Spike Milligan (1918–2002)

This book is marketed as an uproariously hilarious spoof of Conan Doyle’s Hound of the Baskervilles. It isn’t.

None of the wit is witty. None of the humor is humorous. All of the 'yucks' fall with a dull thud. Even the illustrations fail to amuse and entertain.

This book is just woefully unfunny.

It’s full of vulgar language, and endlessly repetitive ‘gags’:

“My fee is ten guineas an hour with a down payment of one hundred guineas.”
“Holmes was still wearing one black boot and one brown boot.”
“Quack! Quack! Stop that duck”.
“I was headed toward High Tor where I tort I taw a puddy tat.”

And those four ‘jokes’ comprise a good third of the entire book. In case you missed any one of those tired old chestnuts, don’t worry…Milligan will be recycling them yet again in another page or two. Talk about a needle getting stuck in the groove!

Even the less tired wisecracks fail to provide any laughs:

‘ “What do you make of it?”
“I would make a rice pudding of it.” ’

Pause for laughter...& Cue the crickets.

‘ “You have arms, I suppose?"
“Yes, and legs.” ’

Boy, those crickets sure are getting louder.

‘ “Halloa,” cried Dr. Mortimer, “What is this?”
“This is England,” I said. “I thought you knew.” ’

The crickets are just an incessant noise machine at this point.

If this is representative of Spike Milligan’s work, how in the world did he manage to have a career as a comedian?

Save yourself the aggravation, and just read the original Hound of the Baskervilles instead.… (meer)