R.I.P Mark Turnbull, a man little known outside the north-east of England which was his home and that merry band of journalists that was his profession. Blind from birth, he was a giant of a man. both in stature, 6'2" and over 350 pounds, and in character; he always impressed by his very love of life and all that it might contain. As a radio presenter and producer, one-time host of the Radio Cleveland (later Radio Tees) breakfast show, he was both irreverent and empathetic, usually simultaneously; I well remember the 'gag', foisted upon some innocent, but troublesome, female caller : "What is 9 inches long, made of plastic and is inclined to go dead at a moment's notice?*'
After perhaps ten seconds, while she pondered her answer, he slammed the 'phone down!
The year that Mark became President of the NUJ ([UK] National Union of Journalists - a Trades Union) will be forever known among the members of the 'Mark Turnbull Victims Club' as 'the Year of Living Dangerously'; the 'Year of Perpetual Intoxication'. Mark. as well as being an accomplished musician, drank like a fish and encouraged all in his company to do likewise, whether they were capable or no; Mark held the record, according to the steward**, of the highest number of drinks consumed in the journey from Darlington to London; twelve double gins and tonic!
The 'Victims Club' was formed out of those who had suffered physical damage, in the wake of Mark's adherence to, and tolerance of, booze in truly copious quantities; in my case a fall down a flight of concrete stairs, leading to an immense 'cut lip' and a cheek which ballooned overnight to five times its normal size. As I lay crumpled in a heap, Mark, solicitously cried: "Are you alright, MG?" I replied in the positive. As I later pointed out to a colleague; although I was bleeding profusely and was decidedly not alright, being mildly concussed, how would he, unseeing as he was. to know otherwise! I spent the next hour on the tube, on the way home, being quizzed by other passengers: "Had I been mugged, rolled over?"
If heaven exists, and I can get there, there is no other person in the after-life that I would wish to meet again than Mark Turnbull.
I have been watching a few favourite episodes from the US 'comedy' series, M*A*S*H, recently; 'Abyssinia, Henry'***, where Henry Blake, the inept CO for the first three seasons finally gets to go home to his wife and family and is shot down over the Sea of Japan and dies; 'Hanky Panky' where B.J succumbs to a poignant and tear-wrenching night of passion in defiance of his marriage vows to which he has tried so hard to adhere; 'Comrades in Arms', the 'two-parter' in which the latent passions of 'Hawkeye' and 'Hot Lips' finally, in a time of great stress, get the better of both of them.***
At irs best, the series did as much to highlight the pointlessness of conflict and its logical extension, war, and the damage done, both physically and mentally, to its participants as any televisual experience has a right to do, Even now, thirty years on, it is still a benchmark for witty, intelligent, thought-provoking but ultimately disposable cogitations on the human experience that US television has managed to invent. In part, due no doubt to its longevity and Alda's influence, it grew beyond the confines of its pessimistic and barbed predecessor in novel and, later, film to offer something other than the anarchy of simple, and often adolescent, rebellion, an alternative to a superficial l'homme revolté.
I did, at this point, propose to delve into the history of the 'MASH concept'; the idea that something other than an 'aid station' proffering emergency treatment to troops at the front-line was a good idea, however late in the day it might have come, would be a suitable topic for discussion. However. I have been captivated by how the seemingly disposable and ephemeral may, nonetheless, transcend the inconsequential.
Comedy began as an opposite to tragedy; for the Greeks, it was, however, no less a medium for illustrating and enlightening the 'human condition' than the tragedies of Euripedes and Sophecles; Aristophanes is just as good at loosing the foibles of human nature on the world as any great tragedian! Is 'Twelfth Night' not just as profound as 'Hamlet' or 'King Lear'? They consider different aspects but is not love, the wellspring from which Shakespeare's comedy grows, not as profound as revenge, as power and the loss of that power; after all, Lady Macbeth is inspired to her evil deeds only by love of her husband and her intense desire for his supremacy. Is not 'Les Fourberies de Scapin'. a farce by Molière, equally as profound, as illustrative of human nature, as 'Le Misanthrope' or 'Tartuffe'.
However, by the twentieth century, comedy had acquired a 'bad name'. Comedy was no longer Aristophanes and Plautus, no longer Shakespeare or Jonson, comedy was 'jokes', comedy was a short anecdote with an unexpected punch line, comedy was ephemeral. And into that mix, into popular culture, came 'The Mary Tyler Moore Show'.
It is difficult now to even envisage how revolutionary this programme was. It built upon the 'independence' of the 'Lucille Ball' show and made a paragon of the independent,' feminist' woman; an antidote to 'I dream of Jeanie' and the 'Brady Bunch'. MTM's perception of what comedy was. what it could mean. changed our perceptions. made M*A*S*H real and so changed the appreciation of what comedy COULD do.
In the end, we laugh because we recognise the truth of what is said, portrayed, illustrated and yet, still we do nothing, or very little, too little. We need to see comedy for what it is; not a diversion but a call to action!
I have just found this; a photograph of Mark with his beloved mother in the 'Lucas Arms', the setting for many a 'lock in' (snapped by the awesome Ronan Quinlan, a man as renowned for his wit and intelligence as for his photography).
* Quite obviously referring to a vibrator.
** As I learnt one night when Mark tried to 'hi-jack' me, ticketless, onto the last train to Darlington as someone to talk to during the four hour journey!
*** A pun from an earlier episode, "I'll be seeing you, Henry'
**** Written by its star, Alan Alda: I think it was just a sneaky trick to allow Alda to snog Loretta Swit!
No comments:
Post a Comment