Comedian/actor Les Dennis is pitching up at the Tobacco Factory for the world premiere of ‘Jigsy’, a one-man show about a struggling Scouse entertainer. Steve Wright puts the questions.

Depending on your age, you'll know Les Dennis either as the engaging host, for some 15 years (1987-2002), of ITV's 'Family Fortunes'; or as the resting actor/presenter who had an emotional meltdown, after his split from actress Amanda Holden, on 2002's 'Celebrity Big Brother'. Dennis's ‘CBB’ appearance may have been a career nadir – but it was also the start of an upturn, as within a couple of years he found himself appearing, to widespread acclaim, as an emotionally imploding actor in Ricky Gervais and Stephen Merchant's 'Extras'.

Before ‘Fortunes’, Dennis partnered the late, great impressionist Dustin Gee on ‘The Laughter Show’ in the mid 1980s. Over the past decade, meanwhile, he’s made dozens of forays into 'serious acting', including 'Chicago' and 'Me and My Girl' on the West End and Yasmina Reza's 'Art'. Brought up in Liverpool, Dennis started working the local comedy circuit while still at school. That experience should stand him in good stead for his latest role as a fading, frazzled Scouse comedian in 'Jigsy', by Bristol playwright Tony Staveacre.

"Jigsy is a Liverpool club comedian on his uppers," explains Staveacre, whose first play 'Fred Karno's Army' played at Bristol Old Vic in 1984. "He's struggling for survival against all the odds, and using the comic spark as a light to guide him on his journey".

What made you want to take on the role of Jigsy? When Tony sent me the script, I found it funny, interesting – and about a world that I knew. I did the Liverpool working men's club circuit when I started out in the late 60s and early 70s. And as well as being a story of a journeyman comedian who never made it, 'Jigsy' is also about the social history of Liverpool at that time. Jigsy reminisces about working on the docks and becoming, against all the odds, a stand-up comic, about making his living from it and about fighting the bottle.

Those working men's clubs must have been a tough initiation for you? You're fighting a room full of people who are there to see each other, and for the booze and the bingo, rather than listen to you. I was 17 when I started, so people gave me a chance – “aah, he's only a lad” – but once you've been round the circuit a few times they can change. I got a reputation for being good at staying on – they nicknamed me Bronco. My thinking was, “Why would I just walk off and forfeit my fee?” I'd just stay there and look at the clock.

You moved away from that world: Jigsy never did. What's the difference? I think it's wanting to explore, to go beyond that world – and to improve your set, to educate yourself by putting yourself up in front of different audiences. Some of the Liverpool comics of that time were up there with the best – Eddie Flanagan was a match for Tommy Cooper. But they never quite made it. Maybe they were content with their lives, not that curious about the wider world. Some of them did it for the beer money – the clubs were their own environment anyway, so getting up on stage and getting beer money was enough for them.

You've discovered 'serious' acting of late. Are you drawn to certain characters? I enjoy playing the wounded little man – I'd love to have a crack at Willy Loman in 'Death of a Salesman', for example. One reviewer wrote that I had a world-weary, lived-in face, which I loved – because as a young comic, I seemed too fresh-faced to talk with experience about the world.

You’ve talked before about how ‘Extras’ changed your life… When ‘Family Fortunes’ ended, suddenly the phone wasn’t ringing, and I made the decision to go into the ‘Celebrity Big Brother’ house, thinking it might regenerate my career. It was the biggest mistake I ever made in some ways – but then, two years later, Ricky Gervais knocked on my door and said, “Do you fancy playing a twisted, demented version of yourself?” It was just what I needed: for people to see me in a different way, to see that I had a sense of humour about my troubles, instead of just being labelled ‘Les Miserable’.

Then soon after, the theatre producer Michael Harrison rang me up – he was doing a tour of [Yasmina Reza’s hit play] ‘Art’, and he was looking for someone to play Yvan, the most insecure of the three protagonists. He’d seen my meltdown on ‘CBB’ and thought, “that's my Ivan!” So you never know what will come from anything. Every cloud, and so forth.

You and Dustin Gee made a great double act on ‘The Laughter Show’... We were only together for three or four years, but I think we made a massive impression on the country. Dustin left me such a legacy – I became successful almost on his coat-tails, he was so brilliant. A waste of a great talent and of a lovely man. We were on telly together for the very show when Tommy Cooper died on live TV: we were the next act on, we didn’t think we’d be going on but the paramedics came, then there was a commercial break and then we were on. Dustin said afterwards, “Live on stage, that's the way I'd like to go.” A year later he had a heart attack on stage while we were in panto… be careful what you wish for.

How much of you is there in Jigsy? His story is not my story, but I can identify with the struggle of the journeyman comedian. I was lucky enough not to be stuck in that world. When people ask me, “What was your biggest achievement?”, I say, “Surviving in that industry.” Showbusiness can chew people up and spit ’em out.

LES DENNIS WAS ‘JIGSY’ AT THE TOBACCO FACTORY, BRISTOL FROM 20-21 SEPT.  FFI: http://www.tobaccofactorytheatre.com/ FOR VENUE'S REVIEW CLICK HERE.

Copyright Steve Wright 2011