Top Gear will still thrive: Evans

Published Mar 30, 2015

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UK Radio DJ Chris Evans gives his take on why Top Gear will still thrive without Jeremy Clarkson.

London - At 2.04pm last Wednesday afternoon I was sitting with my mum in her bungalow living room in Cranleigh in Surrey, a mile from Dunsfold Aerodrome, the location of the most successful factual entertainment television show the world has seen.

We were watching the afternoon soap opera Doctors on BBC1. “Why don’t you get them to put this on at night, love?” she asked. “It’s easily good enough for night time.”

I laughed and told her I’d have a word.

And then her phone started to ring and ring and ring.

My mobile doesn’t work when I’m at Mum’s, which is a blessed relief. She’s 90 this year and time with her is the most precious currency I deal in.

But somehow half the world had managed to figure out that’s where I was, as well as tracking down her number in the process. What the Dickens was going on?

BOMBARDED WITH QUESTIONS

The BBC had just announced they would not be renewing Jeremy Clarkson’s contract. In effect they had fired him. What my many and varied callers wanted to know was a) if I thought the BBC was wrong or right to sack him, b) whether I was going to take the job, c) if not, why not and d) whether the whole sorry affair would affect my love affair with Top Gear. All of which I promise I will come to in due course.

I kissed Mum goodbye and climbed into the latest car I’m reviewing for my motoring column in this newspaper’s very own Event magazine (a Smart car: I wasn’t too keen but my wife loved it, so there’ll be a decent four-star rating come publication).

I turned on the radio, where already there was wall-to-wall talk of Jeremy’s departure, a cacophony of noise from so-called ‘experts’ who clearly didn’t have the first clue what they were talking about.

NONSENSE!

I couldn’t believe the nonsense that was being spouted about the ‘science’ of the situation and how “the super brand of Top Gear” was going to be damaged forever.

A few minutes into my journey, I was passing the turning that leads directly to the Top Gear track, my favourite television show of all time and a place I’d been fortunate enough to hang out at with Jeremy, James, Richard and Andy Wilman – their beleaguered and heroic executive producer – on several occasions. This was all too weird.

During the hour it took me to get back to Ascot I didn’t hear a single person who didn’t have an obvious vested interest or personal agenda behind their utter tosh.

“May and Hammond must now also be considering quitting the BBC.” Wrong!

“Top Gear will struggle to keep its worldwide appeal without Clarkson at the helm.” Wrong!

“The BBC will now need to completely re-invent Top Gear for it to stand any chance of surviving.” Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!

Let’s deal with these points last first. In no way does Top Gear need to be re-invented. This series was shaping up to be the best yet. After surviving the insanity of what happened in Argentina for the Christmas special, it felt like the whole team had been drawn closer together as a result.

The shows had a real sense of recognising that the froth aspect was going flat; that all involved had a shared epiphany and were now getting back to just making great films about great cars instead.

After one particular hour of television gold (Episode 2), I texted all three of the crazy gang and Andy Wilman to tell them how much I’d enjoyed their work. From their contentedly chipper replies it was evident they were in agreement and a corner had been turned.

NOT A FATAL BLOW

As for Jeremy no longer being on the show: sure, it’s a huge loss. Top Gear was the show he was born to do. But by no means is it a fatal blow.

“Without Clarkson there is no Top Gear,” they howl. Really? Winston Churchill came and went, as did George Best and John Lennon. But politics, football and music seem to have stuck around since their departure.

When Johnny Carson left his legendary US chat show after 30 years, Jay Leno took over three days later, and almost 20 years on he was still in the chair.

Gary Lineker would be the first to admit he’s no Des Lynam, yet he continues to win awards for hosting Match Of The Day on an almost weekly basis.

For Magnus Magnusson and Mastermind see John Humphrys, for Bamber Gascoigne see Jeremy Paxman.

And how about my predecessor Sir Terry of Taplow and the Radio 2 Breakfast Show? How many people predicted a disaster bound to happen when he stepped aside?

BBC Director-General Lord Hall said he had promised to make a decision based on the facts about whether to sack Jeremy or not, and that’s exactly what he did.

THE RIGHT DECISION

As the events that took place up in Yorkshire are now a matter of public record and undisputed by all parties, it’s difficult to take exception to his decision, especially after the way he fronted out the statement himself on camera, so frankly and transparently.

I particularly liked the way he didn’t distance himself from Jeremy or Top Gear – quite the opposite, in fact. He stated his love for the programme and his huge respect, appreciation and acknowledgement of the talent of such a huge TV star as Clarkson.

Was there any other possible outcome that could have been reached? Sadly not, unless Mr Tymon had specifically requested his services NOT be dispensed with – but then again, why should he? He’s probably – understandably – pretty p****d off about the whole affair.

TOP GEAR NOT SUDDENLY STALE

And as for Top Gear’s much vaunted obituary… you would have to be out of your mind to seriously believe a programme so current, so relevant, so slick and so funny has suddenly become a lame duck in the space of two and a half weeks.

Top Gear sells worldwide both in spite of what it is and because of what it is.

It’s the cars and the stunts that appeal to the global market backed up with the ever changing content of new product from the manufacturers.

Of course the combination of the presenters is sublime, but it’s the jeopardy and non-stop action from the moment each show starts that keeps people of all ages, all creeds, all colours, all classes glued.

This show is so well-produced and thought-through, it’s nigh on bomb-proof, testimony to the genius of how it was reinvented when Jeremy and his old school pal Andy Wilman persuaded the BBC to bring it back in 2002.

It’s because of their vision and understanding of what blokes, women and kids want from a 21st Century car show that Top Gear could go on almost exactly as it is ad infinitum.

WHAT ABOUT MAY AND HAMMOND?

And how about those claims that James May and Richard Hammond are “on the brink of leaving the BBC”? Why on earth would they want to do that? I’m not saying they won’t – they might if another broadcaster offers them a million pounds a minute to jump ship with the tall mercurial one.

But barring such temptation, I’m certain May and Hammond could carry an interim series on their own. Both are extremely quick-witted, intelligent, personable, informed and self-confessed motor car nuts, plus they already have the affection of a combined global audience of 350 million people.

And if the green light was forthcoming, who knows how they might shine in the sun of new-found freedom.

If I were their agent and/or the BBC, I would be scheduling a meeting first thing tomorrow morning to get everyone signed up for series 23, 24 and 25.

CLARKSON SET FOR BETTER TIMES

Ergo, that leaves us with the principal of the piece, the undoubted television genius that is Jeremy Clarkson, who, in my humble opinion, will be in a far better place in a few weeks time than he was a few weeks ago.

Allow me to tell you a story, in an attempt to explain why.

Eight years ago last Christmas I was at a house party. Everywhere I looked there were representatives of the great, good, bad and ugly of the UK media, arts and political world. David Hockney was enthusiastically smoking incessantly in one corner nattering to his old pal Lucian Freud. Tony Blair, Mick Jagger, David Gilmore, Hollywood royalty led by Kevin Spacey… basically everyone who was anyone who was in London was there that night.

Halfway through the evening, Clarkson spotted me and nodded. I hadn’t seen him for years following my period of self-exile from the industry between 2000 and 2005. A few moments later, he excused himself from his company and made his way over.

“What happened to you?” he asked, intrigued.

“Oh, I disappeared for a while to sort myself out but I’m back now, if anyone will have me.”

“No, I know that. I mean, what happened to you before that? You were really nice and lively and young and enthusiastic and then all of a sudden you began acting like an idiot and started being really horrible to people who really rather liked you.”

Of course he was right. I had turned into a vacuous parody of myself, having spun completely out of control, no use to anyone or anything, least of all myself, a BBC microphone, or a Channel 4 camera.

He added: “Well, whatever, it’s lovely to see you again looking so well. Let’s have a beer soon.”

And with that off he went back to his pals to continue being the brilliant, funny, effervescent, interesting and interested force of nature he so effortlessly is.

CAN YOU SEE WHERE THIS IS GOING?

When I took over the Radio 2 Breakfast Show, my tens of thousands of detractors insisted a leopard never changes his spots. They said: “It’s only a matter of time before he goes back to his old obnoxious, puerile and prurient ways.” They were actually right about the leopard and the spots.

But they’d got their chronology mixed up. I already had gone back to the real me – but that was the dreamy-eyed kid who would have done anything to work in radio or telly way before I had it all and then threw it all away.

It was the prolonged frenzy of mad, bad, egomaniacal, drunken and pathetic behaviour that was the departure from type, born out of a self-destructive combination of me gradually leading an anchorless, work-dominated, toxic-fuelled life, when every day became another mountain of incomprehensible existence that nobody understood but me.

Or at least that’s what I thought, except even I didn’t understand me, because I wasn’t there to understand me any more. The real me had long fled the madness.

THE OLD CLARKSON

Now, how about we wind back to 1988 and Jeremy’s brilliant first-ever film for Top Gear.

Watch it on YouTube:

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He’s almost unrecognisable – super skinny, super thoughtful, a little nervous… and so, so posh: like one of those Second World War Pathe News announcers. But here’s the thing, what’s also plain to see is there’s not a hint of rebellion in his semi-received pronunciation, not a whiff of a man who will grow up to be riven with controversy and political incorrectness.

There’s zero fury, zero hidden rage, zero sign of curmudgeon or frustration at a world gone wrong, zero evidence of a sea of molten lava boiling beneath the surface, desperate to erupt through a television screen near you.

And so what does this young, ambitious Einstein of motoring journalism slowly come to realise, with each new report, each new assignment? He realises he is in the perfect position to invent the perfect television motoring journalist. His only potential Achilles heel? The character must always remain his alter ego, and never be allowed take over the creator for this would be fatal.

I know because I’ve been there. And the thing about the character taking over the creator is that when that happens, it’s only a question of time before it all ends in tears.

This is exactly what happened to me 15 years ago. It’s exactly what happened to Jonathan Ross and Russell Brand six years ago, and now it’s happened to JC, the quantum difference being he actually carried on performing and delivering at the top of his game, whereas I was entirely bereft of any useful productivity.

Let me state also for the record, that I have never been offered a job on Top Gear. All the rumours and ‘Evans-being-lined-up’ articles have been complete conjecture.

I love Top Gear. But I never want to watch me on it.

Of course I’m flattered that others seem to think my involvement would be a good idea. But they’re hugely misguided.

I already have a full-time job on the radio, I host The One Show on a Friday, write my Mail on Sunday car column, and have a mum, three children, a grandchild and a wife to love, cherish and adore… all of which means I could never have the honour of presenting the most illegally downloaded TV programme of all time (my favourite Top Gear fact).

I also happen to think I actually wouldn’t be very good.

I hate hanging around waiting for cameras to be moved and shots to be set up. That’s why all the TV shows I’ve ever been involved in are live, or ‘as live’ which means they have to be over in the time it takes for them to be broadcast.

Have you ever been to a recording of Top Gear? It takes forever. I was there for a year once and I was only booked for a seven-minute interview.

And as for Jeremy?

The world is gripped by what he will do next. But those who love him will simply be glad to see him back. Not on telly. Just back, with them, where he belongs.

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