Fast and loose

The same year Paul Whitehouse turned 40 The Fast Show ended and so did his marriage. Now he's made a comedy-drama about a man whose wife gets killed. So has he grown up and become morbid? And how does mid- life suit him (sir)?

THERE'S a great episode of Father Ted - okay, they're all brilliant - but there's this one in particular: Ted and Dougal are going on a tour down a pothole and they spot sour-faced Scottish thesp Richard Wilson. The sight of the One Foot In The Grave star is enough to send our clerical heroes into a bit of a tizzy.

"Ted," enthuses Dougal breathlessly, "wouldn't it be great to go up to him and say 'I don't believe it'? I bet no one's ever done that before." Next thing you know, TV's Victor Meldrew is buttonholed by a grinning Ted, who loudly and proudly repeats the famous line back at him in a blackboard-scratching wail. It's excruciating, but also hilarious; not least because of the murderous look Wilson directs at Ted.

Now; stop for a second and imagine that you're Fast Show co- creator Paul Whitehouse, the voice that launched a thousand catchphrases ricocheting around every playground, pub and building site across the country Terrifying, isn't it? The poor man can't walk down the street without someone shouting "brilliant!" or "ooh! suits you!" or "I was very, very draank!" from across the road. And even though The Fast Show was finally put to the sword last Christmas with a triple-whammy of final episodes, Whitehouse doesn't expect to escape the verbal crossfire just yet. But in his first post-Fast project for the BBC, it's obvious he's moving in a different direction from the machine-gun sketch format. It's called Happiness; a comedy-drama (with no follow-the-carrot laugh track) which chooses to kick off with - prepare to stitch those sides! - the funeral of his wife.

Ensconced in a hotel suite a stone's throw away from BBC citadel at White Hart Lane, Whitehouse looks pretty pensive. When you think of the range of characters he's portrayed - over a dozen Fast Show fixtures, plus a score of Harry Enfield regulars, incorporating countless accents and mannerisms - it's tempting to think, will the real Paul Whitehouse please stand up? He's slim, sure, and, seated in an expansive couch, manages to rock the tucked-in shirt with dark denims and boots look. But so used are you to hearing his voice deliver punchlines and catchphrases, it's difficult to separate the actor from his creations. In interview, he'll often segue into a boorish, rambling mode which - while always hilarious - still seems like performance.

But he has a right to be edgy. While he was filming Happiness late last year - the plot centres around the mid-life crisis of a voiceover artist called Danny Spencer - the tabloid papers reported that he'd split from Fiona, his wife of nine years, and moved out of the home he shared with their two young daughters Molly and Sophie. Therefore any questions about the inspiration behind the series - which Whitehouse co-wrote with long-term collaborator David Cummings - may be a bit close to the bone. So was he worried that people, particularly those of the fourth estate, would compare and contrast his personal problems with his on-screen character?

"There are similarities " he says, teasing out the words. "And that was in the back of my mind. But if it was going to happen, it was going to happen I knew it could easily lead to speculation in the press, but they were going to speculate anyway. Before Happiness was even out, they've been knocking on my door. And I'm sure they've got their stories and ideas, whether I write something that reflects my life or not. I don't worry about it, anyway."

In a nutshell, Happiness follows the fortunes of impotent voiceover artist Danny, who brings Dexter the animated bear to life in a hugely successful kids' television series. But Danny doesn't manage to reap any of the dizzying benefits of kindergarten fame. All the post-diaper fans want to meet the guy in the big grizzly suit who wears oversized Y-fronts rather than the balding bloke who provides the vocal chords. And the fact that Danny's wife is knocked down by an ice-cream van, while strolling across a zebra crossing, before the tale actually starts, sets up the philosophical dynamic of the six- part series: the actual pursuit of happiness.

"When his wife dies, Danny's got not ties. He's got relative affluence and a glimmer of fame," explains Whitehouse. "The possibilities of what most people would regard as a happy life are there, but would anyone actually find it?" In the programme - surrounded by friends who have either got on and married (Fiona Allen as an ex-girlfriend with kids) or are just boozing in the pub (Johnny Vegas as a convincing alcoholic) - isn't his character Danny ripe for a mid-life crisis? Like Whitehouse himself?

"I don't know that there is such a thing as a mid-life crisis," he counters. "What happens is that life comes f**king flying at you, with the attendant shit that goes with getting older. By the time you hit 60, you've seen it all, so it doesn't matter. But there's that period of early middle-age where you suddenly think: F**k me I've got to stop drinking and arsing about! Or have I? Shall I just drink on? Shall I rush out and buy a Harley Davidson and some trainers? Mid- life crisis is just a convenient tag to put on it." Later in the series, Danny has to face up to that epochal life moment, hitting 40 years old. But that's a bit of dramatic licence; for 41-year-old Whitehouse, it's already been and gone.

"I always remember thinking that in the year 2000, I'll actually be 40. But it never got to the stage where I was 39 and the night before my birthday started to think, oh my God, I'm 40 tomorrow. It just didn't happen at all. You're aware of your mortality becoming an issue, but I think it happens more when you have kids. I think when you see your child, you become much more aware of your own mortality and how important you are to them. That makes you question your mortality a lot more than the figure 40. It's an arbitrary thing. Why not 41?"

He was forced (reluctantly, as it turns out) into having a 40th birthday party by Cummings and Fast Show contemporary Charlie Higson - perhaps most memorable as camp landowner Ralph to Whitehouse's recalcitrant gardener Ted. Coincidentally, all three were hitting the milestone in the same year. "It was a really good night," Whitehouse recalls. "Nobody bought me a Harley, though. Pipe and slippers where about the closest I got."

It's all a far cry from ten years ago, when Whitehouse was a plasterer earning #200 a week. After meeting Harry Enfield in a pub and starting a successful writing partnership, his fortunes have changed considerably; some say to the tune of half a million a year. "I've got a very large Bang & Olufsen telly," he admits, when pushed. "And I've got a very nice car, but it's nothing flash. It's an Audi. It's bloody nice and it goes quite fast but it doesn't look like it does. Which I think is very clever of me." He grins. "Or them. But occasionally I think, shall I get myself a Porsche? But I can't do it, I can't drive around in a Porsche." He gazes into the ether, pondering. "But maybe an Aston Martin "

BUT if, with Happiness, Whitehouse wants to distance himself from The Fast Show, why did he rope in all the usual suspects - regulars Mark Williams, Simon Day and Higson (in a painfully-funny turn as a relationships counsellor) - as back-up in the first few episodes? Even the jaunty theme tune is reminiscent of his earlier BAFTA- winning success.

"I was slightly concerned about having them in, that it gave the wrong impression. But mostly they're just misleading cameos. Mark is in briefly, sending up his stuttering character in Shakespeare In Love. Simon is an irate dad who is upset that I want to sign his daughter's Dexter book rather than the bloke in the bear-suit, so he threatens to kick me from arseholes to breakfast time." He ponders, before offering: "But I can't imagine anyone else delivering that line."

But there's also the fact that the whole series seems to be inspired by a sketch in the Fast Show special from Chrimble last - a compendium of off-cuts that didn't make the grade - which saw four forty-something married professionals getting it on with some bright young things.

"You mean Mid-life Crisis Bloke? It certainly influenced Happiness. When we did that sketch, it got some very big laughs. I did a very rude line that got the biggest laugh in a studio that I've ever had. But that's because it was rude. It was porn, really." For the record, Whitehouse's character got a bit excited chatting to an attractive student and asked to well, asked to give her a pearl necklace. It was forbidden-fruit humour; internal-organ-rupturingly funny. But the new series is obviously aimed at an older, slightly less toilet humour-obsessed demographic. Apart from the aforementioned swearing ("I'm allowed three f**ks per half hour by [BBC2 controller] Jane Root," Whitehouse murmurs. "Make of that what you will.") the whole mid-life crisis, raising kids and plastic surgery vibe suggests an audience of a certain maturity. Not exactly This Life, is what we're saying.

"I hope that the young can laugh at middle age people," he counters. "Surely that's exactly what they want to do. But I'm sure a lot of people will be thinking, well he's not saying 'arse' or 'suits you' so I'm turning it over." There are a couple of younger characters featured, though; two hip young things called Toby who work with Danny in the recording studio. "They're the token 'yoot' in the show, I suppose. They represent youth in all its crass stupidity and coolness. Both sides of the coin you get with the young: they're stupid, thieving, disrespectful, impolite bastards." He leans, theatrically, towards the dictaphone. "And I'm really jealous of them."

BUT the Welsh-born comic has little to be jealous about. He's about to repay a favour to Aardman - the Oscar-winning animation troupe that created Dexter The Y-Front Wearing Bear for Happiness. Whitehouse provides the voice of the (fittingly) fastest character in their cinematic reimagining of Aesop's fable The Tortoise And The Hare, playing directly opposite Michael Caine; an icon that Whitehouse has successfully impersonated for a large part of his career. Then there's Jumpers For Goalposts, the Sky One quiz show based equally around A Question Of Sport and Whitehouse's amusingly tangential and mildy senile Fast Show footie pundit Ron Manager. They've got an admirably reactive approach - the show rounds up informed panellists just before transmission - and Whitehouse wearily recounts that, "a lot of football agents came to show one because they are a very wary bunch. But we're not going to humiliate footballers any more than we're going to humiliate ourselves. It's just a bit of silly entertainment." Now that the first series of Happiness is in the can, what's Whitehouse got planned after he's finished his gameshow commitment and providing the voice for an excitable, fast-tracking hare?

"Y'know, I plan to take stock," he eventually replies, after a long pause. Then he starts to imitate an old Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer sketch, where they imbibe OXO. "Take stock!" You groan, but it's still pretty funny in the flesh.

The master of the catchphrase has arguably been let off the hook recently. Now, instead of shouting "brilliant!", boozed-up hordes ping-ponging down Sauchiehall Street on a Saturday prefer to bellow "waaaasssuuupp!" at each other; an intoxicatingly repetitive mantra in honour of a world-famous US beer. And how does this simple-but- effective marketing tool grab Whitehouse?

"I'm too old for it really," he chuckles, before switching into critical mode. "I think it was a bit too loud. It obviously worked, though. That's what we do, I suppose. Just repeat something and if it's not really funny, keep repeating it."

As millions might agree: suits us, sir Happiness begins on BBC2 Tuesday March 20 at 10pm. Jumpers For Goalposts is on Sky 1 Mondays

Copyright 2001
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved.