Juliet Bravo – Rage

Kim Buckley (Judy Liebert) is a new mother driven to distraction by the demands of her constantly crying baby boy. With no assistance forthcoming from her husband Jeremy (Christian Rodska) she quickly becomes a danger to her son ….

Rage opens with a visit to two very different households (although both homes are fairly spacious middle-class dwellings, not typical of Hartley). In the first, Jean and Tom are having a relaxed and playful early morning bicker. Tom is mock annoyed by the fact that the newspaper boy is slow in delivering his Guardian (he likes to park up at the end of the street and read it). Clearly he must be a well-read lad if he prefers it to the charms of the Sun.

Playing in the background is Terry Wogan’s breakfast show with Marmalade’s (an appropriate group for the time of day) version of Ob-La-Di-La-Da. The same song continues when the focus switches over to Kim and Jeremy, but the mood there is completely different.

They don’t exchange a word, although their non-verbal actions speak just as clearly as any dialogue would. Jeremy’s face expresses disgust at various small things (the way the teaspoon has been left in the sugar bag, toys scattered about the room) whilst the constantly crying baby is like a knife through Kim’s heart. When he leaves for work (slamming the door) still without having spoken to her, it might have been the trigger for the first of her breakdowns – she smashes up the living room – although this violence doesn’t appear to give her any respite.

Clutching a bottle of whisky, she eventually staggers up to her son. Up to this point we haven’t actually seen him (he’s been represented purely by sound alone). This works on several levels. Not only practically (strict rules would have governed the length of time a baby could be present in the studio) but also story-wise (there’s something slightly more disturbing about a crying baby when we can only hear it).

The sheer misery and desperation of Kim’s life is contrasted by the merry atmosphere at Hartley nick. When Jean enters, Joe is doing his best Long John Silver impression – all because they’ve received a report from a Mrs Edith Bridewell, who’s told them that her son has stolen her wooden leg ….

Moving onto film, as Kim takes her baby out, we get our first sight of the child. But not for long – once Kim enters the police station (as usual, recorded in the studio) the baby has disappeared from the pram. After Kim claims to have killed her son (the empty pram suggests this might be so) she runs off, necessitating a switch back to film as the green young PC Ian Shelton (Martyn Hesford) sets off in hot pursuit.

After this filmic moment we again switch back to the station on videotape (this constant jump from videotape to film and then back to videotape isn’t ideal but it was the way drama of this era tended to be made). A strange videotape/film mix occurs later in the episode when we see Roland checking out the Buckley’s house. The living room is on videotape, but the hallway is shot on film ….

Across the course of the episode, Judy Liebert is called upon to produce several violent mood swings – it’s certainly the sort of role that you have to through yourself into. After being pulled into the station is a deeply hysterical mood, she switches back to being quiet and composed.

She doesn’t have a particularly long list of credits, which is a slight surprise as Liebert’s very compelling as the deeply disturbed Kim. The battle of wills between Jean and Kim is well-written, giving both actors a chance to shine. Kim’s comment that Hartley “sits like concrete on my neck” sums up in a few words the sort of prison she believes she’s found herself in.

Kim’s wildly fluctuating moods continues to drive the story onwards. The moment when she punches Jean in the face (Jean responds by slapping her) is one such example. Presumably Jean intended the slap to bring her to her senses (which it did) although it’s still a jarring sight.

Writer John Foster had cut his teeth on Softly Softly (his first television writing credit was an episode of the series back in 1966) before moving onto a range of seventies dramas including Sutherland’s Law and Z Cars. He would contribute eight scripts in total to Juliet Bravo, including the memorable episodes Aunt Sally and Chasing The Dragon. It’s fair to say that downbeat often tended to be his JB style.

Offering little in the way of light relief, we do at least have a fairly happy ending after the baby is found safe and well. Jean tells Jeremy that he has to do his job better in the future (listen and respond to his wife) with Jean inclined to write this matter off. The right decision? Only time will tell.

The Demon Headmaster – Simply Media DVD Review

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Starting a new school is traumatic at the best of times, but Dinah Glass’ (Frances Amey) first day is worse than most. Most of her fellow pupils seem uncharacteristically docile whilst the Headmaster is a very strange man indeed ….

Created by Gillian Cross, the Demon Headmaster has featured in a series of (to date) seven novels published between 1982 and 2017. When Cross’ books were adapted for television in the mid nineties (there were three series in total) four of her novels were used. The six episodes of series one utilised the first two books – The Demon Headmaster (1982) and The Prime Minster’s Brain (1985) – each running for three instalments.

Dinah, an orphan, has arrived at her new foster home. Mrs Hunter (Tessa Peake-Jones) is warm and welcoming but her two young sons – Harvey (Thomas Szekeres) and Lloyd (Gunnar Cauthery) – are far less enthused. This isn’t because they don’t want a girl around the house, it’s more to do with the fact that they’re members of a small group (five in total) who have somehow managed to escape the Headmaster’s control and fear that Dinah will end up as a spy in their camp.

The central heroic protagonist of the series (subtly reinforced by the title sequence which depicts the other children on either side of the screen whilst Dinah – like the Headmaster – is placed in the centre of the frame) Dinah’s plight instantly captures the viewer’s attention, thanks to Frances Amey’s performance. As you might expect, the child cast are variable (some good, some not quite so) so it’s fortunate that the key role of Dinah went to a strong actor.

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There’s no doubt who commands the screen though. Terrence Hardiman looks to be having a whale of a time as the thoroughly evil Headmaster who isn’t content with just controlling one school. “The man who can keep order can rule the world”. Effortlessly menacing, it’s easy to understand how he managed to traumatise a generation of children ….

Dinah, an incredibly intelligent girl, looks to be ideal fodder for the Headmaster, but her strong will means that she manages to break free of his control after something of a struggle. Quite how Harvey, Lloyd and several of their friends (Ian, Mandy and Ingrid) have been able to resist is never made clear. Possibly the reverse is true with them – they simply weren’t intelligent enough?

There’s an interesting moment in the third episode of series one when we see the Headmaster commanding a group of brainwashed pupils to dispose of Dinah and the others. He tells them that what they can see in front of them are a number of straw dolls who are no longer needed and can be ripped apart. The overlay effect is a simple one, but it’s nevertheless a disturbing little scene.

Danny John-Jules has an entertaining guest appearance in these early episodes as Eddy Hair, an energetic performer who runs a television game show which is the first step on the Headmaster’s path to power. Although with its screaming children and oodles of gunk it seems like the last place he’d want to be ….

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After Dinah manages to scupper the Headmaster’s plans at the conclusion of the third episode, he disappears. The reason for this isn’t quite clear since Dinah and the other members of SPLAT were the only ones who knew about his plans for world domination.

The remainder of series one sees the Headmaster – shock horror – making a surprise return whilst Dinah finds herself in thrall to a highly addictive computer game, Octopus Dare. Since Dinah had already foiled one of his schemes, it seems a little odd to find her recruited for the next one – joining a group of other children with equally high computer skills in an attempt to tap into the Prime Minister’s computer (the first step in taking over the world). Although not as engaging as the first story, there are various satirical swipes – at the addictive qualities of computer games and the dangers of automation – which are nicely done.

The toy helicopter, which the Headmaster escapes in, is possibly not the most convincing effect ever though ….

After speeding away in his helicopter at the end of series one, we pick up next time with the Headmaster coming back down to earth at the Biogenetic Research Centre. Shortly afterwards Mr Hunter takes up a new job at the Centre – as their public relations officer – which means that Dinah, Harvey and Lloyd will soon be tangling once again with their arch nemesis.

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Having skipped the third novel (The Revenge of the Demon Headmaster) the adaptations continued with the fourth, The Demon Headmaster Strikes Again. Given that Dinah had now defeated him twice, clearly the Headmaster was a glutton for punishment (he, of course, was responsible for bringing “Little Miss Dinah Hunter” back within his grasp).

The setting – a sleepy village – suits the story down to the ground (other series, such as Doctor Who and The Avengers, also made fruitful use of this type of environment). Having previously controlled (virtually) an entire school, the Headmaster’s now setting his net a little wider as he starts to bring the whole village under his spell.

Some familiar television faces, such as Annette Badland, pop up whilst Katey Crawford Kastin makes a welcome return as Rose Carter. During the early episodes of series one she was the Headmaster’s most loyal prefect – times might have changed but her loyalty remains constant (at least to begin with).

This second run, with a single story spread across seven episodes, feels more substantial than the first series. It certainly boasts the Headmaster’s strangest plan yet – with the power of evolution at his fingertips, he creates a human/lizard hybrid. The human part is a clone of Dinah, meaning that our heroine is forced to come face to face with an implacable foe – Eve – who looks identical to her (apart from possessing one lizard hand and a very long tongue). That’s not something you see every day.

Although the Demon Headmaster was killed at the end of the second series, the attentive viewer will probably have realised by now that a minor inconvenience such as death wouldn’t be enough to stop his evil plans. And so in series three (adapted from The Demon Headmaster Takes Over) we discover that a clone of the Headmaster, created at the Biogenetic Research Centre, proves to be just as troublesome as the original ….

Nina Young, as Professor Claudia Rowe, is a strong addition to the regular cast as is Tony Osoba whilst Ed Bishop is amongst those making guest appearances. With the military called in to deal with the fallout at the Research Centre, there’s something of a Doctor Who/UNIT feel about the opening episode (indeed, at times The Demon Headmaster does have a rather late eighties Whoish feel).

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One of the themes of S3 – surveillance – feels just as topical today as it did back then. After Mr Smith (Osoba) is brought under the Headmaster’s control, he explains how the British government (whom he works for in a shadowy capacity) attempts to control and manipulate the population, both through the flow of information and through surveillance. For a children’s series, this is quite an adult theme.

The nascent internet is also a running thread as Hyperbrain – an artificial intelligence programme – proves to be vital to the Headmaster’s latest plan for world domination. The computer stuff may seem a little quaint today, but at the time no doubt it would have seemed cutting edge.

The Demon Headmaster might not have had a particularly large budget, but what it lacked in money it made up for in sheer imagination. Some of the effects don’t quite convince, but that’s not a problem – indeed, I love the fact that they weren’t afraid to think big.

All three series, nineteen episodes in total, are contained within this three disc set. Sadly there’s no special features (the 1997 CBBC Christmas Pantomime The Demon Headmaster Takes Over TV would have been an obvious thing to include). An interview with Terrance Hardiman would also have been nice, luckily there are a few scattered around the internet, such as this one.

Packed with plots which get ever more bonkers as the episodes click by, The Demon Headmaster is held together by the performances of Terrance Hardiman and Frances Amey. No matter how strange things get, both continue to play it completely straight – which helps to keep the show grounded in reality.

Given the paucity of science fiction/fantasy programmes on British television during the 1990’s, The Demon Headmaster is quite a noteworthy series. It stands up well today as good, pulpy fun and whilst this DVD will be a nostalgic treat for many, there’s no reason why the Demon Headmaster shouldn’t cast his spell over a new generation of children.

The Demon Headmaster is released by Simply Media on the 14th of May 2018, RRP £29.99. It can be ordered directly from Simply here (quoting ARCHIVE10 will apply a 10% discount).

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Juliet Bravo – Cages

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George Donkin (Patrick Durkin) is an inept career criminal who’s captured the attention of Melisande Duffy (Anita Carey). Duffy, the bored daughter of a wealthy local businessman, declares that Donkin is a persecuted political prisoner and organises a demonstration outside the station.

Meanwhile Donkin, firmly inside the station, suggests to Joe that he checks the back yard of Szabo’s fish and chip shop. Szabo, a friend of Joe’s, has been resident in Hartley for some time (he fled Hungary decades earlier as a political refugee). And what is Szabo hiding in his shed? Why, a bear ….

Cages has two parallel storylines which eventually converge. At first, it seems that the travails of Donkin will dominate. Patrick Durkin was an actor with one of those faces that you instantly recognise, even if you can’t quite place where you know him from. Donkin is a faintly comic character, whose general lack of criminal ability is later sketched in by Joe (he tells Szabo that the one-eyed Donkin wore a balaclava when robbing a bookies, but only cut one eye-hole in the mask!)

We never quite learn why and how Melisande Duffy latched onto him. That she’s happy to use him in order to further her own political (Marxist) ends is clear, but Duffy never really emerges as a rounded character. She does interact well with Roland though – with him playing the hapless stooge and she the temptress.

Scriptwriter Kenneth Clark is more successful with Szabo (Jon Rumney) who enjoys several lovely scenes with Joe (which are easily the highlight of the episode). When Szabo describes the interrogation he suffered in his own country (a bucket was placed over his head and hammered all night long) it’s done in a very matter of fact way, although Rumney’s skilfully able to imply the horror non-verbally.

If we don’t know why Duffy latched onto Donkin, then neither do we discover how Donkin discovered that Szabo had a bear in his back yard. The reveal is nicely done though – mainly because it’s so unexpected – with a non-plussed Joe looking on. Although the reason for the presence of the bear is another slightly sketchy part of the plot (Szabo’s brother – a circus acrobat – had recently died, so the bear was passed over to him).

Duffy, on learning about the bear from a besotted Roland, decides to free it. This leads to a rather droll line from Joe, after he explains to Jean what happened when Szabo went out to feed it. “When he took the bear his porridge, no bear”. There’s then an attempt to generate a little bit of tension – will the bear, roaming the streets, maul a group of children? – but this part of the story doesn’t really grip.

Better is the byplay between Duffy and Duckworth (David Ryall). Duckworth is a down on his luck newspaper man who senses that the Donkin story might be his ticket back to the big time. Ryall could play this sort of part in his sleep (he’d later appear again as a reporter in another police series – The Chief) but he’s gifted some decent lines as he explains to Duffy that everybody – including both of them – live in cages, just like the unfortunate bear.

Kenneth Clark had experience with a number of police series, such as Dixon of Dock Green and Z Cars, but Cages never really clicks into gear. Save for the character of Szabo (and this is mainly down to Jon Rumney’s performance) there’s not a great deal that’s memorable here. The fifty minutes pass by amiably enough, but overall it all feels a little insubstantial.

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Juliet Bravo – Coming Back

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Having served a ten year sentence for armed robbery, Mick Grainger (Ron Bain) is heading home. He has a wife, Judy (Rachel Davies), waiting for him, but his reintegration into society isn’t straightforward. Especially since some people, such as Joe Beck, aren’t prepared to forgive or forget ….

There’s not a great deal of film in one, but what we do have is used very effectively. The episode opens with a panning shot, moving from a group of industrial chimneys to a bleak block of flats which are carved unappealingly out of concrete. The eerie silence is a signifier that it’s early in the morning and as the camera closes into one specific flat, we see that Chris Evans (Kevin Whately) is preparing to take his leave of Judy.

It’s plain that they’re in a relationship – which is a complicating factor since her husband is due home any day. The fact that Evans is a constable at Hartley nick adds another layer of complexity to the problem.

An early screen credit for Kevin Whately, his role in the story isn’t terribly large (although it’s an important one – especially the closing scene). Many series tended to feature one-off characters, like Evans, who have clearly been around for some time but were never actually seen by the viewers either before or after their single appearance. This always feels less than satisfactory and since Evans is a fairly peripheral character for most of the story there seemed to be little value in making him a policeman. Given that he hardly interacts with any of the regulars during the bulk of the story – apart from one scene where he asks Jean for a transfer – he could have worked anywhere.

One of the striking things about Coming Back is that it’s not afraid to use silence. Mick’s eventual return home to Judy is a halting affair – punctuated by awkward gaps in their conversation. As we progress through the episode, various people have their say about him – Judy’s employer Mr Lawrenson (Bernard Gallagher) considers Mick to be a dangerous man whilst Joe Beck can’t forgive him for attacking one of his best friends on the force (Mick’s assault meant that the officer was forced to retire due to ill health).

And yet Mick now hardly seems to pose a threat to anyone. True, he’s capable of getting drunk and riled, but his health issues (a major operation in prison has hit him hard) seems to have curtailed his previous wild spirit. Of course, we have no way of knowing just what sort of a character he really was before this current prison spell. Joe fills Jean in with Mick’s career highlights – but given Joe’s obvious bias it’s possibly not surprising that he delights in painting as black a picture as possible.

Crime is not central to Coming Back. Joe might be convinced that Mick is already planning another job, but that’s not the case. In fact, the only crime occurs in the last minute or so (and doesn’t concern Mick). Instead we have a character based drama which just as easily could have been a Play for Today or an Armchair Theatre. Ron Bain and Rachel Davies make for an intriguing pair – the dynamic between their two characters shifts somewhat during the course of the fifty minutes – and they’re the ones who really drive the episode along.

The Hartley regulars have no interaction at all with either Mick or Judy – only Mr Lawrenson bridges the gap (a nice performance by Bernard Gallagher as a rather pompous and self-important type). There’s some decent character building moments at Hartley nick though – we see Jean relaxing with the others in the kitchen, mock annoyed at George because he had the temerity to call her a Liberal! George also has a lovely line after he turns his nose up at the news that a new wine bar’s opened in town. He sorrowfully shakes his head and declares that Hartley’s becoming more like Morecambe every day ….

The aforementioned wine bar is where Jean and Tom head off for lunch, although it’s something of a stormy meal. Their argument – mainly about whether they should take Jean’s (unseen) mother on holiday with them – continues when they get home. So far Tom’s been a rather placid character, so it’s not a bad thing to see a bit more spark from him.

Those who enjoy the rough and tumble, cops and robbers, aspect of police series won’t find much of interest here (this one couldn’t be further removed from The Sweeney). But as a piece of kitchen sink drama, Coming Back stands up very well.

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A Foreign Field – Simply Media DVD Review

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Cyril (Leo McKern) and Amos (Alec Guinness) are two British D-Day veterans who have returned to Normandy fifty years on in order to pay tribute to their fallen comrades. Whilst in the area, Cyril is determined to track down the alluring Angelique (Jeanne Moreau) who helped to keep the morale of the troops up during their stay back in 1944. The only problem is that he’s got competition – an abrasive American veteran, Waldo (John Randolph), has arrived on the same mission.

Roy Clarke might be best known for writing several comedy juggernauts (such as Last of the Summer Wine and Open/Still Open All Hours) but there are many less well known nuggets buried within his cv such as this Screen One, originally broadcast in September 1993. The ninety minute screenplay wastes no time in setting up the basics of the story – before we’ve reached the fifth minute we already understand that Amos is a shell of a man (possessing the mind of a child and a very limited vocabulary) with Cyril cast in the role of his exasperated carer. Meanwhile, Waldo is depicted as a short-tempered Limey-hating Yank ….

Amos is a gift of a role and Guinness milks it for all that it’s worth. With more than a touch of Stan Laurel, Amos breezes through the story with an air of benign innocence. As we proceed there are hints of hidden depths though – his skill with the mouth organ, say – whilst various mysteries (such as why he brought an empty jam jar all the way from Britain) are answered.

If Guinness’ screen presence is one reason why A Foreign Field is so compelling, then Leo McKern’s wonderfully judged performance as Cyril is another. Best known, of course, for Rumpole of the Bailey, there’s something of a Horace Rumpole feel about Cyril. They both might be abrasive on the surface but they contain hidden depths when you dig a little deeper. McKern was always a favourite actor of mine and this role – one of his final screen credits – only served to cement my respect for him. Cyril’s late monologue (where he explains to the others exactly why he’s so protective of Amos) is simply spine-tingling.

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John Randolph has a slightly less well defined role. Waldo and Cyril might both be grumpy, but there’s no doubt that we’re meant to side with Cyril and find Waldo to be somewhat insufferable. The introduction of Angelique strikes the only off-key note in the story – it’s barely credible that Cyril and Waldo would be so shocked to discover that fifty years on she’s not exactly the same beautiful young girl she once was (and their desperate attempts to get out of the date they’d both arranged with her leaves a slightly bitter taste). Luckily this only lasts a fleeting moment and soon Angelique joins their ever-growing party.

Along with Guinness, McKern and Jeanne Moreau, Lauren Bacall is another incredibly strong addition to the cast. Forever linked to Humphrey Bogart – both on screen and by marriage – there’s no doubt that her casting was something of a coup. Her character, Lisa, has one of the most intriguing roles to play. Like the others she’s come to pay her respects to a fallen war hero (in her case, her husband) but there’s a late twist which you may or may not have seen coming. This is resolved in a beautifully understated way which fits perfectly with the rest of the story.

If Cyril and Amos exist without family ties (except the bond between them) then Waldo is luckier on this score (or unlucky, depending on how you view things). He’s arrived in France with his strident daughter, Beverley (Geraldine Chaplin), and her put-upon husband Ralph (Edward Herrmann). They enjoy a decent share of the narrative and both end the story in different places from where they started – Beverley is more relaxed (thanks to the influence of Lisa and Angelique) whilst Ralph emerges as a more assertive type. As with the others, Roy Clarke is skilful at drawing out various nuances and character moments.

Whilst A Foreign Field is a sentimental piece, it never feels mawkish or false. Roy Clarke’s screenplay, and the efforts of the cast, combine to produce something quite special. I’ve come back to it on numerous occasions down the years and I’m sure that I’ll continue to do so in the future. If you’ve never seen it, then I would very strongly recommend picking up a copy.

Originally released in the UK on DVD by Acorn, it’s now been brought back into print by Simply. Picture quality (4:3 full frame) looks fine with no significant issues (subtitles are included).

A Foreign Field is released by Simply Media today, RRP £14.99, and can be ordered directly from Simply here (quoting ARCHIVE10 will apply a 10% discount).

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Juliet Bravo – The Runner

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Johnny Duffield (Julian Briercliffe) is a nine year old tearaway who’s been in and out of trouble ever since he was six. Currently in care, he delights in absconding and sleeping rough. He comes to Jean’s attention after stealing an invalid car – she’s determined to get him back on the straight and narrow, but he proves to be a tough nut to crack ….

Regarded with weary resignation by Joe and George, Johnny immediately piques Jean’s interest. She finds it impossible to believe that the system is incapable of keeping him under control, but it quickly becomes clear that there are no easy answers. Jean’s husband, Tom (David Hargreaves), has recently taken up a job at social services and this provides the plot with a little dollop of friction. Jean and Tom could be said to be on different sides, although it turns out that they want the same thing (although Tom’s colleagues aren’t averse to using him in order to neuter Jean’s sting!)

This was Julian Briercliffe’s sole acting credit. He certainly makes an impression as the bold, but vulnerable Johnny. We’re told that Johnny’s constructed a wall between himself and the rest of the world – with his mother dead and a father (played by John Rees) who’s been unable to control him, his immediate horizons seem rather bleak.

Mr Duffield might be initially presented as an unsympathetic type, but his character is given some dashes of light and shade as the episode progresses. Due to his busted legs, he’s forced to take in any work he can get – at present he’s button carding (“women’s work” he bitterly tells Jean). When he later confesses that Johnny never loved him, it’s possible to wonder whether he’s telling the truth or if he’s simply hardened his heart to save himself from further pain.

The title suggests one of the main features of the episode. Police walls can’t hold Johnny, as he’s apt to make a dash for freedom at the drop of hat. The first time it happens – outfoxing Joe at Hartley nick – is somewhat embarrassing for all concerned. And the sight of Joe and George (puffing down the high street after him) is a little embarrassing too. Jean’s obviously not too pleased, but when he absconds later, she’s the one who was closest to him. This is something that Joe can’t help but mention ….

If the story has a slight weakness then it’s the fact that mid-way through Johnny suddenly gains a friend from nowhere. In plot terms this makes perfect sense – as it allows Johnny to unburden himself (talking about his mother and his future plans) – but it can’t help but feel a little clunky.

This slight niggle apart, we see some nice performances throughout the episode. David Ashton plays Mr MacRae, the social worker at Johnny’s care home. Like everybody else he’s concerned about him – but he’s also confident that if anybody can fend for themselves out on the moors, then it’s this boy. It’s not really an uncaring attitude, since MacRae has attempted – and failed – to get through to him. A few years later Ashton would be a regular in Brass, playing Doctor MacDuff.

Another familiar face making an appearance is Robert Vahey (later to be the long suffering Bill Sayers from Howards’ Way). Vahey is Tom Collinson, a local reporter who’s convinced that Hartley is the location of a major IRA arms dump. His obsession has nothing at all to do with the main story, but his regular appearances help to sprinkle the episode with a dash of comic relief.

Martin Matthews is very solid as Jim Naylor. Naylor, along with his wife Cynthia (Eileen Helsby), is interested in fostering Johnny. His wayward streak doesn’t bother them and Naylor, as a former orphan, knows better than most how Johnny’s mind works. It’s interesting that he seems to be the first person to get through to the boy – this is despite the fact that everybody else (both the police and social workers) have been equally as patient. Fair to say that this is a story which isn’t criticising the system (Johnny is shown to be something of an anomaly). Since everybody’s done their best to help him, the finger of blame isn’t pointed at any specific person or organisation.

It’s maybe just a little pat that Johnny lands on his feet with a warm and loving couple who are so keen to look after him. But although we end on an optimistic note, there’s still the possibility that things might not work out in the future ….

Not a story that has too many surprises, but the major location shoot (we see plenty of Hartley and the surrounding moors) keeps the interest ticking along.

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Juliet Bravo – Trouble at T’Mill

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Issy Smethurst (John Barrett) is an elderly, set in his ways, lollipop man. Many passing motorists catch his ire, but none more so than Ted Galway (Alan Lake). Galway, a flashy self made man, represents everything that Issy despises. And when Galway buys the factory where Issy works part time (tending the engines) it only serves to deepen their feud ….

The character conflict between Galway and Issy is at the heart of the episode. Issy stands for tradition and continuity – although the engines he so lovingly tends (when he’s not harassing passing motorists) are contained within an eerily quiet factory. Once it was a thriving hub of activity, but now it stands idle. The current owner explains that it’s simply not cost effective to keep it running. When a smaller plant space, with newer equipment, can turn out more textiles at a cheaper cost and with far less manpower, the economic argument for its closure is strong.

The facts don’t concern Issy though. For him, it represents a lifetime of toil (he recalls how he first arrived at the factory, as a seventeen year old). To see those engines broken up – which seems likely after Galway (via proxy) buys the place – is heart-breaking for him.

Ted Galway is Issy’s complete opposite. Having disappeared to London for a few years, he returned as a self made man of considerable means. Now he owns the flashiest house in the neighbourhood (complete with a swimming pool and a snooker room), runs with the local hunt and numbers several high-ranking police officers – such as DCI Logan – amongst his friends.

Logan gently suggests to Jean that Issy needs to be warned against bothering Galway in the future. That Logan’s never even considered the possibility that Galway might be crooked seems barely credible (Logan seems to have swallowed Galway’s story that he made his fortune in a London casino hook line and sinker). Issy might be motivated (in part) by spite, but he’s plainly right when he claims that Galway’s crooked.

Although it might be expected that Issy would be the audience identification figure, there’s also something about Galway which incites a certain sympathy. This is no doubt down to Alan Lake, who manages to make Galway a curiously vulnerable figure.

There’s something ever so slightly pathetic about Galway’s delight in the trappings of his success. From his Rolls Royce (complete with an eight track cartridge system!) to the fact that he now hob nobs with all the local worthies, he leads a comfortable and law-abiding existence. So the arrival of Walter Hancock (Antony Carrick) who’s come up from the smoke is an unwelcome one – since Hancock forces him back into a life of crime.

Galway would like nothing more than to be left alone, but he owes some powerful people some favours, so has no alternative but to get involved in a furs robbery. Which happens to be observed by Issy – who by this point is keeping Galway under constant surveillance!

There are some fascinating incidental details in this story – one which stood out for me is Jean’s assertion that Hancock may very well be a criminal since he has tattooed arms. Today, tattoos are commonplace, but rewind nearly forty years and it’s plain that they were far less socially acceptable. The way we observe how Galway has moved upwards (he likes to indulge in dinner parties with jugged hare, after dinner mints and cigars) is another lovely touch.

Trouble At T’Mill possibly doesn’t show Hartley’s police force at their finest, since it’s Issy who does all the work for them. This is something that annoys Joe immensely – if Issy was a nuisance before, imagine what he’s going to be like now he’s been proved right ….

John Barrett’s a little shaky on his lines from time to time, but considering that he’s got the largest role in the episode that’s possibly not too surprising. Issy’s gifted several nice monologues and shares some decent two-handed scenes with Jean. Knowing about Alan Lake’s untimely death, it can’t help but make his later television appearances (such as this one) seem very bittersweet. Ted Galway is a fine creation – with Lake deftly shading in the nuances of his fluctuating character very well.

Lake would go on to appear in another two Juliet Bravo episodes playing different characters as would Christine Hargreaves who in this one plays Galway’s wife, Vera. You might have expected that Galway would have found himself a young, trophy wife, but not so – Vera is middle-aged and running a little to seed (and whilst Galway has assimilated himself amongst the upper echelons, Vera has remained resolutely working-class). With a cigarette never far from her lips, she seems somewhat out of place in their palatial home. Hargreaves who, like Lake, would pass away in the mid eighties, is probably best known for being one of the original cast members of Coronation Street.

Trouble At T’Mill is low on crime, but high on character conflict and is yet another strong episode from the early part of the first series.

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The Mad Death – Simply Media DVD Review

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It always seemed that it could never happen here, but when a cat infected with rabies is smuggled into Britain it triggers a major crisis. Facing hostility from the public (angry that some of their pets have been impounded) the authorities struggle to stop the outbreak from spinning out of control ….

Tom Siegler’s (Ed Bishop) decision to befriend an apparently benign wolf he discovers at the side of the road has far-reaching consequences. By now the audience has already been primed to expect something awful to happen, although the tension is eked out for a few minutes longer (Tom, having cut his finger slicing a lemon, then goes over and pets the fox – although at this point there’s no reaction).

The boiling point isn’t far away though. Animal wrangling must have been an issue for the serial, as attempting to depict rabid beasts would require considerable co-operation from the animal actors (which no doubt couldn’t always be guaranteed). Director Robert Young keeps the tension bubbling along though, thanks to rapid cuts and close-ups, with the result that the action scenes feel viscerally real.

Young had cut his teeth on horror films (directing Vampire Circus for Hammer in 1971) before moving into television in the early eighties. Robin of Sherwood, Bergerac, Jeeves & Wooster and G.B.H. all benefitted from his presence. Possibly it was his work on The Mad Death which made him an ideal fit later for Robin of Sherwood, as both had – at times – a woozy, non-naturalistic feel.

This is first seen in The Mad Death after Tom, by now seriously ill after being bitten by the fox, is hospitalised following a car crash. The hospital should be a place of safety and security, but instead it’s a hallucinogenic nightmare for him. The mere act of reaching for a glass of water becomes overwhelming (he’s then pictured drowning in a bed of water – a technically impressive shot) whilst other visions are equally as disconcerting (his wife and his mistress both pay him uncomfortable visits). It’s interesting that during these scenes we often switch in and out of reality (with the result that the viewer is privy to Tom’s fevered imaginings). This simply adds to the sense of horror.

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Bishop, a sometimes underrated actor, is excellent as the increasingly tortured Tom. Another stand-out scene for him occurs earlier in the opening episode when he attempts to dispose of the fox. First with a broom handle (that was never going to work) and later with his car. Eventually he does manage to drive him off, but by then the damage has been done.

Although Tom’s story dominates the first episode, the two central characters of the serial – Michael Hilliard (Richard Heffer) and Dr Anne Maitland (Barbara Kellerman) – are also introduced. They first appear during the opening few minutes in a rather clumsy way. It might have been better to cut this scene and hold them back until they actually started to interact with the main plot (for example, when Anne was dispatched to the hospital to confirm the diagnosis that Tom is suffering from rabies).

If Anne has the medical knowledge, then Michael is her equal when it comes to the veterinary angle. But he’s refusing to get involved ….

Richard Heffer was by this time a very familiar television face. A regular in several 1970’s WW2 dramas (Colditz, Enemy at the Door) he’d also made several appearances in Survivors and had appeared throughout the final series of Dixon of Dock Green. Barbara Kellerman had also notched up some notable television appearances during the seventies (The Glittering Prizes, 1990, Quatermass) and would later go on to appear in the BBC’s C.S. Lewis adaptations during the late eighties and early nineties.

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Richard Heffer and Barbara Kellerman

The beginning of the second episode brings any latecomers up to speed with a summation of the events so far, before looking ahead to the current measures being implemented to control the outbreak. This is done quite neatly via a news report (a very effective way of info-dumping).

Episode two also sees a rabid dog terrorising a group of customers in a shopping centre. With a fair number of extras deployed, it’s a good indication that The Mad Death had a very decent budget. Robert Young once again crafts some striking shots – a slow plan past several shop window dummies (stopping eventually on what initially appears to be another dummy but turns put to be a heavily suited dog handler) is especially memorable. A series of jerky cuts gives these scenes a naturalistic, documentary feel.

Anne continues to prove that she’s no shrinking violet by driving a jeep containing Michael and a number of marksmen at high speed through the shopping centre (in a desperate attempt to get to the dog). This is something of a wish-fulfilment scene, since most of us have probably wanted to do this at some point.

Inbetween the moments of terror are longer periods of reflection. Animal lovers, such as Miss Stonecroft (Brenda Bruce), are appalled at the way their pets are being treated (chained up like prisoners twenty four hours a day, she says) whilst Michael and Anne eventually fall into each other’s arms. This always looked inevitable, but it seems sure to annoy Anne’s partner Johnny (Richard Morant). And the fact he’s an arrogant member of the landed gentry who isn’t prepared to take any precautions with his animals is guaranteed to get Michael’s back up ….

The third and final episode ramps up the action another few notches after Miss Stonecroft lets a whole pound full of dogs loose. With the animals roaming the countryside, Michael takes to the skies, coordinating a team of armed soldiers. Their instructions are clear – all animals are to be shot on sight. The filmic sweep of these scenes is another example of the serial’s healthy budget.

Meanwhile, Anne finds herself tangling with an increasingly detached Miss Stonecroft whilst Johnny, also doing his bit to deal with the dogs, eventually runs into Michael. The question is, will he use his gun on the animals or on his love rival? These interlocking plot threads help to keep the interest ticking along until the final few minutes.

Shot on 16mm film, the picture quality is generally pretty good considering the age and unrestored nature of the material. I did notice one picture glitch – at 18:38 during episode three there’s a slight picture breakdown (a brief loss of sound and a blank screen for a second or two).  After the blank screen, we see Michael raising a glass of scotch to his lips but before the glitch he wasn’t holding one, so a short section of this scene is missing (Michael being offered and then accepting a drink).  Luckily it’s not a vital moment, but If I learn any more about this issue then I’ll update this review.

Thirty five years down the line, The Mad Death is still a tense and disturbing watch, thanks to Robert Young’s skilled direction and the performances of the cast. It remains a powerful serial and is well worth adding to your collection.

The Mad Death is released by Simply Media on the 7th of May, RRP £14.99, and can be ordered directly from Simply here. Quoting ARCHIVE10 will add a 10% discount to the order.

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Barbara Kellerman

Doctor Who – Day of the Daleks (a question of time and distance)

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This isn’t – you’ll probably be grateful to hear – an attempt to unpick the temporal paradox at the heart of the story. I’ll leave that for another time ….

Rather, it’s simply a quick post about a few elements from episode one which caught my attention during my latest rewatch (and following on from my series of tweets about the story).

UNIT HQ always seemed to be on the move during the Pertwee era. In story terms you could argue that it made sense for a top secret organisation (despite what the The Three Doctors might suggest!) to be somewhat mobile. On a practical production level it’s a little harder to understand.

Especially given that the Pertwee era (following on from the somewhat shambolic production and scripting travails of the later Troughton years) had a much more efficient production base. You’d have assumed that by keeping certain sets – like the Doctor’s lab – in storage they’d have saved themselves a little bit of money. But no, in every new story it seems that the Doctor has moved his base of operations to a new room.

The Day lab is especially interesting. Although it’s never directly stated on-screen, it would appear that the Doctor has (for the first time since Inferno) removed the console from the TARDIS. Otherwise it would be perfectly possible to accept that what we see here is just a very strange console room. Two things count against that – one is that there’s a working telephone and the other is that the Brigadier doesn’t seem in the least put out when he ambles in to chat to the Doctor. Whereas in The Three Doctors he had a nervous breakdown when entering the TARDIS.

I still like to think that what we see here is a secondary control room though, even though the facts doesn’t really bear this out ….

The main oddity of the first episode is the very strange timeline. We’re told that Auderly House is a Government owned country house about fifty miles north of London. Given this, the current UNIT HQ can only be – at best – a few minutes away.

Otherwise, there’s no way to explain how the Doctor, Jo and the Brig (having travelled to Auderly in order to give Sir Reginald a hard time) can, once they’ve returned to the lab, discuss the strange apparitions the Doctor and Jo witnessed prior to their visit to Auderly (which only occurred a few “moments ago”).

So they travelled to Auderly, chatted to Sir Reginald and combed the grounds for any stray guerrillas, but all this only took a few moments. You’d swear the Doctor had a working time machine.

Following on from this point, Benton escorts the wounded guerrilla to the hospital. As the ambulance sets off, there’s still time for the Doctor to return from Auderly to the lab, run a metallurgical analysis on the guerrilla’s gun and then start footling around with his portable time machine. When he does this, the guerrilla vanishes from the ambulance, with an amazed Benton watching on. Again, how does this timescale work? If the hospital’s not several hours drive away, it makes no sense.

Maybe the original intention was to record the scene with the Doctor and the time machine on location? If so, that would have fitted nicely, since at that point only a few minutes would have elapsed between the guerrilla being bundled into the ambulance and the time machine springing into life.

If not, it appears that Terrance’s script editing was a little hit and miss that week ….

Juliet Bravo – Coins

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Major Adams (George A. Cooper), convinced that the Russians will attack sooner rather than later, has prepared for this eventuality by stockpiling an impressive array of food and other provisions. This proves to be an irresistible temptation for two young teenagers – Carol (Diana Walker) and Kenny (Mark Price) ….

The first of two episodes written by Ray Jenkins (a writer with an impressive track record across many popular series) Coins is a pretty low-key story which focusses more on the characters involved than it does the crime. The pilfering is pretty petty – some tins of food, a primus stove, etc – and is mainly of interest since it suggests that the perpetrator is somebody living rough.

Cooper’s role in the story is quite small (once Carol and Kenny are identified, Adams fades away) but as might be expected he’s terribly good value with what he is given to do. Adams (rather like Cooper’s most famous creation, Grange Hill’s Mr Griffiths) is somewhat pompous and self-important, but scratch a little below the surface and there’s hidden depths.

Adams’ war service and the things he saw might very well explain why he continues to run his life along such strict lines. His bachelor status and his self-professed pride in doing everything for himself is both admirable and slightly tragic.

There’s something of a jump (almost as if there was a missing scene) after Adams suggests that the young female thief might have been a papergirl who used to work the area. The long-suffering Roland is sent off to check this – but in the next scene we’re at the local care home, where Jean has arrived to speak to Carol. A spot of bridging dialogue, explaining that the ex paper girl was Carol, would have made this part of the story flow a little better.

Diana Walker’s acting career only encompassed this episode of Juliet Bravo and a limited run in Brookside a few years later. Her lack of acting experience helps to give Carol a natural, unforced air – with her mother in hospital (and unlikely to ever come out) she faces a bleak and uncertain future, with Kenny being the one bright light in her life.

Kenny’s disappearance drives the later part of the story, but it’s never suggested that he’s in any danger (or indeed is dangerous himself). His eventual discovery is more the solution to a puzzle, whilst his continuing absence allows the spotlight to be shone on his estranged parents – Bob (David Boyce) and Pat (Deidre Costello).

Joe Beck doesn’t take to Bob at all. Granted custody of his son, Bob seems to be a pretty decent sort of chap – true, he doesn’t often get to see his son (but that’s mainly because he’s working night shifts and sleeping during the day). As he tells Joe, he has to earn money to put food on the table. There’s something in Joe’s expression which suggests this is something of a feeble excuse and the way Boyce plays the scene does suggest that Bob is an inherently weak man.

But he must have seemed a better bet than Pat, since the court decided not to grant her custody. If Bob’s pallid and faded then Pat’s bold and brassy. But her confident public image proves to be decidedly brittle ….

Roland continues to provide a dollop of comic relief. Once again he demonstrates that he’s lacking in a sixth sense (referring to Jean as Wonder Woman, whilst unaware that she’s standing right behind him). But she keeps on giving him chances and decides to take him along to Pat’s house in order to discover whether Kenny is hiding out there. He’s told to dress in plain clothes – well, what he arrives in certainly isn’t a police uniform, but it couldn’t really be classed as plain clothes either.

It’s a slight frustration that this episode introduces us to the very capable WPC Gilbert (Helen Duvall) as sadly this would be her one and only appearance. Possibly it was felt that one female regular was sufficient, but these early episodes would have been stronger if there had been at least one female amongst the rank and file officers.

Fairly forgettable crime-wise then, but Coins is a decent character study.

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Juliet Bravo – The Draughtsman

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DS Cole (Del Henney) arrives from London. An informant of his, Arthur Roberts, was discovered murdered on the moors and Cole has come to identify the body. His role should then be at an end, but the dogged Cole is determined to work out what happened and Jean is keen to assist ….

The first of three different Juliet Bravo roles for Del Henney, Cole is initially presented as a dour, humourless man. He’s less than impressed that the body’s been moved to the mortuary (he would have preferred to have viewed it in situ), seems incredulous that the scenes of crime officers haven’t found anything and is disgusted that so many people have trampled over the site.

The fact he’s been given PC Roland Bentley (Mark Drewry) as a driver seems to be yet another irritation for him. The garrulous Roland and the taciturn Cole seem like a match made in hell. But when Cole wryly grins after overhearing Roland on the radio, telling the station that Cole is a “right one”, it suggests that he might not be quite as dour as he initially appeared.

Roland is the first of a series of PCs who appear throughout the six series. Some are more gormless than others it has to be said, with Roland being somewhat high on the gormless scale. He’s long-suffering (tutting when Cole drags him on a trek across the moors), petulant (when Jean and Cole leave him alone on observation) and ever so slightly sickly (but as he tells Jean, he doesn’t often get car sick now and rarely when he’s driving ….)

Cole is received politely, if condescendingly, by Detective Superintendent Brunskill (John Rowe). Jean later confides to the Sergeant that Brunskill was hardly going to welcome him with open arms – a murder in this area is something of a rarity, so the thought of a London copper stealing their glory wouldn’t be appreciated. Cole solving the case doesn’t concern Jean, but she is bothered about the way that Brunskill’s men have commandeered her nick.

Henney’s greatest strength in this episode is his stillness. As befits Cole’s solitary nature, he’s much more of an observer than a talker (although he can be articulate when he wishes). The best example of Cole’s ability not to react can be seen when he finds himself on the end of a boozy diatribe from Joe Beck. Joe is celebrating twenty two years on the force (confusingly, he refers to this as his “silver handcuffs” which surely would be twenty five) and everybody – including Cole – has convened to the local pub for drinks.

But Joe, a man who’s had dealings with Flying Squad officers like Cole before, is keen to vent his spleen about those flash London coppers. Henney’s the picture of control during this scene – allowing a range of expressions (from amusement to irritation) – to play across Cole’s face. That Cole doesn’t confront Joe in public but does so instead in private (in the toilet shortly afterwards) is an interesting choice. Sparing Joe a public humiliation?

The rift between Jean and Joe now seems to have been healed (although they don’t exchange more than a few words during this episode). But after being rather stroppy in Shot Gun and now drunkenly boorish here, it’s fair to say that Joe hasn’t made a good early impression.

The relationship between Cole and Roberts is teased out as the episode continues. Cole respected his skill as a blag draughtsman and regrets his death. But the main reason why he carries this regret is that he was hoping to pin a really big crime on him one day. For Cole, everything – including relationships – comes back to the job eventually.

With Roberts represented on screen only by an unseen body under a mortuary covering, the script has to work to build up a picture of him. And his criminal associates are also – until the last few minutes – equally shadowy characters (spoken about, but only briefly seen). When they do appear, it’s the cue for a mild action scene as villains and police have a bit of a bundle. The Sweeney it isn’t (director Paul Ciappessoni wasn’t really an action director like, say, Douglas Camfield).

The dichotomy of Cole – he delights in roughing up the villains but also digs into his own pocket to buy a headstone for Roberts’ grave – means that by the end we still don’t really know what makes this enigmatic man tick. Henney would return but Cole wouldn’t, which is a bit of a shame as it would have been interesting to return to the character at a later date.

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Juliet Bravo – Fraudulently Uttered

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Doris Latham (Patricia Hayes) works part time as a tea lady at Doe Electrics. Elderly, Irish and genial, she would appear to be the most unlikely criminal you could ever hope to meet. But over the last four years she’s embezzled the company out of more than thirty thousand pounds ….

Although Patricia Hayes might be best known as a comedic actress (appearing alongside the likes of Tony Hancock, Arthur Askey and Benny Hill, amongst many others) she proved to be no slouch when she moved over to drama – winning a BAFTA for the 1971 Play For Today, Edna the Inebriate Woman, for example.

She continued acting well into the 1990’s, racking up credits on popular series such as Heartbeat and Lovejoy whilst her film career included such diverse roles as Daisy in the classic Ealing wartime propaganda film Went The Day Well? (1942) and Mrs Coady in A Fish Called Wanda (1988).

Fraudulently Uttered is, of course, enhanced no end by her performance (although the Irish accent took a few moments to get used to). As Doris is a female prisoner, Jean finds herself (as the only female officer at Hartley) cast in the role of her jailor (and also interrogator). A curious mixture of innocence and steel, Doris proves to be a tough nut to crack.

The sight of a little old lady locked in a cell at Hartley nick is a powerful one, but Doris’ belief in the righteousness of her actions – she admits stealing the money, but never kept any for herself – gives her a curiously detached air. Even when she asks Jean what her sentence will be, it doesn’t seem to concern her too much. As she says, with only a pension and a cat to go home to, what does it really matter?

The innocent Doris has been manipulated by the far from innocent Jimmy Harker (Ray Smith). Harker, a second hand car salesman, caught Doris’ sympathy after he fed her several sob stories. So as a result, she was quite prepared to steal huge sums of money for him …..

With my accountancy hat on, I have to say that I’m amazed the fraud was undetected for so long. Despite only being the tea lady, Doris was entrusted with taking the cheques at Doe for signing each week. This is just about credible, but it’s the next part which is difficult to swallow. Somehow Doris had stolen a company cheque book and from time to time would slip in one from this book. Fine so far, but when these dodgy cheques were cashed they’d show up on the bank statement with all the others – so surely then somebody would have realised that something was wrong (they wouldn’t have been able to tie them back to an invoice, the cheque numbers wouldn’t have matched the others, etc). Reconciling your bank statement back to your ledger is pretty basic stuff.

Taking my accountancy hat off, there’s still plenty to enjoy in this episode. Ray Smith is wonderful as Jimmy Harker. Harker purrs with silky villainy, taunting DCI Jim Logan (Tony Caunter) that he has nothing on him. But things start to unravel dramatically after Harker tells his associate, Edward Bass (Dicken Ashworth), to take Arthur Hill (Arthur Kelly) out to the quarry and persuade him (with a hammer) that he should keep quiet.

Hill might have been an unwitting part of the fraud, but his testimony could prove fatal for Harker. That Bass and Harker are an inept pair of villains is made clear after a frantic Bass phones Harker to tell him that although he only tapped Hill a few times (!), he thinks that he’s killed him. This is the signal for Harker to make a break for it ….

All Harker’s scenes so far have had a faint comic edge and his attempted getaway carries this theme on. The sight of Harker speeding away on a moped whilst two officers crawl behind in a commandeered car driven by a vicar (played by Hugh Latimer) makes this plain.

This part of the story also gets us back on film after the largely studio-bound nature of the rest of the episode. I like the moment when we see Harker jogging for freedom down the high street. Given the number of passers-by who stop and stare at him, it’s plain that the street wasn’t closed for filming. Therefore these ordinary members of public unexpectedly found themselves television stars for a few seconds.

Another strong script from Ian Kennedy-Martin, Fraudulently Uttered has a lighter tone than Shot Gun and is a highlight from the early run of the series, thanks to Patricia Hayes and Ray Smith.

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Juliet Bravo – Shot Gun

Juliet Bravo carried on in a similar tradition to previous BBC police series such as Dixon of Dock Green, Z Cars and Softly Softly. What links them all is their low-key feel (murders and armed robberies were the exception rather than the rule).

It’s an interesting fact that series creator Ian Kennedy-Martin had also created The Sweeney (penning the original Armchair Cinema pilot, Regan). The Sweeney has long been regarded by many critics as a breath of fresh air – destroying the few remaining shreds of credibility of tired old warhorses such as Dixon and Z Cars.

The truth is a little different though. The surviving colour episodes of Dixon (most of which are now available on DVD) reveal a much more interesting programme than the “tired old dinosaur” of legend. And whilst The Sweeney blazed brightly for a while (with The Professionals and Dempsey and Makepeace following in its wake) there’s no reason why every subsequent police show had to follow this format.

Possibly due to its countryside setting, JB has come to be seen by some as a cosy Saturday night programme, a forerunner to Heartbeat. This is far from the mark though – Hartley may be an isolated town, but that’s not necessarily a good thing. Social and economic deprevation (the series debuted in 1980) is the background to many of the stories. Quiet desperation might be said to be one of the series’ recurring themes.

The major selling point of JB, of course, was the fact that a female inspector, Jean Darblay (Stephanie Turner), has been placed in charge of a station full of men. Today this wouldn’t raise an eyebrow, but the novelty of a female Inspector (or indeed a female leading a police series) would still have been strong back in 1980.

The forces of conservatism are represented by the two middle-aged sergeants, Joe Beck (David Ellison) and George Parrish (Noel Collins) with Joe being the most opposed to Jean’s appointment (his calculated insolence runs throughout this opening episode). Eventually she tells him outright not to call her “boss”. “Ma’am” will do instead.

The opening few seconds of the episode – a car gingerly traverses up a steep, deeply rutted road whilst an old woman with a trolly trudges down (with a factory chimney billowing out smoke in the distance) is a wonderful piece of visual shorthand. We’re instantly aware of exactly what sort of town Hartley is (a run-down environment which has seen better days).

The car driver – Rodney Maskell (Tony Melody) – is just as quickly established as a deeply unstable man. With camera angles shooting from low on the ground and from his POV, it helps to create a sense of queasy uneasiness. He’s arrived, at gunpoint, to take his teenage daughter, Maureen (Joanne Whalley) away with him.

After this drama, we switch over to the more humdrum world of Hartley nick. Jean’s already been resident for a short while, but it’s still clearly not something that Joe and George have come to terms with. Joe’s gleefully sorrowful comment that a parade at 9:30 will be difficult is just one round in their battle of wills.

Jean’s encounter with local informer Ted Watson (John Moore) is another. Joe and George have clearly indulged this elderly chap for years, but Jean is far from impressed when she learns that he expects to receive five pounds for his statement (he claims to have witnessed a rape on the moor). This subplot is notable for establishing the bleak tone of the series – Jean attempts to question the mother of the alleged rape victim, but doesn’t get very far. The father isn’t a great deal of help either (telling Jean that if her daughter becomes pregnant they’ll “summon the bastard”. If she’s not, then they won’t).

Jackie Shin (as Mr Porter) enjoys a vivid cameo here, as Porter explains to Jean that dragging his young daughter through the indignity of a court case is something he’s keen to avoid. His parting shot (“if you weren’t a bloody woman, I’d belt you one”) is nicely delivered too.

Mrs Maskell (Margaret Stallard) tells Jean that her husband has been on a downward turn ever since he lost his job (his old place of work – a now derilict mill – could be taken as a visual metaphor for the economic decline of the North). Of course, this is where he and Maureen are holed up (Jean decides to pop into the mill all by herself and is marched out at gunpoint by Maskell for her pains).

It’s hard to see this as anything other than a massive miscalculation on her part (although to be fair, Jean wasn’t aware that Maskell had a shotgun).

Whalley might have been eighteen at the time, but she’s easily able to play a diminutive fourteen year old. She doesn’t have many lines, but no doubt due to her later career she always catches the eye.

Tony Melody is compelling as a man on a verge of a nervous breakdown. His desire to shoot his wife (or indeed the police) is contrasted by his obvious love for his daughter. That she’s the only person he won’t shoot is later used by her as she timidly tells him that she’s prepared to walk out of the door. Melody and Whalley play these later scenes very well.

This looks like it was David Reynold’s only JB episode as director, a pity as there’s some lovely filmic moments peppered throughout (Shot Gun is a major location shoot, other episodes would be more studio based). Later moving to ITV, Reynolds would become a producer, working on many of the network’s top dramas and comedies.

Shot Gun establishes the series with a bang, informing us right from the start that we shouldn’t always expect a happy ending.

 

 

Doctor Who – The Sensorites. Episode Six – A Desperate Venture

The Doctor and Ian are in trouble. They’ve gone down to explore the aqueduct, but aren’t aware that their map has been doctored (plus their guns are useless). I like the way that when they hear a noise they roll up the map to use as a weapon. Quite how effective a few pieces of paper would have been as a club is something of a moot point.

There’s a characteristic moment when the Doctor burbles on, not heeding Ian’s warnings that they’ve been surrounded! The Doctor and Ian are captured by the survivors of the spaceship which landed ten years ago. They’re a rum lot, to say the least. They’ve spent all this time down in the aqueduct, poisoning the water and patiently waiting for every last Sensorite to die. This single-minded course of destruction has driven them all quite mad, but even though they’ve regressed to a somewhat primitive state (they wield pointed sticks as weapons) it’s interesting that they still retain a rigid hierarchy with a clear chain of command that’s run along military lines.

John Bailey, as the Commander, is able to invest his character with a rather pathetic sense of honour and duty, and he makes quite an impression during the brief time he’s on screen. But Bailey was always a class actor (he returned twice to the series – first as Edward Waterfield in The Evil of the Daleks and then later as Sezom in The Horns of Nimon, where his dignified turn was in sharp contrast to the panto antics from most of the other cast members).

Susan gets a final chance to demonstrate her telepathy and also shares a scene with the First Elder where she reveals a sliver more about her home planet.

1ST ELDER: When I listen to you, you who are so young among your own kind, I realise that we Sensorites have a lot to learn from the people of Earth.
SUSAN: Grandfather and I don’t come from Earth. Oh, it’s ages since we’ve seen our planet. It’s quite like Earth, but at night the sky is a burned orange, and the leaves on the trees are bright silver.
1ST ELDER: My mind tells me that you wish to see your home again, and yet there is a part of you which calls for adventure. A wanderlust.
SUSAN: Yes. Well, we’ll all go home some day. That’s if you’ll let us.

The oddest thing about the conclusion of the story is that we don’t see the City Administrator receive his comeuppance. He just fades away as we’re told that he’ll be banished to the outer wastes. It’s one of those moments, and there are several others during the story, where it’s surprising that David Whitaker didn’t tweak the script a little in order to produce something a tad more dramatically satisfying.

But whilst there are various niggles, overall this is a pretty solid serial. It’s not the most sophisticated or layered tale, but anything with the original TARDIS crew (and indeed, anything with Hartnell) is always going to appeal to me.

Doctor Who – The Sensorites. Episode Five – Kidnap

Ian and Susan rescue the Doctor from the mysterious creature in the aqueduct. The Doctor implies that there’s something strange about the monster (otherwise how could it have ripped his coat to shreds but not touched his skin?). You have to assume that the monster, like the poisoned water, has been arranged by the (as yet) unseen survivors from the human spaceship which landed ten years ago. Quite how they were able to create the illusion of this monster is a mystery though (and if they are responsible, don’t the Sensorites think it’s strange that mysterious creatures suddenly appeared in the aqueduct some years ago? Where had they been before that?)

The Sensorites continue to maintain that they have a perfect society. “Our society is based upon trust. Treason or secret plotting is impossible.” But the continuing plots of the City Administrator (and the fact that he is able to recruit willing helpers) sharply contradicts this. It’s possible to argue that it’s only the arrival of the humans which has caused the Administrator to go off the rails, but this doesn’t quite hold up to scrutiny. Because he reacts so strongly (and with very little provocation) it does seem probable that he would have snapped soon anyway. And if the Sensorite nation is so peaceful and well-ordered, why do they need a Warrior class?

I like the way that that Sensorites are able to run the Doctor up a lovely cloak to replace his ruined coat. It’s hard to imagine that Sensorites themselves wearing cloaks, but maybe they do – otherwise surely they’d get a little chilly in the winter time?!

There’s a few line fluffs in this episode, but Hartnell’s not to blame for once. This is my favourite, courtesy of one of the Sensorites. “I heard them over, over, talking”.

Carol gets a decent share of the action in this episode. She shares some key scenes with the Sensorites, is overjoyed when John is returned to normality (which is a well-acted scene by Stephen Dartnell) and finds herself kidnapped at the end of the episode.

It’s unusual for a non-regular to be the focus of the cliff-hanger, especially as Susan could easily have been substituted for Carol. Maybe it was felt that since Susan was kidnapped at the end of episode five of The Keys of Marinus it would have felt too much like deja-vu had it happened again so quickly.

Doctor Who – The Sensorites. Episode Four – A Race Against Death

Hartnell’s in fine form in this episode. He’s gloriously tetchy when railing against the Sensorites (who refuse to give him the lock of the TARDIS back, which he wants so he can access his equipment to find a cure for Ian). They offer him their own laboratory facilities, which he accepts with very ill grace, but he can’t help himself and raises his voice on several occasions – even though he knows it causes the Sensorites pain.

Therefore it falls to Susan to act as the peacemaker between the Doctor and the Sensorites. It’s a nice, albeit brief, character moment for Carole Ann Ford who is clearly attempting to make the most of the thin material she has (after a strong start to the story, Susan is fading into the background again).

The Doctor’s in his element as he attempts to find a cure (surrounded by test-tubes you feel he’s very much in his natural environment). But the ease at which he does so is another weakness of the story. With six episodes to fill you’d have assumed they could have stretched it out a little longer and even when the City Administrator intercepts the antidote it doesn’t really matter, since Susan simply obtains another dose. Doctor Who and the Silurians has a better example of this type of plot-thread – after the Doctor is kidnapped by the Silurians his formula to stop the plague goes with him, so Liz has to frantically attempt to reassemble it from his notes.

The Doctor’s very pro-active in this episode and therefore quite different from the more self-centered character we saw earlier in the season. He travels down to the aqueduct in order to examine the source of the poison and, leaving his Sensorite guide at the entrance, ventures inside. When the First Elder and the others learn of this, there is general consternation.

1ST ELDER: Other expeditions have tried and failed. Most of our men do not return, and those that do speak of terrible things.
IAN: Well, I’ll have to go myself.
SUSAN: No you won’t.
IAN: We can’t stay here, Susan.
SUSAN: You’re too ill, Ian.
IAN: I’m not that ill.
SUSAN: All right. We’ll need someone to show us the way.
1ST ELDER: I beg you to change your minds. You cannot save your friend.
IAN: We’ll never know till we try, will we?
1ST ELDER: These people have fine qualities. The Second Elder and I have misjudged them, and I will tell him so.

The closing moment of the episode, as the Doctor hears the roar of a mysterious creature is an iconic one and also serves as a good example of Hartnell’s acting abilities. Later Doctors might have used the opportunity of an end-of-episode closeup as a chance to play to the camera, but Hartnell is very restrained. He keeps his face immobile whilst his eyes dash from right to left. It’s a very good indication that less is more and a small example of Hartnell’s class.

Doctor Who – The Sensorites. Episode Three – Hidden Danger

Whilst Barbara remains on the spaceship, the Doctor, Ian and Susan travel down with with John and Carol to the Sense-Sphere. John receives treatment from the Sensorites (helping to undo the damage they’ve created) whilst the Doctor agrees to investigate a mysterious plague which is killing an increasing number of Sensorites.

One of the main problems with The Sensorites is how simplistic some of the plotting is. We’re asked to accept that the Sensorites are a technically advanced race, but they’ve spent the last ten years dying from a mysterious disease for which they’ve been unable to either identify or find a cure for. The First Elder (Eric Francis) mentions that the Elders enjoy special spring water, but Ian, who’s very thirsty, doesn’t want to wait for it to arrive and drinks some of the normal water. He then keels over, which leads the Doctor to deduce that the water supply is poisoned.

If one wanted to be generous then we could assume that, due to the Sensorites different physiognomy, the symptoms of the poisoned water don’t manifest themselves so quickly. Otherwise, if a Sensorite toppled over immediately after drinking the water you’d have thought they would have twigged by now! Even so, testing the air, water, food, etc should have been amongst the first things to have been checked.

Again, if you wish to take a more sympathetic reading of the text, it could be that Newman was attempting to show how an isolationist nation like the Sensorites had partly brought this problem on themselves. Although they are technologically advanced, it’s only the input of an outsider which provides them with a solution – therefore their fear of aliens had prolonged their suffering.

But if this section of the story doesn’t quite convince, we also have some interesting exchanges between the Sensorites themselves. Although rudimentary, this dialogue serves to remind us that whilst they are nominally the “monster” of the story, in their own eyes they regard themselves as the heroes and it’s the humans who are the potentially threatening force.

2ND ELDER: In one degree I confess I am anxious. These creatures, these Earth people, are loud and ugly things. Why could we not have met them in the desert or in the mountains?
1ST ELDER: It is a failure of all beings that they judge through their own eyes. To them, we may appear to be ugly. What we must create between us is trust. That is why I have invited them to my palace.
2ND ELDER: But are we sure these Earth creatures are beings as you say? There are animals in the deserts and mountains, but we do not invite them in to our palaces. Perhaps these Earth creatures are animals too?

There’s also a brief insight into how their nation is ordered. “The Elders think and rule, the Warriors fight, the Sensorites work and play.” The Sensorite goes on to tell the Doctor, Ian and Susan that all are happy, but Ian’s ironic misquoting of Orwell (“some are happier than others, eh?”) helps to suggest that there may be chinks in their well-ordered society.

And although the Sensorites may look alike, they don’t possess a hive mind. This is made clear by the bitter words of the City Administrator (Peter Glaze) who regards the outsiders with resentment and fear. And it’s his low-level villainy that will provide the jeopardy over the final three episodes.

Doctor Who – The Sensorites. Episode Two – The Unwilling Warriors

It sometimes feels as if Carole Ann Ford has spent the last fifty years complaining how underdeveloped Susan was. According to Ford, Susan was to be an active, Avengers-type girl with psychic powers, so she was later perturbed to receive scripts where she was called upon to play a character who appeared to be little more than a frightened fifteen year old girl.

Quite how much truth there is in the concept of a super-Susan is hard to establish. I’m not aware of any draft scripts that present the character in this way (and Sydney Newman, who more than anyone can be called Doctor Who‘s creator, was always clear that Susan was to be the audience identification figure – a normal teenage girl).

When the first story was being written, there was some talk about making her an alien princess, but it does seem that very quickly it was decided to keep her pretty much as an ordinary girl (even though it’s established that’s not the case). It was a constant source of frustration for Ford and led to her desire to leave the series at the earliest opportunity – although she was possibly unaware that the production team were equally keen to dispense with her services.

One remnant of super-Susan is touched upon in this episode – a skill with telepathy. Her ability to connect with the Sensorites causes her to act as their intermediary – which concerns the Doctor. It gives Ford a little more than normal to work with, which is welcome, and it allows us another brief look at the unearthly child from the opening episode.

Ian spends part of the episode being stalked, rather slowly, around the ship by the Sensorites. Frightening though they appear, the Sensorites aren’t aggressive – although they do insist that everybody has to come down to the Sense-Sphere to live with them, which doesn’t sound like the best proposition ever. The Doctor, as might be expected, isn’t happy. “I don’t make threats. But I do keep promises. And I promise you I shall cause you more trouble than you bargained for if you don’t return my property!”

Another remnant of the early aim of the series to educate as well as entertain is touched upon when the Doctor discusses how they might gain the upper hand with the Sensorites.

DOCTOR: It’s a fallacy, of course, that cats can see in the dark. They can’t. But they can see better than we humans, because the iris of their eyes dilates at night. Yes.
IAN: What are you driving at, Doctor?
DOCTOR: Oh, it’s all perfectly simple, Chesterton. You see, the Sensorites eyes are the exact opposite to that of a cat. The Sensorites eyes were completely dilated, that is, enormous, in light.
IAN: The conclusion being that they would contract in darkness.
DOCTOR: Exactly. And that is our best weapon. The Sensorites will be frightened of the dark.

There’s not a great deal going on this episode, apart from giving us our first proper look at the Sensorites. But it ends with a jolt – as Susan prepares to journey down to the Sense-Sphere alone (even if, as so often, the cliff-hanger is negated in the opening moments of the next episode).

Doctor Who – The Sensorites. Episode One – Strangers in Space

It’s fair to say that The Sensorites is something of an unloved story amongst Doctor Who fans (often regarded as nothing more than an excellent cure for insomnia). I think this is a tad unfair (it’s never been a story I’ve struggled with too much). Yes, some of the plotting is a little simplistic, but then the series was still feeling its way during this point, so a little slack needs to be cut.

Probably the most notable part of the serial is that the Sensorites aren’t mindless monsters – they have an ordered society and their decision to imprison Maitland’s ship in an endless orbit is revealed to be an exercise in defence, not attack.

This possibly shouldn’t come as a surprise for anybody re-watching season one in order. We’ve yet to get to the point where non-humanoids are regarded as evil by default. So far only the Voord (underdeveloped as they are) match the template of a monster who desires to dominate others (later to become a familiar Doctor Who trope). Even the Daleks in their first appearance aren’t interested in conquest – survival is the only thing on their minds.

Quite a few six-parters employed a 4-2 or 2-4 format (good examples are The Seeds of Doom and The Talons of Weng Chiang). The Sensorites does something similar – episode one and two take place on Maitland’s spaceship whilst the remainder relocates to the Sense-Sphere. Although here it’s done for more practical reasons, as the studio was too small to house all the sets.

We open with a mystery – the TARDIS materalises inside a spaceship and the Doctor and his friends find two people – a man and a woman – who are both apparently dead. They’re just about to leave when the man stirs and shortly after he explains that they’ve been put into a deep sleep by the Sensorites, who live on the nearby planet.

Lorne Cossette (as Maitland) gives a strange and unconvincing performance, so it’s a blessed relief that he doesn’t travel down to the Sense-Sphere with the others later on. But there is a line of dialogue which suggests he’s been deeply affected by the Sensorites, so that might explain that Cosette isn’t just indulging in a spot of bad acting (although I’m not convinced). Ilona Rodgers (as Carol) has equally earnest dialogue but manages to make a slightly better job of things.

The Doctor’s still in full run-away mode – after a brief chat with Maitland and Carol, he decides there’s nothing he can do to help. So if the Sensorites hadn’t stolen the lock of his TARDIS he’d have been quite happy to nip off and leave them to their fate ….

But once circumstances force him to take action, he does so with gusto – elbowing Maitland aside as he takes control of the ship. Newman gives Hartnell some lovely lines, such as “it all started out as a mild curiosity in a junkyard, and now it’s turned out to be quite a great spirit of adventure.” My favourite comes a little later in the episode. “I learned not to meddle in other people’s affairs years ago. Now, now, now, don’t be absurd. There’s not an ounce of curiosity in me.”

Barbara and Susan meet the third member of the crew, John (Stephen Dartnell). Dartnell, who had played Yartek, leader of the Alien Voord in The Keys of Marinus, gives easily the best performance of the three crew-members. John was the most deeply affected by the Sensorites’ mental attacks and it’s left him in a very fragile state. Maitland believes that he’s potentially dangerous, although the reason for this is never explained. We later learn that the Sensorites have control of John’s mind – had they ordered him to do something violent prior to the Doctor’s arrival? If so, it seems rather out of character for the Sensorites, since it’s stressed that they haven’t actually hurt the Earth people.

The scenes of the zombie-like John stalking Susan and Barbara are effective, although it’s all done very slowly. But when he eventually does run them down it’s clear he poses them no threat – Barbara cradles him as a mother would a child.

The reveal of the monster at the end of episode one would become a familiar Doctor Who staple. We’ve already seen it happen in The Daleks and it happens again here. After an episode of discussing them, things would have fallen rather flat if they hadn’t convinced. So it’s lucky that our first glimpse of a Sensorite is eerie and unsettling.

Doctor Who – The Aztecs. Episode Four – Day of Darkness

After Ian successfully manages to re-enter the tomb (via a hazardous journey from a tunnel which starts in the garden) it seems that escape should now be a formality. But as this happens right at the beginning of the episode it’s obvious there will be complications.

Pulling the tomb door open from the outside doesn’t work, so Ian elects to go back through the tunnel and open it from inside again. But when Ian and Susan find Autloc senseless in the garden, attacked with Ian’s club, he finds himself once again the victim of a frame-up (this happened to him in the previous story, so he should be getting used to it by now).

It was Ixta, on Tlotoxl’s instructions, who attacked Autloc. This benefits Tlotoxl in several ways – it drives a wedge between Autloc and Barbara and also discredits Ian. With Susan due to be punished for her refusal to agree to an arranged marriage (her tongue and ears will be pierced with thorns) this final episode has skillfully drawn several different jeopardy threads together.

After Cameca frees Susan, it’s not clear why Ian doesn’t follow them. Instead, he disguises himself as a guard – presumably in order that he can fight Ixta to the death. Thankfully, this climatic fight was shot on film at Ealing and therefore is much more convincing than the others seen earlier in the story. Although it’s hard not to distracted by the wrinkly backdrop (a pity it couldn’t have been smoothed out a little better).

With Autloc having renounced his position and possessions in order to wander the wilderness it appears that all Barbara has achieved is to destroy one man. The Doctor offers a more encouraging spin on events, but it’s left to the viewers to decide whether he’s correct or simply trying to comfort her.

BARBARA: What’s the point of travelling through time and space if we can’t change anything? Nothing. Tlotoxl had to win.
DOCTOR: Yes.
BARBARA: And the one man I had respect for, I deceived. Poor Autloc. I gave him false hope and in the end he lost his faith.
DOCTOR: He found another faith, a better, and that’s the good you’ve done. You failed to save a civilisation, but at least you helped one man.

The Aztecs is undeniably a quality production – it’s well acted, well written and impressively directed by John Crockett (even allowing for the limitations of the studio).

Although I have to put my hand on my heart and admit that I do find it somewhat uninvolving (the comic-strip antics of The Keys of Marinus are much more entertaining). But it’s an excellent vehicle for Jacqueline Hill and William Hartnell, with William Russell also enjoying some decent material (Carole Ann-Ford is less involved, mainly because she was largely absent from the middle episodes).