It’s about ‘celebrating’ the work of someone iconic, in this case, Brucie, and throwing in vulgar jokes and gags that would barely be allowed into Christmas crackers.
In actual fact, Bruce was really only a metaphor in that nobody truly celebrated anything to do with him, he was just handy as a focus for a constant stream of ageist jokes.
That he took them all on his not inconsiderable chin is testament to the fact that he’s more of a pro and a gentleman than most of those gathered to pay pseudo-homage.
Mind you, I must confess that things got off to a bad start for me when I saw Jonathan Ross was in attendance. I was never terribly fond of him but after the whole Manuel-gate thing, I rate him as highly as something I might step in.
But that said, since he’s still trying to shake off the whole Sachs affair, he’d go to the opening of an envelope if it paid a fiver, so I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to see him, even after his – yet more – disparaging words about Bruce in the media recently.
However, Ross aside, the rest of the ‘roast’ might be more accurately described – if we’re using food metaphors – as ‘barely cooked’. It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t clever, and was nothing more than a smokescreen for the 8 Out of 10 Cats folk to showcase their ‘witty’ repartee in a new setting.
And no turn was left unstoned, even Bruce’s wife Wilnelia came in useful as a gag target for Manford, Carr et al, but she too managed to retain her dignity while all about her, juvenile jabbers were waving theirs goodbye.
So will I be tuning in for any further helpings of ‘roast’? That would be a no.