped bolster attendances when the show went on the road.

In March 1992 it won a BAFTA and in April Jim and Bob were poached by BBC 2. One year later they'd written and recorded The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer, which boasted fewer characters and catchphrases, but a lot more work on location. Bob's profile was much higher in The Smell, which went on to be voted Best Comedy Series in the British Comedy Awards phone-in poll, despite its relatively paltry viewing figures of 2 million.

The pair had also found the time to write a sitcom that year, The Weekenders, which progressed no further than the pilot stage, and a film, which didn't get past development. Between them, both projects involved Phil Oakey from The Human League, a meat festival, a trio of casually dressed aliens and a giant turtle made from steel.

In 1995, Jim and Bob were landed with a hefty tax bill and forced to go on the road again as, according to Dessau, Jim claimed that Bob was having to walk his neighbour's dog for beer money, and he was having to do babysitting and leaflet deliveries to make ends meet.

Their financial woes were eased somewhat by the advent of Shooting Stars, the tongue-in-cheek panel quiz show featuring Vic and Bob as hosts, Ulrika Jonsson and Mark Lamarr as team captains, Matt Lucas as scorekeeper George Dawes and an array of celebrity guests. The first series had 4.5 million viewers—twice the ratings of The Smell.

It was with Shooting Stars that Vic and Bob really captured the public imagination, but by the end of the second series Mark Lamarr was beginning to have doubts about the show, telling Dessau: "The pilot, which I wasn't on, was a piss-take of a game show, and it's just completely become a fucking game show in its own right, with its own catchphrases and its own style of . . . shit."

However, the fifties throwback's reservations were lost on the thousands of ardent fans who turned up to see the Shooting Stars stars when they appeared live for 32 nights only, in a double header with the cast from The Fast Show, at Hammersmith Apollo.

Today, Vic and Bob have—quite rightfully—capitalised on their unfeasible popularity. Mobile phones, yoghurts and Renault Clios are just a few of the many products they can regularly be seen hawking on prime-time TV, and with their latest series, Bang, Bang, It's Reeves & Mortimer zooming along apace (its ratings bolstered by the success of Shooting Stars) featuring an array of insane characters and special effects, the future looks very bright indeed.

"After 10 years together," observes Dessau, "Jim and Bob's professional partnership has lasted longer than a lot of marriages. Each offers the other something that they will always need. Bob keeps Jim rooted in something like reality; Jim keeps Bob from being bogged down in the angst of adult life."

— Reeves & Mortimer by Bruce Dessau is published by Orion Media.