Michael Grade, an engaging guide to the world of variety six months ago, now delves further back to unearth its rougher, cruder parent in the halls. Grade has no illusions about showbusiness and tells us how his uncle Lew danced the Charleston on a table top. Now he explains how music hall grew out of the back rooms of pubs and comic songs were fleshed out with patter.

The story is interspersed with enjoyably vulgar songs and chats with Jo Brand and Alexei Sayle, plus a fine turn from Peter Sellers in 1970. There's some fun stuff, but the story of how music hall was tamed sags a little at 90 minutes.

Peter Sellers, Sid James, Bud Flanagan. All Jewish. Who knew? I certainly didn't and it's just one fascinating tidbit unearthed by stand-up David Schneider as he explores why British Jewish comedy is not as successful as its American counterpart.

The most popular reason seems to be that British Jews were more likely to be assimilated into mainstream culture, though David Baddiel does come up with a far-fetched theory that the benefits of political correctness bypassed Jews, meaning that black and Asian people had comedy TV shows while Jews didn't.

The programme is scattered with wonderful Yiddish - "kvetching", "schmaltzy", "shiksa", "sheitel" - and offers a superb chance to hear Matt Lucas (yes, he's Jewish too) describe his plans for a sitcom about a Jewish family in great detail.

Lugubrious Alec Guinness leads a nefarious bunch of ne'er-do-wells (among them Peter Sellers and Herbert Lom) posing as musicians as they plan a robbery from their rented room. When their landlady discovers the truth, they decide to bump her off, but Mrs Wilberforce (78-year-old Katie Johnson) proves rather more indomitable than they had imagined. Alexander Mackendrick directs one of the very best Ealing Comedies.

ITV1's Unforgettable strand, in which friends, family and peers pay tribute to great entertainers, celebrates the life of Spike Milligan, the writer, musician, poet, artist and Goon who died in 2002. Milligan, considered a genius and madman in equal measure, had an absurd and subversive humour that fuelled The Goons, the Fifties comedy troupe which made his name and was so influential it's led to him being called the godfather of alternative comedy. In a sense, the show owes a debt to the War: Milligan met fellow Goon Harry Secombe when both were serving with the Royal Artillery in Tunisia. Post-war, they teamed up with Peter Sellers and Michael Bentine to launch the most popular comedy show of the Fifties, remembered fondly for its surreal humour and ludicrous plots.

Away from performing, Milligan was a successful author, too, producing dozens of books for children and adults, most memorably his hilarious series of war memoirs, beginning with Adolf Hitler: My Part in His Downfall. His success was tempered by depression and melancholy, however, making Milligan the archetypal sad clown. This intimate tribute features photos from Milligan's personal collection as well as previously unseen home movies, and contributions come from Milligan's children, including the first interview with his daughter Romany, one of two of his children born out of wedlock. Eric Sykes, Paul Merton and Terry Jones also pay tribute.

Fans of gentle 1960s-set village comedy dramas must have been gutted when Heartbeat was cancelled recently. But lucky them, it's back, in daytime form, under the name The Indian Doctor. True, it's about a GP, not a policeman, arriving in a small Welsh town where classic pop songs soundtrack every plot development. And there's a racial twist, as the hero is Sanjeev Bhaskar's Dr Prem Sharma, fresh from Delhi with his glamorous wife Kamini, part of the influx of Indian doctors recruited by health minister Enoch Powell to staff the NHS.

The locals are completely ignorant about Indians - they're even shown a special information film to brief them on their new neighbour, followed by a screening of The Millionairess, the dodgy film in which Peter Sellers pretends to be Indian and sings Goodness Gracious Me, a nod to the title of Bhaskar's breakthrough sketch show.

But while this might sound on paper like the basis for a gritty drama about racism and immigration, it's been made as a cheerful afternoon wallow in the lighter side of culture clash. Pretty much everyone is well-meaning, apart from designated villain Mark Williams, playing the moustache-twirling Coal Board boss and his snobby wife. They invite the Sharmas to a dinner party, complete with tasteless Vesta Curry from a box to make them feel at home, thinking that they're doing the poor rubes a big favour - only to find that Mrs S is from an aristocratic Indian family, more used to mixing with the Mountbattens.

Meanwhile, the rest of the town are friendly and the one family who are a little unsure about having an Indian doctor are quickly won over when he comes through in an emergency, so that's all right then. Still, perhaps that's fair enough - not every immigrant to Britain suffered racism, particularly in 1963 when the country was crying out for them, and it would be a shame if every fictional account was full of unpleasantness, as if - in the long run - people didn't manage mostly to settle in perfectly well. And this isn't heavyweight drama, just a watchable and mildly amusing enough nostalgic little series.

A lot of dirt seems to have been dished out about Peter Sellers since his death 30 years ago, mostly honing in on his allegedly volatile temper, family life and unpredictable behaviour on set. But, thankfully, Archive on 4: Sellers in the Attic was just a great, hour-long wallow in his eccentric, unique comedy legacy. It helped that the presenter, comedy writer and historian Glenn Mitchell is clearly a huge Sellers fan, recalling how he scoured local record shops for rare recordings when young. Amid the obvious nods to the Goons and Pink Panther series of hit comedies, the programme contained snippets that gave a real insight of a man totally unimpressed by comic convention and always willing to push boundaries. This includes recording a version of the Beatles' Hard Day's Night in the guise of Laurence Olivier, appearing as a punch drunk boxer turned action painter alongside Peter Cook and Dudley Moore, and mocking the works of poet, William McGonagall, whom he described as truly awful. Given his huge success in Hollywood later in his career, it's a little sad that he describes working with his fellow Goons "as the happiest period of [his] life" in comparison. Warts and all, three decades since his demise, Sellers remains fascinating.

As part of Radio 2's current Comedy Season here are big star profiles today, tomorrow and Wednesday, all three from independent producers. Alexander Armstrong tells the Peter Sellers story tonight which, after Radio 4's Saturday night Archive special, is a bit of an overload. (Don't rival Controllers and schedulers speak to each other these days?) From The Goons on radio in the 1950s to Hollywood fame in the 60s the gulf between public and private person is once more explored. Eric Sykes and Denis Norden are among the interviewees.

Audio: Rare recordings discovered of Peter Sellers

Recently discovered recordings of Peter Sellers are offering new insights into the life of the comic legend.

One of the finds includes a personal recording Sellers made for the television producer Johnnie Hamp whose daughter Mary lost her sight. The recording has never been broadcast before and reveals another side to the actor's nature.

Peter Sellers 'tried to change will' before he died

Peter Sellers tried to change his will on the day he suffered his fatal heart attack, a newly-discovered legal document suggests.

Obituary: Paddie O'Neil

Expressive actress and comedienne who worked with Peter Sellers and Dick Vosburgh.