I meant to write this a while back, but as is the way, I forgot. Anyway.

Louis Theroux is one of the best makers of documentaries about people in the world, ever. His disarmingly warm and charming style enable him to get much closer to his strange – and often disturbing – subjects than a mainstream journalist would perhaps be able to. He is a master of the art of remaining just distant enough from someone to dissociate himself from them yet allowing them to feel they can trust him – and in many cases, this gives them just enough rope to hang themselves in spectacular fashion. In the cases where his subjects aren’t headed for the gallows from the off, we get an unusually intimate – and often unexpectedly moving (see his documentary about the Bunny Ranch in Nevada) – view of their life.

And this, in a way, is the biggest problem with this book.

“The Call of the Weird” is a followup to his Weird Weekends TV series. It’s ten years since the series was first broadcast, and a lot has changed in America and in its relationship with the rest of the world. The premise of the book is that this anniversary is a good opportunity to revisit the people Louis met during that series – prostitutes, UFO nuts, Nazis, Gansta Rappers, fringe religious groups and more – and find out how they’re getting on. Each chapter follows a set formula – focussing on a particular individual, we get a recap of Louis’ first meeting with them, then a story about what happened when he tried to track them down, and finally (assuming he finds them) an update on what they’re up to now.

And, in itself, it’s an enjoyable read. It’s entertaining, moving, and funny, and easily and confidently sits on the bookshelf alongside similar books by the like of Jon Ronson. But there’s always this nagging feeling that it could be so much more: and the reason for that is that it’s just not the same as the TV series. He’s a perfectly good writer – entertaining, balanced, literate and still hugely characterful – but his true genius really shows as a broadcaster: the writing is good, but you get so much more when you see him interacting with people. Additionally, you get the feeling that, for many of his subjects, the glitzy pull of the TV camera is far more appealing that the relative mundanity of the written word, and without that camera over his shoulder, Louis is perhaps unable to get some people to open up (or, perhaps, perform?) as much as he usually would.

But ultimately, this is like criticising a Ferrari 360 for not being as good as an Enzo. When placed next to his TV work, it falls short – but don’t let this put you off, because it’s still absolutely a very good book indeed.

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