Ken Dodd: farewell to the tattifilarious marathon man of comedy
Dodd, who has died aged 90, was a force of nature – a cheeky master of the one-liner who spread happiness in shows that lasted until the small hours
Ken Dodd, who has died aged 90, was quite simply a master at making people happy. His shtick – childlike, cheeky, saucy; anarchic and egalitarian – was machine-tooled to disarm our cynicism, and Dodd was relentless in its application. A titter forever playing on his lips, he’d defy you to keep a straight face, to resist the silliness. Each daft joke (“My sister, she was engaged to an Eskimo. She broke it off”) was another rabbit punch to the funny bone. You’d drop your guard eventually, and he’d get you in the end with a one-liner or a flight of nutty fancy: “What a beautiful day for wearing a kilt and standing upside down in the middle of the road saying, ‘How’s that for a lampshade?’”
Related: Comedy review: Ken Dodd / Philharmonic Hall, Liverpool
Related: Ken Dodd on why Shakespeare was a stand-up at heart
Dodd’s comedy didn’t play by the rules we follow today – it was a mask. ‘I am my own double act,’ he once said
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