If you’ve spent any time doomscrolling through the latest political scandals lately, you probably think we’re living in a uniquely chaotic era. But honestly? We’ve been here before. Only back then, it was funnier because it was a sitcom. Specifically, it was The New Statesman tv show, the sharpest, meanest, and most oddly prophetic piece of satire to ever hit British airwaves.
Most people remember Rik Mayall for the chaotic slapstick of The Young Ones or the sheer lunacy of Bottom. But his portrayal of Alan B’Stard, the ultra-right-wing, sociopathic Conservative MP for Haltemprice, was something else entirely. It wasn't just comedy; it was a warning.
The B'Stard We Deserve
Watching The New Statesman tv show today is a surreal experience. You’ve got this character, Alan B’Stard, who essentially functions as a human personification of greed. He’s not just a "bad" politician. He’s a guy who cuts the brake lines of his opponents to win an election. He’s the guy who tries to sell nuclear waste to schools.
It’s dark. Like, really dark.
The show first aired in 1987, right in the heart of the Thatcher era. Writers Laurence Marks and Maurice Gran basically looked at the "greed is good" mantra of the eighties and dialed it up to eleven. They created a monster that the public somehow couldn't stop watching. Why? Because Mayall played him with such delicious, oily charm that you almost wanted to see how far he could go before the world imploded.
What Most People Get Wrong About the Satire
There’s this common misconception that the show was just a partisan attack on the Tories. It wasn't. While B'Stard was a Conservative MP, the show eventually took aim at everyone. By the time the stage shows and specials rolled around in the early 2000s, B'Stard had "invented" New Labour and was whispering in Tony Blair's ear.
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The satire wasn't about a specific party. It was about the vacuum of morality that power creates.
Take Piers Fletcher-Dervish, played by Michael Troughton. He was the perfect foil—the dim-witted, upper-class "wet" who Alan bullied relentlessly. Their dynamic basically defined the show. One was pure, calculated evil; the other was just too stupid to realize he was being used as a human shield for fraud.
Why the 2026 Perspective Changes Everything
It’s interesting. In 2026, we’ve seen politics move so far into the realm of the absurd that some of B’Stard’s most "unrealistic" schemes now look like Tuesday afternoon headlines. Remember the episode where he tries to privatize the police? Or the one where he advocates for Britain to leave the EEC (long before Brexit was a household word)?
Marks and Gran were accidentally Nostradamus with better punchlines.
The Casting Genius of Rik Mayall
Honestly, nobody else could have done it. Mayall had this way of looking at the camera—that breaking of the fourth wall—that made you feel like an accomplice to his crimes. His energy was frantic but controlled.
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He didn't just play a villain. He played a man who was genuinely confused why everyone else bothered with things like "ethics" or "empathy." To Alan, those were just obstacles to a larger bank account.
Key Cast and Crew
- Rik Mayall: Alan B'Stard (The man you love to hate).
- Michael Troughton: Piers Fletcher-Dervish (The loyal, if lobotomized, sidekick).
- Marsha Fitzalan: Sarah B'Stard (Alan's equally ruthless, nymphomaniac wife).
- Laurence Marks & Maurice Gran: The writing duo who somehow predicted the future.
The show ran for four series and several specials, ending its TV run in 1992, but the character lived on in West End plays. There was even talk around 2017 of a reboot called The B'Stard Legacy, focusing on Alan's secret son. Without Mayall, though, that's a tough sell. He was the show.
Why You Should Rewatch It Now
If you want to understand the DNA of modern political comedy—shows like The Thick of It or Veep—you have to go back to The New Statesman tv show. It broke the rules. It wasn't afraid to make its protagonist a literal murderer.
It’s also surprisingly accessible. You don't need a PhD in British political history to get the jokes. Greed, lust, and betrayal are universal languages. Plus, seeing Alan B'Stard get punched in the face (which happened often) provides a level of catharsis that is hard to find in the actual news cycle.
Real Insights for the Modern Viewer
If you're diving back in, pay attention to the "B'Stardisms." His logic is impeccable in its own twisted way.
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- Check the Backgrounds: The sets are filled with 80s excess that feels nostalgic and terrifying at the same time.
- The Soundtrack: The theme music is an arrangement of "Pictures at an Exhibition," which gives the whole thing a mock-operatic, grand scale.
- The Guest Stars: Keep an eye out for familiar faces like Stephen Fry or Hugh Laurie in early roles.
The reality is that The New Statesman tv show remains relevant because the "Alan B’Stards" of the world didn't go away; they just got better at social media. The show teaches us that the best way to handle a demagogue is to laugh at them until they lose their power.
To get the most out of a rewatch today, start with the episode "Happiness is a Warm Gun." It sets the tone perfectly. It shows Alan at his most vulnerable (facing blackmail) and his most resourceful (using the blackmail to his advantage).
Don't just watch it for the nostalgia. Watch it as a field guide to spotting the "B'Stards" in our own backyard.
Next Steps for the Fan
- Find the DVD Box Sets: Streaming rights for the show can be spotty due to its controversial content, so physical media is your best bet for the unedited experience.
- Check out the scripts: Marks and Gran published several script books that include jokes that were too risky even for late-night TV in the 90s.
- Explore the "New Labour" stage play: If you can find a recording of The New Statesman: Episode 2006, it bridges the gap between the Thatcher years and the modern era beautifully.