The Feathered Serpent. Series One – Episode Six

December 6, 2016November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings ITV Children's Programmes - 1970's diane keen, george cormack, john kane, patrick troughton, the feathered serpent

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The Temple of Screams is populated by some rubbery-looking bats. Also present is Otolmi, absent from the last few episodes, who is able to rescue Chimalma. He manages to convince the Princess that when she emerges from the temple in the morning she should declare she was mistaken about Nasca. This will give them a little breathing space to organise a plan to remove him permanently.

Mahoutec finally learns the truth about Nasca, but Nasca and Chadac ensure that he doesn’t live long enough to tell anyone. Once again there’s an ominous sound of drumbeats on the soundtrack as Mahoutec fights and dies (in a rather bloody manner, it has to be said). Nasca seems delighted with the outcome, clasping Chadac’s shoulder (a bit of business added by Troughton maybe?)

We finally discover what the Feathered Serpent is. He’s the old, discredited god and Heumac will take his place and wear his robes as he’s taken to the Pyramid of the Sun for sacrifice. Nasca matter-of-factly tells Heumac that he intends to rip out his heart and later we see Nasca planning to arrange the sacrifice to coincide at the precise moment of an eclipse. It’s an interesting moment – Nasca might believe totally in his god but this shows that he’s not averse to using natural events in order to manipulate the populace.

The Pyramid of the Sun is seen in all its glory only briefly, but it’s a very effective use of CSO. Heumac steps up to the mark to deal with Nasca, although the mere fact of Nasca’s death doesn’t stop him from returning for series two …..

It’s a pity about the dozen or so overacting extras (who are called upon to represent the thousands watching the attempted sacrifice). Their allegiance switches from Nasca to Chimalma rather too quickly for my tastes.

If the conclusion of the story feels a little rushed, then The Feathered Serpent is still very effective, thanks in no small part to Patrick Troughton’s dominant performance as Nasca. By the conclusion of the story it appears that good has triumphed over evil but the sequel series, broadcast in 1978, will show that the evil has yet to be defeated. Even after his death, Nasca continues to threaten the rule of Chimalma and Heumac.

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The Feathered Serpent. Series One – Episode Five

December 5, 2016November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings ITV Children's Programmes - 1970's diane keen, john kane, patrick troughton, the feathered serpent

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The episode four cliffhanger was a good one. We see Chimalma poisoned with a dart blown by the hidden Chadac at exactly the same time that Nasca and Mahoutec enter the room. With the senseless Chimalma falling into Heumac’s arms, Nasca is quick to accuse him – although Heumac attempts to convince Mahoutec that if he dies then the chance to save Chimalma will be lost forever.

Heumac tells Mahoutec that Nasca is his enemy, not him. Troughton starts to ramp up the intensity once more as Nasca begins to see his position come under threat. At present, Mahoutec doesn’t believe Heumac’s claims of secret passages in the temples nor that Nasca murdered the Emperor, but maybe, at the very least, a seed of doubt has been sown.

Following the attack on Chimalma, Mahoutec is finally convinced that an attack on Heumac’s army is justifiable. Unsurprisingly for a studio-bound production it’s a case of tell, can’t show.

Like Tozo in the last episode, Chimalma is totally immobile and unable to speak, although she remains conscious and aware of her surroundings. Diane Keen has an easy time of it in the early part of the episode, having to do little else but lie down, but after Tozo finds the antidote, Chimalma is able to renter the narrative in a dramatic fashion.

Before that, there’s more examples of Nasca’s eloquent oratory as he urges Teshcata to “play the music of destruction for us now. Play it loud so it reaches the ears of our enemies. Let them hear the sound that destroyed the god they worship. Let the weapons fall from their hands and let them sway to the music and let their partners in the dance be death and despair.” During this scene there’s an overlay of flickering flames on Troughton as the camera slowly zooms in on him. This, together with an ominous drumbeat, helps to create a very effective sense of menace.

The return of Chimalma temporarily puts a dampener on Nasca’s dreams of conquest. Diane Keen shows Chimalma’s core of steel as she orders that Nasca and Chadac be arrested and Mahoutec banished. Unfortunately her guards don’t respond (watch the flicker of amusement that plays around Troughton’s face as Nasca realises that he still holds the upper hand). Has Nasca’s influence spread so far that it now infects the palace guard? Given that Chimalma rules by right of succession it does seem strange that she appears so powerless. There’s a bevy of important nobles milling about, but as they’re unspeaking extras it’s probably best not to expect a great deal of help from them (they can only manage some rhubarbing).

With Chimalma accused of being mad, she’s taken to spend the night in the Chamber of Screams ….

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The Feathered Serpent. Series One – Episode Four

December 4, 2016November 19, 2016 archivetvmusings ITV Children's Programmes - 1970's diane keen, john kane, patrick troughton, the feathered serpent

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Once more Nasca attempts to manipulate Mahoutec. As expected, Troughton gives a mesmeric performance in this early scene – he’s very still, not offering any excessive movements, with his rich, deep voice pitched especially low. Nasca might be a dangerous fanatic but he’s wise enough to know that at this time he needs to appear to be the voice of reason.

Mahoutec might have been presented up until now as a narrow-minded and jealous man but, unlike Nasca, he didn’t seek the Emperor’s death in order to further his own ambitions. Nasca and Mahoutec are presented as uneasy allies, with Mahoutec still in ignorance about the true course of events – believing Nasca’s story that the Emperor was killed by a vengeful spirit.

There’s further opportunity for Troughton to show Nasca’s evil side as he interrogates the unfortunate Tozo. Tozo is unwilling to speak, so Nasca’s shadow, the mute Chadac (George Lane Cooper) steps up to apply some torture. As might be expected, Chadac’s ministrations (a series of needles) isn’t presented in an explicit manner, but the fact that it’s there at all in a children’s series (and that the child identification figure is the one to suffer) is interesting. Richard Willis is able to show Tozo’s pain and suffering which, along with Troughton’s silky-voiced villainy, gives the moment a certain impact.

That Chimalma is of royal blood is made clear after she autocratically orders Heumac to search the temple for hidden passages. If they can find them, then it’ll prove that her father was murdered by an assassin, not the spirits of the dead. It all seems rather convenient that he’s able to do so with great ease (also finding the paralyzed Tozo along the way) but even with six episodes to play with you have to expect a few plot contrivances.

But this episode really belongs to Troughton. Nasca has another key scene where, dressed in a ceremonial mask and with an oppressive chanting soundtrack, he utters the following at Kukulkhan’s funeral. “Before the coming of Teshcata, the plains of death were a desolate place. There was no shade and the tears of the dead burnt the soil. But Teshcata came and said let the sun weep tears of blood and blood fell upon the plains of death and the desert became a paradise. And Teshcata said let all those who have blood shedded for me and those who have none, let them give me their hearts that I may look upon the love therein.”

Lurid stuff, especially after Nasca rips out Kukulkhan’s heart (which thankfully happens off-screen). With Kukulkhan’s death, Nasca is a step closer to absolute power but there’s still the problem of Chimalma. So she must die as well ….

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The Feathered Serpent. Series One – Episode Three

December 3, 2016November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings ITV Children's Programmes - 1970's diane keen, george cormack, john kane, patrick troughton, the feathered serpent, tony steedman

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Having made the decision to temporally abandon human sacrifice, Kukulkhan agrees to spend the night alone in the temple, where he will receive council from the Spirits of the Dead. Kukulkhan certainly receives judgement, albeit of a very grim kind, but it was dispensed on the orders of the corporeal Nasca.

A pity that Tony Steedman exits the story so early, but the removal of Kukulkhan allows Chimalma to move into the centre of the narrative as she and Nasca find themselves on opposite sides. Troughton continues to impress as he takes full advantage of John Kane’s well-crafted dialogue. Here, Nasca explains to Chimalma and Heumac that although he has total faith in his god, this isn’t necessarily a blessing. “It is a torment. To be so close to divinity, to share in his mysteries and yet to be a man amongst other men with their weaknesses and squalor. It is an agony of longing.”

Mahoutec agrees to attack Heumac’s army, camped outside the city walls. Nasca wants all of Heumac’s men – numbering one thousand – sacrificed, which causes Mahoutec pause for thought. But he agrees anyway.

Events once again take place at night. Moody lighting, judicious use of sound effects and a subtle instrumental track all help to create a sense of unease. The drama continues to bubble along nicely as Mahoutec and Heumac clash. Mahoutec dislikes and distrusts Heumac’s people (calling them scum) and personally detests Heumac since they both wish to marry the same woman. But does Mahoutec desire Chimalma personally, or does he simply want to sit on the throne?

Mahoutec and Heumac duel, although it’s over very quickly. Heumac wins but spares Mahoutec’s life. This infuriates Mahoutec – when it is known he lost but wasn’t killed he won’t be able to face his men. He demands that as the vanquished he has the right to insist Heumac kills him, but the other man declines. “You must find your own end.”

As I’ve said, Kukulkhan departs the story with something of a whimper rather than a bang and the duel between Mahoutec and Heumac is a disappointingly brief one. But there’s still plenty to entertain here, not least when Chimalma, Nasca and the others discover Kukulkhan’s body. This gives Troughton an opportunity to notch his intensity level up to eleven as Nasca declares that judgement has been carried out.

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The Feathered Serpent. Series One – Episode Two

December 2, 2016November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings ITV Children's Programmes - 1970's diane keen, george cormack, john kane, patrick troughton, the feathered serpent, tony steedman

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George Cormack’s film and television credits were relatively few in number, but quality certainly made up for quantity. He was one of the few members of the guest cast in the Doctor Who story The Time Monster to emerge with any dignity, for example, and his turn here as the blind ex-priest Otolomi, is another strong performance.

Otolomi befriends Tozo and explains a little of his history to the boy. “For more than half my life I was Quala’s priest. Then my people turned to Teshcata. They staked me out in the desert with my face turned to the sun and there they left me until the power of sight was burned forever from my eyes.”

The appearance of Heumac in the throne room causes a little bit of a stir. His likeness, via a carving, had preceded him, but it wasn’t one that had impressed Chimalma. In the flesh Heumac is rather personable, a far cry from the rather ugly carving. He explains that this was done deliberately, and Chimalma (who last episode wasn’t exactly looking forward to her marriage) seems to perk up a little at the sight of him!

Nasca manipulates Mahoutec whilst continuing to clash with Kukulkhan. Nasca’s more than a little upset that he’s only been given three sacrifices rather than the ten he wanted. The plot also begins to move as Otolomi and Tozo gain position of a map which shows that the new temple, built to honour Teshcata, has secret passages which were inserted on the orders of Nasca. Otolomi believes that possession of the map will enable him to break Nasca’s power once and for all.

Taking place during the night, this episode drips with atmosphere as shadows, lighted torches and unsettling sound effects abound. I also like the way that Nasca skulks around the palace at will, removing stones in the walls so that he can communicate with Kukulkhan. Nasca, of course, denies this, insisting that it must have been a spirt that the Emperor heard.

Kukulkhan makes public his desire that Chimalma and Heumac should be married. The people approve, which means that both Kukulkhan and Heumac are now in grave danger from Nasca. And when Kukulkhan decides that there will be no sacrifices until after their marriage that only serves to infuriate the High Priest even more ….

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The Feathered Serpent. Series One – Episode One

December 1, 2016November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings ITV Children's Programmes - 1970's diane keen, john kane, patrick troughton, the feathered serpent, tony steedman

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Broadcast on ITV during June and July 1976, it’s a little difficult to believe that The Feathered Serpent was a children’s series. Throw in a little gratuitous nudity and it wouldn’t have looked too dissimilar to the later prime-time serial The Cleopatras.

Set in Ancient Mexico, the early episodes of series one of The Feathered Serpent revolve around the power struggle between the Emperor Kukulkhan (Tony Steedman) and the High Priest Nasca (Patrick Troughton). Kukulkhan is a wise and enlightened man who’s grown tired of conquest and bloodshed. He knows that the more territories they conquer, the more difficult it will become to keep their subjugated peoples suppressed, which in turn will mean that more and more brutal methods of punishment and domination will have to be found. This doesn’t concern Nasca – he’s a man who revels in death and destruction and was instrumental in ensuring that Kukulkhan’s people turned away from worshipping Quala, a god of peace, in favour of Teshcata, a god who demands human sacrifice.

It should go without saying, but Troughton is mesmerising as Nasca. He can do eye-rolling villainy with the best of them, but he’s also capable of stillness and subtlety. The moment, early on here, when he plaintively asks Teshcata why he no longer speaks to him is one such example. And his realisation that his god will only be satisfied with blood – and royal blood at that – is chilling.

This initial episode covers a lot of ground. We meet Nasca and Kukulkhan and are quickly made aware that they have diametrically opposing views – basically offering a choice between darkness and light. Kukulkhan’s daughter, Princess Chimalma (Diane Keen) also enters the frame. If Troughton’s one reason for watching these two serials, then Keen is most certainly another. Although Chimalma has a certain doe-eyed beauty, she’s also a woman of spirit. Kukulkan is keen to marry her off to Prince Heumac (Brian Deacon) a member of a rival tribe who still worships the old, peaceful, god Quala.

Kukulkhan hopes that their union will not only help to bring peace between their two tribes but will also lead his people back to the worship of Quala. This begs one question – since Kukulkhan, even though he’s just and fair, has total autocratic power, why did he allow Nasca to replace Quala with Teshcata? Like Troughton and Keen, Tony Steedman offers an impressive performance, raising the studio roof with an powerful display of histrionics.

One person who’s far from happy with the news of Chimalma and Heumac’s intended nuptials is Mahoutec (Robert Gary). He’s the brave, if not particularly diplomatic, leader of Kukulkhan’s army. Mahoutec has always believed that he would marry Chimalma, so when Nasca gleefully tells him what Kukulkhan intends, it’s plain that sparks will fly.

Tozo (Richard Willis) is a young boy in the employ of Heumac. Outspoken and aggressive, it seems impossible for him to keep out of trouble. Tozo serves as the audience identification figure, being the one younger member of the cast.

Despite being studio-bound, it’s plain that a little more money than usual for a children’s series was thrown at The Feathered Serpent. The sets are substantial and impressive, although the harsh studio lighting – no doubt intended to simulate bright sunshine – does tend to give some scenes a rather theatrical, unreal air. Night-time sequences, when the lighting can be brought right down, are naturally much more atmospheric.

With lashings of make-up (and that’s just on the men) and some odd-looking costumes, on one level this is a series that looks faintly ridiculous. But the quality of the story and the core cast ensures that by the end of episode one most viewers should be firmly hooked.

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Treasure Island (BBC, 1977) – Part Four

November 29, 2016November 28, 2016 archivetvmusings Dazzler Media alfred burke, anthony bate, ashley knight, barry letts, BBC, john lucarotti, patrick troughton, thorley walters, treasure island

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Once again, the Squire is forced to count the human cost of his quest for gold, since all three of his servants now lie dead. “Old Redruth. Joyce. And now Hunter. Loyal souls, all of them, who served and trusted me. I have much to account for, Livesey.”

The Doctor offers a brief word of comfort, but maybe Livesey’s gesture here is just an automatic one. It’s certainly debatable that Trelawney’s escapade can be judged to be an honourable one – as his intention was to keep the plundered gold for himself (after, presumably, sharing out a small portion to the others) he can hardly claim the moral high ground over Silver and his men.

Jim decides to take Ben Gunn’s boat and return to the Hispaniola. It’s a brave, if foolhardy venture, since it brings him into contact with the murderous Israel Hands. Patrick Troughton once again is on good form as Israel, reacting calmly to Jim’s statement that he’s returned to take possession of the ship.

Exactly why Jim decided that the pirates onboard would be happy to receive him is a slight mystery. True, Israel seems harmless enough to begin with (he’s incapacitated after a fight to the death with another pirate) but Jim wasn’to know this. You’d have assumed that after the horror of the stockade battle, with death all around him, Jim would have been a little more cautious. But if Trelawney has begun to learn the true cost of adventure, maybe Jim hasn’t.

All that we’ve seen of Israel has primed the audience to expect that he’ll turn on Jim when the moment is right, and so it proves. Israel’s pursuit of Jim is a nicely shot sequence from Michael E. Briant, especially as the pair climb the rigging to face their final reckoning.

The ever resourceful Jim returns to the island, only to find that Silver and the others have taken possession of the stockade. Alfred Burke is at his most affable, as Silver appears delighted to see the boy and offers him a chance to join them. Jim refuses and furthermore tells them all that they’ll never see the Hispaniola again.

This is something of a turning point – Jim’s life should now be forfeit, but Silver won’t kill the lad, which displeases the others intensely. Silver has been tipped the black spot, but even with his back to the wall he’s still able to run rings around the rest of his crew.

Silver, with his keen sense of self preservation, is looking to change sides and Jim is an important part of this. Ashley Knight is never better than In the scene where Livesey attempts to forcibly remove Jim from the stockade. Jim refuses, biting the Doctor’s hand at one point, because he gave Silver his word he wouldn’t attempt to escape. This action bounds Silver and Jim even tighter together.

The sting in the tail – the treasure is gone from its resting place – is the prelude for the final (albiet brief) bloody battle. Ben Gunn, of course, found the treasure nine months ago and brought it back to his cave. The reveal is done in a highly theatrical manner – a seemingly never-ending stream of coins gush out onto the cave floor as the faces of Silver, Livesey, Ben, Trelawney and Jim are overlaid. It was surely intentional that Livesey’s face was impassive whilst both Trelawney and Jim showed great pleasure.

As I said earlier, it doesn’t get much better than this. It’s something of a mystery why this excellent version of Treasure Island hasn’t appeared on DVD before, but it’s something that any devotee of this era of British television should have in their collection.

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Treasure Island (BBC, 1977) – Part Three

November 28, 2016November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's, Dazzler Media alfred burke, ashley knight, BBC, john lucarotti, paul copley, richard beale, royston tickner, thorley walters, treasure island

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Most of the crew have decided to throw their hand in with Silver. Most, but not all. One whose loyalty remains undecided is Tom (Derrick Slater). He knows and respects Silver of old, but will he elect to join the others in mutiny?

The question of Tom’s allegiance brings the character of Silver into sharp focus. Silver is fond of Tom and seeks to win him over – to this end, along with some of the others they make for the island (leaving Smollett, Livesey and the others aboard the Hispaniola, guarded by a small number of pirates). Silver believes that away from the ship he’ll be able to talk Tom round.

Given all the quality character actors seen throughout the serial, it’s slightly surprising that the relatively undistinguished Slater was given this role. True, Tom’s screentime is very limited, but since the confrontation between Silver and Tom allows us – and Jim – a chance to witness Silver’s ruthless side, it’s therefore a pity that Slater’s performance is on the lifeless side.

Tom tells Silver that “you’re old and honest too, or has the name for it. And you’ve money, which many a poor sailor hasn’t. Brave too, or I’m mistook. You tell me why you let yourself be led away by that kind of mess of swabs.” During this monologue Silver has lain a friendly arm on him, but pulls away once he realises that Tom won’t be won over. With a horrified Jim watching from his hiding place close by, Silver stabs Tom to death. Given that the battle seen later in the episode is fairly bloody, it’s interesting that Tom’s murder occurs off camera. We see Silver stabbing something, but we never see what it is.

Captain Smollett and the others make their way ashore. Smollett really begins to take charge (Richard Beale is first class during these scenes) and they elect to use Flint’s old stockade as their base. But even before they’ve secured it there’s a brief battle and Squire Trelawney’s loyal servant, Tom Redruth (Royston Tickner), lies dying.

Tom’s barely had a handful of lines, but he does get a good death scene. Up until now it seems as if the Squire hasn’t really grasped the reality of the situation – it’s been little more than a game to him (finding a ship, employing a tailor to make him the grandest uniform, etc). It takes the death of a loyal family retainer, someone uprooted from his settled life in Britain and fated to die a lonely death on a distant island far away from his family, to bring him back to reality. He asks Tom to forgive him (and is insistent that he does so). Tom, loyal to the last, insists there’s nothing to forgive and, as Trelawney recites the Lord’s Prayer, Tom gently slips away. Beautifully played by both Tickner and Thorley Walters.

We meet Ben Gunn (Paul Copley). He’s Irish and speaks in a remarkably high pitched voice, which is a little odd. But then Ben Gunn’s supposed to be odd (what with his cheese fixation) and after a while his voice lowers a little, so a little bit of normality is restored. His cave – a studio set – looks very good (another design triumph for Graham Oakley).

John Dearth was one of those utility actors who was always worth watching, even in the smallest of roles. He was a regular during the first series of the ITC Richard Greene Robin Hood’s, playing a different role each week (and sometimes two in the same episode!) Various personal problems meant that he later sometimes found work hard to come by, but he was lucky to have several loyal supporters – one of whom was Barry Letts. Both Briant and Letts had directed him in Doctor Who, so like many of the cast it’s not unexpected that he turns up here. Dearth’s character (Jeb) mainly seems to exist in order to stress how dangerous Silver is – Jeb states that the only man the vicious Captain Flint ever feared was Long John Silver.

I’ve already touched upon how good Richard Beale has been and he’s never better than in the scene where Smollett and Silver face off. Both have their own set of demands and neither is prepared to give the other any quarter. Alfred Burke switches from smiling affability to snarling disdain in a heartbeat. This then leads into the sequence where the pirates attempt to storm the stockade. It’s slightly jarring that the outside is on film whilst the stockade interior is on videotape – the rapid switching between the two is a slight problem.

But no matter, Michael E. Briant still manages to choreograph a decent action sequence with a liberal dose of blood (nothing explicit, but it still manages to create the impression that a short – and brutal – battle has taken place). The pirates are beaten back, which infuriates Silver – so he elects to send for reinforcements from the ship ….

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Treasure Island (BBC, 1977) – Part Two

November 27, 2016May 16, 2017 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's, Dazzler Media alfred burke, ashley knight, BBC, john lucarotti, patrick troughton, richard beale, thorley walters, treasure island

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Since Treasure Island is packed with character actors of distinction, it’s easy to overlook the young actor who played Jim Hawkins. But Ashley Knight more than holds his own amongst such august company, possessing just the right amount of youthful spirit and innocence.

That he’s deceived by Silver shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, since Long John also managed to fool Squire Trelawney (Thorley Walters). But, to be fair, fooling the Squire probably wasn’t too tricky for Silver, as Trelawney (as per Stevenson’s novel) is portrayed as the sort of trusting, loose-mouthed individual you really wouldn’t want to entrust with the delicate matter of finding a ship and crew to sail to the Spanish Main in search of buried treasure. Walters is a delight as the Squire, he may be pompous and vain but he’s also curiously lovable.

The way that Silver manipulates Trelawney into engaging him as the ship’s cook and then agrees that he can handpick the crew provides us with another opportunity to witness the apparently charming and helpful side of Silver (although he’s only serving his own interests of course). His charm is seen again when the wily Long John takes Jim under his wing. There’s no reason why Silver should seek to deceive Jim, which leads us to assume that his friendly stories have no ulterior motive. But there’s a sting in the tail – at the same time he’s regaling Jim with yarns about the sea, Silver is planning to murder Trelawney, Livesey and Captain Smollett (Richard Beale) and anyone else who stands in his way.

Would he also do the same to Jim? It’s not explicitly stated, but he does confide to Israel (the ever-watchable Patrick Troughton) that he doesn’t intend to leave any witnesses, so we can pretty much take it as read. This dichotomy in Long John’s character is what makes him so fascinating – the other pirates make little or no attempt to hide their evil intent, but it’s the way that Silver can wear different masks at different times that makes him such an enduringly appealing creation. And of course, in the hands of an actor as good as Alfred Burke it’s just a pleasure to watch.

Not all of the crew are content, like Silver, to wait for the right time to make their move, some want action now. Prime amongst the malcontents is Merry (Roy Boyd) who paces the ship with a murderous look on his face, but you get the feeling that he’s never going to be any sort of match for Long John.

During this era of television, directors tended to have a “rep” of actors who they employed on a regular basis. If you’re familiar with some of Michael E. Briant’s previous productions then names such as Roy Evans, Richard Beale, Royston Tickner and Alec Wallis will be familiar ones. Alec Wallis has a nice little cameo as Patmore, a corrupt tailor who Silver deliberately sends along to Trelawney, just so he can denounce him before the Squire and therefore gain his trust. Beale is suitably upright as the incorruptible Smollett, a man who sets to sea with the gravest misgivings about the crew (a pity nobody listened to him).

Before the ship sets sail there are several scenes which take place within the Squire’s cabin. Thanks to a very simple CSO effect (bobbing waves outside the cabin window) the illusion at being on the water is created very effectively. But there’s no substitute for the real thing and it’s the later filmwork aboard the Hispaniola, as it makes it way towards Treasure Island, which really opens up the production.

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Treasure Island (BBC, 1977) – Part One

November 26, 2016May 16, 2017 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's, Dazzler Media alfred burke, anthony bate, ashley knight, barry letts, BBC, david collings, john lucarotti, patrick troughton, stephen greif, talfryn thomas, terry scully, treasure island

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Treasure Island, an evergreen classic of children’s literature for more than a century, has generated more film, television and radio adaptations than you could shake a cutlass at. But even though there’s many versions to chose from, this one (broadcast in four episodes on BBC1 in 1977) has to rank amongst the very best.

Like the majority of the BBC Classic Serials from the sixties, seventies and eighties, the adaptation (this one from John Lucarotti) displays considerable fidelity to the original source material, although Lucarotti is unafraid to build upon the original narrative. In a way this isn’t surprising, since the book was told from Jim’s perspective it’s inevitable that it has a somewhat restricted viewpoint.

Lucarotti’s additions begin right from the start, as Jim’s father, Daniel (Terry Scully), someone who merited only a handful of mentions in Stevenson’s original, is fleshed out into a substantial character. Scully excelled at playing people who suffered – he had one of those faces which could express a world of pain – and Daniel is no exception. Daniel is clearly far from well and concern that he’s unable to provide for his family is uppermost in his mind. So the arrival of Billy Bones (Jack Watson) seems to offer a chance to extricate himself from his financial problems.

Watson’s excellent as Bones. With his weather-beaten face and the addition of a wicked-looking scar, he’s perfect as the rough, tough, seaman with a secret. Bones’ decision to recruit Daniel (an invention of Lucarotti’s) is quite a neat idea, since it explains how Long John Silver and the others came to learn where Bones was (Daniel heads off to secure passage for himself and Bones to the Caribbean, not realising that Silver is monitoring the port for any unusual activity).

Lucarotti also elects to bring Silver and his confederates into the story very early, making it plain that Bones has absconded with something of great value that they’d all like back. If you love British archive television of this era then the sight of Silver’s gang will no doubt warm the cockles of your heart (step forward David Collings, Patrick Troughton, Stephen Greif and Talfryn Thomas amongst others).

Alfred Burke’s Long John Silver impresses right from the off. He doesn’t have Robert Newton’s eye-rolling intensity, nor does he have Brian Blessed’s physical presence – but what Burke’s Silver does possess is great charm and a rare skill at manipulating others to do his will. But although he seems pleasant enough to begin with, it doesn’t take long before he demonstrates his true colours.

Bones’ run-in with Doctor Livesey (Anthony Bate) is kept intact from the original. Bate is yet another wonderful addition to the cast and Livesey’s stand-off with Bones is a highlight of the episode. Lucarotti’s subplot of Daniel’s doomed night-time misadventure slots into the original story very well, as it explains why his health suddenly took a turn for the worse, which then resulted in his death shortly afterwards.

A member of Silver’s gang, Black Dog (Christopher Burgess), arrives to confront Bones. Burgess was a favourite actor of the producer, Barry Letts, so it’s maybe not too much of a surprise that he turns up. He and Watson step outside (and therefore onto film) for a duel, which leads to Bones’ stroke. Watson’s particularly fine as the bedridden Bones, suffering nightmares accrued from the horrors of a life spent on the high seas and dreading the arrival of the black spot.

David Collings’ nicely judged cameo as the malevolent Blind Pew is yet another highlight from a consistently strong opening episode.

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Callan – Wet Job

November 25, 2016June 9, 2018 archivetvmusings ITV Drama - 1980's callan, edward woodward, george sewell, hugh walters, james mitchell, russell hunter, wet job

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The television series Callan seemed to have come to a pretty permanent end with A Man Like Me in 1972, but that wouldn’t be the last we’d hear of David Callan. First came the 1974 movie, adapted by James Mitchell from his 1969 novel Red File for Callan, which in turn had been based on his 1967 Armchair Theatre pilot A Magnum for Schneider. Despite the rehashed plot, the film probably works better as a coda to the television series than it did as an introduction (since it features a retired Callan brought back, unwillingly, for one final mission).

Mitchell would continue to pen a number of novels featuring Callan (Russian Roulette, Death and Bright Water and Smear Job) during the 1970’s, which suggested that he felt there were still stories to tell. So it wasn’t too much of a surprise when David Callan returned to television in 1981, in a one-off eighty minute ATV play entitled Wet Job. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the conclusion that anybody – not James Mitchell, Edward Woodward, Russell Hunter or indeed the audience – deserved.

Before we look at what didn’t work, let’s consider the positives. Nearly a decade has passed since the events of A Man Like Me and Callan is a changed man. Physically he looks older (he has grey hair and glasses) and he’s also somewhat better dressed than he used to be. It would have been easy enough for Woodward to dye his hair, put in contact lenses and pretend that no time at all had passed, but there’s something pleasing in the way that Mitchell acknowledges that he’s not the man he was.

Callan, now lodging in a plush house owned by Margaret Channing (Angela Browne), also moves in more rarefied circles than before and jokes with one of Margaret’s party guests that he hasn’t killed anybody for years. This throwaway moment is touched upon later, when he has a rare spasm of self doubt – after being dragged back into Section business against his will he has to face that fact that he may be forced to kill again, but can he do so? This is an interesting point, but alas it’s never really developed – which given the lengthy running time is a disappointment. We do get flashes of an older, wearier Callan, but it shouldn’t come as any surprise that when the firing starts he’s still as deadly as ever.

The main joy of Wet Job is the reunion of Callan and Lonely. The obvious respect shared by Woodward and Hunter is plain to see and this means that their scenes together are wonderfully entertaining. Again, Mitchell is keen to show how time has moved on – Lonely is now a man of means with a successful business and an impending marriage. We never see his fiancé, but Callan’s reaction to her photograph indicates that Lonely’s a lucky man.

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My favourite moment of the story comes during Callan and Lonely’s first meeting. Lonely admits that Margaret is quite a looker, although he goes on to say that she’s rather old (after all, she won’t see forty again). Callan, who sometimes shares her bed, is rather affronted by this, asking Lonely how old his fiancé is. When he’s told she’s twenty seven it’s yet another indication that Lonely’s far removed from the man we knew.

He makes that point himself – it’s not the old days anymore and he has no wish to get dragged back into Callan’s illegal activities. There’s something a little tragic in the way that Callan admits there’s no-one else he could ask (the power dynamic in that relationship has certainly shifted). In plot terms, Lonely does nothing of significance but the story would have been much poorer had he not been there.

Hugh Walters as the latest Hunter is also a plus. Walters had a habit of playing effete characters and his Hunter is no different (it’s a little jarring to hear Hunter refer to Callan as “dear heart”). Much may have changed, but the Section is still a cheerless and impersonal place and the lengthy early scene between Callan and Hunter is another highlight (even if, as we’ll come to soon, the incidental music does its best to destroy the mood).

Wet Job has two main plot-threads. The first concerns Daniel Haggerty (George Sewell), an ex-MP who blames Callan for the death of his daughter and is writing his memoirs which threaten to expose Callan as a government assassin. Margaret’s niece, Lucy Robson Smith (Helen Bourne), is helping Haggerty with the book and she’s also attempting to ensure that a dissident Russian philosopher, Dobrovsky (Milos Kerek), gains safe passage to the UK.

It’ll come as no surprise to learn that Hunter (who called Callan in to warn him about Haggerty’s book) hasn’t told him everything, but because both plot-lines are so drawn out it’s probable that eventually the audience will cease to care. Sewell’s solid enough as Haggerty, but apart from one scene early on, he’s kept apart from Callan until the very end. Kerek makes little impression as Dobrovsky, so it’s hard to feel invested in his fate.

There are a few nods to the past – Hunter tells Callan that Meres is dead (this may be a joke though) and Callan has a brief reunion with Liz. But since Liz is now played by Felicity Harrison rather than Lisa Langdon, it rather falls flat.

Wet Job was shot entirely on videotape. This wouldn’t necessarily be a problem (quite a few of the Thames Callan episodes were as well) but everything looks dull and lifeless – when the early 1970’s VT Callan‘s look sharper and more vibrant than this 1981 effort you know you’re in trouble.

The worst thing about Wet Job is, of course, the music. Firstly, it’s a shame that Jack Trombey’s iconic library track – used as the series’ theme – wasn’t pressed into service again, but that’s a minor irritation compared to the horrors of Cyril Ornadel’s incidental score. If the music could be removed then there’s no doubt that my appreciation of the story would increase considerably. Any time that Ornadel can spoil the mood he does so – tinkling piano, electronica, it’s a masterclass in awfulness.

There are so many examples, but I’ll restrict myself to three. The first meeting between Callan and Hunter is a cracking scene, but what it didn’t need was a heavy piano underscore. Watch from 17:20 as the camera focuses on Callan, musing how he’ll never be free of the Section (without the music this moment would play so much better). The end of part one (from 26:00) as Haggerty confronts Callan is another time when the intrusive music is simply breathtaking. And the moment where Haggerty discusses Callan with Lucy (55:50) is just a cacophony of noise – electric piano, twanging guitar – that builds to a crescendo until (at 56:22) it suddenly and unexpectedly stops and the relief felt is palpable ….

There was a decent fifty minute episode here, but unfortunately it was expanded to eighty. Edward Woodward and Russell Hunter are their usual immaculate selves, but it’s sad to say that this is a very average story. There was plenty of scope to really dig into Callan’s character – showing that whilst he may now have a veneer of respectability, underneath the darkness still lurks – but sadly Mitchell didn’t go down that route. And any goodwill that the audience has towards the project is surely slowly sapped as Cyril Ornadel’s music drones on and on (he certainly should have gone into a Red File).

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All Good Things – Simply Media DVD Review

November 24, 2016November 28, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1990's, Simply Media all good things, barbara young, BBC, brenda blethyn, ceila imrie, jemma redgrave, ken stott, lesley bruce, ron pember, warren clarke

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Broadcast in six episodes during May and June 1991, All Good Things by Lesley Bruce is a rather obscure piece of archive television, which given its cast-list – Brenda Blethyn, Warren Clarke, Ceila Imrie, Ron Pember, Jemma Redgrave, Ken Stott and Barbara Young amongst others – is a little surprising.

Lesley Bruce’s television credits aren’t too extensive (although she did contribute to popular drama strands such as Play for Today, Screenplay, Screen Two and Theatre Night). We open with a married couple, Shirley Frame (Blethyn) and Phil (Clarke), who are seen arguing as they drive towards an unknown destination. The reason for this isn’t made clear until Shirley opens the car door and we observe that she’s heavily pregnant.

Phil’s not keen about the baby’s impending arrival (their other children are now in their teens and he was looking forward to a little bit of peace and quiet – and possibly taking up a hobby, like the saxophone). Shirley, en-route to the ante-natal class, admits – presumably for the first time – that she also doesn’t want the child (although they’ve left it far too late to do anything about this).

A sharp gear-change from comedy (Shirley’s rant is observed by all the other attendees of the ante-natal class who stare silently at her) to potential tragedy occurs when she suddenly collapses. Is she going to lose the baby? Well no, everything turns out fine – meaning that the scene feels a little forced and manipulative. In drama there’s a sense that you have to “earn” moments like this, by developing your characters and the way they interact with each other. If you just drop events casually into the narrative with no preparation it just doesn’t feel right.

But after this slightly shaky start, the opening episode – The Blessing – develops well. Both Blethyn (b. 1946) and Clarke (1947 – 2014) were well established actors at the time and this is possibly why they’re able to quickly make Shirley and Phil seem like a real couple. Although possibly the method of recording (All Good Things was an all-videotape production) also helped. This was a style of television drama that (soaps apart) would vanish a few years later (from then on, drama tended to be shot either on film or tape processed to look like film) but it’s not a handicap here – videotape has an immediacy which film lacks, thereby giving the series something of a documentary “real” feel.

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With a gorgeous new baby, Shirley should be the happiest woman in the world, but she’s not. “Sometimes I feel so lonely, and bored, and bad-tempered, I could scream and yell and tear my hair out in great huge hulking handfuls!” So Shirley needs a new direction in her life, but what?

After a little consideration she decides to go and help people – there must be plenty who need help she reasons, they just have to be found. Naturally she begins close to home, but things don’t go well after she makes a start with her mother, Hetty Snr (Barbara Young). Hetty, still smarting from a painful divorce, is brought to tears after Shirley loses her temper and shouts at her. Shirley’s attempts to help her sister-in-law Elaine (Jemma Redgrave) ends in much the same way, with Elaine left a sobbing mess.

Some people might possibly decide after this that being a Good Samaritan isn’t the wisest career move but Phil – always one to attempt to put a helpful spin on matters – suggests that maybe they didn’t respond because they were family. He’s clearly only saying this to make her feel better, but she takes it to heart and it sets up the premise for the remaining episodes – Shirley will venture out into the world, meeting total strangers and attempting to fix their lives. But given her lack of success so far (and the fact that her own life is far from perfect) what are her chances of success?

In The Suicide, Shirley prevents a young man, Vincent Gibney (John Lynch), from committing suicide. She wants to prove to Vincent that there’s still good in the world (something he doubts) and to this end she gives him her phone number, telling him that he can call on her anytime. The inevitable happens of course, Vincent arrives and makes himself at home (much to Phil’s growing exasperation). Once again there’s a sharp disconnect between Shirley’s hopes and the reality of the situation. Lynch is entertaining as Vincent, but once again it’s Blethyn who receives all the best lines. Here, she’s finally reached the end of her tether. “My God, I can see now why everyone else gave up on you! You’ve got to be the blindest, most self-regarding, insensitive wimp anyone’s ever dragged back from the edge of the parapet.”

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It might be expected that Vincent would vanish after this episode, to be replaced by a new poor soul for Shirley to look after next time. But that’s not the case as he’s present for the remainder of the series, as is Karen (Liza Hayden), who features in the next episode, Reading Lessons. This interconnectivity is a definite strength as it allows the narrative to become denser as the episodes tick by. Karen’s another lost sheep who Shirley scoops up, but once again her good intentions seem to bring nothing but discord and discontent.

If Warren Clarke has been a little overshadowed so far, then that’s redressed somewhat in The Flat. Phil’s irritation that, thanks to Vincent and Karen, he can no longer call his house his own finally bubbles over. Clarke and Blethyn excel towards the end as they both consider the state of their marriage. Earlier, Jemma Redgrave and Ken Stott impress again as Elaine and Lawrence’s marriage continues to buckle under the strain.

In The Trip North, Shirley heads off for a bonding weekend with one of her sons (which, unsurprisingly has some rocky moments) leaving Phil at home holding the baby, literally. I love the scene where Phil’s shaving, crooning Teddy Bear whilst holding baby Hetty at the same time. The baby clearly finds this fascinating! This leads onto a more dramatic scene where baby Hett’s facial expressions ensure that she remains the centre of attention. Never work with children or animals ….

The series concluded with Marriage Guidance. Whilst Shirley has expended all her energies into helping others, her own life has fractured (a bitter, if obvious, irony – something which is also spelled out visually in the opening credits). Phil’s relationship with Doll (Deborah Findlay) offers him peace and security – two things which are now in short supply at home. Doll and Phil are work colleagues and their affair has slowly developed over the course of the series as Shirley’s drive to help others has also increased. Finally he elects to tell Shirley that he’s leaving her, but when it comes to the crunch will he have the guts to come right out and say it?

It’s a disquieting and bleak conclusion, which leaves the viewer free to decide what happened next. There was certainly scope for a second series to pick up where this one left off, but despite the excellent cast and generally strong writing, this was the end of the line for All Good Things.

Headed by Blethyn and Clarke, this is a series that certainly doesn’t lack on the acting front. The layered developing narrative is another plus and although it’s not always an easy watch, it is a rewarding one. With the emphasis more on drama than comedy, All Good Things is an interesting archive curio which I’m glad Simply have brought blinking out into the light.

All Good Things is released by Simply Media on the 28th of November 2016.

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Hooten & the Lady – Acorn/RLJE DVD Review

November 23, 2016November 22, 2016 archivetvmusings Acorn Media hooten & the lady, michael landes, ophelia lovibond, tony jordan

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Lady Alex Lindo-Parker (Ophelia Lovibond) works as a curator at the British Museum, but she’d much rather be looking for treasure out in the field. So that’s what she does, heading to the Amazon in search of El Dorado, the legendary lost city of gold. En-route she runs into the rugged American adventurer Hooten (Michael Landes) and as might be expected, sparks fly ….

Unashamedly retro in tone, Hooten & the Lady offers no surprises at all, but that’s not unexpected with genre television (or indeed, television in general – how many bleak police procedurals have there been during the past few years?). H&tL is a heady brew, mixing elements from Indiana Jones, Romancing the Stone, Tomb Raider and the short-lived series Relic Hunter to produce a brash swashbuckling adventure series of the sort that’s rarely seen today.

The love/hate relationship between Alex and Hooten is such a familiar one (complete opposites who end up with a grudging respect for each other) that it immediately begs the “will they, won’t they?” question. Interestingly, co-creator Tony Jordan (Hustle) has already been at pains to point out that no, they won’t. “I think it’s lazy to have a male and a female and just do, ‘When will they shag?’ We’ve seen it, hundreds of times. Alex and Hooten have a very different bond – they want to spend time together, but it doesn’t have to be that they want to get into each other’s pants.”

Clearly the series has a healthy budget, as Hooten and Alex’s globe-trotting exploits are mostly filmed on location (Rome, Moscow, Cambodia and Namibia amongst others). This adds a considerable sheen to proceedings and it also means that even if the story isn’t particularly original you can just goggle at the scenery instead.

The series’ hyper-reality is evident from the first few moments of the debut episode The Amazon. Alex might be an office-bound expert, but she has little difficulty in convincing her employers that she’s quite capable of taking a quick trip up the Amazon and returning in six weeks time with some precious artifacts which will add considerable lustre to the Museum’s reputation. And (off-screen) everything seems to be going swimmingly as she makes contact with the Yuruti tribe. But then Hooten comes blundering in and things take a turn for the worse.

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Hooten’s introduction comes via a diamond trade with a couple of shady types. You get the sense it’s not going to be his day when he pulls out a knife to confront one of the heavies, only for his opponent to brandish something much larger! Within a short space of time both Hooten and Alex find themselves tied up by the Yuruiti and facing very different fates.

Alex spells it out. “They’re going to stake me over that fire-ant’s nest. It’s their standard punishment for errant women. ” And what about Hooten? He’s going to be smeared in monkey blood and sent into the chief’s hut for sex. But there’s one way out – if Hooten can defeat their mghtest warrior then they’ll be set free.

This opening is a perfect mission statement and it has to be said that the nicely shot action sequence (as they escape from the angry tribe and sail away to safety down the Amazon) looks very impressive. Tony Jordan’s script zings along very nicely and both Lovibond and Landes make an immediate impression. It’s also fair to say that Lovibond looks incredibly cute in her sweaty top (others may enjoy the clothes-less Landes shots at the end).

Jane Seymour guests in Rome as Alex’s mother, making the first of three appearances. Naturally, Hooten runs into her without realising who her daughter is (coincidence, eh?) Hooten needs Alex’s help in tracking down the mythical Sibylline books and it’s not long before they find themselves running into the Mafia and tangling with a sewer alligator. If this one has a fairly low-key feel (although the alligator scene is good fun) then the final few minutes – as Hooten attempts to extricate Alex and her mother from the Mafia – is pretty arresting.

Hooten’s unique approach to archeology (explosives and a fork-lift truck) is put to good use in the pre-credits of Egypt. It’s one of a number of episode highlights, which also includes a classic bar-room brawl as Hooten and a new lady-friend, Melina (Angel Coulby), are forced to beat a hasty retreat after a dice game goes badly wrong. But even better than this is the following scene – their attempts to become intimately acquainted are scuppered by Alex, who is lurking in Hooten’s hotel room, waiting patiently for him to return. She then claims to be his wife, which rather puts a dampner on things!

Of course there’s more to Melina than meets the eye (it wasn’t Hooten’s rugged good looks that attracted her, rather it was a priceless artifact he’d recently “acquired”) and she later returns with a blowtorch for some friendly persuasion. Alex also comes back (Lovibond looking rather fetching in a pair of pyjamas) and the ensuing catfight between her and Melina is another standout moment. The stunning Egyptian location filming isn’t too shabby either.

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More impressive location work can be seen in Bhutan as Alex and Hooten search for a scroll that may have been written by Budhha himself. We also get our first glimpse of Alex’s fiancee, Edward (Jonathan Bailey) and Hooten is allowed some quieter character moments as Kapila (a local woman who may hold the key to the scroll’s location) seems to be able to see deep within his soul. “You lost someone? But you still feel the pain. In there, inside, it burns. When you have known love, you know that nothing dies. It just goes to another place.”

Up until now, Jessica Hynes and Shaun Parkes (as Ella Bond and Clive Stephenson) have had fairly thankless roles. Ella and Clive are Alex’s colleagues at the British Museum, largely existing in order to push the plot forward when some exposition is required. But in episode five, Ethopia, Ella finds herself captured by Ethopian bandits, which means that Alex is forced to steal a precious artifact in order to secure her release. I love Hooten’s reaction when he sees what it is. “That’s a spoon. She’s being held ransom for a spoon?” It’s a very large spoon though ….

Anton Lesser appears in Moscow as Hercules Rudin, “the finest of thieves” and the man who taught Hooten all he knows. He may not be a household name, but Lesser’s film, television and radio credits are highly impressive, which means that he provides a touch of class during his brief appearance as Hooten’s mentor. Olivia Grant as Valerya, a leather-clad rogue Russian archeologist who has a history with Alex, also catches the eye (she appears to have modelled her look on Emma Peel). The pair come to blows at a Russian wedding party where – to Alex’s amazement – Valerya pulls out a miniature crossbow from her handbag and starts to track her prey (i.e. Alex).

The opening of Cambodia finds Hooten and his new friend Jian (Jay Heyman) deep in Indiana Jones territory – complete with precious jewels that bestoe immortality and traps which snare the unwary. Hooten and Alex, following the events in the previous episode, have been somewhat estranged but you can’t keep a good woman down and Alex (to Hooten’s less than total delight) pops up to see what he’s up to. It’s been bubbling away for the last few episodes, but Hooten’s quest for revenge against the man who murdered his family comes to a head. The man now has a name – Kane (Vincent Regan) – and he casts a menacing shadow over proceedings

The series finale – The Caribbean – finds Hooten and Alex on the trail of the lost treasure of a notorious pirate called Captain Henry Morgan. The hunt for pirate treasure is rather irresistible (although Alex puts a slight dampner on things by stating that, strictly speaking, Morgan was a privateer, not a pirate). After Alex declares that a chicken is cleverer than Hooten, they decide to search for the treasure independently. It may not come as too much of a shock to learn that they eventually bump into each other though ….

Brief making-of featurettes for all eight episodes (each running for approx nine minutes) are included on the two discs. They’re fairly breezy and lightweight, but it’s nice to have them anyway. Both discs also feature picture galleries.

Hooten and the Lady is a wonderful romp . With two excellent leads, more stunning location work than you can shake a stick at and some nicely executed stunts, it’s a treat from start to finish.

Hooten and the Lady is released by Acorn/RLJE on the 28th November 2016. RRP £24.99.

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Corrected discs now available for Meet the Wife

November 23, 2016November 23, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1960's BBC, meet the wife

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As touched upon in my review, the recent release of Meet the Wife was missing an episode. Simply have now issued a statement on their Facebook page, as below, with details about how to obtain a corrected copy.

“Unfortunately due to an authoring error an episode was missed off the release of MEET THE WIFE.

For your replacement, which has the error corrected, please contact us either by private message on Facebook, or by emailing hannah.page@simplymedia.tv with your order number and where your DVD was purchased from, along with an address to send the replacement to.

Many thanks, and Simply Media apologise for any inconvenience caused.”

I Didn’t Know You Cared – Second Sight DVD Review

November 22, 2016July 9, 2019 archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1970's, Second Sight anita carey, BBC, bbc sitcoms, bert palmer, i didn't know you cared, john comer, keith drinkel, leslie saroney, liz goulding, liz smith, peter tinniswood, robin bailey, stephen rea

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Peter Tinniswood (1936 – 2003) first came to prominence in the 1960’s, collaborating with David Nobbs on The Frost Report and also penning Lance at Large, a sitcom built around the talents of Lance Percival. He also pursued a career as a novelist and two of his books – A Touch of Daniel (1971) and I Didn’t Know You Cared (1973) – would form the basis of his most enduring television creation.

The television version of I Didn’t You Know Cared, adapted loosely by Tinniswood from his novels, ran for four series between 1975 and 1979 (a third novel, Except You’re A Bird, was published in 1976). Although the series was popular at the time, it sadly doesn’t have a very high profile these days. Some maintain this is because of its strong Northern atmosphere, but I’m not sure this is so – after all, it bears some similarities to Last of the Summer Wine, and that’s a series which has always had broad appeal.

The comparison with LOTSW is a fair one (and not least because John Comer appeared in both series). They both depict worlds where married life is a constant battle, with neither side giving any quarter. In I Didn’t Know You Cared it’s the formidable Annie Brandon (Liz Smith) who rules the roost with considerable relish.

The opening episode, Cause for Celebration, sees Uncle Mort (Robin Bailey) bury his wife Edna (who had the bad luck to fall off a trolleybus onto her head). Mort doesn’t exactly seem heartbroken – fretting that because the funeral’s taking so long he’s going to miss the football results – but later does admit that he’ll miss her. “She was a dab hand at plumbing you know. God knows who’s going to paint the outside of the house now she’s dead.” But every cloud has a silver lining and he’s happy that from now on he’ll be able to wear his cap at the dinner-table.

Bailey tended to play upper-class most of the time, so the earthy Northerner Mort was something of a departure for him. But he’s never less than excellent and thanks to Tinniswood’s pithy dialogue he’s always got plenty of good material to work with.

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Mort sneaks away from the funeral party with his brother-in-law Les (John Comer). If Mort is starting to relish his new found freedom, then spare a thought for Les, shortly due to celebrate twenty five years of marriage to Annie. She wants a second honeymoon, whilst Les doesn’t seem to have recovered from the first. As Mort and Les seek refuge and a nice cup of tea in the comfortable hut at Mort’s allotment (Mort grows weeds, explaining to Les that they’re much better than sprouts) they muse over the mysteries of marriage. Les believes that having to marry a woman is where the trouble starts – if he could have chosen anyone, he’d have picked King George VI! They’re joined by Les’ son Carter (Stephen Rea), and after a few moments Mort decides that “t’fly in ointment is the human reproduction system.”

How much better would it be, Mort says, if a woman laid an egg and sat on it for nine months. “Just think, she’d be stuck in t’house for nine months, sat on her egg. She’d have no excuse for coming to t’pub with you then.” Carter sees a flaw in this admirable idea though – why couldn’t she put the egg in the oven for a bit? After considering this, Mort decides that it wouldn’t work, not with the way that gas pressure is like these days. “You couldn’t rely on it. Just think what would happen. You’d put your oven on at regulo 2, you’d stick you egg in it, you’d nip out for a couple of gills. When you come back you find t’gas pressure’s gone up and your potential son and heir’s turned into a bloody omelette.”

Alas, their peace and quiet doesn’t last for long as Annie tracks them down. She depresses Mort by telling him that he’s going to come and live with her and Les (so he won’t be sneaking down to the pub every night and doing exactly what he pleases). Carter also has the sense that the walls are closing in on him after he’s forced to stop prevaricating and propose to Pat (Anita Carey). Well I say propose, but his mumbled words fall a little short of that – no matter to Pat though, she’s now steaming full ahead and starts by asking him if he’d like a son or a colour television first …

In the space of thirty minutes Tinniswood has set everything up nicely – Annie and Les, Carter and Pat, plus Uncle Mort. Not to mention Uncle Staveley (Bert Palmer) hovering in the background, constantly asking “pardon?”

During the first series we see the preparations for Carter and Pat’s marriage. Mort and Les, old hands in the marriage game, are keen to give him the benefit of their experience (they both think it’s a very bad move). Unsurprisingly Pat don’t find this terribly helpful. By series two they’ve tied the knot, although Carter’s finding it rather difficult to adjust to married life. Both Rea and Carey left after the second series, so Keith Drinkel and Liz Goulding took over the roles for the final two series (Leslie Saroney replaced Bert Palmer as Uncle Stavely for the fourth and final series).

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The endless conflict between men and women is explored in the series two episode A Woman’s Work. Mort is depressed at having to spend all day trapped in the house with only Annie and Pat for company. He eyes Les and Carter with envy – they’ll soon be setting off to the factory for a day of filth and squalor (he tells them they don’t know how lucky they are!)

Familiar Tinniswood tropes come to the fore – not only do the women do all the housework (which goes without saying) but they also deal with the household maintenance as a matter of course. Annie recalls the problem they had with the guttering, which wasn’t helped by the fact she was stuck on the roof for six hours after Les took the ladder away. He tells her there was a good reason – he had to repair a hole in the snooker club roof – and he doesn’t seem to appreciate that she may have had different priorities.

Carter and Pat are now married and Pat is eyeing their new home. Anita Carey continues to impress as Pat, an upwardly mobile woman who embraces the new. She’s very taken with the qualities of their potential new neighbours (mainly because of the gadgets on their cars) and is also keen to mould the reluctanct Carter into a new man. This isn’t going to be easy though ….

Mort’s reminisces of his married life are another of the episode’s highlights – especially the moment when he recalls how Edna would demand her conjugal rights every Saturday evening. “Oh ‘ell, I’d say. Can I keep me pyjama jacket on? Undiluted bloody agony.”

Paul Barber pops up in a couple of episodes, including this one, as Les and Carter’s factory colleague Louis St. John. The dialogue Barber has is a little awkward (for example, when asked if he had a good weekend he says that he “took the awd lady to t’witch doctors on Saturday, had a couple of missionaries for Sunday lunch”). Another familiar face lurking in the factory is John Salthouse as the impressively-named Rudyard Kettle. Salthouse would later play DI Galloway in The Bill.

Tinniswood’s dialogue remains endlessly quotable. In a later series two episode, You Should See Me Now, Annie recalls that the last time her husband took her out alone was the week after the Second World War ended. “We went to hotpot supper at Moffat Street tram sheds.” With just a single line Tinniswood is able to paint a very vivid picture.

Taking over roles played by someone else is never easy, but both Keith Drinkel and Liz Goulding fit very nicely into the third series as the new Carter and Pat. The opening episode – Men at Work – develops the theme from A Woman’s Work. There we saw Mort going a little stir-crazy, trapped in the house all day, now matters are made even worse as he’s joined by Les and Carter, both of whom are out of work. They react to the spectre of unemployment in different ways – Carter is building a model battleship painfully slowly whilst Les becomes an efficient house-husband (Comer looking fetching in a pink pinny).

The fourth and final series opened with The Love Match. This sees the Brandons throw a posh dinner-partly at which Les mournfully notes that they must be having peas since there’s three forks on the table. Annie is in a much more positive mood though. “It must be years since I got dressed up in a long frock and squirted scent under me armpits.” It must be said that Liz Smith does look rather, well rather …..

Other highlghts later in the series include Mort’s unexpected expressions of love (given all he’s previously said about the horrors of married life this is more than a little surprising). An especially strong episode is The Great Escape, which sees Pat tell Carter that she’s planning to spend two nights away on business. Poor Pat wants Carter to be absolutely incensed and jealous with rage, but the phelgmatic Carter is his usual calm self. There’s a darker tone to this one though, as Carter’s eyeing the voluptuous charms of Linda (Deidree Costello) even as he’s bidding Pat farewell. But when Pat is hospitalized shortly afterwards, a stricken Carter is forced to abandon his escape plans. Drinkel, sitting by the unconscious Pat’s bedside, plays the scene very well.

With uniformly strong performances from all of the main cast (especially Bailey, Comer and Smith) and sparkling dialogue from Peter Tinniswood, I Didn’t Know You Cared is an obscure sitcom gem. But with writing and acting as good as this it deserves to be much better known.

I Didn’t Know You Cared is released by Second Sight on the 28th of November 2016. RRP £24.99.

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Seven of One – I’ll Fly You For a Quid

November 21, 2016November 12, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1970's BBC, dick clement and ian la frenais, ronnie barker, seven of one

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Count the number of Welsh clichés in the opening thirty seconds. Male voice choir, check. Shot of the village with the colliery prominent, check. A full house at the chapel, check. If this one had ever gone to a series then goodness knows how many more clichés it would have racked up.

At least it has a decent number of Welsh actors. Talfryn Thomas, at times the BBC’s stock Welshman, naturally appears as does the always watchable Emrys James as Reverend Simmonds. Barker, of course, wasn’t Welsh but he manages a decent accent (which he’d later revive for the largely forgotten Roy Clarke sitcom The Magnificent Evans). Barker plays Grandpa Owen (who doesn’t last long) as well as the younger Evan Owen.

Gambling fever has long gripped the village and the late Grandpa Owen leaves his family with a problem. His son Evan realises that just before he died his father had a big win on the horses. But where is the betting slip? After searching the house with no success, Evan decides that the slip must be in the coffin, meaning that Grandpa Owen’s peace has to be disturbed ….

The second of two Seven of One scripts penned by Dick Clement and Ian La Frenais, this was the one that Barker felt had the best chance of going to a series (he had to be persuaded that a prison-based comedy had legs). And if it had moved away from the rather limiting topic of gambling then the quality of the cast (including Richard O’Callaghan and Beth Morris as Evans’ son and daughter) would have been a major plus point.

O’Callaghan may not be Welsh, but he still makes a good impression as Mortlake, a man just as keen as his father to dive into the coffin to see if the betting slip is there. Although since the coffin isn’t yet screwed down you have to wonder just why they just don’t open it up and be done with it. The lovely Beth Morris doesn’t have a great deal to do except stand around and look lovely (especially at the end, where her low-cut dress has Talfryn Thomas’ Mr Pugh rather lost for words).

Apart from Prisoner and Escort and Open All Hours, Seven of One offers up fairly forgettable fair. I’ll Fly You For a Quid is one of the stronger later entries, but overall the series lacks the consistency of Six Dates with Barker.

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Seven of One – One Man’s Meat

November 20, 2016November 12, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1970's BBC, glynn edwards, joan sims, prunella scales, ronnie barker, sam kelly, seven of one

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Alan Joyce (Barker) has been put on a strict diet by his wife Marion (Prunella Scales) and is told that he has to last the entire day without any food. When she leaves he naturally heads straight off to the kitchen, but is appalled to find she’s taken every last scrap of food away. And heading out to the shops is going to be a problem, because she’s removed all his pairs of trousers too …..

Written by Barker, under the penname of Jack Goetz, it’s not a surprise that One Man’s Meat gives him the (ahem) plum role. Despite the heavyweight supporting cast – Scales, Sam Kelly, Glynn Edwards, Barbara New and Joan Sims – Barker is by himself for a large part of the episode’s duration.

Scales tops and tails the episode. It’s nothing to do with the story, but Marion mentions that they’ve recently seen a blue movie at Bill and Nora’s house – this shines a light into the ways that the respectable middle-classes entertained themselves during the 1970’s. Did they then indulge in a spot of wife swapping? That would have made an interesting story, but possibly a post watershed one.

There’s more touchstones to the 1970’s as Alan mentions that he plans to fight the flab with Terry Wogan. He’s too late to catch him though, so has to put up with Jimmy Young instead. And since JY is delivering his latest recipe it’s all too much (he dunks the radio in the sink).

Although Alan attempts to order a takeaway from a Chinese restaurant (cue slanty-eyed acting from Barker, another moment which helps to date the story) he appears to be unsuccessful. Presumably there were no other takeaways in the area? This is something of a story weakness.

His desire for food then causes him to pretend he’s been burgled. Two policemen (Edwards & Kelly) turn up, with Alan eyeing their trousers enviously. It’s nice to see Sam Kelly and Glynn Edwards, even if they’ve not got a great deal to do. I wonder if this small role led to Kelly being cast as Bunny Warren in Porridge?

The inimitable Joan Sims fairs a little better as the Joyce’s housekeeper, Mrs Dawkins. Barker gives her some good lines which allows Sims to deadpan with her usual skill, ensuring that her scenes with Barker are the undoubted highlight of the whole thirty minutes. Alas, she don’t appear for very long as Alan decides to steal Mrs Dawkins’ clothes, dress up as a woman and head out to the shops. When in doubt, drag up, I guess.

One Man’s Meat has a sparkling cast and is a lovely time capsule of the seventies, but, like Alan’s stomach for most of the day, is a rather empty affair. However if the story doesn’t appeal then you always entertain yourself by counting how many times microphone shadows appear (director Harold Snoad must have been having an off day).

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Seven of One – Another Fine Mess

November 19, 2016November 12, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1970's BBC, hugh leonard, ronnie barker, roy castle, seven of one

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Sydney (Roy Castle) and Harry (Barker) are keen to head off to the talent night at the Dirty Dachshund, but Harry’s ogre of a wife – Doris (Avis Bunnage) – doesn’t want him to go. A few extra sleeping pills helps to ensure she sleeps like a baby, enabling Sydney and Harry to transform themselves into the spitting image of Laurel and Hardy and slip out into the night …

Even before they’ve dressed up it should be fairly to easy to guess the direction that this one will take (the episode title is a bit of a giveaway too). It’s a little strange that Sydney and Harry both talk and act like Laurel and Hardy in real life (meaning that their characters stay exactly the same once they’ve got the clothes on). The opening finds Doris mourning the death of her mother, who passed away earlier in the day. This provides the opportunity for Doris and her guests to poor scorn on Harry, who we’re told was an American GI (that explains why he talks like Olivier Hardy). This part feels a little stilted. A family bereavement offers plenty of comic potential, but Hugh Leonard’s script never really sparks during these scenes.

But once Roy Castle turns up and the pair decide to head out for the talent show, things pick up. Slapstick humour abounds, even if Castle’s Sydney is a lot duller than Stan Laurel. En-route to the talent show they spot a damsel in distress, Edwina (Pauline Delaney), and go to her aid. She’s rather intoxicated, and curiously also seems to be American, and the pair decide to see her home. Delaney (Mrs Mortimer in Public Eye, alongside a good many other roles) is amusing as the vampish Edwina, and her arrival on the scene enables Leonard to spring the big setpiece ending as Sydney and Harry demolish her flat.

Setting her electric fire ablaze, fun with soda-siphons and a nicely cued sequence where a chain of events ensure that one disaster follows another – like a row of dominos – all draw appreciative laughter from the audience. It’s the moment where Another Fine Miss really springs into life and both Barker and Castle seem to be having a ball.

It’s hard to imagine this one as a series, every week they’d dress up as Laurel and Hardy and get into scrapes? Hmm, maybe not, but as a one-off it certainly has its moments.

Seven of One – Spanner’s Eleven

November 18, 2016November 19, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1970's BBC, bill maynard, ronnie barker, roy clarke, seven of one

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Albert Spanner (Barker) is coach of Ashfield Athletic Football Club, a team firmly stuck at the bottom of the local league. Their lack of success has even reached the hallowed halls of the council, so much so that Councillor Todd (Bill Maynard) presents Albert with an ultimatum – unless the team win their next match he’s out.

Although written by Roy Clarke, Spanner’s Eleven is no Open All Hours. The concept of a hopeless non-league football team is a decent one, but for some reason the players hardly feature in the story at all (apart from a training film mid-way through, we don’t really see them emerge as characters until the last few minutes). This is something of a wasted opportunity, especially since the likes of Christopher Biggins and Louis Mansi are amongst their number.

Unsurprisingly, since the whole series was mainly a vehicle for Barker, football-mad Albert Spanner has the lion’s share of the action, interacting with his wife Vera (Priscilla Morgan), Horace (John Cater) who covets the manager’s job and the harassed Councillor Todd. It’s hard to really identity with Albert or to ever feel on his side. He seems to have taken the coaching job for two reasons – firstly because he hoped it would generate a little profit for his day job (as a taxi driver) and secondly because he’s got the hot-dog concession on match days.

He’s undeniably passionate about the game (ignoring Vera, dressed in an alluring nightie, when a match is on television, for example) but given the poor string of results Ashfield have suffered it’s easy to assume he’d be happy to walk away. Maybe he really loves the game, even at this low level, so much that he simply can’t – but this doesn’t really come over terribly well.

Bill Maynard doesn’t have much to do, but it’s nice to see him nonetheless. John Cater, one of those naggingly familiar character actions who racked up hundreds of film and television credits during a long career, has a decent role as Horace, a man who delivers first aid during matches and – according to Albert – spends his time waiting for one of the players to have a really nasty accident!

If Spanner’s Eleven had concentrated on Albert coaching his hopeless squad then there might have been some potential in a possible series, but what we ended up with was one of Roy Clarke’s misfires.

Seven of One – My Old Man

November 17, 2016November 12, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1970's BBC, ronnie barker, seven of one

With his home of forty years scheduled for demolition, crusty old Sam Cobbett (Barker) is forced to move in with his daughter Doris (Ann Beach) and his uppity son-in-law Arthur (Graham Armitage). Their flat has every mod-con, but Sam pines for the old days and the old ways ….

My Old Man is a generational comedy. Given that Sam mentions he worked the markets as a boy before the first war, he has to be seventy plus, although Barker (in his mid forties at the time) does rather struggle to play up to Sam’s age, which is a bit of a problem.

It’s an eye-opener to go back to a time when living in a high-rise flat was seen as both modern and desirable. The opening sequence has a nice filmic sweep as we go from Sam’s house to view the vista of demolitions beyond and then onwards to the brave new world of the high-rise flats looming in the distance. Doris and Arthur may be seventeen flights up but their flat is immaculate – packed with numerous labour-saving devices as well as central heating in every room.

Arthur is proud of this, as well as his own upwardly mobile status, but the earthy Sam reacts with mild horror at their clean and pre-packaged world. It’s obvious right from the start that Arthur and Sam have diametrically opposed viewpoints, but neither are terribly sympathetic characters, so it’s maybe not possible to immediately take sides.

The eleven o’clock cup of tea is an early flashpoint. Arthur prefers coffee, since tea’s so common, but Doris (at pains to make Sam feel settled) serves tea instead. Sam immediately pours it into his saucer and drinks it from there. This vignette shines a light on both their characters – Arthur (born from the same working class stock as Sam) is maybe ashamed of his roots, whilst Sam continues to embrace them.

A visit to the local pub provides another interesting character moment. It’s the sort of modern pub that Sam feels totally out of place in, especially when greeted by the effeminate barman. Sam later catches his attention by calling him “poofy” which generates a gale of laughter from the audience. This is Arthur’s local, a place where he feels at home, but he finds it disquieting when Sam, along with another old friend of his, Willie (Leslie Dwyer), begins to stamp his authority on the place – having a merry sing-song and entertaining the regulars. Are the affluent clientele laughing with them or at them I wonder?

Sam’s given several opportunities to articulate why he considers the modern world is inferior to the one he knew and loved, but the best example comes towards the end as he has a tête-à-tête with his grandson. “To hear your father talk you’d think I was born in a slum and lived all me life in a slum. Well let me tell you something, those ugly little houses, they used to have a fire in the grate. Your gran used to bake bread of a Sunday. The smell of it used to fill the house. Lovely. We used to have the back door open in the summer, see all the flowers. Garden used to be full of flowers, flowers you could pick. Grass you could walk on.”

Both Barker and the BBC passed on a possible series, so it ended up on ITV with Clive Dunn (another actor who tended to play older than his age) taking on the role of Sam. Barker probably made a wise choice, as whilst My Old Man made a passable half hour, it turned out to be a rather forgettable series.