‘In 1984, I worked 363 days’: how Russ Abbot soared to success – then walked away

The comedian dominated Saturday night TV in the 1980s, with his sketch shows attracting 18 million viewers. Next came the West End musicals and sitcoms. But in 2016 he quietly disappeared from the limelight. What happened?

The electronic gates slide open to reveal a gorgeous Portuguese villa, a swimming pool and a beansprout of a man. “You’ve made me feel very important,” says Russ Abbot with a smile. “Come in!”

It’s more than 30 years since Abbot, aged 78, dominated Saturday night TV with his sketches, songs and impersonations. He appealed to all sorts. Kids, parents and grandparents united around the TV – first for Russ Abbot’s Madhouse, which ran from 1980 to 1985, then The Russ Abbot Show, from 1986 to 1991. He was joined by the inimitable Bella Emberg and a cast of young comics, including Les Dennis, Dustin Gee and Michael Barrymore. But make no mistake, it was Abbot’s show and the 80s was his decade. At his peak, he attracted 18 million viewers an episode.

When TV commissioners tired of his brand of sketch comedy, he did stints in the sitcoms Boomers and Last of the Summer Wine and played it straight in the moving TV drama September Song. There was a run of West End musical smashes – Fagin in Oliver!, Roger de Bris in The Producers, Alfred P Doolittle in My Fair Lady. Then, in 2016, he quietly retired. For the past seven years, he has split his time between Barbados and the Algarve, where I find him today.

Abbot introduces me to his wife, Trish, who has a smart silver bob and a northern accent. How long have you two been married, I ask her. “Sixty years,” she says quietly. “Not even the Train Robbers got that!” Trish, 80, giggles.

We’re standing in a large, airy hall. On a table are figurines of Laurel and Hardy – Abbot’s heroes. Upstairs, I can make out lots of framed photos. He takes me on a tour. There are pics of him with the great entertainers of his era (Brucey, Elton, Tarby, Shaky) and the royals (Philip, Anne, Charles). We pass the silver discs from his brief period as Britain’s unlikeliest pop star (who can forget Atmosphere?). “That’s a certificate acknowledging the biggest box office in summer season history,” he says, like an accountant conducting an audit of his success. “And that’s whatshisname.” He squints at a picture. “Live Aid. Bob Geldof.”

Pride of place is a photo of him dressed as Cooperman, with Tommy Cooper. Cooperman was one of Abbot’s more surreal mashup characters – Superman meets the brilliantly bumbling comic giant, who died on stage in 1984. He adored Cooper. “It was so funny at the funeral. All the faces were there. Max Bygraves, Eric Sykes, me. And when the cortege came in, we’d forgotten he’d got a younger brother who looked just like him. He walked in and we’re like: ‘Oh God! Another Tommy prank.’ When the curtain closed on the coffin, I thought: he’s going to come out in a minute because he was such a practical joker.”

He pauses. Now he sounds emotional. “After the funeral, we were walking out paying our respects to his wife, Gwen, and she said to me: ‘He thought you were the cat’s whiskers!’ I filled up. Amazing.”

More photos.