This article is taken from the December-January 2025 issue of The Critic. To get the full magazine why not subscribe? Right now we’re offering five issues for just £10.

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Parable of the talent

The director-general banning use of the word “talent” whenever referring to top stars of the day surely sets a dangerous precedent.

Having myself navigated this profession on stage and screen for some 53 years, it’s always been whilst secure in the knowledge that those of us blessed with more rarefied professional attributes must exist somewhat apart from industrious folk capably bringing up the rear.

Though first to admit one’s fate under the lights has long been dependent on the endeavours of these unsung heroes in the shadows — to whom I remain profoundly grateful! — it must also be clarified that this healthy degree of separation has endured perfectly successfully all these years without the need to muddy waters. 

I do recall such an arrangement once being aptly referred to as the “talent moat” — namely we being here and they being there. 

Pull up the drawbridge!

Recent telly filming took a disagreeable turn when one’s devouring of a cheese roll between scenes proved officially “traumatising” for the leading lady.

A longtime devotee of the no-frills fare on offer from the TV catering firm in question, this well-nourished player was brusquely instructed by said girl’s lackeys to take his lunch out of harm’s way, due to a bizarre “phobia” concerning co-stars consuming sandwiches and suchlike in her presence!

Judging by her distinctly icy attitude towards yours truly (and tried and tested anecdotes/playful flirtations) from the get-go, one couldn’t help suspecting this harrowing condition to be particularly triggered by greedy male character actors over 70.

Three festive cheers for any middle-aged british celebrity managing not to flog a children’s book this Christmas!

The now endless spectacle of seasoned B- and C-listers flashing the fangs whilst hawking largely contrived offerings on the daytime telly circuit (following creepy Mr Walliams’ bestsellers) counts amongst the showbiz trade’s more unseemly developments.

Thoughts at this difficult time must turn to the Tiny Tims — namely less starry types, naive enough to have once imagined that writing commercially successful children’s literature wouldn’t involve appearing on comedy panel shows or chortling along with Lorraine Kelly.

Though standards have long been on the slide, was there ever a more dispiriting line-up of Scrooges than those offered to festive audiences in 2024? With the preposterous casting of gargantuan ex-Time Lord Colin Baker amongst notable low points, this is sorry gruel indeed.

Proving a particularly cocksure presence in recent months, courtesy of that suddenly “flourishing” acting career (six-and-a-half minutes on Netflix, if we’re counting), subsequent casting rejections leave the nephew/lodger feeling lost at sea.

Perhaps wildly premature in his assumption that lucrative stardom awaited just around the corner, not to mention being recklessly dismissive of the considered counsel offered by his theatrical relation, the family Christmas shall now serve as a time of more humble reflection. Having briefly questioned one’s own role in the way of things when the lad threatened to be riding high, this doting uncle shall of course come to the fore as we contend with his bruising disappointments together!

Ghoulishly brought back by AI for a “new series”, surely only fitting that this more sinister Parky has Helen Mirren in his sights? 

Having spent recent years pillorying the real Michael in the press for daring to interview her 1970s-style back in 1975, our media-savvy Dame graciously changed her tune the moment he fell off his perch the summer before last — belatedly clarifying he’d in fact behaved perfectly reasonably at the time! 

Virtual revenge would be sweet … 

Just as civil war over at the Actors’ Benevolent Fund finally appeared to be over, irate Salfordian Mr Eccleston is controversially elevated to a plum position in the ranks. With many relationships still at the fragile stage (I speak amongst those recently knifed in the back), the prospect of this northern Roundhead throwing his weight about fills us elderly Cavaliers with dread.

Whitehall farce

Dragged out in all weathers by the perky actress wife decades his junior, retired theatrical agent Mr Whitehall suffered a humiliating tumble at the downmarket “British Podcast Awards” when attempting to vacate the stage.

Whilst dear Michael was quite the force in his heyday (ongoing loyalty to Havers a rare mistake), fame-hungry Mrs Whitehall’s insistence the old dodderer continues to do the minor celebrity circuit can only turn more precarious.

Duty-bound to remind folk that Ken Branagh’s movie portrayal of the Belgian sleuth has largely failed to impress critics, former telly Poirot David Suchet helpfully announces he’ll only contemplate his own comeback as the character on the “big screen”. 

The modesty of this ancient peacock never disappoints!

As Earl Spencer’s new romance with fetching archaeologist and current podcast co-host Cat Jarman makes headlines, I trust they’ll tread delicately? The form book suggests relations with fellow co-presenter Reverend Richard Coles risk turning strained should this most self-absorbed of celebrity vicars ever feel a spotlight excessively lingering elsewhere at his expense. 

Whilst the fellow presently residing in Number 10 shows his true dreary colours after chucking out Shakespeare’s portrait, let us instead celebrate living under a monarch so thoroughly versed in the Bard’s works.

This heartening state of affairs must be appreciated whilst it lasts — the heir to the throne’s more man-of-the-people credentials confining him to such cultural deserts as association football and American action franchises.

Ealing comedy

Having chosen an intimate Ealing location for the debut outing of my long-awaited solo show Only The Liars Remain, (one wishes to hone matters before playing to bigger wolves in 2025), it naturally proved disappointing to still experience sabotage at play.

Minutes into this demanding endeavour, billed as a “remarkable exposé of theatrical betrayal spanning 1971 to the present”, I imagined the antics of some “Let’s Stop Oil” oik when hearing incoherent noises of protest from the audience.

Speedy investigation instead confirmed the guilty party to be a particularly embittered/inebriated telly co-star from yesteryear (duly ejected by helpful bar staff), whose ongoing refusal to accept the truth is indicative of a career long lost to delusion.

Congratulations to Ms Maitlis for seeing off ex-Newsnight underling Ms McAlister, following that wonderfully unbecoming PR battle to cash in on the Prince Andrew debacle.

With these glamorous assassins having busily championed rival star-studded TV dramas during 2024, perhaps it was always inevitable that Emily’s superior experience in the world of ruthless self-promotion would carry the day.