In the last episode of the series, Kit goes for his big break: a BBC breakfast DJ slot. We also get to see the infamous outfit that has ensured that this series will never, ever be forgotten.
About
The sixth episode of The Kit Curran Radio Show, ‘The Big Break’, aired on the 14th of May 1984 on ITV. Produced by Thames Television and written by Andy Hamilton, it stars Denis Lawson as ‘Kit Curran’, Clive Merrison as ‘Damien Appleby’, Paul Brooke as ‘Les Toms’ and Brian Wilde as ‘Roland Simpson’. It also features Hilton McRae as ‘Hooper’. Lawson fans may recognise McRae, as he also stars in ‘The Justice Game’ and one episode of ‘New Tricks’ opposite Lawson. He’s also in Return of the Jedi as Arvel Crynyd / Green Leader, aka the pilot who flew their A-Wing into the bridge of a Star Destroyer.
Availability: Out on Region 2 DVD as of 2018. Be aware that the iTunes version is actually Series 2 mislabelled as Series 1. The watch quality of the DVD is better than these screencaps suggest—it’s certainly an improvement over the VHS rips of re-runs that were circling before it was released—but you can tell the footage hasn’t been best preserved.
The Big Break
Frequent caller George—I’d say we’ll miss him now we’ve reached the end of the series, but will we really?—has yet another complaint. This time, it’s about the shortage of digestive biscuits in the supermarkets, whilst one young man is flashing a twenty pound note to buy electrical goods from Taiwan. Apparently, this is the EEC’s fault, become some things will truly never change. Kit is no bored that he’s checking out his hair whilst he listens to George.
The big news, however, is that the BBC are looking for a new breakfast DJ for Radio One. Kit, always looking for more fame, applied, and the BBC have invited him to interview for it. Big mistake, BBC. One itsy-bitsy problem though: his interview is slap bang in the middle of his Friday morning programme.
Roland is slowly losing patience with Kit, so he’s unlikely to let Kit go gadding off for an interview. Not considering the fact that Kit is busy wanting expenses for a roadshow he want onto Brighton.
“Trust you? Trust you? I’d rather trust a double-glazing salesman.”
Kit is out of lies, and seems to know it won’t succeed, so he asks Les to do it for him. Les delights in telling Kit no, until Kit bribes him with cake. Les spins a sob story about how Kit’s grandmother has died and he needs time off to attend the funeral.
There’s a slight diversion from the plot as we find Kit doing press-ups on the studio floor, which … I mean look, I appreciate the opportunity to watch Lawson do them, cause he’s super speedy for someone so damn wiry, but I’m not entirely convinced of their relevance. Kit also wants to hone his interview technique, so he practises with Les. This involves doing an Irish accent, for reasons which I presume were that all the BBC’s top talent were Irish at the time? His Irish impression is … something, and I’m just gonna stop there. This gimmick isn’t working, and so Kit’s just gonna have to find another one.
Damien is told he has to cover Kit’s show, and isn’t impressed about the matter. Especially given that he’s pretty sure Kit’s lying. He quizzes Kit on specifics, and Kit avoids them all by crying into Roland’s chest. (Lawson—well, either he can’t actually cry on cue, or he felt that Kit wouldn’t be that dedicated to the performance. I can’t tell. Either way, it’s slightly shoddy fake crying, but I’m not convinced Kit knows how to cry so it works.)
The gimmick Kit settles on is … well, there aren’t words for this outfit. There really aren’t. I once saw it described as looking as if he’d been dipped in a vat of liquid eighties, and that’s about the best description I have for it. There’s the leopard print trousers. The neon shoes and the tie. The shimmering pink jacket. His hair, streaked in three different shades. KC and a musical note on his cheeks. He’s got a full face of make-up on too: orange eyshadow, eyeliner and lipstick. Kit describes it as a ‘visual experience’ and well, he’s not wrong.
Damien is, not surprisingly, the worst DJ ever. It is very funny to watch. He has such disdain for it.
Kit turns up at his interview, and unsurprisingly, immediately starts trying to put the other guy off. Excellent strategy there Kit; if in doubt of your own merits, sabotage your competition.
When it’s his turn, Kit makes an entrance. Properly scandalising the BBC interview panel, who are utterly bewildered by his force of personality. The woman in charge seems a little taken with him, despite herself. Kit demonstrates his ability to be a complete fraud which, is an excuse for more impressions—which really are very good, Lawson’s ability to switch seamlessly in one take is very impressive.
Despite—or more likely, because of—Kit’s best efforts, the BBC decide that he isn’t a good fit for them. They send him a rejection letter and his ego is so damn big that he thinks there has been a mistake, only believing that he’s been rejected when the woman at BBC recruitment confirms it over the phone. Disappointment is crushing Kit, but you undoubtedly brought this on yourself. Public service radio is not for you.
Poor Kit. If that wasn’t bad enough, Roland discovers the rejection letter, and he is done. He dismisses Kit, with prejudice, telling him to not come back. Kit seems to accept this, but as he leaves, he says ‘see you Monday’ and Roland agrees. Kit has somehow clung onto his job, like a miracle. He is a cockroach. He will be gone from Radio Newtown when the world ends.
Verdict
It’s the final episode of the series, and Kit finally gets something that resembles a comeuppance. He’s somehow still clinging to his job by the skin of his teeth, but he does get turned down from the BBC post, and that’s a much needed reality-shock. Honestly, he probably wouldn’t have got the job even if he’d gone in as himself. Kit-taken-up-to-eleven is quite something to see though, with the outfit and performance. His exit—vaulting across the chair—is really something.
There’s a joke that definitely no longer lands in the episode, where one of Kit’s proposed gimmicks is based in being an ‘androgynous’ DJ. First, his depiction of it is … well, crass and inaccurate, and second, the language he uses is certainly inappropriate now, though I’m not sure of it’s place in the historical setting. (We’ve come a long way in how the mainstream western world talks about gender and sexuality in the last thirty-five years.)
As far as the series as a whole goes, it could certainly stand up worse. Are there a few awkward moments, like the above, that no longer land for modern audiences? Yeah, totally. But honestly I wince like that sometimes watching programmes from ten years ago. The political humour, a backbone, is obviously era-specific, but given that the world seems on a mission to launch back to the eighties it’s still pretty damn relevant.
Is it the most cutting edge piece of comedy ever? Nope. The political satire, whilst amusing, is never quite sharp enough to really get going, and neither are the media critiques central to the series. As a showcase for Lawson though? It’s pretty damn good. (And that is what we are here for on this blog, so that’s really all I care about.) He’s got great comedic timing, he sings, he dances, he does impressions. You can see his stage-craft shining through. And you get to see him in an increasing variety of amusing outfits, so really, what more can you want?
I’ll be back to watch series 2 at some point, which I find far more fun—an opinion apparently not widely shared by other folks on the internet, but what do they know.
Next time
We’re off to Ireland in 1998 with the first episode of series one of The Ambassador, a delightful show from the BBC that is about the newly appointed British Ambassador to Ireland. Lawson plays her right hand man John Stone, and we are in for a world of treats as they navigate the murky world of Anglo-Irish relations.