But Also John Clarke review: an abundantly comforting documentary

As beloved a Kiwi import as Crowded House or pavlova, the late, impossibly great satirist John Clarke may have been worshipped as fictional sheep-shearer Fred Dagg across the ditch, but here he was arguably best known as one half of a multi-channel political flame-throwing duo with Bryan Dawe. So it felt like the nation was torn in half when Clarke unexpectedly died while hiking in Victoria in 2017.

Luckily for us, he and his family were prolific home video enthusiasts, with his eldest daughter, Lorin, enjoying impromptu interview sessions with her father. These recordings, alongside a wealth of archival footage and effusive talking heads, form the basis of her illuminating documentary, But Also John Clarke.

Debuting at the Melbourne International Film Festival before opening nationally this week, even that title has been shorn in two, depending on which side of the ditch you’re on.

In Aotearoa, it’s Not Only Fred Dagg But Also John Clarke, a nod to Clarke’s adoration of the classic Dudley Moore and Peter Cook’s BBC sketch show, Not Only… But Also.

He’d study their routine religiously while working in the back offices of Aotearoa’s then-only TV station, NZBC. Something his family did with taped comedy bits in the way others would study sports manoeuvres.

Of course, given that the BBC show title was also clipped – originally Not Only Dudley Moore But Also… when the pilot was aired and before Cook was signed on as co-host – it’s fitting, in an oddly comforting way.

Watch the But Also John Clarke trailer.

John Clarke: a celebrity shared

And abundantly comforting the documentary is, with Lorin acknowledging up top, ‘We shared him, in a sense, with strangers at the supermarket or while walking the dog’. His celebrity, half of which was established across the water before the kids were born in Melbourne, followed the family wherever they went.

An emotional Sam Neill, best mates since their uni days, confirms that it would take three hours to walk 100 yards in his company because he’d always take the time to talk with fans who flocked to his side.

People, including this 20-years-and-counting import from Scotland, felt like he was part of their family, too, watching him on the nightly news. Largely because Clarke (and Dawe) called bullshit we could see was plainly obvious, whatever garbage politicians, business leaders and other scoundrels tried to sell. He was a real one, in a way most of them could only dream of being.

John Clarke: holding truth to power

Holding truth to power can sometimes be a dreadfully earnest business, but not so with Clarke, who had, as a plethora of his pals can attest, the most mischievously twinkly eyes that made it incredibly hard for his comedic partners and others to maintain a straight face.

A Current Affair presenter Jana Wendt certainly struggled keeping it together on air before the pair decamped, with their faux interviews intact, to the ABC’s The 7.30 Report. She notes their sharp-witted spitfire was both horrifying and hilarious on live television.

Ben Elton says the twinkle was infectiously distracting even during Clarke’s extended stints on the radio. Victorians will get a particular kick out of their unrelentingly savage takedowns of former premier and continued headline-grabber Jeff Kennett.

With oodles of smarts behind the silliness, Clarke was ferociously well-read, loved playing with language and performing poetry aloud. While he may not have excelled academically, that was more about his rebellious refusal to temper his high-spirited humour in the face of authoritarian bullies masquerading as respectable disciplinarians.

That included his father, Ted, though the documentary is at pains to put his violent and dismissive nature in the context of a spirit shattered by the horror of World War II. A shadow that also haunted his mother, Neva, who lost two fiancés to the earth-shattering conflict before marrying Ted. The pair would clash incessantly, with Clarke even pressed into service by his mother during the divorce proceedings.

Perhaps this is why Clarke ensured there was such abundant love for his own partner, art historian and writer Helen McDonald, and their kids? It’s certainly a treat to see glimpses of the real man behind all the multitude of faces he wore professionally, in But Also John Clarke’s beautifully drawn portrait of an impeccably crafted artist peddling seeming anarchy.

John Clarke: kindness behind the scenes

In a sure sign of Clarke’s kindness behind the scenes, several comedians credit the fictional sport of farnarkling inventor with giving them a hand-up in their early days.

People like Andrew Denton, who received a supportive call while smarting from the cancellation of his show The Money or the Gun. Both Anne Edmonds and Wendy Harmer note how hard he championed women writers and performers.

A man of big-hearted inclusion, Clarke was on the right side of history. One of the most affecting sequences of But Also John Clarke relays not only how he ignored the concerns of ABC execs to stay true to the humorous heart of beloved Olympic spoof The Games, but also how he used the show to right an insidious wrong the weaselly then-prime minister John Howard didn’t have it in him to do.

Instead, in much the same way Clarke wore many masks, a man of much higher calibre was brought in to play PM: SeaChange actor John Howard. He delivered the long-overdue apology to First Nations people eight years before Kevin Rudd.

Writer/director Lorin Clarke’s remarkable effort in weaving so much material together and measuring against too much hagiography in favour of insights and giggles in equal measure shows that the apple hasn’t fallen too far from Fred Dagg’s tree.

I’ll leave the last words to Clarke himself, first with this wise piece of advice: ‘Life would be pretty boring if we didn’t make it funny.’

But also from Dagg: ‘That’ll do, fuck ’em.’

But Also John Clarke is in cinemas from 3 September 2025.

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