I DON'T know what was more offensive – Jonathan Ross winding up Andrew Sachs, the shots of him in the radio studio in one of Ricky Gervais's cast-off black T-shirts ("Don't bother washing it, Wicky … mmm, have you lost weight?") or the man we all lov
e to hate being described as a "comedian".
Gervais is a comedian. Russell Brand is a comedian. Ross hangs around with comedians, copying their moves (he'd love Brand's big hair), and if that pair told him to dig up the time capsule in the Blue Peter garden, he'd probably do it. But for his return to TV from his ban he wore a sober suit and his best contrite expression.
"I'm going to take this opportunity to apologise," he said. "In future I do intend to be more aware of the responsibility."
With Sachsgate, Ross opened up a thumping great debate about censorship, comedy of this age versus Sachs' Fawlty Towers era, licence fee-funded "edginess", the state broadcaster handing out contracts worth £18m and the dodgy fashion sense of 47-year-old men – and none it had really been settled by the time he welcomed his first guest, Lee Evans, for some of the over-familiar joshing people used to criticise Parkie for.
Stephen Fry was next, plugging his series about endangered species, and by this point none seemed more under threat than the daring celebrity interviewer. Surely the top draw, Tom Cruise, could expect the odd grenade? "I get the impression you're very focused," ventured Ross. "Is there anything you haven't mastered? How long do you spend greeting your fans?"
The Ross of old would have asked a Scientology question. The all-new responsible version gave the biggest and strangest name in movies an easy ride, save for an inquiry about breaking wind. Wasn't that sort of thing the ultimate in humour back when Andrew Sachs was a star?
