Television: Of mice and men – how a cartoon drew Billy Connolly and Seamus Heaney together
The comedian and the poet join forces for an animated series of fables that also captures their camaraderie
Great characters: Billy Connolly and Seamus Heaney in BBC Two’s ‘Five Fables: The Two Mice’
A creative collaboration between the comedian Billy Connolly and the Nobel laureate Seamus Heaney sounds unlikely, even more so when it’s to make a series of cartoons, but in Five Fables: The Two Mice (BBC Two, Thursday), we see just how it works. The animations are shown with a fascinating behind-the-scenes look at how the project came together. These episodes are more like short arts documentaries, revealing the creative process and the people involved.
The five stories,the first of which is the cautionary tale of a country mouse coming to the city, are based on poems by Heaney, who was in turn inspired by adaptations of Aesop’s fables by the medieval Scottish poet Robert Henryson.
They were made shortly before Heaney’s death last year; he was involved in all aspects of the production, even down to choosing Connolly for the voiceover. Heaney had seen the film Mrs Brown and recognised “somebody with presence and with possibilities other than the wild man doing a comic act on the stage, which is also deeply attractive”.
When the two men meet for the recording, in a tiny Belfast studio, Connolly is overawed. “It’s scary having you sit there,” he says. “Oh, for God’s sake,” replies Heaney, laughing.
Briefing Connolly, Heaney is deliberate about the language and the rhythm of the poetry but not precious. Sitting in the studio or, using Skype, at home, he edits his poetry on the fly, changing lines to improve them.
Nor does he mind Connolly chipping in. “Gobshite” is in Heaney’s original text, but it’s not, says the producer, a word for a children’s cartoon. Connolly suggests “eijit”, and it works. “I’d hate to go down in history as the guy who changed Seamus’s words,” he says delightedly, capturing the mischievous atmosphere that surrounds the two men. “I love him. He’s great. He’s a lot gentler than I expected,” says Connolly. “For some reason I thought he’d be more forward, slightly more aggressive, but he’s a big, gentle dumpling.”
A big, gentle dumpling isn’t how you’d describe Conor McGregor. The Dubliner is wiry and dapper, with a gift of the gab that has taken him into the showbiz-meets-martial-arts world of professional cage-fighting.
Mixed martial arts is savage stuff. From what I can see in Reality Bites: The Notorious (RTÉ Two, Thursday), it’s superfit tattooed blokes in tiny pants trying to knock the lard out of each other between bouts of sweaty writhing on a mat – which isn’t as exciting as it sounds, especially if, like me, you don’t understand the rules and suspect there mightn’t be many.
Notorious – that’s McGregor’s cage name – could be a motivational speaker, and that’s what makes this documentary, which follows him in the months leading up to his glitzy, big-money US debut, work. I like the way McGregor is creating his own mythology, from his three-piece suits, bow ties and hipster Edwardian beard to his musings as he walks through Boston, talking about being “a little kid from Dublin travelling around, seeing the world”.
The story arc doesn’t work out as the documentarymakers plan – McGregor gets injured in his first big bout – but the film, if a little long and repetitive, works because of its charmingly egotistical, charismatic star, one of those rare men who can grow a beard without being in the least bit beardy.