Stop Messing About
Posted on 6th June 2026
A hundred years ago, Kenneth Williams came into the world, something Mark Farrelly (no stranger to the Corn Hall) felt had to be celebrated in Kenneth Williams: A Centenary Celebration. Not content with relying on his own inestimable impression of Williams, he brought Simon Cartwright along with him to share in the reading of passages from Williams’s diary. Completing the team was Russell Davies, perhaps best known for hosting Brain of Britain, and Madeline Smith, perhaps best known for her roles in Hammer films. Smith and Davies were tasked with taking us through Williams’s life story, interspersed with contributions from his diary that both Farrelly and Cartwright brought to life with uncanny verisimilitude. Throughout the evening, photographs on screen helped capture the essence of an astonishing life and career.
We learned of Kenneth William’s childhood dominated by his cockney dad, a barber working in the King’s Cross area. Despite his father’s entrenched views, Williams had theatrical ambitions and, after a spell in the army with fellow thespian Stanley Baxter, was all set to become a serious actor. After a successful appearance as the Dauphin in Shaw’s Saint Joan, however, he was snapped up to appear in Hancock’s Half Hour, effectively steering him towards comedy roles thereafter. Both Farrelly and Cartwright seized the opportunity to entertain us with apposite impressions of Hancock and Sid James, which led neatly on to his role in Round the Horne, most notably when paired with Hugh Paddick.
His ambivalent attitude towards the Carry On films – he loved the camaraderie but was less fond of the scripts – was neatly staged, as Russell Davies’s sober voice was counterpointed by Farrelly and Cartwright’s shrill diary entries. Exposition was nicely balanced with illustration throughout the evening, with Madeline Smith given the most emotionally powerful news to deliver. Anecdotes from Just a Minute, his reinvention as a Jackanory storyteller, and later as a professional raconteur, were punctuated by poignant entries from his diary. It was telling, and appropriately dignified, that his final heart-breaking entry was read by Smith rather than delivered in character. We were reminded that his untimely death was no laughing matter.
The evening drew to a close with a brief Q&A, in which many audience members seemed to have their own story about him. The last words, however, came from Kenneth Williams in the form of “Crêpe Suzette”, a song that epitomised his ability to combine cleverness and silliness in a way that was uniquely his own.