TV & Radio

‘Everyone’s nerves are a little bit frayed.’ Ryan Tubridy pleads for patience

Radio: He can sound corny, but his dislike of bad manners has a genuine ring

Ryan Tubridy expended much energy parsing conversational mores that annoy him. Photograph: RTÉ

Mick Heaney's face
Mick Heaney
Fri Dec 17 2021 - 05:00

One of the sharpest regular features in Myles na gCopaleen's columns for this paper was the "Catechism of Cliché", where Brian O'Nolan's alter ego would skewer truisms with deadpan restraint. (Eerily resonant example: "To what serious things does an epidemic sometimes attain? Proportions.") Such surgical satire is sorely needed in these times, when public discourse is largely conducted in the form of bromides, though whether Ryan Tubridy (RTÉ Radio 1, weekdays) is the right person to assume the mantle is another matter altogether.

In fairness, Tubridy doesn’t present himself as Myles’s successor, but he does expend much energy parsing conversational mores that annoy him – a lexicon of ludicrousness, as it were. On Tuesday he tackles the phrase “It’s not rocket science”, cheerily citing a report finding that aerospace engineers – and brain surgeons, those other pesky eggheads – have similar levels of intelligence to the rest of us. The superiority of such professions having been debunked – “In Ireland we like nothing better than clipping the wings of people,” the host observes wryly – he suggests “a walk in the park” as an alternative signifier of ease, which merely sounds inane.

Ryan Tubridy's fuddy-duddiness can come across as a tad affected for a broadcaster in his 40s. But his dislike of bad manners has a genuine ring, as when he pleads for people to be patient with each other, retail workers in particular

But Tubridy really starts to hit his stride when a listener signs off a gently rebuffing text with the phrase “just sayin’”. “I’m not a fan,” he says of the ubiquitous epigraph, comparing it with the ostensibly friendly phone calls he receives that end in the asking of a favour, such as tickets for The Late Late Show. In truth, this grumble tells the listener more about the host’s daily life than anything else.

He doesn’t let up, however. On Wednesday Tubridy reads through a list of comments to avoid at seasonal family gatherings. He pours scorn on backhanded inquiries such as “Have you lost weight?” and “When are you going to settle down?”, reserving his greatest ire for those who would proclaim “You look wrecked.” “That’s not cool.” Again, his objection seems less with the misuse of language than with a broader bugbear, in this case bad manners. “Some people say, I’ve got no filter,” he says. “Have a filter, that’s how society works.”

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Tubridy laughs with theatrical disdain while saying this. After all, the host remains fond of playing up his image as an out-of-touch throwback, whether singing the praises of Afternoon Tea biscuit tins (“old school”) or dubbing himself “Johnny Ancient” after he absentmindedly calls the superhero character Iron Man “the rocket man guy”.

Such fuddy-duddiness can come across as a tad affected for a broadcaster still in his 40s. But his dislike of bad manners has a genuine ring, as when he pleads for people to be patient with each other, retail workers in particular. “Everyone’s nerves are a little bit frayed,” he says of the prevailing tetchiness. “I’m not preaching here. I do it myself.”

Likewise, there's no disguising his happiness at a story about Leeside pupils who have cooked festive meals for the local charity Cork Penny Dinners. Recalling how he put together parcels for St Vincent de Paul as a schoolboy, Tubridy says such good deeds "inform who you become in later life". By way of underlining this, he interviews Sandra Ryan, a Wexford woman who hit hard times as a single mother in the aftermath of the 2008 crash. After her electricity was cut off she got vital help from SVP, for which she is now a fundraiser.

The host is clearly moved by Sandra’s honest account of her experiences: “I love your story.” Corny as Tubridy can sometimes sound, it’s difficult to be cynical about his attachment to simple decency, particularly at this time of year. Just sayin’.

Al McKenna actor catches Terry Wogan's jocular cadences with uncanny accuracy, to the point that one almost forgets the late broadcaster isn't doing the talking, even (or especially) when he looks back on his career

Another affable broadcaster with a conspicuous decent streak is the subject of Drama on One: Wogan's Sweet Sixteen (RTÉ Radio 1, Sunday). Written by Kenneth Sweeney, the play focuses on Terry Wogan's time as presenter of BBC Radio 2's morning show at the height of the Troubles, when his breezy Irish accent would regularly be heard after news reports of IRA bombings in Britain.

The plot centres around the clashes between Wogan (Al McKenna) and his superiors, protective producer Mark White (Robert O’Mahoney) and stern boss Dominic Trott (LJ Nee), nervous at his insistence on playing Irish records such as the Furey brothers’ eponymous ballad. These institutional politics form a neat narrative device, allowing Anglo-Irish tensions and misunderstandings to be played out on a human scale. It’s not giving away too many spoilers to reveal that Wogan doesn’t buckle easily.

This underlying theme is occasionally clunkily spelled out, as when a waitress tells the broadcaster, “You have to be on the radio for every Irish person in Britain.” But, overall, the story skips along at a nice pace, taking a few chronological liberties for dramatic effect. It also makes a few salient points along the way, not least how British radio allowed Wogan the freedom to express himself in a manner denied by the straitlaced RTÉ of the 1960s.

For all that, the most striking element is McKenna’s performance in the titular role. The actor catches his character’s jocular cadences with uncanny accuracy, to the point that one almost forgets the late broadcaster isn’t doing the talking, even (or especially) when he looks back on his career. “For a communicator like me, radio is the supreme medium,” McKenna’s Wogan concludes. “That connection you make with the listener is truly personal.”

Despite the serious issues at the heart of the drama, it’s a joyful paean to the pleasures – and power – of radio. Similarly, Sweeney’s script may be relatively conventional compared with some of the other thrillingly innovative productions in the Drama on One strand, but it’s informed by the same feel for the medium, making for deceptively easy listening. Wogan would surely have approved.

Moment of the Week

In the run-up to Christmas, Matt Cooper has been getting into the festive spirit in more ways than one on The Last Word (Today FM, weekdays), sampling whiskeys and wines suitable for the big day's dinner. He really enjoys himself on Wednesday, as he shares a "terrific" selection of beers with Judith Boyle.

As cans and bottles are opened one by one, Cooper grows ever more enthusiastic at the parade of ales and porters, almost despite himself: having not had a pint in two years, he remarks that “this could set me back on the beer”. By the end, after only a few sips, both host and guest are in jolly form. As Boyle audibly struggles to open a particularly strong beer sealed with wax, a distracted Cooper uncharacteristically loses his conversational thread. “After all this drink I’m struggling for my words,” he jokes. As if. The less-than-teetotal tone notwithstanding, it makes for refreshing seasonal radio.

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