Different generations will have different memories of Sir Michael Parkinson, who has died aged 88. If you’re a little older, you’ll remember that Parkinson led a golden age of chat shows when they were about the guests rather than the host. He was a master of the art and, though famous, never came across as a celebrity interviewing other celebrities. And never for the sake of a pre-prepared one-liner to get a cheap laugh.
He would ask a question then sit back and let the interviewee answer, at length if need be
He would ask a question then sit back and let the interviewee answer, at length if need be. As a result, he got the best out of everyone from Richard Burton to Robert de Niro, David Attenborough to, perhaps most famously of all, Muhammad Ali, who became a regular on his Saturday night BBC show.
Some tributes have talked about him setting a gold standard for the television interview genre yet, noticeably, few now follow his gimmick-free method. Times change and today’s shows, from Graham Norton’s glitzy parade of Hollywood icons to James Corden’s overbearing desire to be friends with the people he interviews, modern equivalents seem geared to producing moments that will do well on social media. There seems little in the way of serious attempts to get to know more about the person behind the celebrity.
Parky spent seven decades as a journalist, TV broadcaster and writer and it was his journalistic acumen that allowed him to get the best out of his guests. It wasn’t always that way. His first ITV shows in 1969 were an attempt to make him the British Ed Sullivan; he would start the show sitting on a stool making topical jokes.
It didn’t work (though Graham Norton still does a similar spiel). Yet the BBC still took him on and gave him a show without the glitz, just straightforward interviewing. And it proved a massive success. It wasn’t the only string to his bow. Parky, the son of a miner, determined not to follow his father’s footsteps, helped launch TV-am, presented the game show Give Us A Clue and advertised Yorkshire Tea and life insurance.
But undoubtedly the peak was that Saturday night programme. Yes, there were awkward moments – he upset a young Helen Mirren with questions which she considered sexist – but returned to his show 31 years later in a much better mood – and Meg Ryan got so angry she told the Yorkshireman to ‘wrap it up’ and later claimed Parky was a ‘nut’ who behaved like a ‘disapproving father’ over a nude scene she had done.
He lost his temper when attacked by Rod Hull’s Emu and perhaps there were a few too many appearances by Billy Connolly. But who else could have got Peter Sellers or Orson Welles to sit down and regale a television audience with anecdotes, insider revelations and to discuss their own personal demons? Guests appeared when they didn’t need to plug a book, film or song. They simply enjoyed being guests.
We met, once, when he was a guest speaker for the annual conference of Napa – the National Association of Press Agencies. There was no fee, he simply stayed loyal to his local paper roots and Napa’s president, Denis Cassidy. The two had met half a century earlier on the Sheffield Star but, more than that, Denis had organised a date for Parky with a girl called Mary, who had become his wife.
Parkinson was a joy that night. He was full of advice for the youngsters in the audience (some of whom probably hadn’t even heard of him) and full of anecdotes for those of us who grew up on his shows.
In an age when the interview has become either a five-second soundbite or an exercise in ‘me, me, me’ for the host, it is worth rewatching Parky’s understated warmth. He had a true artistry, the beauty of which was making it look so simple.
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