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The Day Today (BBC, 1994) was the most radical satire seen on British screens
since the 1960s, and marked the arrival of a new generation of comic talent.
The series originated, like much 1990s television comedy, as a BBC Radio 4
show, On the Hour, in which form it soon attracted a cult audience, as well as
an uneasy relationship with broadcasting regulators.
Despite lasting just six episodes, The Day Today's influence extended well
beyond its short run. The programme's core team would go on to some of the most
innovative television comedy of the next few years: Armando Iannucci, David
Schneider and co-writer Peter Baynham to Saturday Night Armistice (BBC, 1995-98;
Friday Night Armistice from series 2), Doon MacKichan to Smack the Pony (Channel
4, 1999-), Steve Coogan to develop his Alan Partridge character in Knowing Me,
Knowing You... (BBC, 1994) and I'm Alan Partridge (BBC, 1997; 2002) - produced by
Iannucci - Rebecca Front to Big Train (BBC, 1998; 2002) among others. Patrick Marber and, to a lesser extent, Schneider, successfully
wrote for theatre. But the series' most original comic brain was Chris
Morris, whose savage, surreal wit won him acclaim, hero
worship, notoriety and open hatred for his subsequent series, Brass Eye (Channel
4, 1997).
Where previous satire had largely concentrated on the lampooning of political
and public figures, The Day Today's real target was television itself,
specifically the pomposity and self-importance of TV news and current affairs
reporting. The series took the form of a current affairs programme along the
lines of Newsnight (BBC, 1980-), introduced by Morris's very Jeremy Paxman-like
anchor mimicking the portentous speech common among contemporary TV journalists
and linking news reports, weather, sport and assorted features.
Highlights included Morris's on-air humiliations of inept reporter Peter
O'Hanraha-hanrahan ("Peter! You've lost the news!"), the trainful of commuters
reduced to a state of pagan savagery after 48 hours stuck at a signal and
Partridge's sublimely ridiculous sports reports ("the proof is in the pudding,
and the pudding in this case is a football!"). Best of all was an interview in
which Morris manufactured a war between Britain and Australia, which the
programme's reporters exploited with relish; the episode ended with a fake
advertisement for a gloriously tasteless video, offering highlights of the war
with a soundtrack of pop classics ('You Really Got Me' over images of the dead
and wounded, 'Disco Inferno' over burning buildings).
Mark Duguid
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