It's a case of deja vu - Michael Parkinson, 17 years on, back in the television studio for another
dose of listening and talking. TERI FITSELL gets to grips with it.
Between 1971 and 1982 in Britain, Michael Parkinson was to chat shows what Morecambe and Wise were to comedy - a
must-see.
Watched avidly in New Zealand, too, his were not the "'fess all" chat shows of today, but real interviews with stars of stage, screen, sport and politics. And the interviewer, affectionately known as Parky, listened to what his guests were saying.
Today, 17 years later, he's back in the same BBC studio with the same set design, the same theme music from the same musicians and the same interviewing technique - and he's even more popular, attracting audiences of eight to nine million in Britain and already notching up showbiz awards.
If there is a difference between the show then and the show now, as viewers who saw the Ewen McGregor/Robbie Williams episode recently will have noted, it is that today not only are the stars lining up to appear with Parkinson, they're bringing their mums, too.
For it's their mums - like mine - who probably first let them stay up late to see his now familiar stand-out interviews: the famous ones, like when Muhammad Ali lost his cool and it looked like he was going to punch out Parkinson; the infamous, when Parkinson was attacked by kids' entertainer Rod Hull and his out-of-control alter-ego, Emu; the hilarious, when David Niven gave a screamingly funny foretaste of his book, The Moon's A Balloon; the uncommunicative, with Robert Mitchum who mumbled monosyllabic answers to every question; and the outrageous, when up-coming comedian Billy Connolly told what was considered a very rude joke, leaving Parkinson in tears of laughter and disbelief. It
was headline news in Britain the next day.
This week, speaking - in that familiar Barnsley accent - from London, Parkinson says he thought long and hard before saying yes to doing the new series.
"Then I looked at the excuses for chat shows that are all around and thought, `Bugger it, I'll give it a go'."
During the intervening years, he did, he says, "everything. Writing numerous newspaper columns [for which he's won armfuls of awards]; starting a morning television station with David Frost; hosting various programmes; doing documentaries, even game shows."
Game shows?
"Oh yes, they were not good. But I come from the Michael Caine School of Working. Do everything. Sure, you'll end up doing some crap, but you'll also do good stuff, too.
"I once interviewed Orson Welles on the show, and I put it to him as delicately as I could that maybe not all of his films had been great.
"He said, `Are you accusing me of producing second-rate material?' Then laughed and said, `We're fruit-pickers. We go where the harvest is'."
And the harvest at the moment is back in chat. Says Parkinson: "For talk to work, on or off television, it has to be a conversation and you have to be interested in what the other person is saying. "In fact, that's my only litmus test when choosing guests. If I'm not interested in them I can't talk to them."
Asked what was so interesting about pop boy Robbie Williams, Parkinson shoots back: "What's not to find interesting? There he was on the streets, no job, no nothing. Next, he's shot to fame in Take That.
"But his life is no longer his own, he's told how to dress, what to say and do. Then he leaves and spirals down into drugs and booze, and now he's back with hit songs, music awards and loads of money. What's not to find interesting?" Point taken.
And how does he choose which guests should be on together? "I like to ponder, if I was having a dinner party on Friday night, who would be a good mix?"
One of his favourites from the series is tonight's mix on TV2. "I put your own Dame Kiri Te Kanawa, an old friend of mine, with another great dame, Dame Edna, and then I stuck [racing driver] Jacques Villeneuve in the middle of the two. Gawd knows what Jacques really thought of it all, but he was a good sport."
Each show is recorded "as live" the night before it's aired. "That means we don't do any repeat takes. If we run over time at all it's by one or two minutes. And that's why it works so well, too.
"Some chat shows record hours of material, cut it drastically and hope there'll be enough interesting bits to string together. You can always tell when they've done it ... the guests age several decades during the show." One question which many people wonder is what happens after the show.
"Usually," says Parkinson, "everyone retires to the green room for a natter and a few bevvies. Quite a few sometimes.
"The record for the longest session is held, not by my mate Georgie Best as most people guess, but by 85-year-old Dame Thora Hird, who was still downing the drink and telling stories when I slipped away in the small hours."
Regrets? He's had a few, in that Frank Sinatra was one of a handful of guests he wanted on the show who never made it.
But he says it's no use having a wish-list of impossibles.
Among the possibles he was absolutely thrilled to have were "Hollywood greats Fred Astaire, James Cagney and James Stewart. The Greatest, Muhammad Ali - yes, he is still my hero - the best conversationalist, Jonathan Miller, and Peter Ustinov."
He also likes to laugh and has built up special relationships with many comedians who have been on the show. Connolly is a particular friend.
"Well, up to now, anyway," he says. "This month I'm hosting the television Baftas and Billy and I are up for an award in the light-entertainer category.
"So, if Billy wins I'm going to be obliged to tell the world that he is my illegitimate son."
You read it here first.
Parkinson is planning to travel to Australia in October to record some shows in Sydney. He then hopes to come to New Zealand, but strictly as a tourist.
"My wife Mary and I have been meaning to return there after visiting Auckland 15 years ago. We want to see the South Island."
He suggested that maybe I would like to meet them for a drink. I'd love to, but only if my mum can come, too.
Who: Michael Parkinson
What: Parkinson
Where: TV2
When: Tonight, 9.30
It's a case of deja vu - Michael Parkinson, 17 years on, back in the television studio for another
dose of listening and talking. TERI FITSELL gets to grips with it.
Between 1971 and 1982 in Britain, Michael Parkinson was to chat shows what Morecambe and Wise were to comedy - a
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