Brass Eye

Chris Morris' brilliant 'Brass Eye', a satire on tabloid television, the ascendancy of the celebrity class and, more generally, the culture of stupidity, is arguably the most subversive television comedy ever made, and one the funniest. In an age where programs abound in which the rich and famous are invited to gently send themselves up, on the grounds that all publicity is good, Morris triumphantly shatters the myth, as a rich stream of unwitting victims emerge exposed as the idiots they are. Some tried to get the program banned, but undeterred, Morris retorted by making a special episode on the taboo issue of paedophilia. The wholly staged segments are good as well, and though 'Brass Eye' occasionally makes for uncomfortable viewing, this is to the credit of a program designed to force one to think about one's beliefs. Personal favourite scenes include MP Rhodes Boyson gormlessly endorsing the deployment of Batman as a way of fighting crime, and the jam-making company which encourages the use of illegal drugs to enhance performance. A program to watch and enjoy, but also to remember the next time you're asked to take something for granted.

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.

Any show which brasses off the editor of 'The News Of The World' is OK by me. The furore that surrounded the notorious 'paedophilia' special has ensured that 'Brass Eye' will not easily be forgotten. What was amusing was the way Rebekah Wade missed the point; it was not 'sending up' paedophilia', you can't do that, but rather the lynch-mob mentality of publicity-seeking tabloid rags. The rest of 'Brass Eye' was great too; particularly 'Drugs'. When Noel Edmonds uttered the phrase 'Shatner's Bassoom', I nearly died laughing. Top marks to Chris Morris for managing to trap so many D-list celebrities and charlatan politicians into making utter fools of themselves. As with 'The Day Today', the use of graphics and music is both clever and imaginative; an image of Peter Stringfellow was mocked in the 'Sex' episode. If 'Brass Eye' still shocks nearly a decade later, it is a testament to the genius of its creator. And it proved that the success of 'The Day Today' was not all down to Steve Coogan.

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.