Rory Bremner is widely rated as Britain’s sharpest impressionist – a one-man opposition party – with his Channel Four show Bremner, Bird and Fortune regularly winning awards as the best satire on television. Here he talks to Theo Sloot about what makes him tick and what he likes to drink.

I met Rory Bremner in the Corner Club (formerly the QI Club) in Oxford in February this year. Very busy as usual, he was on his way down to London to do a voice over for Headcases, the new satirical CGI animation series on ITV1, but was able to fit in a light lunch at the club with me first. What followed was an hour and a half of experiencing an extraordinarily intelligent, warm, friendly, witty, well educated and thoughtful man whose mind, it seems, is never at rest. A good friend of Jeremy Paxman and his wife (who was also at the Corner Club whilst we were there), Rory’s incredibly passionate interest in politics and philosophy was evident from the start. I was also struck by his being ill at ease with the fact that the intense dislike of dumbing down that accompanies his sharp intellect and huge intellectual curiosity places him at risk of being perceived as elitist, a position that some may consider as being at odds with the socialist and libertarian in him.

I began the interview by mentioning that I had played in a rock band managed by Tony Blair in 1971 and asked Rory if beneath his famous impersonations of Blair there were actually any similarities?

RB I realise that there are similarities, sometimes even in my pattern of speech and I realise that either I kind of picked them up from Blair or I had them originally – if I thought about it too much I would shudder to think that we had too many similarities. We both had Scottish connections – I was born in Edinburgh and went to prep school there whilst Blair was at Fettes College, a public school also in Scotland. We both have the showman in us and the need to be liked. Being a performer is a strength because if you’re a performer you want that buzz – it’s in your blood. Blair was always a performer and a better performer than a politician – I think he acted the part of Prime Minister whilst still managing to give the impression that he had the initiative. Politicians like Gordon Brown on the other hand are at the mercy of events and like to give the impression that the government can control them, but I think that governments never do control events – what they do is control the agenda. That’s what Blair and Campbell were very good at. They gave the impression that they controlled the agenda and they had people around them who were very capable of giving that message out. But you just don’t find that with Gordon Brown – if a problem comes up the people around him just head for the hills and he is left careworn and dysfunctional in number ten. There is this paralysis with no sense of a narrative. I know that’s a horrible word but it certainly applies to this particular government – you just feel that there are any number of fires breaking out in all kinds of areas and there is no coherent strategy or purpose.

TS You are often described as being very sharp in your observations of the people you impersonate.

RB Well I don’t know – I used to think, whether I’m hanging upside down in an Ian Macaskill suit or bouncing on a trampoline as Des Lynam “well this isn’t in the satirical tradition.” John Bird and John Fortune fight shy of the word ‘satire’ as I do because that’s a label for other people to apply and it’s a nice one to have but what we actually do is topical comedy. There are two types of topical comedy – you can either do the soundbite – gratuitous, almost one liners which you can buy in from writers who will give you half a dozen but there’s no point of view behind it. What we’re trying to do is always have a certain point of view.

TS What is that point of view?

RB Well, John Bird always talks about getting it right and I think that it’s about trying to understand how things actually work. The strange thing about being liberal or broadly to the left is that there’s been such a stampede over to the right over the last fifteen years or so that you find yourself in a situation where it’s just you and Castro and Tony Benn with George Galloway and it feels extraordinary. The free market economic theory so dominates – it’s the only game in town and the other thing is that now there’s no ideology any more on the part of the politicians – it just seems to be entirely managerial. And so when you come across somebody like Tony Benn or George Galloway, not that they are always coherent or even right, they do at least give a context and political and ideological colour to the debate which is very, very monochrome and colourless. So getting it right means going round and finding out what the history was behind events – what actually happened in the 1920s for example, where do people come from? Also if you’re going to do a show about something you can either just send it up or you can engage with it. The tendency in the old days was to simply stand up and recite a couple of policies and people would be clutching their sides weeping with laughter. It’s beyond parody! As a libertarian I just don’t accept that everything should be controlled by market forces as a value system. So it’s a case of money makes the world go round – it also makes it pear shaped.

TS So how did you get started in all this?

RB I started doing impressions at school, the two things I enjoyed doing was imitating school teachers and sports commentators. I used to love sport so I’d spend hours and hours watching Geoffrey Boycott and other great sports people of the day so my original act was a few school teachers and sports commentators and then it grew from that. By the early 80s I began doing impersonations of people like Neil Kinnock – there was a thriving cabaret circuit in London at the time and I used to do three venues a night – you had a copy of the tube map and an act in your head and off you went. There was a phenomenal flowering of talent between 1979 and 1982. Thatcher was in the background and was probably instrumental in the growth of alternative comedy. A lot of the old mother-in-law jokes were simply transferred from the mother-in-law to Margaret Thatcher and instead of being culturally dubious it became politically correct! My first television series was in 1986 and was called Now For Something Else. I did some Sean Connery and Billy Connolly, a lot of those along with the politicians – it was probably about 30 to 40% politics and about 50 to 60% show business and as time went on I fell in with John Wells who directed my stage show in about 1990 and I met John Bird and John Fortune around that time too.

TS How did you come to work with them?

RB I’d seen John Bird doing Gorbachev in a Saturday Live show and we needed someone for our show so we asked him to join us. I just loved the way he wrote and heard that he’d been the big Harold Wilson impressionist of his day and how he’s always wanted to get an insight into Harold Wilson’s mind which I thought was a very interesting idea. In the early 90s he and John Fortune were developing that course and they both influenced me – they inspired my curiosity and interest in politics which was always there but not as strong as it later became. Their influence on me has been very great. And if you can do politicians the door opens up to this whole world of satire where you can actually have a view of the world and have something to say. You can have a view on the politicians or a policy and I’ve always tried to do that – I’ve tried to connect the voices and the impressions on the one hand with a curiosity or a comic interest in the world on the other. If you bring those two together you get a show which Bremner, Bird and Fortune encapsulates, which when it’s at its best makes you laugh and think at the same time.

TS Is there a different word from satire that you have in your mind that describes your work?

RB I like satire but people like Chris Morris are more genuine satirists than I am because satire is genuinely uncomfortable, it’s dark – but I’m working in a popularist medium in television. Although John Bird and John Fortune are very modest about it what they do is dark and it is uncomfortable – like talking about prisoners voting with their pyjama cords – you can hear the intake of breath from the audience and it’s great to have that every now and again but if the whole show was like that it wouldn’t remain a mainstream comedy show for very long. My instinct has always been to entertain and make people laugh and on the other hand I have this desire to understand, to know, to explore and to some extent explain what’s happening in the world around us.

TS That sounds like a summary of what you’re doing.

RB It is, yes, absolutely. That’s what we’re doing at the moment – trying to understand the world’s financial system and ultimately I would love to do something which took a broader sweep, but the point is it takes a long time in gestation and we’re a desperately think from the wrist culture at the moment. The quality that’s praised above all else in our culture seems to be banter and opinion – the newspapers are full of comment and not necessarily full of fact plus an anti intellectualism. I want to actually explore my curiosity in interesting things – it could be through the life history of a particular kind of fish for instance or the breeding habits of pheasants. But of course the more you find out the less you know.

TS So what do you like to drink?

RB When I was younger I used to love reds and you suddenly realise that that younger French reds in particular never seem to have that smoothness and body that the ones that have been around for a few years have. So then I went on to Australian and South African wines because the New World wines always seem to be rounder when they are younger. But then a terrible thing happened few years ago. As a thank you for a show I was sent a case of Puligny Montrachet which was wonderful but then my wife got hold of a bottle and now she won’t drink anything else! Currently I’m into a Chardonnay phase and I really like white Burgundies. But you can’t spend your life just drinking nothing but bottles of wine that cost £26 each– that’s not everyday drinking wine. So you start exploring – there’s some really nice Chenin Blancs around, particularly one by Ken Forester, which is very nice and that’s only £6 or £7 a bottle. At the moment I’m quite excited about a wine called The Terroir – it’s an unfiltered South African Chardonnay. But it’s interesting because if you’d asked me five years ago I’d have told you that I can’t stand white wine. But I’ve got much more into whites now – as long as they are properly chilled.

My favourite red of all time though is Chateau Beychevelle from Bordeaux – do you know the origin of the name Beychevelle? It comes from the expression ‘baisse-vaille’ in French, meaning ‘lower sails.’ I’m also keen on Chateau Palmer – those are the kind of reds I like. I like proper meaty reds, particularly those from the Médoc. Though a good Brouilly from Beaujolais is another favourite of mine.

TS What about special moments that you’ve had with wine?

RB Well, there’s one I feel a little ashamed of, which was one when I tipped into a local pub recently. I’d not been there before, but I instantly relaxed as soon as I got in because there was a blazing fire and it felt warm and I felt tired and relaxed. I asked the barman what I should have and he said “I’ll mix you a martini.” Back came this thing in a glass the size of a goldfish bowl. I thought, “This tastes rather nice,” and it did, it sort of smelled like the sort of thing Jo Malone sells in Sloane Street – it was as heady as an aftershave. That went down rather well over a period of time. Then I had a glass of white and a glass or red. And that was it. I wasn’t driving. We had to stop the car three times on the way home, because no one had thought to tell me it had three and half gins in it. It’s one of those ones where they rinse the glass with vermouth just to flavour the glass, and then they throw that away and in go three and a half measures of gin. So no wonder! I had no idea – absolutely no idea.

Some time ago I was taken on a tour and taught how Dom Perignon is made and that was fascinating. There was a famous person whose name I won’t mention who had spent the day on the same tour as us and in the evening we all assembled on the terrace of the Chateau and were given a glass of Dom Perignon each. She said “Can I have some orange juice with mine!”

But then a couple of years later we went on a trip to Cognac as guests of Bernard and Jacques Hine. Derek Nimmo and his wife were there too and at one point we all overheard Derek saying to Bernard [does brilliant impersonation of Nimmo], “My wife really is the most indolent woman.” One of those awkward silences fell and Bernard, who hadn’t quite understood said “Indolent? What does indolent mean?” So gradually people began to explain and Derek’s wife (who hadn’t heard the original remark) said “What was the context?” And I just heard Derek’s voice saying “I really am going to be in the most frightful trouble!”

Another memorable moment was when Nicholas Parsons, who is legendary, invited Ian Messiter (the originator of Just a Minute) and his wife round for a meal. We were there too and on entering the kitchen we all heard Nicholas Parsons saying to his wife, “Not that wine darling – it’s only the Messiters!” Derek Nimmo was there too that night and at the end of the meal we were sitting in the drawing room and Nicholas Parsons put a log on the fire. About three minutes later Derek said, “It’s been lovely, must be going, thank you so much” to which Nicholas Parsons replied, “But I’ve just put a log on the fire! I’ve just put a log on the fire and now you’re leaving” – he promptly took the log off and fired a soda siphon at it to put it out!
But to go back to the Cognac trip where we met Jacques and Bernard Hine – this was my first lesson on blending – previously I had been rather gullible – I had thought that Cognac was Cognac and hadn’t realised that the whole point is to make the perfect blend. But of course when they’re for the Japanese market, they just add sugar to it, because that’s what the Japanese market likes. That leads you into the whole thing about experts and elitism.

TS How did you feel about that, then?

RB I respect the opinion of an expert—probably too much. Perhaps that’s something my education should have given me the wherewithal to resist. But I think it’s a question of respect. Here’s someone who’s spent his life making cognac. He makes wonderful cognac. It’s been in his family. He’s studied it. He’s learnt it. It’s been what he’s done. I can learn from that guy. If what they get from Japan is, “We don’t like it that way. We just like it a bit more sugary. If you want to sell cognac over here, just bung a bit more sugar in it,” I feel slightly patrician about it. I think, “Of course, it’s an individual’s taste, but I like to learn from an expert, who’s spent his life with cognac, I respect his opinion.” People say, “That’s elitist.” But no one accuses David Beckham of being elitist because he plays football really well. That’s not elitist: that’s what he does and he does it really well. We’re almost getting to the stage where you’ll have football teams consisting of ten football players and one member of the public who’s allowed to play with them that afternoon because he’s won a bid or won in an auction.

It’s what I call the karaoke culture, which has fed through television over the past five years or so. It’s not a privilege to be on television these days: everyone has the right to be on television and everyone has the right to have their opinion considered. There’s an over-democratisation here, and where that leads to is that there is no respect for the opinion of an expert. It’s going back to that anti-intellectualism we talked about. Talking about history, for example, people say, “Well, I don’t want to know about that. I’m not interested.” Well, it’s a shame not to be interested. It’s like now people listen to a music channel because that’s what they do – they listen to music – which means that there are parts of society where people never have to watch or listen to a news programme from one year to the next because they just watch MTV or listen to music stations all the time. I like that clash you get on Radio 4, for example, where one minute you’re listening to something about Beethoven and the next you’re hearing about farming in China or the second world war. So there is constant diversity. The cognac thing is all about, “Do you believe in a society where the opinion of an expert and a lifetime’s knowledge counts for something or in a society where that doesn’t matter because you can have what you want and your taste is more important than anything else?”

I used to work in a cocktail bar in Edinburgh, at the George Hotel. We had 83 different whiskies. The Americans would come in and say, “Gee, can I have one of those?” and you’d say, “Yes, which one would you like? We’ve got the 16-year-old; we’ve got the 20-year-old.” “What’s the oldest one you’ve got?” “Well, this one’s actually a 30-year-old.” “Yeah, I’ll have a glass of that.” So you pour it out and they say, “Can I have some ginger ale?” But we’re back to the market thing. That’s what they wanted. And in a way, who am I to say, “Actually, before you chuck the ginger ale in there, please just taste what a 30-year-old malt whisky tastes like. Then, sure put some ginger ale in it. But just try it, just see what it’s like.” That could seem really didactic and snobbish or you could look at it a different way: “You’re in Edinburgh. You’re in Scotland in a whisky bar. I’m going to give you a glass of something that you won’t have had before. Just enjoy it, sniff it, add a touch of water to it because that releases all the perfumes and taste the peatiness or smokiness.”

TS What do you get from drinking?

RB The same as I get from chilli, from spice – it’s flavour. It’s a French thing. You know that feeling you get when you arrive in France? You have that feeling of being in a more civilised country. And how do we return the favour? The first thing the French see is Waterloo, then a statue of Nelson! The French and Italians grow up with wine – it oils the wheels of conversation. It’s atavistic as well, something from previous generations. It’s a cultural thing, a glass of wine with friends, that sort of thing. I love interesting and different and also quality experiences. The first time you have a Puligny Montrachet, for example, you think, “What makes this different? How’s it made?” On a basic level, wine oils conversation. I enjoy the taste of it. If it’s white wine, you want something clean, that has a bit of an edge to it. If it’s red wine, it should be warm and mellow. Wines suggest mood, rather as a colour might suggest mood.

TS And what’s your attitude to Rolls-Royce wines?

RB It’s an experience – not because of the label, but because they’re the product of years of winemaking or years of whisky blending. I could quite happily live in France. I taught in Paris for a year. The trouble with the French is that they’ve got everything: they’ve got mountains for skiing, they’ve got the south for summer holidays, they’ve got a whole wonderful interior full of countryside, they’ve got theatre, they’ve got film, they’ve got Paris. I used to drive an old 1963 Alfa Romeo Giulia Spider. I remember driving that from the bottom of France to the top. I’d booked myself into a hotel in Burgundy and it was one of those Relais et Chateaux places. I was on my own, and I broke down in Chateauneuf du Pape, which is quite a good place to break down. It was the fan belt that wasn’t working. So the guy patched that up and got it working again. Off I went and I arrived at the chateau when it was just getting on for dusk. They stopped serving food at 8 pm, and I was still lost in the vicinity at about 7.30 pm.

Eventually, I drove through the vineyard as night was falling and the mist was rising and all I could see were vines everywhere and the chateau in the distance. I arrived in reception panting at about 7.45 pm, and they said, “Ca sens l’essence” – “Where’s that smell of petrol coming from?” It was me, of course. I’d arrived reeking of petrol. I made my order. I looked at the wine list and ordered half a bottle of white and half a bottle of red and went upstairs and lay in the bath for half an hour, knowing that they were preparing a meal downstairs. If I was a proper chap, I’d probably have had a bottle of each. But I wanted a nice half a bottle of each and a glass of something afterwards with the cheese trolley. Because the car had broken down, I felt that sense of adventure. Nowadays you get in the car and you know your destination. But the fact that at 2 pm I’d been thinking “I’m not going to make it” was rather like a spitfire ruffling back in over Kent.

I’m quite gullible, quite impressionable, quite romantic, and when it comes to drink, I would much rather try something different rather than get cheap plonk. Cheap red just gives me a headache…

Theo Sloot