The Man In The Rubber Mask (2026 Edition)

The original version of The Man In The Rubber Mask is a masterpiece. First published in 1994, Robert Llewellyn’s autobiographical record of the making of Red Dwarf Series III-V – and of course the ill-fated Red Dwarf USA – is not only informative and insightful, but hugely entertaining. It’s the source of many legendary anecdotes, and paints an impression of the behind-the-scenes atmosphere and cast dynamics that endures to this day. Then in 2013, nearly twenty years later, it was republished and extensively updated, picking the story back up and covering Series VI right up to the recently-broadcast Series X. Fast forward another thirteen years, and this legendary tome is back for a third installment, with twelve more episodes and a special to cover.

Following the scandal-engulfed demise of previous publisher Unbound, the new version is one of the first products on offer from Llewellyn’s own Robert’s Modern Bookshop, with hand-signed copies selling for a very reasonable £15. But does this latest update live up to its predecessors?

Let’s start out by saying that I’m in favour of self-publishing as a concept. I’ve bought and enjoyed plenty of books that are far too niche to be of any interest to traditional publishers, and we at G&T have even self-published one ourselves, with plans for a second if I ever get round to finishing it. But it’s undeniable that there are certain indicators that give away a self-published book’s status, and this edition of TMITRM (TMITRM!) has them in spades. Most of them are completely harmless, things like the glossiness of the paper and the thickness of the binding glue, which seems to be a common factor across the medium. Others are quite amusing and endearing, such as the copyright page stating “Published by Publishing Company here”.

Unfortunately, some quirks are harder to ignore, and have to fall under the label of sloppiness. Take the cover, for example. I’m not too bothered that the front is virtually identical to the 2013 edition (even though the 1994 original is superior), save for the addition of a red border and an updated statistic on how much smeg is contained within. I actually quite like the back cover, with its recent-ish photo of the main cast alongside a minimalist blurb, even if it does state that Red Dwarf was in production “from August 1988 until February of 2020” – a start date that’s too late for the series as a whole, but too early for Robert’s involvement. No, the problem is the spine. See if you can spot the issue here.

It’s upside down and inside out, that’s what’s wrong with it. But shockingly, this isn’t even the worst error. The original TMITRM was festooned with footnotes, adding both context and extra jokes to the prose. These were duly replicated in the 2013 edition, even though the new portions of the book didn’t use them, but here they’re completely missing. There’s no sign of them whatsoever, they’re not repositioned elsewhere or woven into the main text, they’re just missing. Material from the first two versions of the book is completely absent from the third. It can’t therefore be considered an adequate replacement; that original section really benefits from the footnotes, and you do miss them when they’re not there.

But what of the brand new material, covering everything that’s happened in the thirteen years since the last update? The first thing you notice is that it really is bang up to date. The book is dedicated to the memory of Rob Grant, and the final chapter opens with a short tribute to the man. This book arrived through my letterbox just over two months after he died. It’s simply not possible for traditional publishing to achieve that sort of turnaround, which is another plus point for the self-publishing system.

Unfortunately, the second thing you notice about the new material is how little there is of it. There’s a preface at the start, in which Robert notes that some of the language in the oldest sections of the book is no longer acceptable. This is a good way to deal with it – nothing has been edited out, so there’s no suggestion of censorship or revisionism, but we’re also clear that any offensive terms used are not representative of the author, especially as they’re only present in reported speech. And then after all the 1994 and 2013 chapters, there are a grand total of seventeen pages of new material. Seventeen. Two chapters, one for Series XI and XII, one for The Promised Land. I haven’t done the maths, but it doesn’t feel to me like the smeg levels have increased by over fourteen percentage points, as claimed by the cover.

What’s more, the quality of those final two chapters is undeniably lacking compared to what comes before. By his own admission, Robert’s memory is not brilliant these days, and this is reflected in the very simple, surface level recollections of the most recent productions. There are some interesting tit-bits, such as his new process of having his lines fed to him on set, and details of his illness during the recording of The Promised Land, but nothing your average G&T reader won’t have heard before. Instead, the bulk of these chapters are spent recapping the plots of the episodes in question, or at least the bits that Robert can remember. We get one or two specific anecdotes about behind the scenes japes, but it’s mostly just general “we had such a laugh” sentiments, without sharing anything with the reader about what those laughs were about.

I’m aware that this constitutes a fairly high proportion of the new material, but I’d just like to share two short passages, which I believe accurately represent the level of detail on show.

We also recorded Give and Take, Can of Worms and Samsara in the autumn of 2015, all classic Dwarf episodes but all, in this old brain, nothing but dim memories.

I have a jumble of memories from making episode series XII but nothing very coherent.

Which would be a perfectly reasonable thing to admit, were it not for the fact that this is an autobiography that people are expected to pay money for, with the express purpose of reading about your memories of these things. And yes, it does say “episode series XII”, one of a number of very noticeable typos in this final section that indicate a level of copy-editing far below the standard you’d expect from a professional publisher.

But hey, like we said at the start, you do anticipate certain quirks when you buy a self-published book. You take the rough with the smooth, but the flaws are much easier to accept when the material you’re reading is up to scratch. The original The Man In The Rubber Mask is an incredible book, and if you’ve never read it before… well, I’d recommend picking up the 2013 edition second hand, to be honest. At least you’d be getting all the footnotes. The completist in me is glad I have the 2026 version in my collection, and I’m more than happy to support Robert’s new independent publishing endeavour. But other than that it’s just such a shame that the new material is far, far below the standard of what came before. If you’re going to pick this up, adjust your expectations accordingly. There’s little to no value in the previously-unpublished section, and thanks to the issue with the spine, it’s not even going to look nice on your shelf.