No TV format is less forgiving than the primetime chat show. Many gladiators have entered the arena and eaten dust. From Davina McCall to Charlotte Church, Michael McIntyre to John Bishop, it is a graveyard of the gifted and the game.
To do it brilliantly, you need several things: the ability to create rapport between a sofa full of guests who have never met; the timing of a standup, with an acid streak beneath the warmth; and rarest of all, a knack for keeping the room pleasantly on edge. Graham Norton has all that, and then some. Trying to make it look as easy as he does is next to impossible.
When Claudia Winkleman stood in for him in February 2025 – joined by Chris Pratt, Saoirse-Monica Jackson, Toby Jones and Rob Beckett – she expertly steered the ship with her rapid-fire humour, sly impishness and genuine curiosity. Having conquered Strictly, The Traitors and The Piano, she was arguably the most sought-after presenter on British television. A chat show of her own felt inevitable afterwards. So why has The Claudia Winkleman Show, launched in March, failed to catch light?
Nobody is blaming Winkleman, of course: that would be tantamount to treason. Her fringe alone is a national treasure. The viewing figures have been respectable: her debut drew 1.5 million, marginally ahead of the final episode of Norton’s last series, with catch-up adding another 700,000. But there was still a nagging sense that something was missing. In his three-star review for The Independent, Nick Hilton called it “a stylish, televised cocktail party – the ingredients are there, and they have the right mixologist, but they might need to tweak the recipe”.
How? Well, starrier guests would help. Norton’s annual run, timed to coincide with Hollywood’s awards season, consistently delivers a dizzying panoply of A-listers – from Timothée Chalamet to Margot Robbie just in the last series – that Winkleman, launching in the off-season, could only watch from a distance. While Jeff Goldblum, that famously garrulous raconteur, is always great value, a guest list that by the final episode featured Dan Levy, Phil Dunster and Josh Widdicombe – all plugging TV work – was not exactly the stellar roster that BBC One’s Friday night slot usually promises.
Not helping were the dark teal sofa and mood lighting, which are a touch too redolent of a business hotel bar. And then there were the audience participation segments. Charming on Winkleman’s Radio 2 show, they are a harder sell on primetime BBC One. A man who communicates with birds on social media. Identical twin opera singers. A pencil designer. A couple on their first date. At best, they felt contrived; at worst, interminable.
Deeper than format is the question of fit. Winkleman – whose career spans three decades, from Holiday reporter to British TV staple – is curious and instinctively at ease with whoever sits opposite her. Her mother, former Fleet Street editor Eve Pollard, gave her the mantra she has lived by: “Don’t worry about being interesting, but always be interested.” In another era, that would have been more than enough.
But we expect more from our chat shows now. Energy. Sardonic wit. Viral moments. Perhaps nerves played a part – being thrust straight into one of television’s most prominent slots, with no run-up and no room for error, would unsettle anyone. Chat shows also demand a particular kind of ruthlessness – the ability to end a conversation before it ends itself. A few times conversations have rambled; she should have intervened more sharply.
Things could well align for the second series, and the first hasn’t been without merit. Jamie Dornan recounted an audition for the musical Rock of Ages that went catastrophically wrong. Before entering the room, he told Winkleman, he drank a quarter-bottle of Jameson whiskey on an empty stomach. He then vomited, violently, down his front, but performed the song anyway while reeking. Evidently, he did not get the part. Winkleman let that story breathe. Fun, too, upon the arrival of surprise guest Mr Blobby, was witnessing Canadian actor Dan Levy’s horror – shielding himself behind the sofa, telling the audience “You people are f***ing crazy.” These were the moments when Winkleman’s grace and quickness, which make her one of television’s most beloved figures, were simply allowed to do the work.
Before the series launched, Winkleman told the press she would be “obviously awful” and that no one should bother watching. They did bother – but may have shrugged at the results. So, if the BBC is to get the second series right, producers owe Winkleman some honest reflection. Less of the calculated “spontaneity”. More of the real sort. Plus, a harder fight for the guests. The Claudia Winkleman who coaxes contestants into dismantling each other on The Traitors is the most dangerous person in any room she enters. Finding the format that sets her free – that is the job in hand.
