Brass Eye

Brass Eye is the last word in media satire. There certainly hasn't been anything to even touch on its level of inspired, demented genius since it went out, and watching it today this nearly 18 year old program makes everything on TV now look hackneyed and dated. The attention to detail in all the sketches is mindblowing. The celeb duping is utterly ridiculous, how any of them worked again is a mystery (I kind of wish he hadn't gone for 2 of my all time heroes Gary Lineker and Tommy Vance, but even their sections are insanely funny, in particular Vance's guide to 'Prison Slang'). Believe the hype: Seven glorious episodes of head-mashing hilarity that ring as true today as they did back then. Essential.

Brass Eye is a quite awesome achievement. As I write this review, most of Britain's press is up in arms over the recent one-off episode which satirised the particularly sensitive subject of paedophilia. The majority of people claim that it is simply sick to even attempt to make a comedy based on such a theme. However, while not for the easily offended, Chris Morris' style has always been to approach serious issues using interesting methods. This particular episode managed to make some very interesting points, often highlighting the gross inconsistencies in the way in which crime and taboo subjects are dealt with.

A great deal of the humour comes from Morris managing to get celebrities to say the stupidest things. The fact that they are so easily convinced to speak such nonsense, highlights the ignorance and paranoia surrounding the whole subject. Amongst other things, we are told that paedophiles can feel children's faces via computer screens, that they occupy an area of internet the size of Ireland, that they can make toxic fumes rise from keyboards to make children more suggestible, that, genetically, they have more in common with crabs than people. At one stage, Kate Thornton tells us with utter seriousness that HOECS games are used by paedophiles to interact with children. It is quite incredible to see these people saying such things with such belief.

Other highlights include the Eminem spoof, JL B8; a story about a cheeky cockney ex-paedophile who does bus tours of his 'old haunts' - a brilliant spoof of the way the press treats the old east-end London gangsters these days; and an on-going news report showing a crowd lynching a paedophile when released from prison and burning him in a wicker phallus: scarily reminiscent of the mobs that ran wild in Britain in summer 2000.

To dismiss this or any other episode in the '97 series as sick and utterly unamusing, is to display an ignorance or unwillingness to address the very serious issues being dealt with. Just because there is humour involved, does not mean the issues are being sanitised - it actually makes them more poignant.

One of my favourite bits in Brass Eye is during the 'Crime' episode when celebrities record video messages for criminals. They're hosted by Tommy Vance, who spouts hilarious dribble about "foaming nut-brown ale", but the best bit is when he introduces a message intended for murderers – "You are a murderer," he says with an attempt at gravity, "and I can only pray to God that you watch and you listen very carefully to this." We then cut to Vanessa Feltz who, with complete sincerity and self-righteous fury, delivers one of the funniest monologues in history - she plays the part of a murdered individual. "Do you even know what a feeling is? I do but I can't have any more because of you. I hate you." Her acting alone is enough to have me cracking up ("Look into my eyes, murderer") but I love the thought that she delivered this message fully believing that it would be shown to convicted criminals. Could you just imagine it? The laughter from the prisons would engulf the British Isles.

But seeing celebrities humiliated is one of the primary joys of Brass Eye. In every episode we're confronted with their stupidity, their need for attention and their unthinking desire to promote 'good' causes. It's amazing that not one of them listens to what they're saying. I mean, whether it's Paul Daniels talking about an elephant having its trunk stuck up its anus, or Noel Edmonds talking about the evils of Cake, or Nick Owen talking about "sodomised electrons"; none of them question the information they're given. And it's not like the practical jokes are subtle. Just take Dr Fox. He spouts the following: "Genetically, paedophiles have more genes in common with crabs than they do with you and me. Now that is scientific fact. There's no real evidence for it, but it is scientific fact." Only a simpleton in desperate need of an ego stroke could say that with a straight face.

Therefore it's nothing but a pleasure to see the celebrities ridiculed. And another marvellous piece is when Richard Blackwood tells us that paedophiles can make keyboards release gasses that make children suggestible. And yet another great moment is when Stephen Berkoff gives us a demonstration of 'heavy electricity'. He really gets into his speech, smashing toy figures. But what I love is that after he bashes a human figurine he charmingly says, "That could be your mother." If I remember right that line was used when the programme was first advertised, and that line delivery was what got me watching the programme in the first place. But the most devious anti-celebrity piece is when a poem by Nicolas Parsons is re-edited in such a way that he says the following: "Aren't we a bunch of f***wits? An elephant could no more get its trunk stuck up its arse than we could lick our balls." Says it all really.

But Brass Eye is a lot more than just a rant against celebrity. It's also a merciless spoof of television news broadcasting. And the accuracy in which the programme apes the news, what with its pointless graphics, dramatic music and sensationalism, is undoubtedly what got it into trouble with the gutter press – it was too near the bone. Take the paedophile episode. If you read the Daily Mail you probably think it's 'evil'. But instead it's just showing how the news trivialises important issues for the sake of a few lurid headlines. And it also depicts the media's relentless fear mongering. At one point we're told that a paedophile has been getting away with attacking children by dressing as a school. And there's a hilarious segment about a pervert called Jez North. The skit features a reconstruction Crime Watch would be proud of and then even though the paedophile gets a nonce bashing, and is therefore "quadra-spazzed on a life-glug", we're asked whether we can be sure that "pervert mechanics" can't build him a "rooboplaegic wrong-cock." The news loves fear.

However, as great as the paedophile episode is, 'Sex' probably makes me laugh the most. It opens with lurid music and a couple of naked figures. We then see that it's Christopher Morris taking a woman from behind. For a moment he stops, saying "If this were really happening, what you would think?" but when we cut to the studio, and a now suited Morris starts talking, we can see the other Morris on a television screen resuming his banging with gusto. It's a cheap laugh but they all count.

Another fantastic piece in that episode is during a The Time the Place/Kilroy-style debate. Morris talks to a girl who saw her parents killed by a frozen dog falling on them while they were "making sex". He asks the kid whether it will give her psychosexual problems later in life. It just beautifully captures the heartless way those programmes use their guests.

But the best bit in the episode, and one of the most famous sketches in the series, is the "Good AIDS, Bad AIDS" piece. It starts off with Morris patronising his guest ("Who says AIDS guys can't do tough stuff? This guy's got AIDS and he's about to beat me in an arm wrestling match") and then it ends with him berating the AIDS guy for having 'bad' variety of the syndrome ("What if someone shoots you with a machine gun? Anyone yawning will get your infected blood in their mouth"). Again, it's a perfect copy of those simplistic, moralising, rightwing debate shows that used to infest daytime television.

But I really can't adequately express how great the programme is. And there's so much other funny stuff that I haven't got room to mention – the American news pieces are priceless. Foaming nut-brown ale for everyone involved.

In these brightly Orwellian days, where cynical governments can smile 'Trust me...' and know we will fill in the blanks 'I'm lying' and not care; where 'biting' satire is left in the sole hands of a cricket-loving impressionist; where the laurel of 'great comedy' is placed on the head of yet another formulaic spoof of fly-in-the-wall documentaries; in these grimly shining times, Chris Morris is a dark beacon of sense, moral fury, fierce intelligence, intransigent vision; a man of endless, astonishing invention, intimidating energy and a gleefully, pranksterish sensibility.

The problem with today's 'satire' is that it sets up an 'us against them' opposition, in which we snicker with the satirist at a host of immovable, indifferent caricatures. Most of our most prominent satirists are of the same generation, background and ideology of the ruling classes, and their humour has the flavour of locker-room ribbing rather than devastating anger. Most satire consists of an audience talking to itself, reassuring itself of its own worth, its own values against targets so clearly ridiculous they don't really exist. It is satire as easy listening, as reassuring as old socks.

The reason many people don't like Chris Morris is not because of the 'taboo' subject matter he tackles, but because he doesn't play fair, he doesn't play cricket. He never allows the audience the comfort of complacent complicity. if we sneer at another hapless celebrity duped into piously anguishing over some preposterous non-issue in an obscene public gesture of their own ethical value and depth, we are stating that we are truly 'authentic', that we would never be caught out, that our values are sound. And then Morris will insert a crass joke that strips away the warm cloak of lazy irony - an imitation of the author of 'A Brief History of Time', for instance - that repels us, shakes us out of a cosy 'us vs them' mentality, forcing us to face up to the complexity of what we're watching, or - shock, horror! - think for ourselves.

When I was watching the 'Brass eye' repeats recently, I was struck by how little they had dated, how exhilirating and intellectually stimulating, as well as cripplingly funny, they still were. Surely a media satire, with its inbuilt topicality, should become instantly anachronistic. You could argue that this is a damning indictment of a media that hasn't changed its mind-numbing habits in the last half-decade. I would argue, however, that 'Brass eye' is not really a media satire at all, or is not one fundamentally, despite its destructively accurate potshots at sensationalism, the paucity of media intelligence, a culture with a media that no longer records or reflects reality, but actually creates it, as in the recent case of a major Sunday newspaper printing photos of paedophiles, encouraging the public to savage them, conveniently creating the next morning's news. This is all an essential part of what 'Brass eye' does.

But it is more than that. Morris is our century's Jonathan Swift, and last week's 'Brass eye special' on media hysteria about paedophilia was his 'A Modest Proposal', a satire so savage, so angry, so uncomfortable, so ironic in the true, original sense of that phrase, that people mistook the satire for its object, because Morris held up a mirror to our society, a totalitarian, propaganda-corrupt culture posing as a democracy; and to ourselves, we who conceal brutal, fascist instincts under a guise of ethical concern. We didn't like it, and rather than acknowledge our own darkness, we tried to smash the mirror. Like Swift, Morris has always been more concerned with language and ontology than the media per se, the way words no longer mean what they are supposed to mean, in the way the advance of media technology has created an illusionistic world in which 'real' people have to live, in which we try to make the illusion real, to devastating results. And yet, again like Irishman, the sheer invention with which Morris records this communicative decadence channelled through language, liberates and gives some hope - but only if we accept the challenge of 'Brass eye'.

There is actually very little point in writing this- it will never be repeated on British television as it offended too many of the moronic b-list celebrities who unwittingly contributed it; it is unlikely that American TV will show it, as even HBO would probably baulk at the content; it is almost definite that it will never be released on video. Yet, to the lucky few who actually saw it- as opposed to the hysteria that followed its only broadcast- it remains the greatest satire of the 1990s, perhaps of the television age.

Chris Morris is merciless in his humour- an abused girl is asked if her attacker was as good-looking as he is; in completely convincing fake American news extracts, we are told of menaces to American society such as the increase of priests with guns, and of the forgotten fourth man of the Apollo 11 mission whose role was that of sexual slave to the other three. Celebrities are fooled into supporting all kinds of ridiculous causes- Jilly Cooper and Alexandra Paul support an elephant in a German zoo which has stuck its trunk in its anus in a fit of depression; Stephen Berkoff warns us of the perils of 'heavy electricity' falling out of wires; and, controversially, several celebrities and Members of Parliament speak out against the fictitious drug 'Cake'- questions were even raised in Parliament, which led to the postponement of the original showing.

Many have found this programme grossly offensive, yet the conclusion is obvious- either celebrities are stupid, or they will jump on any bandwagon to promote themselves. The boldness too- Morris is a man who will take a hidden camera and ask real drug dealers for non-existent drugs whilst wearing only a nappy (diaper)and a beach ball.

Chris Morris is God.