WEEKENDS
ARE RUBBISH. IN FACT, there's no point in getting out of bed on either
Saturday or Sunday.
And the reason for this sorry state of affairs is patently obvious:
there's no Richard and Judy.
Without the cosy, couch-bound couple's priceless daily advice on hairdressing,
sexually transmitted diseases and flans, life swiftly becomes utterly
meaningless.
Salvation
is at hand in the form of renowned Fist Of Fun fellas Richard
Herring and Stewart Lee, poised to transform the cultural vacuum of
Sunday lunchtime into a sparkling orgy of live, sofa-based banter in
their new jape jamboree This Morning With Richard, Not Judy.
Herring premiered an embryonic, single-presenter version of the show
at the Edinburgh Festival in 1994, but this two-person format was ultimately
honed at Edinburgh last year when a bleary Stewart - barely equipped
to honour 10am deadlines - also staggered on to the sofa.
"It's
not so much a parody of morning television," reveals Richard,
"more a celebration."
"The morning show is quite a good format to do
the kind of comedy that we like to do," adds Stewart, "because
we can sit around and chat in a casual way. That never really came across
in Fist Of Fun because it was a very contrived situation. We can also
do gags with false guests. It kind of marks out your constituency as
well, because a lot of the people that come and see us live are the
kind of people who don't have anything better to do than watch morning
TV."
A
number of new faces will be making their small-screen debut on This
Morning With Richard, Not Judy: The Curious Orange (Ho! Ho! -
Fall Ed), an eloquent and knowledgeable citrus fruit, The Organ
Gang, who are, yes, an animated gang of human organs (voiced by Playaway
legend Brian Cant), and Histor, the one-eyed educational crow.
Of
course, no respectable morning show would be complete without a sparkling
array of celebrity guests.
"A lot of them aren't real people," Richard
admits, "but we do have a Raj Persaud-type character,
a woman psychologist who supposedly knows about everything. We've also
got my French exchange student from when I was 15. He's 30 now but still
insists on throwing bangers around and writing the names of terrible
bands on his duffle bag."
As a taste of possible sofa sitters to come, one of the Studio guests
chosen to appear during last year's Edinburgh run were real-life Krautrock
veterans, Faust.
"They drank a bottle of whisky each in the cab
on the way over," explains Stewart, a sometime music journalist.
"They brought an angle grinder and a vast chunk
of metal with them. Now, though, Faust are very big in their own particular
world; to our audience, which are mostly mums, dads and kids, no-one
really knows who they are.
They came on and said, 'Our work is not comedy, it's tragedy' and everyone
started laughing.
Later I took them to the top of a nearby building to chuck loads of
Simple Minds albums off.
When Jim Kerr was in Johnny And The Self-Abusers, he did the same thing
with Faust albums to show his dismissal of the hippy ideal. But the
joke's on Jim; if he'd kept those albums, they'd be worth thousands
now. The Simple Minds albums, on the other hand, go for about 10 pence."