by Richard Asplin

With each biography comes confirmation of another tragic tears-of-a-clown cliché or the familiar revelation that one more much-loved comic icon is a cantankerous misanthrope once the stage lights go out.

Desperate for success and neurotically obsessive about the minutiae of their craft, the comedian's stereotype is a mass of deeply unpleasant character defects that wouldn't be out of place in a vicious gangland thriller. Which is exactly where Richard Asplin has placed them.

Gagged covers the full range of the comedy world, starting among the hopeless open-spots plying their trade on the London circuit. Their pipe dreams of fame and fortune are given an unlikely boost when big-shot Hollywood players descend on their flea-pit pub rooms in search of the next multi-million-dollar comedy hit they are in such dire need of.

The plot then jet off to La-La Land, leaving a couple of dead Perrier-winners in its wake, and straight into Elmore Leonard territory.

Asplin satirises the shallow, backbiting world of Hollywood as well as the next guy. Everyone from the motel receptionist up wants to be an actor, and if they don't, well, they've got a sitcom script in their back pocket ready to thrust into the hands of any fattened mogul they can corner.

The execs themselves are insecure; their vast wealth built on nothing but the fluke that made one show a hit ­ and desperately afraid to make a decision of any kind, in case it's the wrong one.

At Mercury Studios, Howard Silver is in a worse situation than most. His company's in hock to the mob and his profligate son, nepotistically appointed vice-president of comedy, is running the studios into the ground. He's been behind so many disastrous pilots that he's earned the nickname Buddy Holly.

Such witty asides are typical of Gagged, accurately billed as a thriller with jokes. But Asplin has a light touch, and manages to keep the humour from clogging up the thriller part. The gags fit in nicely with the tough-talking, wisecracking world of mobsters and movie moguls ­ and as the pressure ratchets up towards the climax, the comedy sensibly takes a back seat.

But until them, he has some fun ­ not least with the litany of sitcom disasters littering Mercury's back catalogue, like the one about on-the-run Mafioso hiding out as lumberjacks, Woodfellas.

Charged with finding the next hit is writer Melvin Medford, an obsessive, dysfunctional comedy anorak who can reel off transmission dates of every British sitcom episode. He also happens to be a violent psychopath. And worse, a gag thief.

The multi-stranded story is a real page-turner, the action cracks along and the sharp, sassy wit makes for an entertaining, sometimes brilliantly funny, read.

Asplin is a one-time stand-up, which means that as well as being able to write a good gag, he knows first-hand the neurotic dedication, compulsive single-mindedness and blind hope that drives the aspiring comic in the face of countless knockbacks.

The only criticism is that the cast could do with trimming; there are just a few too many similar menacing larger-than-life goons in suits, whether wiseguys, henchmen or Hollywood head honchos, which makes it occasionally difficult to remember exactly who's who in the heat of the excitement.

But this doesn't prevent this being a stylish thriller rife with funny repartee - seriously.

Steve Bennett
April 14, 2004

Published: 22 Sep 2006