Matt And David

Hello there and happy new year, if that helps at all.

I’ve been relaxing over Christmas, catching up with friends and family, spending time with my lovely dog Milo, watching disappointing football and also some great films. I particularly enjoyed ‘Slumdog Millionaire’, ‘The Reader’ and ‘Man On Wire’. I won’t say anything more about them – not because I don’t want to spoil them for you, but because I cannot be arsed. Truly. I mean, how many people even read this blog? Three? Four? And that includes my mum.

Anyway, I’m off to watch some Celeb Big Brother. Laters, as young people said circa 1994.

Well, I have wrapped on the ‘Alice In Wonderland’ movie and I’m coming home.

I have to pinch myself to think that I’ve just done a bit in a Hollywood film. And for the first time, I have to agree with those who say acting looks like fun, not work. Maybe it was the fact that, unlike Little Britain, I only had to concentrate on performing, or maybe it was because Tim Burton is so easy and considerate to work for, and full of encouragement and warmth and laughter, but it felt like a well-paid holiday!

One of the nice things about doing the movie was also that we had weekends off. For me, this often meant a flight to somewhere else, to catch up with friends, in Vegas, San Francisco, New York and, last weekend, Seattle.

Seattle – from what little I saw of it, as I was there less than 24 hours – is quite intriguing and I’d like to go back and explore it some more.

I went there to see Robin Williams live on stage and I can report back that he was nothing short of phenomenal. I felt like I’d seen Ali box or Pele score. An hour and forty five minutes of pure gold, a stunning performance, genius material complimented by bouts of staggering spontaneity.

I had the same experience once before, funnily enough with Robin’s contemporary Billy Crystal, when I saw his ‘700 Sundays’ show on Broadway. I laughed and cried in equal measure. The show went beyond funny. It made me cry. It was beautiful, honest and intimate, a celebratory, sometimes heartbreaking account of his youth and his all-too-short relationship with his father. I felt one with Billy Crystal that night, partly because I too was a Jewish comedian who had lost his father too young, and sometimes considered that that might have been the reason I had felt such a connection with the show, but David Walliams saw it in Sydney, when we were on tour at the same time and reported back that it was magical.

If I sound like a critic it’s because I certainly didn’t feel like a comic. The best acts make me forget what I am because they go so much further than I could ever dream.  I love it when that happens. I am first and foremost a fan of comedy.

When I was a nipper my father sat me down in front of Laurel and Hardy and Harold Lloyd. My mum introduced me to Norman Wisdom, who I adored. I watched the Carry On’s, Fawlty Towers and The Young Ones. I spent my time in the school playground listening to tapes I had crudely assembled, recorder held up in front of the television, of routines from the Jasper Carrott show, from Saturday Live, of Stavros and Loadsamoney, Punt and Dennis, Fry and Laurie, Nick Revell, Charles Fleischer, Phil Cornwell and co, on my cheap, shitty headphones, with one ear broken. I would watch videos of Dame Edna, Python, French and Saunders, Rowan Atkinson and, obsessively, Charlie Chaplin.

Later on I would lie awake in the dark at midnight on a Friday night/Saturday morning listening to Radio One, savouring The Mary Whitehouse Experience or my favourite, Victor Lewis-Smith. At college it was Vic and Bob and Frankie Howerd, at university it was Chris Morris and Gerard Hoffnung. In my early twenties I discovered Andy Kaufman.

In recent years I have been like everyone else, devouring the work of Caroline Aherne, The League of Gentlemen, Steve Coogan, Simon Pegg and Edgar Wright, Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant, Peter Kaye, Johnny Vegas, Frank Skinner, Harry Hill, Jimmy Carr, Will Ferrell, Jim Carrey, Judd Apatow and the great Sacha Baron-Cohen. I adored Superbad. Summer Heights High blew me away.  I scan the internet for Zach Galifianakis, Dmitri Martin, Lano and Woodley, Tim and Eric, Shaun Micallef and the inspired phonecalls of Robin Cooper.

In fact, there’s too much great stuff to watch, too much to listen to. I haven’t got time. I think I’d better give up the day job.

Hello friend

Sorry for the delay in blogging. I have been zooming around all over the place, but I am back in LA now and able to write.

I’m still working on the ‘Alice In Wonderland’ feature and it’s been a lot of fun. I love the fact that it’s at the forefront of new technology (a 3D movie combining motion capture, CGI and live action) and it’s been a thrill to watch all these clever people at work.

I nipped back to London the other day (glam, ain’t I?) ostensibly to film a Shooting Stars Xmas Special, but also to promote our Little Britain USA DVD, which was released this week in the UK.

We also heard last week that the show has been picked up by HBO, so we are delighted. It garnered positive press in the US – despite what you may have read – and audiences grew week by week, so we are thrilled to have the chance to build on that.

I got back on Wednesday evening and then was up early on Thursday to appear with David on GMTV. We hadn’t seen each other for a couple of months (though we speak regularly, of course) so it was nice to catch up. We were interviewed by Andrew Castle and Kate Garraway. Halfway through the interview I opted for a banana from the fruit bowl on the coffee table but was warned off by Castle. ‘They’ve been there since the days of David Frost’ he said. Either he’s a kind man with my best interests at heart or he wanted it for himself. Tennis players like bananas. I remember Michael Chang scoffing two once in a break at Wimbledon.

On Friday it was off to face Chris Moyles on Radio One. During the interview he threw me a bit by plonking a copy of The Sun down in front of me, which had the apposite headline ‘The Lonely Gay In The Village’ above a picture of me in LA, snapped a few days before, at a restaurant, noodles hanging from my mouth. It says I was eating spaghetti, though actually it was chicken noodle soup. I may sue.

Then it was on to the BBC, to record a Shooting Stars Christmas Special – the first Shooting Stars episode in over six years. I will never tire of working with Vic and Bob – if you can call it work. Actually it’s more like me just having the best seat in the house. Ulrika captained her team, as ever, and opposite her was Jack Dee, fitting in perfectly. The guests were Dizzee Rascal, Kate Garroway, Peter Jones and Christine Walkden - the gardener from The One Show. As usual I sang a silly little song I’d written and we all agreed it was like we’d never been away. I also filmed a short interview for a documentary about the show – it’s fifteen years since Vic and Bob first pilot’ed it – and the two programmes will appear together on BBC2 sometime over Christmas.

On Saturday I relaxed, saw friends and spent time with my dog. It was the best day of all.

So long, fare thee well, pip pip, cheerio, I’ll be back soon!

Hello there. I know you live and breathe for my blogs. Both of you. So here goes…

I’m still in LA, working on the ‘Alice’ film. We get weekends off, so this weekend I went to New York, to catch up on some Broadway musicals, what with me being a gay etc

I saw 3 musicals – the first was a new one by Sondheim called ‘Roadshow’. I’m a big fan of much of his work, particularly ‘Sweeney Todd’, ‘Into The Woods’, “Company’ and ‘Merrily We Roll Along’. ‘Roadshow’, his firstshow for ten years, is currently in reviews, so it is not fair to judge it too closely. I thought it was good fun, some great performances from the two leads, and some nice tunes. I was rather enjoying, actually and then all of a sudden it just finished. And I think it was a metaphor for America because at the end a man said 'And this is America' and everybody laughed.

The other shows I saw were the Tony Award-Winning ‘In The Heights’ and ‘13’. The former was great fun actually, lovely score, full of life. I didn’t understand it all, the language and the cultural references, but it was an impressive, uplifting piece and recommended, if you ever find yourself in NY.

‘13’ has much going for it, too. The score is by Jason Robert Brown (who wrote music and lyrics for ‘Parade’, which played recently at the Donmar Warehouse) and has one particularly beautiful song at the end – A Little More Homework – and the whole thing reminded me of a more charming, quirkier High School Musical. The entire show is performed by 13 kids, all aged 13, and the band are all 13 too! They’re a talented bunch and because they’re so young, I should imagine, cheap to hire. Which makes me think maybe I’m in the wrong business. Maybe I should put on ‘King Lear’ starring Chesney out of Corrie.

Finally, last night, I went to the taping of Saturday Night Live. It is a remarkable achievement, technically, to watch all the sets being moved around and the show go without a hitch. John McCain was on the show, and when he came on I booed, though only quietly because I am a pussy.

Before I go, I just wanted to say that I have been following the whole ManuelGate affair via the interweb. I don’t want to make light of what Jonathan and Russell did. They know they got it completely wrong. That does happen sometimes, in the pursuit of laughter. It happens on TV shows and in live comedy all the time. God knows I’ve said enough stupid things on stage and on TV, only I wasn’t famous enough at the time or nobody was watching. But I would say that they have apologized and I do believe sincere apologies should be accepted. I hope the media witch-hunt finishes now, because it’s vindictive and depressing. Let’s talk about something nice and cheery instead, like spiraling interest rates, the collapse of the pound and the imminent repossession of all of our homes. Yay!

Hello there. How are you? Oh good. You look well.

Well, I had an altogether quieter week, as I wasn’t on set. Unlike Little Britain, where I’m either in the scene or on the sidelines watching in my capacity as co-writer and executive producer (ooh listen to me, I’ve gone right up meself), I’m just a small part of a much bigger enterprise in terms of ‘Alice In Wonderland’.

So, did I spend my week in LA exploring the town, enjoying the weather, meeting the locals? Did I ‘eck-as-like. I stayed in, piddled about on the internet, caught up on emails, read some scripts and stayed pale and fat. Just how you like me. At one point I did go out and buy a DVD but I haven’t watched it yet.

Right now I’m in Las Vegas for one night, for a pal’s birthday. I haven’t been downstairs yet to the casino, for fear of losing my pay packet – they don’t call it ‘Lost Wages’ for nothing. Instead I am once again sat in my room, eating Chinese food, perusing the net, drooling over Tottenham Hotspur’s current misfortune. For those who don’t know, I support their arch-rivals Arsenal, and have been reading with interest about Tottenham’s worst start to a season ever. This, of course, does present a moral dilemma – not only is it not actually that nice to relish in the misery of others, I do also have close friends and family who support said team. That said, no part of me truly believes that Spurs will be relegated at the end of the season. They have too many good players for that.

Which is a polite way of saying that even if they don’t, some other recently promoted, probably Northern club will have worse players.

Actually I remember visiting Vegas for the first time nearly ten years ago with my friend Paul Putner (you may know him as Paul, in the Marjorie Dawes sketches in Little Britain) and his then girlfriend Dee. At one point we decided to go to the top of the tallest building on the strip, The Stratosphere. In the lift we were accompanied by a young ditzy female operator whose job was to spew facts and figures about The Stratosphere at speed in the minute or so it took to reach the summit. Poor thing, she doubtless performed this at least twenty times an hour during her shift, and she looked in somewhat of a daze as she regurgitated her spiel, when suddenly she caught sight of something and turned to me. ‘

What’s your pin’ she enquired.

After a beat, I realised she was referring to my lapel, which adorned a badge with the Arsenal crest on it.

‘Oh’ I replied ‘It’s Arsenal’.

‘What’s Ar-se-nal?’ was the response.

‘Um, it’s a London soccer team.’

Beat.

‘Wow, London has its own soccer team?’

As I stepped out, she looked impressed. I didn’t.