Sarfraz Manzoor

this is from the Guardian November 7th

Ben Elton, childhood hero? These days he may be considered only marginally funnier than Dick Cheney and about as cool as Alistair Darling, but for those of us who grew up during the 80s Ben Elton was a comedy godhead. As a teenager, I watched The Young Ones, Blackadder and Saturday Live with proprietary fervour, memorising scripts and stand-up routines and recycling them in everyday conversations. And when it came time to choose which university to attend, rather than weighing up the reputation or the quality of the course, I opted for Manchester because Elton had gone there. Some heroes are worshipped because they embody other-worldly magic, but I idolised Elton because he was a genius with whom you could imagine having a nice chat.

He looks exactly as I expected, but is taller and dressed in a leather jacket that practically begs to be described as “dodgy”. We meet during rehearsals for his Queen musical, We Will Rock You, squeezing past bendy young girls doing the splits before locating a small room in which to talk. I begin by asking what he makes of our cultural attitude to heroes. “If you cite some obscure figure no one has heard of as a hero that’s considered all right,” he says in a voice that is almost as familiar to me as my own, “but I think we have a problem with admitting we admire someone that everyone else also admires.” I find myself thinking that at least I have nothing to fear on that score.

So, why did he agree to this meeting? “I agreed because I was flattered,” he says. “I thought it would be nice to speak to someone who actually likes my work - in press interviews I often spend my entire time discussing a person I don’t recognise.”

I tell him that I have admired his work for 25 years, but I don’t yet feel confident enough to mention that when his first novel, Stark, was published 20 years ago, I took the morning train to London to attend a book signing. The signing had been due to start at one, and I was at the bookstore before 9am because I wanted to be among the first in line. It turned out that I was the first, and only, person in the queue for three hours.

I ask him how he feels about the audience who have grown up with him. “I don’t really think about them,” he says flatly. “The only duty of the artist is to express themselves. You have to be true to yourself, so I rarely think about who my audience might be.” In print that probably reads as unforgivably poncy, but that’s not how he comes across in person. This gap, between what he says and means, is arguably why he does not get the respect I feel he deserves.

The common line on Elton is that he was always a fake and is now a sell-out; that he was never as working class as he claimed and that, having made his career by denouncing the Tories, he has sold his socialist soul by supping with such villains as Andrew Lloyd Webber and Queen. It is a neat theory, but the truth is that Elton was never as angry or radical as all that. His heroes were PG Wodehouse, Morecambe and Wise and the Beatles; less Lenny Bruce and more Bruce Forsyth.

“I never tried to change attitudes,” he says. “I went on stage to express myself. When I did a routine on Mrs Thatcher, it was always as an entertainer. I was trying to be funny.” I think one reason Elton attracts criticism is because he reminds people of the compromises they have made in their own lives. “I know there is this weird idea that I have sold out, but I don’t agree,” he says. “I don’t think I have gone against anything I have said - I don’t think I was what they thought I was then.”

Elton will be 50 next year. While he continues to be hugely successful on stage and in print, he is rarely on television. He has been castigated for writing hugely popular musicals such as We Will Rock You and Tonight’s the Night, as if there is something inherently evil in wanting a large audience. Of course if he was starting out today, he could bypass such concerns by appearing on BBC3. I wonder whether, having been on our screens so much during the 80s and 90s, he misses it. “There are times when I miss it,” he says, “but the truth is, I am not going to be given that gig again. Television is interested in new faces, so for me it’s not available.”

Later he muses aloud about whether he could get a sitcom commissioned today. But he does not seem bitter; rather grateful for the opportunities that he has enjoyed. Even when I ask if it annoys him that he has become a hate figure for today’s comedians, he accepts that stand-up comedy involves a degree of finger-pointing, and he has to expect to be a target at times.

Our time is nearly up. I say that I want to thank him for being there during my childhood, for making me laugh when I had little to laugh about. He seems genuinely affected and I almost suggest we meet again, informally as friends, but retrieve the last scraps of my dignity. The next day I get an email from him saying he was enjoying my book - which I had given him - and thanking me for choosing him to interview.

They say you should not meet your heroes - they will only let you down. They are wrong.