Latest news with #Withnail&I.
Telegraph
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Got a taste for cosy crime? Then the underrated Pie in the Sky should be next on your list
With its tortured geniuses fussing over fine-dining dishes, hipster favourite The Bear has been rattling the saucepans of TV critics and awards judges alike. Along with pressure-cooker BBC counterpart Boiling Point, restaurant kitchens have become the hot subject for small-screen drama. Before either of those shows, however, came another culinary series with gourmet credentials – but an altogether gentler tone. Pie in the Sky wasn't just one of the most underrated shows of the 1990s. It was also the ultimate cosy crime drama, decades ahead of its time. Airing on Sunday nights from 1994 to 1997, the charming crime caper followed Henry Crabbe (Richard Griffiths), a detective who doubled as a restaurateur – much to the chagrin of his superiors and the confusion of the criminal fraternity. The result was a flavoursome blend of whodunit and gentle comedy, with a generous helping of cookery tips on the side. Escapism had rarely been so delicious. After 25 years in the force, disillusioned Crabbe dreamt of hanging up his handcuffs and opening his own restaurant. When a bid to catch a notorious thief backfired and Crabbe was shot in the leg – 'I'm not built for dodging bullets,' he quipped, 'I make too big a target' – he was effectively blackmailed into semi-retirement. He could pursue his culinary ambitions as long as he took on occasional police work. 'The best of both worlds,' as his self-serving boss put it (and, coincidentally, the title of the debut episode). Crabbe divided his time between his duties as detective inspector and head chef, with each episode following parallel plot lines; one in which he investigated a case, the other dealing with a problem at the eponymous eatery. He ran the restaurant with his accountant wife Margaret (Maggie Steed), who was all about the bottom line and cared little for food herself. In a running joke, she was immune to Henry's cooking, no matter how hard he tried. According to its creator, playwright Andrew Payne – who sadly died last year – Pie in the Sky was 'a cop show that was anti-cop shows'. The lead role was written with Griffiths in mind, and he was even sent to the Prue Leith School of Cookery to research the part – but nevertheless always proclaimed himself an abysmal home cook. To a generation of viewers, Griffiths will forever be lonely, libidinous Uncle Monty from cult 1987 film Withnail & I. He also found a global audience with 1991's The Naked Gun 2½: The Smell of Fear, and quipped in 1994 that those who didn't know him for either role would simply wonder of him, 'Who is that fat git?'. By the Noughties, he became synonymous with Uncle Vernon from the Harry Potter films. But, as Crabbe, he was an utter delight – the genial protagonist, whose flair at the stove matched his skill as a sleuth. 'It was a challenge to make Richard a policeman who didn't want to be one,' Payne once said. 'I like reluctant heroes and Crabbe would much rather be in the kitchen making an omelette than out solving crimes.' Before Pie in the Sky, Payne cut his TV teeth writing scripts for much-loved ITV comedy-drama Minder (his first episode, in 1980, was also set in a kitchen) and the likes of Shoestring, Lovejoy and Midsomer Murders – all quirky crime series in a similar vein. In contrast to Minder's gritty London locations, Pie in the Sky unfolded in the picturesque fictional town of Middleton in leafy Westershire (loosely based on Berkshire). Crabbe's speciality, of course, was those titular pies. His golden-crusted steak-and-kidney number was, according to one police colleague, 'so addictive, it should be on the list of banned substances'. Griffith's physical size, shrewd comic instincts and sparkling intelligence made him entirely believable as a gourmand detective, who would sigh at his police colleagues' packed lunches, despair at his wife's crisp consumption and launch into gastronomical rants at the drop of a chef's hat. 'I've always been aware that from a certain point of view my looks were against me,' he told The Times in 2012. 'And I'm still very disappointed with this shape. In an ideal world, I'd like to get it straightened out, so I could be more easily cast and play more parts. But as I've got older it's got less and less of a problem. It doesn't really matter any more, as long as I've got my brains intact.' Crabbe was a foodie long before it became fashionable. He'd gleefully pull over his Saab if he spotted wild garlic or sorrel growing at the roadside. He eulogised about prosciutto, chorizo and extra virgin olive oil when they were still exotic delicacies rather than standard supermarket fare. He carried a silver pepper grinder – a cherished wedding gift from Margaret – in his waistcoat pocket at all times. His hero was celebrated 19th-century chef Alexis Soyer, whose never-bettered lamb cutlets have remained on The Reform Club's menu for 180 years. 'Everywhere I go, I get people asking me how they should prepare certain dishes,' Griffiths said in 1995. 'People must watch what we do in the kitchen quite closely… we do try to get it right.' Despite the talents of its star, Pie in the Sky was by no means a one-man show. As well as Steed's twinkly turn as the long-suffering Margaret, Joe Duttine played the restaurant's loyal chef – an ex-con once arrested by Crabbe who had learned to cook in prison. Samantha Womack and Marsha Thomason were young waitresses. The likes of Jim Carter, Phyllis Logan, Andy Serkis, Keeley Hawes and Nicola Walker popped up in guest roles. The villain in the first episode – who not only shot Crabbe but, arguably a worse offence, stole his pepper mill – was portrayed by Michael Kitchen of Foyle's War fame. Such was the programme's popularity that it spawned an entire mini-industry. Although most exterior scenes were filmed in Marlow, Henry's beloved eatery was actually a toy shop in Hemel Hempstead's Old Town. It became a tourist attraction for the four years the show was on-air. A canny local restaurateur renamed his own premises Pie in the Sky, just eight doors down, to cash in on the influx of visitors. The show's influence even reached as far as Australia, where a long-standing restaurant called Pie in the Sky in Olinda, Victoria began serving the show's recipes, notably its famed steak-and-kidney pie. With its mild-mannered hero, wry tone and quaint setting, Pie in the Sky presaged the cosy crime boom. Reflecting on the series' tone in 1997, Griffiths said: 'Pie in the Sky works because it is a good-natured show that people can watch with the confidence that they are not going to get their sensibilities assaulted. The difficulty is to do that without being too wimpish, or too soft [...] We go for the dirty language and the tough stuff in rehearsal, then pull it back when the camera's rolling. That way the attitude is still in your mind.' It's a boom that shows no sign of slowing. Some of the BBC's recent hit cosy crime series include Ludwig, which follows a crime-solving crossword setter, Death Valley (a crime-solving actor) and Father Brown (a crime-solving priest). U&Alibi this week brings us a crime-solving bookseller (in Mark Gatiss 's Bookish), while the starry adaptation of Richard Osman 's bestselling The Thursday Murder Club books lands on Netflix next month. Henry and his pies blazed a trail before them all. Pie in the Sky ran for 40 delectable episodes across five series. To revisit the quintessentially British show now is to be reminded of a more innocent time – yet in many ways, it hasn't dated at all. It is the televisual equivalent of comfort food, hearty and nourishing. Go ahead and tuck in.
Spectator
18-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Spectator
Jarvis Cocker still has the voice
For bands of a certain vintage, the art of keeping the show on the road involves a tightly choreographed dance between past and present, old and new, then and now. It's not a one-way transaction: there should be some recognition that the people you are playing to have also evolved since the glory years of the indie disco and student union. Halfway through the first date of Pulp's UK tour following the release of More, their first album in 24 years, I started thinking about Withnail & I. Watching the film repeatedly as a young man, the booze-soaked antics of the dissipated 'resting actor' and his addled supporting cast seemed like great larks, albeit in extremis. The last time I watched it, approaching 50, sober as a judge, it played as the bleak tragedy it had surely always been. To steal the title of a Pulp song: something changed. The music of Pulp has always been scored through with melancholy and painful longing, but its emotional heft and essentially good heart is more evident these days. Singer Jarvis Cocker no longer hides behind so many layers of ironic distance. As he half-joked before 'Help The Aged', at 61 he now requires audience assistance to reach the high notes. More is Cocker's delayed, reluctant reckoning with adulthood. As he put it on 'Grown Ups', 'We're hoping that we don't get shown up/ 'Cos everybody's got to grow up.' Love was once a source of shame and embarrassment, he told us, but he has finally reached a gentlemanly accommodation with it. The shift was evident on new songs such as 'Slow Jam', 'Got To Have Love' and 'Farmer's Market' – a terrific orchestral ballad – but also in the low-key sense of gratitude that emanated from the stage. Cocker came across as a warmer, less wary figure, tossing out grapes and sweeties to the front rows. There were more obvious signs that we weren't in 1995 anymore. The group's core four – Cocker, Nick Banks, Candida Doyle and Mark Webber – nowadays resemble members of the history department of a Russell Group university who have decided to enliven the pre-retirement years by forming a band. They were joined by a string ensemble, a percussionist and several superb multi-instrumentalists, enabling Pulp2025 to shift seamlessly from the vast, corrupted Bond theme drama of 'This Is Hardcore' to a pared-down acoustic version of 'Something Changed'. In the midst of all that evolution, the trick was that it was all still very recognisably Pulp. Framed by purple velvet drapes, the set was a Sheffield bingo hall transported to an aircraft hangar, while an air of slightly shambolic indie-ism survived the transition to a slick arena show. Cocker still has the voice and, perhaps more importantly, the moves. His hands pirouetted like a good actor playing a bad magician. He corkscrewed into the air when excitement got the better of him, such as the moment when 'Common People' exploded into life. The song, which should by now feel glossy with overfamiliarity, was instead a juggernaut of propulsive energy. By then, they had played most of More. 'Tina' might be a classic Pulp title destined to be for ever waiting in vain to become a classic Pulp song, but much of the new material held its own among the gold-standard highlights: 'Sorted For E's & Whizz', an exhilarating 'Disco 2000', 'Mis-Shapes', 'Do You Remember The First Time?' and 'Babies', as well as outliers such as 'The Fear' and 'O.U. (Gone, Gone)'. Nothing on More could possibly have the impact of those songs, a point the audience instinctively understood. That was then, this is now. Both band and fans simply seemed appreciative of the opportunity for 'one last sunset, one final blaze of glory.' The Waterboys are also touring a new album, Life, Death and Dennis Hopper, a gonzo, genre-hopping 25-track sprawl that maps the life of the maverick US actor to the shifting currents of the postwar counterculture. They played around half of it in Edinburgh, in a single suite that unspooled against a Hopper-heavy backdrop of black and white stills and saturated Super-8 video footage. It felt fresh, colourful, eccentric and ultimately celebratory. On either side, they crunched out setlist staples such as 'Be My Enemy' and 'A Girl Called Johnny', which delivered power and punch without much in the way of surprises. The gig was at its best when the interplay between the musicians had space to stretch out. A reworked 'This Is The Sea' gathered an elemental power, and there was a nod to the recently departed Sly Stone during the still effervescent 'The Whole Of The Moon'. Like Pulp, the Waterboys have seen over 40 years' of active service, yet they are still evolving.
