Good to see the release of American: The Bill Hicks Story. There have been rumours of a film about the cult comedian for years – at one point Jack Black was said to be in the frame to play the firebrand funnyman in a biopic – and this documentary is a fitting tribute to Hicks, who died, aged 32, in 1994. Classic clips and illuminating anecdotes from close friends are combined with animated footage recreating seminal moments to paint a picture of a man who was truly committed to comedy. It was no surprise that Hicks was so good towards the end. He had been gigging since he was in his early teens, sneaking out of his bedroom window to appear at clubs he was too young to get a drink in.

One of the most impressive things about the film – apart from the enduring stand-up routines where Bill rants seamlessly about politics, religion and corporate greed – is the way directors Matt Harlock and Paul Thomas have brought old photos of Hicks to life to recreate lost scenes and memories of early sets. It is an innovative trick but one that we may not need to see much longer. Imagine if a new Bill Hicks emerged today. The chances are that by the time they made it big, grainy mobile phone footage of them playing the Chuckle Bunker, Minnesota as a spotty teen would be all over YouTube like a rash. 

Judging by the number of phones I see flashing regularly at club shows, Hicks may just turn out to be the last great stand-up whose early days have not been caught on camera very much. So go and see this film to see a piece of history. And also go and see this film because, despite his gags about George Bush Snr and New Kids on the Block, Hicks remains timelessly relevant. Oh, and go and see this film because, perhaps even more importantly, Hicks remains timelessly funny.

For me there is one event that regularly marks the true start of the comedy year, the point when clowns come out of their winter hibernation. It's the Altitude Festival in Meribel, France, the world's only comedy festival that combines stand-up with sliding down mountains on glorified planks of wood. This year's festival was the third and easily the most successful. Certainly in terms of audiences it was the biggest yet. The stand-up was fantastic, my feeble attempts at skiing somewhat less impressive.

And it was also the biggest in terms of acts. Crowd-pullers John Bishop and Lee Mack have played here before, but 2010's highlight was the megastar that is Al Murray's Pub Landlord. Murray enjoyed the festival so much he did not just do the local theatre twice, he also popped into the tiny late night shows at Jacks Bar and treated the audience to a couple of impromptu intimate sets as the bigoted barsteward. For Murray it was a welcome return to basics before he starts warming up for his next enormodome UK tour which has just been announced.

It is not often you get to see an O2 Arena-filling act in a 100-capacity bar, so this was the kind of thing that made the festival special. Though I'm not sure if the front row fans enjoyed it quite as much as those at the rear, as they were mercilessly picked on when not having beer dripped on them or spittle dribbled on them. That's the price you pay for being so close to the Landlord you can read the writing on his sovereign ring.

These ad hoc appearances seemed to sum up the festival, which is easily one of the most laid back comedy gatherings in the world. There are no minders, no VIP areas, everyone just hangs around together. Murray had been having a bite to eat in the always buzzy Evolution restaurant next door – the finest Caesar salads in the Alps – when impish Irish compere Andrew Maxwell spotted him and suggested he pop in and do a turn. Fifteen minutes later he was onstage and in full flow.

Other highlights were south London hero Micky Flanagan reflecting on his eighties dating days when a kimono was the height of sophisticated style. The unpredictable Phil Kay also had a brilliant gig, making a name for himself as the only person to be spotted wandering around the snowy resort in open-toed sandals, having lost his boots in Chamonix. 

Another memorable evening was the Franglais gig in which the Landlord, Nick Doody and compere Marcus Brigstocke performed in French. Doody was very impressively fluent, the Landlord mashed English and French together wonderfully –  "Vin blanc pour la lady" – and Brigstocke MC'd in a beret-style hat that that made him look like he had just parked his bicycle and string of onions outside.

I've seen stand-up comedy all over the world and in some interesting places, from boats and bars to caves and sweat-drenched cellars, as well as in my own lounge, but there is something magical about Meribel. Whether it's the Alpine scenery, something in the air, or just the sheer chaos of squeezing a large number of comedians into a very small space, this is always a special week. The only thing that would make it better? If I could actually get down a mountain without falling over.

A couple of years ago Richard Herring did a gig in my lounge. Apart from criticising my curtains and propositioning my daughter's friend (the latter was a joke, not sure about the former) it was a huge success. I didn't think I'd hear about a comedy show in a more unlikely setting, but next week there are two events that may even top this.

On Monday night Ivor Dembina performs at the Houses of Parliament. We know that is a place full of clowns, but it is not known as a place for comedy fans, even though MP Stephen Pound did once propose an early day motion to mark the anniversary of the death of Bill Hicks. Dembina will be performing his solo show about the Middle Eastern conflict between Israel and Palestine, This is Not a Subject for Comedy. Dembina's position is clear: "I'm one of those Jews who believe we should give back the Occupied Territories, but I think we should hang on to New York." Sadly this particular gig is only open to MPs and by invitation, but interested parties can also see the show at the Phoenix Artist Club on 20 & 27 March. Details here.

For those looking for comedy in unusual places a little further away than Westminster look no further than than the Altitude Comedy Festival in Meribel, which runs from 20 - 26 March. Now in its third year, this event, co-created by Marcus Brigstocke and Andrew Maxwell, has previously boasted the highest ever stand-up gig on top of a mountain, Mark Maier performing with a sunburnt nose after overdoing it on the first day and the unforgettable sight of grumpy old woman Jenny Eclair attempting to ski. She took the liberty of painting her nails shocking pink so that she could be spotted if she got lost on the nursery slopes.

Among the treats are Rich Hall, Micky Flanagan and Rufus Hound, direct from his victory in Let's Dance for Sport Relief. Will Hound be giving the apres skiers his full Cheryl Cole? You'll have to go to find out.

This year's festival boasts a particularly unusual attraction. Al Murray, the Pub Landlord, will be doing his first stand-up shows in France, a country that he doesn't exactly hold dear, given that his fictional wife ran off with his fictional son and shacked up with a fictional Frenchman? Will he be doing his bit for Anglo-French relations or will it all be too emotional for the Landlord.

Rumour has it that Murray may attempt to offer some balance by also appearing as the Landlord's gallic alter ego, Alphonse, the wine bar waiter. But maybe this is one gig where he should certainly hold back from revealing the first half of his philosophy: "if we had no rules where would we be? France. And if we had too many rules where would we be? Germany!" Altitude details here.

Saddened to hear the news that performer Jason Wood died on Saturday at the age of 38. No details of the cause of his death yet, but it comes as a complete shock. I'd seen him perform last autumn as part of the Wam Bam Club at the Cafe De Paris and there was nothing whatsoever to suggest he was in ill-health.

Reality TV buffs will know Wood from the first series of Strictly Come Dancing, but comedy fans will know him for his unashamedly waspish, wicked wit and his spot-on musical impressions of David Gray and Pavarotti. I first saw him in Edinburgh in 2002 and he immediately stuck out. His Alison Moyet could have stripped wallpaper at a hundred paces and while everyone around him seemed to sport scruffy jeans, T-shirts and trainers, he spent a month gigging in a tiny room in the Pleasance Courtyard in a sharp, shiny suit, looking every inch the household name-in-waiting.

It was clear that his management – who also managed Jimmy Carr – saw him as someone who could follow Graham Norton, Dale Winton and Paul O'Grady and take camp into the mainstream. He may have been fairly fresh to the stand-up comedy world, but he had a wealth of experience on the gay circuit, where he also worked under the name of Cher Travesty. He was fiendishly quick with a putdown and if you sat in the front row the chances are you would end up as part of the show.

Wood did not quite make it into primetime apart from Strictly Come Dancing, where he was the first act to be voted off. But he worked regularly and it was a pleasure to see him in action again at the Cafe De Paris in 2009. He was still doing the same impressions of Alison Moyet, David Gray and Pavarotti and still wearing a shiny suit and if I'd been reviewing him I'd have said it was about time he updated his act. But there was no doubt that the crowd loved him that night. On a burlesque-style bill in front of a rowdy hen party where the other comedians struggled, he made an immediate impact and a lot of new fans. Given the right breaks in this tough, ruthless business, he would have been a TV regular and made many, many more new fans. 

Interesting British Comedy Awards nominations announced today. Some are a lot easier to have predicted than others. It is no surprise that man of the moment Michael McIntyre is up for three nominations, or that the TV-friendly Alan Carr is also up for a hat trick of prizes. 

After a period in purdah for both the show and Jonathan Ross – after a voting scandal and Sachsgate – things are looking good for the British Comedy Awards again. The 20th anniversary show goes out after the X Factor semi-final on 12 December so hopefully a fair number of viewers will stick around and boost the ratings.

Of course, the whole thing is one big broadcasting back-slap. It doesn't matter who gets the vote, the TV industry wins. Despite having chaired the Edinburgh Comedy Awards panel twice, no-one has ever approached me even to serve biscuits to the BCA panel, which in 2008 was predominantly made up of channel heads and members of the Writers' Guild. There used to be a viewers' vote for a people's choice award, but that is not back this year.

There are, however, plenty of unexpected nominations to tickle the funny bone of even the most hardened non-judging cynic. The three children in the semi-improvised BBC family sitcom Outnumbered have all been nominated for Best Newcomer. The luminously funny Katherine Parkinson is up for Best Comedy Actress for The IT Crowd, even though it feels that there hasn't been a new episode for years (I just checked and the last series started last November, so it's actually about a year ago). 

Some of the nominees leave a little bit of egg on the TV industry's face, which is nice. The much lauded – by viewers and critics – Pulling was axed by the BBC, but two of its stars, Rebekah Staton and Tanya Franks, are still up for Best Female Newcomer and the valedictory one-off special is up for Best Comedy Drama. Surely the creators Sharon Horgan and Dennis Kelly could take the concept to another broadcaster if the BBC cannot see they've got a hit on their hands? It happened with Men Behaving Badly, which went from ITV to BBC1. 

In the absence of any new product for Ricky Gervais, Gavin & Stacey should do well (Rob Brydon should bag Best Actor for Uncle Bryn), as should Mitchell and Webb, who are up for awards via both Peep Show and their BBC sketch show. I'd like to see Psychoville win Best New British Television Comedy – comedy didn't come any darker or more disturbing in 2009. 

In a year when offence has been at the top of the agenda, there would be a nice frisson if Frankie Boyle won Best Live Stand-Up, but that award will probably go to Michael McIntyre. It would be brilliant if the other nominee, Stewart Lee, won first prize, but somehow I can't see TV's bigwigs on the judging panel giving the outspoken bequiffed critic of TV's incompetence, cowardice and complacency the nod. 

There doesn't seem to be an award for Best International Comedy this year, but maybe it would have been embarrassing giving it to Larry David for Curb Your Enthusiasm yet again. But maybe they could have given it to Jerry Seinfeld for his Seinfeld reunion storyline within Curb Your Enthusiasm, which has become compelling viewing on More4.

As for Best Comedy Film, In The Loop should beat Bruno. and personally I cackled more during Inglourious Basterds than during the third nominee, The Hangover. Still I guess it's apt that there is something called The Hangover on the list – there will be a lot of media folk nursing headaches on the morning of 13 December.

It's that time of the year when I start to get piles. Don't worry, fans (both of you), it's not a medical condition, I'm referring to piles of press releases publicising Christmas comedy tours and Christmas comedy DVDs. What I've noticed recently, though, is the increasing releases plugging Christmas comedy books. Not just the inevitable Mitchell & Webb/Harry Hill TV tie-ins, but big weighty library-style tomes that are mainly words with a few pictures thrown in for on-the-toilet browsing fun. 

Ever since Peter Kay's autobiography gave Dan Brown a run for his money publishers have been looking for comedians with a story to sell, sorry, tell. What is interesting now is that they are looking beyond the stadium filling acts to shift books. And also they are looking for other types of books rather than straightforward "I-was-born-in-a-stable-and-now-I'm-loaded" rags-to-riches stories.

Dara O'Briain and Alan Davies have both taken a sideways perspective on life in their first books. O'Briain's Tickling The English is an Irishman's on-the-road perspective on Albion, from drinking and animals to patron saints – the Irish have the best saints of course. Davies. meanwhile, looks at his childhood heroes in My Favourite People And Me, so we get essays on a wide range of cultural icons from John Belushi to Bertold Brecht via Harry Redknapp. 

These are clearly canny moves, leaving the authors space for candid autobiographies at a later date if they fall on hard times. Not that publishing your autobiography need hold you back anyway, just don't blow the whole story in one go – Saturday Night Peter is Mr Kay's second volume in what could turn out to be an entire shelf-filler.

What puzzles me though is that publishers seem to be a little too optimistic about sales prospects of books by other  less household-name comedians than those previously mentioned. One can only assume that the theory is that if they dish out a lot of small advances some of them will result in books that really take off. Shappi Khorsandi's A Beginner's Guide To Acting English must have sounded like a good idea at the time – the comedian's life has featured death threats and eating disorders, which both make a good read.

But let's be honest, Khorsandi is no Kay, Paul O'Grady or Frank Skinner if popularity is the key to sales success. Or Frankie Boyle, who has also just published his autobiography. Though I'm intrigued to see how that does. Jo Brand also has a book out. And Jack Dee's story is eagerly awaited. Khorsandi is a great stand-up, but surely does not have the kind of profile to shift huge numbers. Which may explain why it is currently number 1884 in the Amazon sales ranks. 

To cap it all, just as I was about to sit down and write about this every-comic-has-a-book-in-them phenomenon I heard that Simon Day has just signed a deal to write his autobiography. Now Simon Day is a lovely bloke with a smart, offbeat sense of humour and great taste in wine, but to paraphrase an old gag about Ringo Starr, he's not the funniest man in comedy. Or even the funniest man in The Fast Show.

Yet the publishers are bigging Day up, promising a vivid tale of truancy and fruit machine addiction. It's hardly drugs and debauchery, but what do I know? Maybe Day's book will make JK Rowling quake in her boots. And if it is a hit, where will publishers go next in their quest for hidden hits? Look out for My Story by the bloke who played Alan Partridge's Geordie mate. Or the biog of the man who played Private Godfrey in Dad's Army. Oh sorry, that one has just come out.

Just had an interesting couple of Ricky Gervais-themed days. Saw his directorial debut The Invention of Lying and then, just to be a completist, caught up with his previous movie, Ghost Town. Although Gervais clearly had a bigger hand in Lying, it is intriguing to note various themes emerging in his cinematic oeuvre. 

Curiously both films feature the Gervais character being followed by large crowds. In Lying it is people who hang on scriptwriter Mark Bellison's every word (very Life of Brian), while in Ghost Town  it is the umpteen dead with unfinished earthly business who want Gervais's grumpy dentist Bertram Pincus to contact the living on their behalf.

Inevitably he plays an average-height, pudgy-ish man in both movies, and gets plenty of gags out of the fact. He is, however, the leading man in both films and, this being America, he ends up with the leading lady both times, despite Jennifer Garner and Tea Leoni clearly being out of his characters' leagues at the outset. 

It is this second point that marks a shift for Gervais. When he made The Office for the BBC he famously insisted on getting his way throughout the production process. While The Office concluded with possible romance for David Brent  it was with a realistic woman, not a Hollywood hottie, albeit one on the wrong side of twenty.  The Invention of Lying, like Ghost Town which he didn't write but clearly had creative input in, feels too often like a generic Hollywood romcom. Admittedly with a few existential asides about why religion exists, but Hollywood romcom nonetheless.

Of the two films The Invention of Lying is definitely superior. It clearly has more depth,  more of Gervais's distinctive voice (both as a writer and as a squeaky giggler, which always makes me chuckle) and plenty of laugh-out-loud sight gags. There are moments when it is reminiscent of Jim Carrey's Liar, Liar – another movie about someone who can't stop blurting out the truth – and it also has echoes of C4's Peep Show, in which interior monologues become exterior. But these comparisons are no bad thing.

What troubles me is that fact that I cannot help wondering if Gervais set out to make something more subversive but could not quite squeeze it into the restrictive 100-minute format. Maybe his ambitions are more suited to the longer sitcom genre where ideas have more room to grow and breath. It is noticeable that Lying starts with a typical sarcastic Gervais voiceover during the opening credits, in which he suggests that no-one is interested in reading the names except for the backstage crew's families, but ends with the usual saccharine music as the closing credits roll. I stayed till the curtain closed expecting another sneery gag but none came. As with the film, but unlike his previous TV work, Gervais could not quite resist an airbrushed conventional ending.

It's the pairing they said would never happen. Blackadder and Dr Who. Well maybe that's not quite what will happen, but it is intriguing to hear the news that Richard Curtis is going to write an episode of Dr Who. Curtis hardly needs the work or the money, but says that he wanted to write something that would impress his children. Presumably they haven't stopped squirming with embarrassment after seeing The Boat That Rocked – and neither have I.

The word on the blogosphere is that the Curtis episode will feature time travel in some way and a historical figure will be involved. Hence the rumour mill grinding into action and prompting the annual gossip of a Blackadder revival. I suppose Blackadder and Dr Who do have some things in common. Both are iconic characters who inspire loyal followings and keep going through different incarnations. The only real difference is that Blackadder has always been played by the same actor. Oh, and no-one who has played Dr Who has gone on to play Mr Bean.

Of course, Rowan Atkinson is no stranger to Timelords. History has a habit of conveniently forgetting certain facts, but Atkinson has actually played Dr Who himself in the not too distant past. He took on the role in 1999 in The Curse of Fatal Death, part of a Comic Relief Night special which also featured Jonathan Pryce and Joanna Lumley fondling the sonic screwdriver.

There was even talk of Atkinson assuming the role of Dr Who more regularly after his cameo, but at the time the appetite for television revivals was not quite as ferocious as it was a few years later and the suggestion was forgotten about. And now that there is a new Dr Who on the block played by floppy-fringed juvenile lead Matt Smith the chances of fiftysomething Atkinson getting the role in the future are probably slimmer than Fatty McFat Who Can't Stop Eating Fried Fish winning the Slimmer of the Year Award.

Still, we should applaud Curtis for dipping his toes into the world of telly sci-fi. I’m not sure if it’ll be a success on the scale of the Blackadder cycle, but it has got to be less cheesy than Love, Actually.

Critic and commentators are quick and eager to spot themes at the Edinburgh Fringe Festival, but what i’ve noticed in my time up here over the last two weeks is the absence of themes. If you see three offensive shows you can say the theme is offensive comedy, if you see three whimsical shows you can say the theme is whimsical comedy. But I’ve seen around fifty shows in the last two weeks and the theme that strikes me is the sheer diversity of themes. Take these three shows for instance...

Mackenzie Taylor’s No Straightjacket Required (Pleasance Dome) might sound like a Phil Collins tribute act, but the theme here is suicide, which is not something you come across a lot on the Fringe – even though some sets might drive you to the edge. The thoroughly decent, middle class Taylor spends an hour telling his audience how a combination of personal trauma and his bipolar disorder led him to take a potentially lethal cocktail of alcohol and pills. It is an eloquent, touching show finding comedy in the darkest of places. Not always hilarious, but Taylor has an engaging self-deprecating streak. At one point he recalls how when he drove to Brighton to commit suicide he got frustrated because he could not find a parking space. Despite his death wish he didn’t want to get clamped. Taylor has not had many reviews - maybe critics are worried that a bad write-up might push him to the brink again. I’m sure if they saw the show it would get only positive plaudits.

Taylor attempted his suicide at a poetry gig. It was presumably not one featuring Luke Wright (Underbelly), whose verses are positively life enhancing as well as hilarious. A few years ago Wright made a bit of a splash as part of Aisle 16, the world’s first poetry boyband. Like all boybands they split and now the moon-faced rhymer is pursuing a solo career. His latest show allows him to address the things that bug him, which is mostly his own immature, self-obsessed behaviour. In one poem, about wearing Russell Brand-style tight black trousers he reflects on looking like “an apple balancing on a pair of compasses.” Elsewhere the self-confessed Essex-born, Norwich-based young dad reveals that the Guardian has called him a “foppish bufffoon”. There is some pretty, witty, occasionally even profound stuff here, although I’m not sure if it was such a good idea to read out some Phillip Larkin. You don’t get Michael McIntyre doing old Billy Connolly routines mid-set. Anyway, Wright’s career looks like taking off now, but if it doesn’t maybe in a few years he can reunite Aisle 16. Getting back together certainly hasn’t done Take That’s bank balances any harm.

Another show that pushes the boundaries of what goes on at the Fringe is Caroline Mabey’s Go Go Go Coffee Show (Beehive Inn), which is part of the Free Fringe (though there is an optional whip-round at the end). It is a lunchtime show, you get free thimbles of coffee and Mabey is thoroughly enjoyable company. Imagine the slightly deranged offspring of a menage a trois between between Vic Reeves, Harry Hill and Floella Benjamin and you are getting there. There are childlike drawings, singalongs and animations as well as a few flirty, rude and surreal gags, and the whole thing is punctuated by painfully cheesy puns. Mabey has an art school background and I couldn’t work out if the show is some kind of post-Tracey Emin perverse exercise in pyjama-based performance art. But does that really matter when you get complimentary coffee and giggle pretty constantly for an hour? I think not.

If you went on a day trip to Edinburgh and only saw these three shows you’d have a real taste of the Fringe experience away from the hype. You’d also have plenty of change left over from £30, which cannot be bad.

What do you do when you love stand-up comedy but don't have enough time to head to the Edinburgh Fringe? The answer is fiendishly simple. Go to Suffolk this weekend and enjoy the Latitude Festival. It lasts for three-and-a-bit days and as well as seeing more bands than you can shake the proverbial stick at – including Nick Cave, Grace Jones, Pet Shop Boys and an acoustic Thom Yorke – you can get enough of a comedy fix to last you the entire summer.

If 2008 was the year that comedy invaded rock festivals (remember Booshfest?) 2009 is the year that it settles into a nice groove. Latitude is easily the best of the bunch (though the Big Chill is also pretty good), programming three solid days of stand-up from Noon until early evening. The sets are often pleasingly short - from 20 - 40 minutes. Perfect comedy tasters. If you don't like one another will be along soon. And if you do like the acts you'll pay to see them gig in their own right in future.

If anything one could argue that there is too much comedy at Latitude, with the acts spilling over more than ever into the cabaret, poetry and theatre tents. This may be a good thing though. Last year's comedy tent was so rammed that it was frequently impossible to get into. Ross Noble famously overcame this problem by leaving the tent and performing a 2000-strong conga in the direction of a vegetarian sausage stall.

So who are this years highlights to set the dawn alarm for and bag a good patch of grass? And what if you miss these? Don't worry, there is some much good stuff on just have a wander, you are bound to find something you like.

Friday
Shappi Khorsandi, who just gets better and better every time she is on telly,  unstoppable joke machine Tim Vine, rabble rouser Mark Thomas plus nutty sketch combo Pappy's fun Club in the Literary Tent. Obscure tips? Weird dance act New Art Club in the Cabaret Arena and prankster Richard DeDomenici in the Film Tent. Poetry lovers should catch versifying boyband Aisle 16 throughout the weekend in the Poetry Tent. 

Saturday
Intellectual geezer Russell Kane, Googlewhacker Dave Gorman, Larry Sanders Show US cult Janeane Garofalo and indie legend Sean Hughes . Try to catch Pippa Evans in the Cabaret Arena and maybe heckle cabinet minister Ed Miliband who will be talking after a screening of Age of Stupid in the Film Tent. Plus Lily's dad Keith Allen in the Literary Arena. 

Sunday
Exquisite misanthrope Jon Richardson, sublime Sean Lock and sick, twisted Andrew Lawrence, who you'll either love or loathe. And don't miss Frank Skinner chatting in the Literary Tent or Danielle Ward and Martin White's brilliantly star-studded singalong Karaoke Circus in the Cabaret Arena. 

Monday
Recover.