Tale of the unexpected | 1 October 2011

I imagine there is software that helps you write biopics for television. First you pick the childhood from a drop-down menu, selecting [poor but respectable] [very poor] [so poor that all your belongings will fit into a single wheelbarrow which your mother pushes from a grim slum to the nearby hell-hole]. Father deserts family [yes] [no]. Star is determined to make it big but [is sent from one agent to another with mocking laughter in their ears] [meets an impresario who is sceptical at first then turns incredulously to accompanist and says, ‘My God, she’s got something!’].

Then there are the other staples which must be included by law. The trip to the Glasgow Empire, where the previous act has had fruit thrown at them. Does the aspirant entertainer [suffer the same fate] [win them over with a brilliant performance]? Actually, I don’t know why the Glasgow Empire was regarded as such a crucial challenge. My impression was that the theatre was packed with miserable sods who only wanted to make entertainers’ lives as appalling as their own.

Then there is the hopeless first marriage, the climb up the show business ladder (‘permit me to introduce myself. My name is [Jack Hylton] [Bill Cotton] [Peter Hall]’), the estrangement from family, the tabloid scandal, the unwise love affair, the row with the manager who discovered you (‘I made you, and don’t you ever forget it!’) the failure (‘that part was meant for me!’) and the trip to Australia, which is never a good idea, as Tony Hancock could have told you — he killed himself there. Finally, there is the [recognition as national treasure and a life of contented achievement] or [humiliation, degradation, death].

We’ve seen it many times: Hancock, Gracie Fields, Enid Blyton, Hattie Jacques, Morecambe and Wise — not all elements are included in all of these biopics, but most.