In 2000 Louis Theroux made a documentary about Jimmy Savile in which he was shown to be a bully, a creep and a loner, but not, as you will recall, a rapist and a paedophile. During a car journey, Theroux did ask the DJ about the rumours that periodically swirled around him – difficult conversations are always best had in cars, the option to stare fixedly ahead being handy all round – but Savile batted it away. Why this should be a source of shame for Theroux, as he has insisted it is, I’m not exactly sure. What did he expect him to say? And why does he think that he could have succeeded where countless others also failed?
The two of them spent ten days together. Ten days. This might well be a long time in terms of access to a so-called celebrity – I tremble at the thought of spending more than a couple of hours with some of my interviewees – but for a man who had worn a mask for more than half a century, it was the blink of an eye.
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