Clive James: ‘I fancied the chance to show off’
As a critic Clive James changed the way we think about TV, then, as a presenter, kick-started its obession with low-rent celebrity. One of the most under-rated writers of the past 50 years, he has also published poetry, essays and, now, a translation of Dante’s Divine Comedy
Multitalented: Clive James, photographed before his illness. Photograph: Rex Features
Clive James is a poet, critic, essayist, memoirist, broadcaster and translator of Dante. He came from Australia to London in 1962, hung out with countercultural and literary figures and studied at Cambridge, but he first came to acclaim as a television critic for the Observer in the 1970s. He wasn’t the first critic to take television seriously, but he was the first to take silly television seriously and to write about it with intelligence and wit.
He even started creating programmes. Clive James on Television (ITV), in which he showcased oddball TV from around the world, was what my generation had instead of YouTube. Saturday Night Clive (BBC) and The Clive James Show (ITV again) kick-started television’s obsession with low-rent celebrity, but they did so with an irony and an urbanity that have been filtered out of that obsession over the years. His five beautifully written “unreliable” memoirs bring him from postwar Australia to 1960s London, to the hallowed halls of the BBC, to leaving television behind in 2001.
He is also a poet and essayist. His book of biographical essays, Cultural Amnesia, should be read by anybody interested in the 20th century and social democracy. Recently, he translated Dante’s Divine Comedy, for the laugh. He has returned to writing television reviews, this time for the Daily Telegraph.
James is ill at the moment, with leukaemia and emphysema, but he has agreed to do an email interview. He is one of the best but most under-rated writers of the past 50 years. As I write this I’m trying, and failing, to write like Clive James.
How did England in the 1960s and the counterculture influence you?
The counterculture (I haven’t heard that term in ages) impressed me very little. I was too busy trying to acquire some actual culture. But, in general, England in the 1960s was a good place and a good time for an Australian in his 20s. The great thing about London was that you could be poor and still find a bedsitter. Thus protected from a couple of the iciest winters ever, I wrote poems. They should have been better, but they were still the thing that mattered to me most.
How important were Cambridge and the Footlights student comedy troupe to your developing aesthetic sensibilities?
Cambridge was crucial for the time it gave at least one skiving undergraduate to pursue theatre, student journalism and poetry. In Footlights I wrote enormous monologues that I eventually learned to compress to the size of a newspaper column: a vital skill. I’m not sure that “aesthetic sensibilities” isn’t too grand a phrase.
What appealed to you about writing television columns in the 1970s, and how difficult was it to fill a review in that era compared to doing so with the stuffed schedules of today?
The great thing about writing TV criticism was the chance to write about everything, as the whole world was already coming through the tube every night, and everybody saw the same things that you, the critic, saw. Now there a thousand channels, and that common experience is lost. On the other hand you can go clicking around in all directions, searching for interesting stuff. So I still find it a fun way of making a living.
Why did you move from reviewing television programmes to making them?
I just drifted into making television programmes, but there was never any doubt that the possibility of a big pay day was a profound attraction. Also, and less forgivably, I fancied the chance to show off.