Send in the clowns – how comedy ate British politics

Something funny is happening in this country. Our comedians are becoming politicians and our politicians are becoming comedians — and public life is turning into an endless stream of jokes. Last week, the comedian Al Murray announced that he would be standing at the next general election in the constituency of South Thanet, the same seat that Nigel Farage is contesting. Al Murray performs in the persona of ‘The Pub Landlord’. A sexist reactionary, never pictured without a beer in his hand, forever declaiming ‘common-sense’ solutions to Britain’s problems, Nigel Farage has welcomed the additional competition. Murray has refused to say what, if any, serious intentions lie behind his announcement — and election pundits are unsure whether it will benefit Farage, by splitting the anti-Ukip vote, or hobble his campaign by taking away voters attracted to Ukip’s anti-politics stance. And it may just come down to revenge on a man who stole his shtick. But, as with Rufus Hound standing for the National Health Action Party in the European elections, and Eddie Izzard dropping hints about the London mayoral race in 2020, it is indicative of a new trend.

Politicians, meanwhile, are travelling in the opposite direction, and it’s easy to see why. Britain’s two most successful politicians, Farage and Boris Johnson, are entertainers above all else. They rely on jokes, or rather jokiness, rather than their track records for appeal. They seem able to laugh off gaffes that would sink more ‘serious’ politicians. David Cameron and Ed Miliband are desperate to show their lighter sides, and Prime Minister’s questions is now not about who can win the argument but who can deliver the best zinger at the dispatch box. In last week’s PMQs, the only debate between the party leaders concerned the forthcoming debate between the party leaders, and who should be allowed to take part.