The Tory svengali Dominic Cummings may think the Today programme is no longer required listening for the political class, and others may deride Humphrys as a dinosaur, politically incorrect and overly hectoring of guests. But I have always found him charming and fair — even when I was on the receiving end of one of his kickings.

We debated religion a lot, both on the radio and around his kitchen table. He even wrote a book about it: In God We Doubt: Confessions of a Failed Atheist – the subtitle, as he acknowledges, he lifted from me.

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But it was his interview with Rowan Williams that I will remember the most. It followed the Beslan massacre in 2004. Chechen militants had taken over a school and massacred a great many of its children. Humphrys’ opening question to the Archbishop was a classic: “Where was God in that schoolroom?” Deceptively simple, direct, short, devastating. It was also the question of a man who was the first reporter on the scene after a mountain of coal debris had collapsed upon a primary school in south Wales in 1966, killing 116 children and 28 adults. And you could hear that in his voice.

The archbishop didn’t answer straight away. He paused for what seemed like an eternity, some might say unable to answer. I would say: he was giving that impossible question, and the deaths of so many children, the respect it deserved. It wasn’t a cheap question and it didn’t receive a cheap reply. In one moment of electrifying radio, the so-called problem of evil – something debated by philosophers since time immemorial – came alive. “That interview led to … the biggest reaction by far to any programme I have done for the BBC in more than 40 years of broadcasting,” Humphrys later wrote.

It may not be this for which he is remembered. He skewered Tony Blair, in 1997, on the political TV show On the Record for accepting a donation to the Labour party of £1m from Bernie Ecclestone. Labour, which had just come to power, soon after exempted Formula One racing from a tobacco advertising ban. “I think most people who have dealt with me think I am a pretty straight sort of guy, and I am,” said Blair in the interview. A quote that hung over the rest of his political career.

Humphrys’ destruction of his then boss, George Entwistle, for his failure to stop a Newsnight programme that mistakenly implicated a Tory peer in allegations of sexual abuse – the so-called “dead man walking interview” — was an example of speaking truth to power of the highest order. Entwistle resigned as director-general of the BBC 12 hours later.

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Humphrys’ passing feels like the end of an era. Paxman, with his similarly pugnacious approach, went fishing years ago. Perhaps it points to what Cummings said, about how these set pieces and titanic clashes of male egos on the mainstream media no longer have any effect on voters. Interviews only matter when they can be culled for 20 second ‘gotcha’ moments perfect for social media. But such clips don’t change people’s minds about anything by way of reasoned argument – they are little more than digital hand grenades bounced around on Twitter.

So is the political interview past its sell by date, now no more than old fashioned gladiatorial combat for a handful of political anoraks? I hope not.

I have, with Confessions, begun to appreciate much more what is involved in making an interview work. I know, for instance, that I have a fatal weakness as an interviewer: a desire for conviviality. This makes me hesitate to ask a question that may introduce a little too much tension in the exchange. What Humphrys manages to do – and others who have become masters of their art – is robustly to challenge their guests without boorishness, yet also recognising that s/he is an agent of the listener to whom politicians are accountable and who don’t tune in for a party broadcast.

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Politicians have become adept at not answering questions. Their strategy is commonly: acknowledge, bridge, comment. Responding to a line of inquiry they do not like, they first nod to the question being asked, as if this was to answer the question, then bridge to the thing they really want to talk about – something like, “but the most important thing here is…” – then comment on that, with long sentences and few full stops, thus not allowing the interviewer the opportunity to return to the question. The best interviewer is able to disrupt the way interviewees have come to ‘manage’ conversations.

And at this, Humphrys is the master. He doesn’t care too much about being liked. And so he often isn’t. But he is right when he once said that the key quality for a good interviewer is curiosity. And that’s precisely the problem with the social media use of interview clips – they have substituted curiosity for the gotcha moment and a re-enforcement of our own prejudices. And with this, the world becomes a smaller and a far less interesting place.

Which is why the Humphryses of this world are now more necessary than ever. And why we should be grateful that Andrew Neil has been given a new show. In a political climate saturated with bullshit – or post-truth, as some like to call it – old school professional sceptics help us all to stay connected with the truth in a world of constant and increasingly sophisticated deception.

There is something singleminded, uncomplicated even, about the determination not to be side-tracked by fancy explanations or charming presentations. Not “why is this lying bastard lying to me” – that is too cynical and disrespectful. But stay focused, come prepared, be persistent, listen hard, remain curious, and keep things simple – there is often evasiveness in complexity. These were the threads Humphrys followed to great effect.

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One involved Andrew Neil interrogating an American Right-wing commentator called Ben Shapiro; the other pitted Andrew Marr against Nigel Farage. In the normal way of things these interviews would have passed unnoticed simply because political interviews are routine, two-a-penny – once over, are quickly forgotten. These two stimulated much wider comment largely, I think, because the golden rule was broken, something which seems to be happening more frequently. Of which, more later.

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Andrew Neil’s interview with Ben Shapiro started calmly enough although Shapiro, a rather brittle personality, seemed uneasy faced with the gravitas of the much older Neil. But a point came when the discussion turned to abortion. Shapiro is a down-the-line pro-Life advocate; he opposes abortion on moral grounds under almost all circumstances. Andrew Neil cited legislation restricting abortion in some states and asserted that such laws “…would take us back to the dark ages.” Shapiro bridled at this and came back on the offensive. “Are you a comment journalist or an objective journalist?” he asked.

From that point onward the interview deteriorated; Neil confronted Shapiro on a ‘confirm or deny’ basis with some old quotes; Shapiro rather lost his cool, at one point saying “…who are you anyway? I’ve never heard of you”. At another point Shapiro accused Neil of being “Left-wing” to which Neil responded “you’ve no idea how ridiculous that sounds”. Eventually Shapiro terminated the interview.

In the ensuing media debate most people scored it as a win for Neil; in fact Shapiro himself tweeted that Neil had “destroyed” him. But I wonder. It’s true that Shapiro allowed himself to be riled – never a good look on a medium where keeping cool gives you the upper hand. But Andrew Neil surely revealed himself by his “dark ages” remark. It was Robin Day – the pre-eminent political interviewer of his day – who once said that “every question contains a comment” and Neil’s question certainly did that. No viewer could have been left in much doubt about where he stands on the abortion issue.

The truth is that Neil is one of the last true Thatcherites in matters economic and a thorough going social liberal. In America social conservatism is the defining characteristic of the Right and Neil’s mix of attitudes (pretty common among British Right-wingers) confused Shapiro’s political compass. So did Andrew Neil ‘win’ the encounter? Shapiro came across as prickly and thin-skinned but Neil also advertised his own beliefs; both were losers in my view.

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The Andrew Marr interview with Nigel Farage showed up another kind of failing – the interview which is over-produced. Big set-piece political interviews on TV are carefully prepared; the interviewer comes into the encounter armed with a brief (the work, usually, of some bright, junior producer.) The brief gives the interviewer everything they need to know, including instances of past indiscretions or old quotes which might embarrass the politician. A plan of attack is worked out by the production team – but as with grand military strategies that fall to pieces on first contact with the battlefield, the interviewer has to be nimble enough to change the plan if it’s not working. Last Sunday, Andrew Marr demonstrated why this is such a necessary skill.

Marr had worked his way through the interview until he got to a point (certainly pre-planned) where he hauled out a series of old quotes to confront Farage. Marr clearly felt these were all embarrassing gaffes (although Farage dealt with them easily enough) but it was clear Farage understood the game plan – and wasn’t having any of it. So he went on the attack, accusing Marr of ignoring the real issue at hand, which, he said, was the question of democratic accountability.

And he had a point: after all, the forthcoming Euro election – surely the phoniest ever held in Britain – is not about choosing a governing party. However well Farage does, he’s not on the brink of becoming Prime Minister, so taxing him with questions about his attitude towards the NHS seemed somewhat irrelevant.

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An important component of every interviewer’s professional shtick is keeping any personal antagonisms well in the background; the last thing any inquisitor wants is for the audience to sense that ‘this time it’s personal’. But last Sunday Marr certainly gave the impression that he has a real dislike of Farage. It was an interesting clash of style: Marr, the cerebral, cool, liberal up against Farage, the garagiste and beery populist. Unfortunately for him, Marr came out of the encounter looking like a football manager who couldn’t adapt to the opposition’s surprise tactics.

Do these two instances tell us anything more generally about the current state of political interviewing? The Andrew Neil interview with Ben Shapiro highlighted the uniform social liberalism of our media world. Some operators are a little bit more to the Right (think Iain Dale or Nick Robinson) and some to the Left ( think James O’Brien and Jon Snow) but they are all social liberals. So much for diversity.

As for the interview with Farage, it demonstrated something we pretty much knew already, which is that Andrew Marr is a wholehearted Europhile. One got a sense of how much Marr really dislikes Farage, a feeling Farage reciprocates in full measure, so the encounter was unusually heated.

The art of political interviewing is constantly adapting and it is my sense that experienced interviewees are increasingly willing to take on their inquisitors. I am surprised that more do not do so, because it can be an effective tactic. The journalist asking the questions is always vulnerable if they are challenged about their own politics, because they all have their own political prejudices. This means a canny and self-confident interviewee can wrong-foot them with a well-judged counter-attack.

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There’s another thing to bear in mind: I claimed that these two instances showed what happens when things ‘go wrong’ but this is, of course, merely a figure of speech. Interviews that ‘go wrong’ are very often the ones that are most watched and get pick-up in the print media (like this article). The political interview is an important staple of our democratic process – but it is also a kind of entertainment. There isn’t an editor in TV-land who really regrets the car-crash interview if it brings a spike in the viewing figures.

My guess is that the most-watched interview of the past several years was the one between Jordan Peterson – the apostle of positive masculinity – and Cathy Newman of Channel 4 News. That too was labelled a ‘car-crash’, with Newman being cast in the role of idiot woman behind the wheel. The interview became an internet sensation – the last time I looked it had registered more than 15 million views – and I’d bet good money that Channel 4 doesn’t regret that, though what Newman herself thinks about it might be another matter.

The true significance of most of these ‘car-crashes’ is the way the audience’s attention is directed away from the interviewee and towards the interviewer. Political interviews are supposed to put the subject on the spot; when they go wrong they reverse the focus and tell us more about the journalist asking the questions. That is uncomfortable for the journalist, but gives the rest of us an insight into what lies behind the dogma of ‘impartiality’.