Graham Norton: The man to make TV fun again?

He was already causing offence to guests and viewers alike, quizzing a horrified Nicole Kidman about her pubic hair and asking David Cameron if he had ever pleasured himself over pictures of Margaret Thatcher. But with the “Sachsgate” affair a distant cloud on the horizon, the corporation’s powers-that-be were defiantly proud of their motormouth asset.

Their other costly talent was more of an embarrassment. Graham ­Norton had been poached from Channel 4 in a three-year “golden handcuffs” deal said to be worth £5million. He could no longer boost the rival channel’s ratings with his outrageously cheeky late-night shows So Graham Norton or V Graham Norton. These were based on lots of audience partici­pation and surfing the dingier corners of the internet in the company of a visibly gobsmacked celebrity. The Americans in particular seemed amazed that you could get away with this kind of stuff on TV.

The problem was that now that they had got him, the BBC didn’t know how to use him themselves.

At the time the gay Irishman with the flamboyant wardrobe – he says spending money on clothes is his only extravagance – seemed more interested in launching himself on US tele­vision. As he acknowledged in his own autobiography: “In the midst of all our American excitement we would occasionally remember that we were supposed to be thinking up a new show to do on the BBC. At the time of writing we still have no idea what it is.”

Even the genial Terry Wogan seemed to think his compatriot was part of the problem at the ­corporation. “I just think that BBC TV gets hold of an idea and beats it to death until we’re all heartily sick of it,” he said. “Look what they’ve done with Strictly Come Dancing. It’s a big hit – great. So then we have Strictly Come Dancing, the ice-skating version. Then you have Graham Norton coming in and doing one of them because they don’t know what else to do with him.”

Ouch. But how different it all looks now. In a surprise announcement ­yesterday Ross, who still seemed ­bitter about his Sachsgate disgrace when he presented the British ­Comedy Awards last month, announced he is leaving the corporation altogether, turning his back on that vast salary before he has to renegotiate it.

That leaves a vacancy for his ­coveted Friday-night spot – and there is no question who is at the front of the queue. As the BBC’s own media correspondent said on its website yesterday afternoon: “Graham ­Norton could be a ready-made TV replacement. In that way the BBC is well placed.”

In other words the Beeb has finally worked out what to do with him and it may well be that his irrepressible clowning and joie de vivre are a ­welcome tonic after Ross’s peculiar blend of oily grovelling and blokey smut.

Norton makes no claim to be a probing interviewer but he is thoroughly good-natured and enter­taining with an infectious cheerfulness that is his hallmark.

“I don’t think you should have to try to be nice, I think most people are nice,” he once told an interviewer. “I think being cheerful and nice is just a politeness. If you can’t be nice you’d better stay at home.”

Some of the victims of his prank calls might not agree and he is just as capable as Ross of giving offence. Lesbians are a frequent target of his humour and he was forced to make an on-air apology after a tasteless gag shortly after the death of Bee Gees singer Maurice Gibb.

But the niceness does seem to rub off, creating an uproarious and largely harmless atmosphere on the studio set.

By all accounts he is generous, unstarry in ­private and has quickly endeared himself to the ­community in the seaside village in County Cork where he has recently restored a ramshackle hunting lodge. “Everyone here loves him,” says a neighbour. “He makes an effort to be nice and knows everyone’s name and he has fitted in perfectly.”

H e was born Graham Walker in Dublin. His father, now dead, was a sales rep for Guinness and the family moved around frequently in a childhood where television, films and magazines added glamour to the drab provin­ciality of small-time Ireland. He dropped out of Cork University after a nervous breakdown and ended up in San Francisco at the age of 20 (“but an Irish 20, which anywhere else in the world is about 14”).

He decided he wanted to be a ­serious actor and went to drama school in London but moved into comedy with a drag act based on Mother Teresa. He helped to host a late-night comedy show and ended up winning a best newcomer award, followed by his own show on Channel 4.

But for Norton, now 46, finding his feet after that success has certainly taken a while. Strictly Dance Fever, the programme Wogan was scathing about, was indeed pretty forgettable but it gave Norton a break from the chat-show formula. Presenting the big Saturday night star searches to cast The Sound Of Music, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dream­coat and Oliver! were suit­able vehicles for his theatrical enthusiasm and for once, as he admitted, the programmes weren’t “all about him”. He then proved a natural heir to Wogan – and a breath of unjaded fresh air – when Sir Terry finally bowed out of presenting the Eurovision Song Contest.

But he also proved his worth when he did eventually return to the chat-show format with The Graham Norton Show, beginning on BBC2 and lately moving to BBC1 as a mark of its success.

It retains some of the wide-eyed, giggly fascination with online freaks with which Norton – not exactly a bloke’s bloke – managed to win over lager-fuelled audiences on Channel 4. “If it’s seedy he knows all about it,” explained Ricky Gervais to fellow guest Ronnie Corbett on a recent edition.

The point was always to sob with laughter at the ridiculous extremes to which people would go under the cover of internet aliases. On one memorable show Sir Elton John ­telephoned an American man while calling himself Rocketman who said he was wearing a spaceman suit, only to indulge in smutty­ sexual innuendo. But it didn’t have to be about sex, as long as it was weird. The politician Mo Mowlam once conducted a marriage ceremony on the programme for two dogs.

S ome of that sniggery childishness remains. In one recent show the actress Thandie Newton was persuaded to read out the script of a pornographic film featuring a Sarah Palin lookalike. In another a good five minutes were devoted to looking at a website called Cats That Look Like Hitler.

The original idea of all this was to create a chat-show that was “guest proof”. All presenters live in fear of the guest who answers in mono­syllables – for Michael Parkinson it was Meg Ryan, for Wogan it was Anne Bancroft – so Norton’s idea was to bulk out his programme with so much japery that it didn’t matter if the celebrities dried on him.

It worked a treat: when Raquel Welch went difficult on him, he was able to call her a “grumpy old bitch” and pull the plug on their live feed. But the pranks and the audience games often overshadowed ­Norton’s enviable talent for making his guests relax.

Once upon a time Norton was pure Channel 4 – a creature of the station that made mindless ­vulgarity the aspirational norm for a generation of young viewers. The notion of his taking over the prime Friday-night ratings slot might have been a step too far for the BBC.

But he has mellowed a little, appearing to recognise that he can create a jovial atmosphere without having to push the envelope quite so far – and at the same time the world has moved in his direction a little as well so his brand of naugh­tiness has become more mainstream.

Until there’s a formal announcement nothing is certain. But for the moment, Friday Night With ­Graham Norton is looking a pretty likely bet.