Morecambe was then 42 and at the beginning of a BBC run lasting until 1977 that would produce a series of Christmas specials on which the duo\u2019s fame largely rests. Half a century later, these specials are still a feature of the BBC\u2019s Christmas line-up<\/a>. But it is difficult to convey how much of an institution Morecambe and Wise were in that three-channel 1970s world of television. <\/p>\n In 1999 Queen Elizabeth dedicated the statue of Morecambe on the promenade of his home town, whose name the young Eric Bartholemew adopted. There are more than ten books about the comedian, and the late Victoria Wood wrote and performed in Eric and Ernie<\/a> (2011) about their early years. The hunt for missing shows that led to the recent discovery has found episodes as far afield as Sierra Leone.<\/p>\n But why does the affection for Morecambe and Wise endure? As an academic with a specialism in TV comedy, I\u2019m keen to explore Morecambe\u2019s contribution to the continuing fascination with this double act.<\/p>\n The pair were brought together through talent shows and music-hall impresario Jack Hylton in the early 1940s. Initially Wise had the bigger name and the edge in song and dance. The double act had to be paused when they were old enough to be conscripted \u2013 Wise into the merchant navy, Morecambe as a miner in Accrington where he experienced a heart murmur, a shadow of what was ahead.<\/p>\n Post-war BBC Radio success led to an unhappy television debut, Running Wild (1954), but the duo were too good to be off screen for long. They became regulars on other series, until hired as the stars of ATV\u2019s Two of a Kind<\/a> (1961-68). The appearance of the Beatles on the show<\/a> in 1963, right on the cusp of international stardom, illustrates these two sparky live performers\u2019 fast, funny, irreverent signature style.<\/p>\n When John Lennon tries to make a point about his dad telling him about Morecambe and Wise when he was younger, indicating his height at the time, Eric responds \u201cYou\u2019ve only got a little dad, have you?\u201d and everyone dissolves into laughter, including Ernie.<\/p>\n It\u2019s clear that while there was a script, delivered more or less successfully, there is also improvisation catching fellow performers on the hop. When Ernie sets up a joint rendition of Moonlight Bay, Eric storms in wearing a Beatles wig singing lines from their hits. He\u2019s an aggressive, anarchic, decidedly northern spirit. <\/p>\n There was always a slapstick element to their comedy that takes real professionalism to make work, and to roll with it when things goes wrong. For this they drew on their music-hall roots and learned from film performers, too.<\/p>\n Writer Eddie Braben\u2019s<\/a> Morecambe and Wise Show sketches have them co-habiting like Laurel and Hardy<\/a> and, like Oliver Hardy, Eric breaks the fourth wall, speaking to the audience directly, usually to highlight his awareness of how badly things are going. Their humour is quintessentially British.<\/p>\n Despite a real desire to break America, and numerous appearances on the hugely popular Ed Sullivan Show, they were not to be part of the \u201cBritish invasion\u201d of the 1960s. Instead they were regarded with real affection in a drab mid-century Britain seeking a bit of sunshine.<\/p>\n The great and the good flocked to appear on their Christmas specials in musical numbers and plays \u201cwot Ern wrote\u201d. It worked best when the guest brought some gravitas that could be undermined, as with stern classical actress Glenda Jackson, who revealed a real talent for comedy, and newsreader Angela Rippon, who revealed she had legs and an unsuspected ability to dance that is remembered today. <\/p>\n With male celebrities there is often an edge of rivalry. The best-known sketch of the Christmas Specials, from 1971, sees globally renowned conductor Andr\u00e9 Previn<\/a> drawn in under false pretences by Ernie who has promised him the chance to work with violinist Yehudi Menuhin, setting up confusions over names. In the end Previn becomes Andrew Preview as Eric destroys Grieg\u2019s Piano Concerto with \u201call the right notes just not necessarily in the right order\u201d.<\/p>\n Previn managed to hold his own (and keep an admirably straight face) despite being unable to attend scheduled rehearsals, and it is noticeable how much Morecambe claps the other performers at the end. He feeds on live interaction that teeters breathlessly on the brink of collapse. This sketch is lightning in a bottle with Morecambe\u2019s role as conductor of chaos.<\/p>\n But it took its toll. That early heart murmur would turn into near-fatal heart attacks in 1968 and 1979, and a fatal one in 1984, backstage after half a dozen curtain calls at a solo event. Morecambe was just 58, undoubtedly with more to give on many fronts, from comedy to writing and acting.<\/p>\n Watching the famous Breakfast Sketch (1976) used to irritate me, because to my younger self those pancakes weren\u2019t going to be any good with all that eggshell in them, and the oranges weren\u2019t cut into even halves.<\/p>\nAn enduring double act<\/h2>\n
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