Public personas, private lives and the power of the celebrity comedian: a consideration of the Ross and Brand ‘Sachsgate’ affair

Abstract

As noted by Graeme Turner (2004, p. 8), the precise moment that a public figure becomes a celebrity is when media interest in their activities is transferred from their public role to their private lives. Similarly, blurring the boundaries between the public and the private is the terrain of many comedians who often perform as extensions of themselves for an audience. According to John Limon (2000, p. 6), comedians are ‘not allowed to be either natural or artificial’ leaving the audience to continually speculate on whether they are being ‘themselves or acting’. Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand are examples of both of the above (although Ross is perhaps most recognisable as an influential ‘television personality’ rather than as a comedian per se). Drawing upon their private lives to present comic material on radio, television and within the stand-up arena, they also appear regularly in the tabloids attending film premieres with their family (Ross) or as the subject of a kiss-and-tell (Brand). Indeed, it is Brand's own willingness to discuss his sexual exploits in public that led to the media controversy surrounding what has now become known as ‘Sachsgate’. Beginning with a consideration of Michael Billig's (2005) notion of ‘rebellious humour’, this piece examines the gender and power relations between each of the characters involved in this affair and considers whether the level of public complaint generated can be understood by what Ian Connell (1992) describes as a populist challenge on ‘privileged’ comedians and the media structures that produce them.

For those not familiar with ‘Sachsgate’, the controversy occurred when the pair left lewd voice messages, as part of Brand's BBC Radio 2 show, informing veteran actor Andrew Sachs that Brand had slept with his granddaughter, Georgina Baillie. Although not aired live, the programme was subsequently deemed suitable for broadcast and attracted two complaints from listeners. Following an article in the Mail on Sunday a week later, however, the episode went on to secure not only a record number of public complaints but also the resignation of both Brand and Radio 2 controller Leslie Douglas, along with the suspension of Ross from the BBC. For many, including fans of the duo and comedians worried about long-term damage to the discipline in the face of censure, the subsequent outrage was deemed disproportionate to what was simply an example of ‘transgressive’ or ‘rebellious’ humour. Yet, as Billig cautions us, we must not always understand ‘rebellious humour’ as being objectively radical, particularly in relation to the social order (2005, p. 204). With regard to the use of racist or sexist jokes, he states that those who partake in such humour ‘often claim to be rebelling against the demands of “political correctness”, placing themselves on the naughty, contestive, powerless side’ (Billig 2005, p. 203). It is therefore important to remember that as highly paid, successful male celebrities broadcasting on the BBC, it was Ross and Brand who held the power in this exchange with Sachs and Baillie.

Given Billig's argument regarding racist and sexist jokes, it would be reasonable to believe that the outrage over ‘Sachsgate’ was fuelled by the objectification of Baillie, her invasion of privacy and subsequent humiliation both in public and private family life. Yet what was actually played out in the media was less a condemnation of sexist humour and more a debate on generational attitudes to celebrity and the privilege that accompanies it. In fact, sexism was unfortunately reinforced by the way in which the tabloids branded (if you'll excuse the pun) Baillie a ‘Satanic Slut’, due to her membership of the burlesque troupe of the same name. Moreover, in an attempt to gain some sort of control over the story and her image, Baillie sought to take part in the celebrity game by granting interviews to the same newspapers and posing in her underwear, a move that attracted little sympathy. In contrast, Sachs inspired much public affection due to his role as Spanish waiter Manuel in the classic sitcom Fawlty Towers and his status as an elderly, well-respected comic actor who had achieved a certain level of fame, but was not a celebrity because his private life had never attracted media attention (until now, that is). Ross and Brand, on the other hand, were regarded as part of the media elite; celebrities with an insider status that enabled them to act as they pleased with no regard for consequences.

In her discussion of the types of comedy that seek to challenge or offend, Susan Purdie explains that while the intention of the comedian may be to produce humour, the attitude of the recipient is of equal importance as ‘we will not feel funniness unless we reproduce the transgression, in our own minds, as momentarily “permitted” ’ (1993, p. 13). With regard to the Ross and Brand telephone messages, many of the duo's core group of fans (especially the younger demographic attracted by the latter) were able to ‘permit’ this supposed transgression and thus find the incident funny. Others, however, failed to get the joke and took the opportunity to not only question this style of humour but also the position of these ‘celebrity comedians’ at the BBC and the resulting public money paid to them in salaries. As such, the entire episode can be understood in relation to Connell's (1992) work on personalities in the popular media. Examining the abundance of celebrity exposés in the tabloids detailing unsavoury behaviour, Connell (1992, p. 74) argues that these are indicative of ‘a populist challenge on privilege … They give voice to pent-up frustration and indignation at the excesses of those who have come from recognisably ordinary backgrounds, and have “made it” in understandable ways’. Essentially, Connell suggests that such stories attack the ‘abuses of privilege’ carried out by the powerful elite and position ‘them’ in opposition to the ‘rest of us, the powerless ordinary people’ (1992, p. 81).

In this instance, ‘Sachsgate’ provided licence-fee payers with an opportunity to exert some sort of influence over a BBC spending regime that had previously seen Ross awarded with a deal worth £18 million over three years. As pointed out by his fellow BBC broadcaster Sir Terry Wogan, Ross's contract was integral to the fierce backlash that occurred following the Sachs incident: ‘Most of the resentment seemed to focus at the end, not on Russell Brand, not on this judgement they made, but on Jonathan Ross's salary’ (Luft 2008). It would seem that despite its status as a public service broadcaster, the BBC had failed on numerous occasions to gauge public opinion correctly regarding elevated salaries, an over-reliance on celebrity-fronted programming and a style of humour directed at a narrow youthful demographic. This meant that the tabloid press was able to use Ross's bad behaviour to bring the corporation to account over its commercial tendencies. Yet, while this backlash contained a welcome political aspect, Connnell is quick to remind us that such outrage is often quite conservative, and rather than being an attack on the privileges granted, it is often merely an expression about them having been ‘granted to the wrong people – to “them” and not to “us”, not to “me” ’ (1992, p. 82).

This returns us to the issue of sexism, rebellious humour and the notion of consequence. According to Neale and Krutnik in their work on film and television comedy, comic texts tend to be characterised by a lack of consequences because, in order for laughter to occur, viewers must be assured that the characters will not suffer any adverse effects as a result of their actions (1990, p. 149). While this may hold true for wholly fictional genres, for those comedians who blur the boundaries between the real and the fictional the consequences can be very real; yet who were the true victims of Ross and Brand's stunt? Brand may have resigned from the BBC, but it was generally felt that his style of comedy would flourish more ably elsewhere, while Ross's suspension was only a temporary setback as he soon returned to both the airwaves and our television screens.¹ Sachs, meanwhile, thanked the pair later for his ‘profile boost’ and landed a part on another television classic, Coronation Street (Hattenstone 2009). The same cannot be said for Douglas, however, whose resignation meant the loss of a respected woman in a high-profile media position, or Baillie, who ultimately became a minor player in another story of male power, celebrity and privilege.

Notes

1. Following the role of Jonathan Ross in the ‘Sachsgate’ scandal which occured in October 2008 and subsequent criticism of the high salaries paid to television and radio presenters by the publicly-funded BBC, Ross announced his resignation from the corporation on 7 January 2010 with a statement stressing that his decision was not financially motivated.