Odd this day

Coates
5 min readDec 10, 2022

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It’s 10 December — which means today would have been the birthday of actor, writer, director, caperer, mischief maker, and “one of the strangest people in Britain”, Ken Campbell.

A middle-aged bald man in a suit with huge eyebrows looks quizzically at the camera

Here he is sporting spectacular eyebrows (his own), teeth (not his own) and a sink plunger (ownership undetermined).

The same man in a photo in which you can see his spectacular eyebrows even better. In this shot he’s also wearing false teeth and (on top of his head) a sink plunger

I think this is reason enough on its own to celebrate his life, but there is more…

He was known for being Alf Garnett’s neighbour in In Sickness and in Health, and ‘Roger’ in Fawlty Towers episode The Anniversary, but was also

one of the most original and unclassifiable talents in the British theatre

He put on a 9-hour sci-fi trilogy Illuminatus! and a 22-hour play cycle The Warp (the longest play in the world), as well as a version of Macbeth in pidgin English, but perhaps most importantly, created The Ken Campbell Roadshow.

Ken Campbell and Sylvester McCoy dressed as cavemen

Pioneers of improvised lunacy, they

enacted barroom tales of sexual and psychic mayhem while banging nails up their noses and stuffing ferrets down their trousers

Sylvester McCoy having ferrets stuffed down his trousers

(Thanks to Doctor Who Cast and Crew on Twitter for that photo)

They appeared at The Secret Policeman’s Ball in 1979, at which Sylvester McCoy (as was his habit) did, indeed, perform his trick of hammering a four-inch nail into his face:

There’s a 1971 documentary about them on YouTube (which now looks like it was filmed through soup) in which Ken explains part of his philosophy:

all plays and sketches take place in the past. A stunt, the escapology that we do, takes place in the present.

He also says:

The Roadshow was designed so that it could be performed anywhere… and then your privilege is that you meet such a cross-section of people in so many different places.

He’s not taking theatre to the great unwashed, who should be grateful, it’s his privilege. I like that.

A young Sylvester McCoy and another man dressed only in Y-fronts and shoes and socks walk around in a space in the middle of a crowd of people in a town centre

That documentary also features a shot of this headline, which I rather like (and can be filed under Questions To Which The Answer Is Yes):

Headline: Does art to you mean a ferret down your trousers?

According to Wikipedia, he staged his first performances in the bathroom of his childhood home:

I was three years old and helped by my invisible friend, Peter Jelp, I put on shows for the characters in the linoleum.

Ken Campbell frowns as if concentrating as he listens. He is holding a ventriloquist’s dummy up to his ear as if it’s talking to him

He almost became the seventh Doctor, but his interpretation was apparently “too dark” and he lost out to Sylvester McCoy. (Rather wonderfully, though, a fan has created some sci-fi adventures based on bits of Ken audio.

A collage showing Ken Campbell’s face between the open doors of the TARDIS. He has a headtorch on, and letters cut out of newspapers above and below read Ken Campbell is The Lost Doctor

He said the greatest living actor was Jackie Chan.

Well… he said he’d asked a medium who was channelling Laurence Olivier who the greatest living actor was, and ‘Olivier’ said Jackie Chan, so he watched Chan’s films and decided he agreed.

In 1981, after the RSC had staged Nicholas Nickleby, he sent out letters, supposedly from RSC artistic director Trevor Nunn, saying they were changing their name to the Royal Dickens Company. Several people who should have known better fell for it.

He wasn’t a household name, but his influence on theatre was huge — he gave early breaks to Bill Nighy, Bob Hoskins and Jim Broadbent, and was a major inspiration for improv musical Showstopper!

Written in lights: The Olivier Award-winning Showstopper! The Improvised Musical

AND he encouraged Nina Conti to become a ventriloquist. If he’d only ever done that, he’d deserve a place in history.

I briefly met him once in the 1990s with my friend Ruth. We told him we loved his stuff, so he said he’d put us on his mailing list, wrote down our email addresses and stuck the bit of paper in the shopping basket he was wheeling around. We never heard from him…

…but then, his daughter, Daisy once gave him the money to buy a computer, and the computer shop she suggested was next door to a pet shop. He went home with an African grey parrot called Doris instead — so maybe that was why.

A grinning Ken Campbell with an animal-skin headdress on, and a grey parrot sitting on his shoulder

I did get to see his trilogy of one-man shows at the National, though — Furtive Nudist, Pigspurt and Jamais Vu — and got to enter his strange world for a few hours. (He once said “I’m not mad; I’ve just read different books.”)

Book cover: The Bald Trilogy — Furtive Nudist, Pigspurt, Jamais Vu, by Ken Campbell. Reproduces photo from near the top of the thread of Ken with a sink plunger on his head

I can recommend reading that if you can find a copy. (At the time, The Hare Trilogy — Racing Demon, Murmuring Judges, and The Absence of War — were on in the National Theatre’s main auditorium, hence the name.)

Alternatively, you could approach life by asking yourself this question when faced with a decision.

Meme of Ken Campbell in suit and tie reading a newspaper. He looks up as if distracted. Words superimposed on the image read: What would Ken do?

I’m not sure I’d recommend it, exactly, but I don’t think you’d ever be bored.

I’ve barely scratched the surface, but if you’ve got this far, and are now what Ken would call a ‘seeker’, get yourself to YouTube and type in his name, for there are wonders to behold. You could start here:

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Coates
Coates

Written by Coates

Purveyor of niche drivel; marker of odd anniversaries

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