Given the iconic nature of the serial, it comes as something of a surprise to learn that Nigel Kneale didn’t have the time to carefully craft it – instead it was written to a very tight deadline.  When a hole appeared in the Saturday evening schedules, Kneale agreed to write a six part serial to fill the gap, but by the time the early episodes were airing he still hadn’t written the concluding episodes.  In one way, this was an advantage – since he was able to watch the performances of the cast (especially Reginald Tate) and then tailor the finale to best suit their abilities.

Episode two opens with Victor Carroon taken away to the hospital, whilst Quatermass explains to a curious police officer exactly how the rocket functions.  This is a slightly awkward example of info-dumping – it’s important that the audience has some understanding of how the rocket works, but had Quatermass discussed this with his colleagues it would have seemed false (since they would obviously know as well as him how it operates).

Quatermass gives the policeman a guided tour.  “Food supplies. Recording apparatus. Transmitter. Vision Monitor. Remote Control. Bunks for the crew. They’re strapped down on those during take-off.”  Given the disaster that seems to have befallen two of the crew, Quatermass is extremely affable to stop and give the inspector all this information – but whilst he has moments of stress, he is generally a fairly polite chap (witness how he stopped to speak to the reporters before entering the rocket.  It’s hard to imagine Donlevy’s Quatermass being quite so understanding!)

What’s noticeable about this episode (apart from the rather poor quality of the telerecording) is how basic the majority of the sets are.  The hospital room, the police station, the arrivals area at the airport, etc are all fairly small sets and quite sparsely furnished.  Given the limited space in the studio, it’s understandable that the sets wouldn’t be terribly large and maybe the limited definition of the television service at the time meant that it wasn’t considered necessary to go overboard with the set dressing.

Producer/director Rudolph Cartier would later say that he always attempted to give the Quatermass programmes a cinematic feel, but it’s not really evident in this episode (which is mainly a series of conversations set in a number of rooms).  Given that the remaining four episodes don’t exist, it could be that they open out the story a little more – or maybe the cinematic stylings didn’t really start until Quatermass II, which benefited from a larger budget and extensive location filming.

The human interest of the story is given a twist when Judith Carroon reveals that she had planned to leave Victor, as she loved another member of the team – Gordon Briscoe.  This allows Reginald Tate to raise a surprised eyebrow.  Tate’s very good in this scene, restrained and resigned – whilst Isabel Dean is, alas, rather more animated, shall we say.

Overall, it’s a good episode for Tate.  He gets to display some flashes of anger – especially when he’s questioned about how hard he’s pushing Victor to remember what happened on the fateful flight.  Why does he want to know?  Is it for the sake of the families of the two missing astronauts, or so they can build safeguards for future flights or is it just because Quatermass doesn’t like a mystery?  The single-minded nature of the scientist is a cliche, but it’s one that’s touched upon at various points during the Quatermass serials (though Kneale generally is able to make some good use of this familiar material).

Duncan Lamont was an excellent actor, with a lengthy career in films and television (one notable film appearance is as Sladden in the third Hammer Quatermass adaptation – Quatermass and the Pit in 1967).  In this episode, he’s largely incomprehensible, just mumbling the odd word.  And the shell of the man he now appears to be is reinforced when Quatermass plays him the film of the pre-launch chat.

Here, we see Victor cracking a joke with his two colleagues, Dr Ludwig Reichenheim (Christopher Rhodes) and Charles Greene (Peter Bathurst).  Since we know the disaster that awaits them, it gives their relaxed banter a dark feeling – which is the point.  I didn’t spot Bathurst at first through the murk of the telerecording and he’s certainly unrecognisable from his later television appearances, such as Chinn in the Doctor Who story, The Claws of Axos.

Speaking of Doctor Who, the episode ends with Carroon speaking to Quatermass in perfect German and giving his name as Dr Ludwig Reichenheim.  This apparent assimilation is a mystery that will be revealed in the later episodes and it clearly made an impression on Robert Holmes, who included something very similar in his Doctor Who story The Ark in Space.  The same story also has a crib from QATP, which we’ll probably discuss at a later date.

And sadly, that’s all that exists of this serial.  There’s several different ways to get a feel for the rest of it though.  The scripts for episodes three to six are on the DVD as PDFs and there’s also the Hammer film (pretty good, although Brian Donlevy isn’t most people’s idea of Quatermass) or the 2005 live remake (pretty bad).

Next time, we’ll move on to Quatermass II, where a new actor (John Robinson) takes centre-stage in an ambitious production that plays on the Cold War paranoia of the mid 1950’s and has a familiar theme of alien invasion (or rather, the realisation that the aliens are already here).