At one point, he was wearing loud outfits and standing under strong studio lights, shouting catchphrases like they were piñata candy. Jim Moir, well known as Vic Reeves, gave comedy a ridiculous, clever twist rather than merely bending it. Everything is quieter now. Amazingly so.
The same deadpan delivery that made Moir a cult figure was used when he talked of a tumor “the size of a grape” that was trapped in his head in 2021. He didn’t make it dramatic. Rather, as if reporting a mechanical malfunction in an old-fashioned radio, he classified the vestibular schwannoma as benign and inoperable.
| Detail | Information |
|---|---|
| Full Name | Jim Moir |
| Stage Name | Vic Reeves |
| Date of Birth | 24 January 1959 |
| Profession | Comedian, Actor, Artist |
| Known For | Shooting Stars, Vic & Bob, The Smell of Reeves and Mortimer |
| Diagnosis | Vestibular Schwannoma (benign brain tumour) |
| First Disclosed | 2021 |
| Condition Impact | Complete deafness in left ear, tinnitus, balance difficulty |
| Medical Status | Tumour is inoperable and closely monitored through routine MRI scans |
| Lifestyle Focus | Left comic persona behind, now focused on painting, birdwatching, and family |
| Reference Link | www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-tees-58712936 |
Much has already changed in the diagnosis. He had lost the ability to hear the layered sounds of nature and stereo recordings in his left ear. “Completely deaf,” he stated breezily. No hesitating. Only a line beneath what was.
It’s an uncommon kind of tumor that presses up against the nerve that connects the brain and the ear. It doesn’t roar with symptoms or sprint through the body. It creeps. When Moir noticed, it was already too far along. The nerve broke. cut off forever.
The sound abruptly lost its direction. The sound of birdsong vanished. Once a multi-layered delight, music became flattened to one ear. He made a joke about throwing away his stereo LPs, claiming that the only record he had left was Frank Ifield on mono. The adjustment was genuine, yet the humor persisted.
Balance also suffered. Spatial coordination is significantly influenced by that same nerve. For a man who used to pace stages and TV sets, accuracy now matters more personally—at home, on walks in the woods, and along garden paths.
I recall watching one of his interviews during the pandemic, in which he talked about his passion of birding with a mixture of affection and annoyance. Not where the birds were, but he could still hear them. The sound drifted aimlessly. “It resembles a puzzle,” he thought. I realized then that his curiosity had not diminished. It had just changed course.
The diagnosis didn’t provide him the opportunity to act dramatic. He leaned into silence instead. He adopted his more subdued personality as Jim Moir and abandoned the theatrical Vic Reeves character. The focus was on painting. As a practice rather than a pastime. Maybe a way to listen with the eyes rather than the ears.
Although vestibular schwannomas do not spread, they can have very personal repercussions. His spirit was unharmed, but the tumor took away some of his hearing. Moir has stated that he would prefer to hear it, but “you just get on with it.”
That possesses both resilience and humility. Frequent MRI scans are used to monitor the tumor. No operations. Just careful observation. He isn’t playing down the fact that medicine has its limitations. He is waiting without fanfare or anticipation. That acceptance feels oddly reassuring.
Instead, he has discovered a new kind of self-expression. His gathered and displayed artwork demonstrates a keen imagination and a diligent eye. It’s textured and detailed, sometimes abstract yet frequently startlingly personal. His canvases are humorous, yet they also convey compassion.
He has made his life less boisterous but no less creative by concentrating on art and birding. That change feels remarkably intentional for someone who is supposed to be chaotic. It has sharpened his edge rather than dimmed it.
As I looked at one of his paintings online, I couldn’t help but think about the grape-sized tumor. Despite the tumor’s small size, the life reorientation it caused has been enormous. Sometimes we are redirected by the same things that halt us.
Whether Vic Reeves will return is still a question that fans have. However, Moir doesn’t appear ready to return to that position. It was not the entire narrative, but it was a part of him—the wig, the clothes, the surrealism gameshow patter. No more.
His sense of humor has not diminished. Simply said, it has been reframed. He still uses humor in his speech and occasionally veers into ridiculousness. But now there’s a different beat, a softness. More grounded, but not slower.
In a sense, he is still on stage. It’s just a different one. His new set now consists of the gallery wall, the silent garden path, and the soundless left ear. The cheers may have stopped, but something more permanent has taken their place: tranquility, direction, and maybe a very strong sense of self.
The tumor didn’t define him in that way. He was distilled by it. And in doing so, provided us with something surprisingly durable.