Vic Reeves and Bob Mortimer: return of the very peculiar pair

It is the tour that nearly didn’t happen. When Vic and Bob first announced a new live show, Poignant Moments, to be staged in celebration of 25 years of entertaining the nation together, they could not know how poignant it would be. The comic partners had planned to appear in venues around the country from November last year and then Bob Mortimer’s health check-up sparked a dramatic turn of events.

Suspecting a chest infection late last summer, he asked a doctor for advice ahead of the tour and was told his heart was in trouble. Four days later, the 56-year-old was being prepped for bypass surgery after marrying his long-term partner, Lisa Matthews, at short notice and by special dispensation.

Last week, in a miraculous showbiz-style bounce back, the two performers were both in front of the cameras again to tell fans that they are to continue with the rest of their planned tour. “It is going to be like ‘The Smell of Big Night Out Bang Bang in Catterick’,” promised Mortimer, in a handy composite reminder of the titles of many of their television shows.

Before his comedy partner went under the knife, Vic Reeves, real name Jim Moir, said he believed Mortimer would be back “bigger, faster and stronger”. And this weekend he seems to have been proved right. “He called it good,” confirmed Mortimer, looking relaxed, if not exactly athletic. “I haven’t felt as well for a long time. I have got new pipes, with a good flow.”

“And a new gasket,” added Moir.

There have, they say, been no changes made to the show. “We have had to knock the trampolining on the head though,” said Moir. “They told Bob, no backflips.” Such restraint is for the best, according to Alan Marke, the television producer who worked with Vic and Bob to create the spoof panel show Shooting Stars. Marke suggests that, having reached a certain age, they should probably now stop “throwing themselves about”.

“They gave me some of the funniest times I have had working in TV,” he told the Observer. “There was nothing like the excitement of receiving a fax of their drawings of some fantastical idea they had, for something like the final game of the show,” said Marke. And, despite the chaotic slapstick, their approach to work was always focused. “They took their preparation seriously. They were a little bit free and easy with the script sometimes, but not with the show structure or the technical stuff.”

Jon Plowman, the revered BBC comedy producer, remembers the hit show as a helter-skelter ride, “both horrific and terrific”: “Horrific because the director just had to let the cameras run and hope a show could be constructed from whatever happened, but terrific because they were always so inventive both before the show in the things they wanted constructed and during the show in what they seemed to invent on the spot,” he said.

Although the new live show is billed as marking a silver anniversary for the couple, Vic and Bob have pointed out that it is actually 30 years since they first staged their apparently haphazard style of comedy in London clubs. In that time, they have helped make the names of many of the fellow performers who took part in their shows, including Johnny Vegas, Matt Lucas, Angelos Epithemiou, Morgana Robinson, Emilia Fox and Matt Berry. They also had an eye for a mainstream star with comic potential, reeling in the likes of Carol Vorderman and Les Dennis and, most notably, giving Ulrika Jonsson’s profile a popular boost.

They attracted earnest and cool talent too, enlisting Will Self and Jarvis Cocker from the literary and musical firmaments. And along the way, with ironic abandon, they have spawned an increasingly meaningless series of catchphrases from Big Night Out’s “You wouldn’t let it lie!” to Shooting Stars’ “Eranu!” and “Uvavu!”.

An unlikely couple, their professional relationship seems to have thrived on a difference in temperaments. “I hate every moment of live performance,” Mortimer has confessed, explaining that because of his “naturally shy” disposition he has to be helped by his extrovert friend. “Vic likes it and I have him there to get me through. But I am just counting down the seconds until it’s finished.” Born in the North Riding of Yorkshire, young Mortimer hoped to play professional football but was prevented from trying by chronic rheumatoid arthritis that still requires him to take steroids. He trained as a solicitor, instead, and was working in south London when he met Moir in 1986.

Moir, also 56, was born in Leeds into what he has described as “a bohemian household” where creativity was encouraged. So were pranks, it seems. His paternal grandfather once dressed him up on a holiday as an “Arab boy” and sent him off to beg. Edging towards a life in entertainment, although interested in fine art, he adopted the stage persona of Vic Reeves, the north-east’s light entertainment king.

When Mortimer saw Moir perform at the Goldsmith Tavern in south London he was amused and intrigued. A friendship began and they started performing together at the pub. Audiences for their bizarre variety turns grew, so they moved into Deptford’s barn-like Albany Empire and were then spotted by television producers and researchers, including Jonathan Ross. With cardboard props and a succession of surreal antics, including the now legendary guest star called Man With the Stick, the two performers aped the banal conventions of a variety show to howls of approval from the crowd. “They burst on to the scene in the late 80s and early 90s,” remembers Marke. “They really made it when they were put on the cover of NME, like they were rock stars. It was like going to see a band because of the passion from the audience and all the call and response with their catchphrases.”

Moir’s creation – Vic Reeves – was a perverse version of a “light-ent” compere but with the attitudes and self-belief borrowed from a rock star. “The first time I saw them,” said Marke,” was when Jonathan Ross’s brother, Adam, took me to some glam club in Soho and Vic was singing Rod Stewart songs. He was wearing a suit like Rod’s, but covered in horse brasses. It was like variety except that they played the characters.”

Plowman describes the duo as “visionary throwbacks” because while there is much of the music hall about them, “they follow no known rules”. He compares their “sort of revolutionary” act in Deptford days with the deconstructed variety practised by the late ventriloquist Sandy Powell “who would take his dummy apart during his act”.

The live tour, the first in 20 years, is to hark back to the early days of the Big Night Out with touches of favourite elements from “Bang, Bang, It’s Reeves and Mortimer”, which co-starred Morwenna Banks and Charlie Higson, and from the drama series Catterick.

Sometimes, questions are asked about why Vic and Bob have not developed into “mainstream” TV stars, especially as they are often compared to Morecambe and Wise. Perhaps they are too odd and irrepressible. “We did do a mainstream show together one time called Families at War,” said Marke. “There was talk of doing more, but then they went away to make Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased).”

In 2014, Vic and Bob were back with House of Fools, a broad pastiche sitcom for BBC2. The first episode had an audience of more than 1.25 million, but by the end of the run it was down to 700,000. When the axe was threatened, ardent fans such as Stephen Fry campaigned successfully for a reprieve. “The BBC I thought can’t go more insane: now I hear they are planning to axe Vic and Bob’s House of Fools. What? Tell them they’re mad,” he tweeted.

Last week, the performers said they agreed, but were pleased that at least they made a second series. “We miss House of Fools a lot,” Mortimer added. “It felt a bit like a different and fresh show for British TV.” Although House Of Fools’ characters are not due in the Poignant Moments tour, which begins in Leeds this month, older Reeves and Mortimer creations are, including the Stotts, the Man With the Stick and Novelty Island. As Moir says, there is no danger they will look dated, since none ever had any topical relevance.

What does the future hold for Vic and Bob? Perhaps more straight acting for Moir? Mortimer has expressed an interest in presenting documentaries, but has glumly mused that such gigs may be saved for Oxbridge types. One thing looks likely. He will not reward himself after his forthcoming gigs in the customary manner: by eating a kebab laid out on his bed. This “payback” for performing is likely to be ditched on doctors’ advice. Since his illness he has a diet of seeds, Mortimer complained last week. “I’m basically a chaffinch now.”

THE REEVES AND MORTIMER FILE

Born Robert Mortimer and James Moir (aka Vic Reeves), both born 1959, Middlesbrough and Leeds, respectively. Mortimer trained as solicitor, until absurdist variety beckoned; married to Lisa Matthews, mother of his teenage sons, Harry and Tom. Moir grew up in Darlington hoping to study art, and still draws. Married Sarah Vincent, having a daughter and son, then Nancy Sorrell in 2003, with whom he has twin girls.

Best of times Wowing crowds in London pubs and then at Deptford’s Albany Empire with The Big Show. National fame with Big Night Out on Channel 4 and Shooting Stars, on BBC2. Catterick and the unruly House of Fools also earned devoted fans in smaller numbers.

Worst of times Moir suffered tabloid hounding during his 1999 divorce. Mortimer had heart surgery in 2015, causing personal anguish and the cancellation of the first leg of their tour.

What Mortimer says “When we first did Big Night Out, there was no chance of someone doing a little show in a pub then being on telly. There was a little Oxbridge route in and an old-fashioned variety route.”

What Moir says “We’ve always shied away from showbusiness. We please each other and then see if anyone else is interested.”

What others say “They’re clowns and surrealists and a straight double act and then the next second a twisted double act. Thank God for them !” Jon Plowman, BBC comedy impresario.