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House of Cards (BBC 1990) – Episode Two

May 25, 2015May 25, 2015 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1990's andrew davies, BBC, house of cards, ian richardson, susannah harker

The beleaguered prime minster and his colleagues have decamped to Brighton for the party conference. Urquhart acidly rates the performances of his colleagues, all of whom are subtly auditioning for the PM’s job.

Michel Samuels (“Intelligent, sensitive, caring – all in the same sentence, I bet you”). Peter McKenzie (“God, what an idiot that man is”). Harold Earle is dismissed with a shake of the head, which leaves Patrick Woolton (“The man’s a lout, of course. A lout. A lecher. An anti-Semite. A racist. And a bully. He is however more intelligent than he seems.”)

Woolton is a clear and present danger, so Urquhart once again seeks the help of Roger O’Neill or more specifically, O’Neill’s assistant Penny Guy (Alphonsia Emmanuel). Ian Richardson displays the steel that lies just below Urquhart’s surface when he requests her services, although not for himself. “Shut up. Did you really think I wanted her?” Instead, Urquhart requests she resume her relationship with Woolton (for reasons which will become clearer later om).

Alphonsia Emmanuel seems to have dropped off the radar in recent years (only one film/television credit post 1998) which is a pity, as she was always a very watchable presence. And every time I see her, it reminds me that Rockliffe’s Babies still remains unavailable on DVD. Maybe one day ….

When Roger suggests that she might like to join Woolton for dinner, there’s a real spark of anger. “Pimping now, is it? Don’t you care about me at all? Don’t you care what I do?” The anger quickly fades though and she agrees – which means her energetic love-making with Woolton is recorded by Urquhart (in a lovely scene, where he’s sitting upright in his bed, wearing a pair of headphones). It’s another piece of insurance, to be used at the appropriate time.

Urquhart’s schemes continue apace. He convinces Woolton that should Henry Collingridge stand down, he’d be the best man for the job. Later, he also convinces the boorish newspaper magnate Ben Landless (Kenny Ireland) that Collingridge is yesterday’s man – and the power of the press is a powerful weapon. Like so much of the story, it’s possible to find real-life parallels (how often has the press been gulity of creating, rather than shaping, public opinion?) Landless is a rather unsubtle amalgam of the two most famous newspaper and media magnates of the time, Rupert Murdoch and Robert Maxwell. I’m not quite sure exactly what accent Ireland was attempting, but he impresses nonetheless.

Mattie has an encounter in the bar with the PM’s frequently drunken brother Charles Collingridge. It’s only a short scene, but James Villiers makes it a memorable one. “Lord, you are a pretty girl. Oh, no offence. I’ve got a daughter your age. Lovely girl. Lovely face. Never, never see her. Own fault. Water under the thingy.”

The full revelations of the fake financial scandal engineered by Urquhart seem to spell the end of Henry Collingridge’s career and the episode closes on the developing relationship between Urquhart and Mattie. Elizabeth Urquhart suggested that there was one way to ensure Mattie’s total loyalty and we see the first steps taken here.

Once again, we see Urquhart standing over the seated Mattie, reinforcing his dominance over her. He pretends to be surprised at the way the conversation has gone and tells her he’s old enough to be her father. When she responds that maybe that has something to do with it, after a beat he sits down and tells her that “oddly enough, I always wanted a daughter.”

House of Cards (BBC 1990) – Episode One

May 24, 2015April 11, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1990's andrew davies, BBC, house of cards, ian richardson, susannah harker

When the first episode of House of Cards was transmitted, on the 18th of November 1990, it was perfect timing since Margaret Thatcher had announced her resignation as Prime Minister earlier the same week.

Michael Dobbs’ novel House of Cards, published in 1989, tells the story of a completely unscrupulous politician, Francis Urquhart, who manages to lie, cheat and murder his way to the position of Prime Minister following Mrs Thatcher’s departure.

Dobbs had held a senior position in the Conservative Party, so there’s very much a ring of truth to his writing. And although it was highly topical twenty-five years ago, it’s hardly dated at all – indeed, its theme of power-hungry and amoral politicians is probably just as relevant in 2015 as it was back then.

Andrew Davies adapted Dobbs novel and made several key changes. One difference was the twisted relationship between Urquhart and Mattie (in the novel they only meet a few times and are never intimate). Davies decided that “Mattie can have an affair with Urquhart, and let’s make it kinky, she can call him Daddy when they’re doing it.”

By far the greatest change was the ending. In Dobbs’ novel, Urquhart commits suicide after being confronted with evidence of his crimes. It’s a neat, moral ending but Davies decided to do something arguably more realistic, which led the way open for an intriguing sequel.

Dominating the four episodes was Ian Richardson as Francis Urquhart. Richardson had already many notable credits to his name (such as Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy and Porterhouse Blue) but the House of Cards trilogy would prove to be his signature role. In another change from Dobbs’ novel, Davies chose to have Urquhart make numerous asides to the audience. This breaking of the fourth wall (an unusual dramatic device in modern drama) was a masterstroke as it gave Richardson an incredible amount of scope to directly share his innermost thoughts and feelings.

Episode one opens with Urquhart mourning the departure of Mrs Thatcher (albeit with a faint ironical smile). “Nothing lasts forever. Even the longest, most glittering reign must come to an end some day.”

But who could replace her? As Urquhart says, there’s plenty of contenders and he gives us a brief summation of each of them. Lord Bilsborough (“Too old and too familiar. Tainted by a thousand shabby deals”). Michael Samuels (“Too young. And too clever). Patrick Woolton (“Bit of a lout. Bit of a bully-boy”). Henry Collingridge (“The people’s favourite. A well-meaning fool. No background and no bottom”).

What’s absolutely clear is that, at this time, Urquhart has no thoughts about the job himself. He’s content to serve and after Collingridge wins both the election as party leader and the General Election (although with a greatly reduced majority) he looks forward to the senior cabinet position he was promised.

But Collingridge (David Lyon) tells him that he’s much more valuable to the party if he remains as Chief Whip. This snub is the motivating factor in convincing Urquhart that Collingridge should go and that he would make a much better PM. But he still requires a push from his wife, Elizabeth (Diane Fletcher), before he starts to scheme in earnest.

This is another change from the novel, as Mrs Urquhart is a much more central figure in Andrew Davies’ adaptation. And just as Davies drew on Jacobean Theatre to craft Urquhart’s asides to the audience, it’s clear to see how Elizabeth acts as a Lady Macbeth figure, urging her initially unsure husband on the path to absolute power.

That same night, he’s visited by Mattie Storin (Susannah Harker), a young journalist working for the Chronicle. She’s desperate to know the thinking behind Collingridge’s lack of cabinet reappointments following the election and hopes that Urquhart will explain the reason why. Harker is perfect as the ingenuous Mattie who Urquhart instantly realises can be manipulated to serve his own ends.

The pupil/master feeling is enhanced thanks to the way Paul Seed shot their initial meeting in Urquhart’s study. For part of the scene, Richardson is standing whilst Harker remains seated. This means that Mattie has to constantly look up to Urquhart, placing her in a subservient position (this simple staging helps to instantly establish his dominance over her).

After he’s fed Mattie some misinformation, Urquhart begins to manipulate all those around him who may be useful. They include the charming, but unstable cocaine addict Roger O’Neill (a lovely, twitchy performance by Miles Anderson) as well as the Prime Minister’s drunken brother Charles (a typically fine turn from James Villiers).

Other key characters who will figure in the story later on are also introduced, such as Urquhart’s number two, Tim Stamper (Colin Jeavons). He’s got little to do in this one, but Jeavons is always so watchable (observe the slight hurt on his face when Urquhart asks him to step out of the office when Roger O’Neill enters. It’s the smallest of moments, but it helps, even this early on, to sell the idea that his loyalty may be called into question one day).

Before this, they both enjoy dressing down a rather pathetic MP called Stoat (Raymond Mason). After Urquhart tells Stoat that he’s been able to persuade the police not to proceed, he goes on to say that “if you must use whores, for God’s sake go to a decent knocking-shop where they understand the meaning of discretion. Stamper will give you a list if you don’t know any yourself.” After the unfortunate Stoat has left, Stamper says that “if I had a dog like that, I’d shoot it.”

Thanks to a system of embarrassing leaks engineered by Urquhart, Collingridge begins to feel the pressure. And all the time Urquhart continues to pretend to be his most loyal supporter. He reckons that one more scandal should finish him off – maybe a nice, juicy financial one which involves his brother?

Susannah Harker

Diane Fletcher & Ian Richardson

Alphonsia Emmanuel

Miles Anderson

Susannah Harker & Ian Richardson

Colin Jeavons

The Legend of Robin Hood (BBC 1975) – Part Six

May 23, 2015November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, diane keen, martin potter, paul darrow, the legend of robin hood

Robin has sent Sir Guy an invitation to meet in single combat. Initially Gisborne refuses, but when Marion artfully remarks that this is because he’s a coward, he naturally changes his mind. Given that the Robin/Gisborne feud has formed an integral part of the serial, it might be expected that it would be the climax of the story. Instead, it’s essentially a prelude to the main action.

Robin and Sir Guy meet in Sherwood Forest. It’s a brutal fight (shot on film) which obviously took some time to record. It was worth it though, as director Eric Davidson (and the highly experienced film cameraman Elmer Cossey) made full use of the impressive location. Gisborne elects to start the fight with a shield and a wicked-looking mace whilst Robin only has a sword (clearly chivalry doesn’t demand that they have equal weapons!) Indeed, there’s not a great deal of chivalry in the fight as Robin is content to aim some well timed kicks and punches to disorientate his opponent.

Eventually Robin emerges triumphant which means that Marion is finally free from Sir Guy’s advances. But if he believes that the death of Gisborne has removed the obstacle to their union, he’s to be sadly disappointed as she returns to her own lands.

At the same time, John continues to push for power. He’s keen to depose Longchamps and install himself as regent, but the Bishop of Durham (Malcolm Rogers) is a major obstacle. The power-hungry Sheriff sees a chance to kill two birds with one stone – dispose of the Bishop and blacken Robin’s name – so he pays a convicted criminal to kill the Bishop whilst claiming to be one of Robin Hood’s men.

With a survivor left alive to spread the news that Robin and his friends are nothing but common criminals and murderers this marks the beginning of the end for Robin’s band of men. Ralph Gammon and Much are hanged by soldiers in the forest and elsewhere Tuck is mortally wounded (our last sight of him is his lifeless body slumped in a forest clearing). It’s a brutal turn of events and one which most adaptations of the Robin Hood legends wouldn’t attempt, but it’s an accurate indication of just how short life could be during this period.

Richard returns to put paid to John’s scheming and he promises Robin a full pardon and the restoration of his lands and titles, but there’s one final twist to the tale. Robin, ill with fever, returns to Huntingdon. He’s tended by a woman who he later discovers is Gisborne’s sister, but only after he’s drunk a goblet of poison she gave him. It’s a logical and circular, conclusion to the story – Robin kills Gisborne so Gisborne’s sister revenges her brother’s death by killing Robin.

It has some similarity to the early ballad Robin Hood’s Death, which survives only as a fragment of a larger, now missing, work. A later variant adds the familiar scene of Robin shooting an arrow into Sherwood and asking to be buried wherever it lands. Here, we see Little John do it, and Marion is at his side as they both watch the arrow fall. It’s the final scene in a quietly outstanding serial that manages to take many very familiar story elements and weave them into something cohesive.

With Little John the only merry man standing at the end, it’s possible to see the whole story as an exercise in futility. What did Robin achieve and will things really be better now that Richard is back? If you enjoy Robin Hood for swashbuckling derring-do and witty one-liners then this darker interpretation may not be to your liking.

When Richard captures the Sheriff and tells him that his treason will cost him his life, the Sheriff wonders if Prince John will also suffer the same fate. Of course not, as though Prince John was an equal and willing partner, his royal blood will protect him from any punishment. Paul Darrow is one of the serial’s many strengths and he continues this right up to his final scene. Richard tells him that he’ll hang, but the Sheriff replies that his rank entitles him to the axe. So he’s told that he’ll have it, with his head to be displayed on a pike on the castle gate.

Although some rate this as one of the best versions of the Robin Hood legend, there are a few dissenting voices – mainly highlighting the staginess of the studio scenes. It’s a fair comment, but the positives of the extensive filming and the performances manage to outweigh any little niggles about a few of the studio sequences.

Martin Potter is an energetic Robin Hood (although maybe just a little too well spoken for somebody brought up as a commoner). There are very few weak links in the cast and Potter, along with William Marlowe, Paul Darrow, Diane Keen, David Dixon and Tony Caunter are especially good. It’s certainly a production that still holds up today and is worth seeking out (the 2 Entertain DVD is deleted, but can be found for a reasonable price).

The Legend of Robin Hood (BBC 1975) – Part Five

May 22, 2015November 25, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, diane keen, martin potter, paul darrow, the legend of robin hood

Richard is a prisoner of Leopold in Austria, who demands a ransom of 150,000 marks for his release. It’s a substantial amount, but Richard’s mother Queen Eleanor (Yvonne Mitchell) is determined to raise it. John on the other hand would probably be quite happy if Richard remained a prisoner for the rest of his life ….

This is a familiar thread in the Robin Hood tales and Richard’s imprisonment is historical fact (as is John’s later offer of a substantial amount of money to his captors if they kept Richard a prisoner).

There’s enough money to pay the ransom – safely held in Nottingham Castle – since John has been illegally diverting taxes that should have gone to London. Queen Eleanor meets with Robin and he informs her of this. Evidence of John’s treachery clearly pains her, but she is powerless to interfere as she has no authority in Nottingham. But maybe Robin and his men could sneak into the castle and steal the money?

It’s clearly a risky venture, since the castle is heavily fortified. And Tuck asks Robin why should they “throw away our lives for King Richard? A King who’s never in England and now beggars his people with his holy wars, his crusades?” It’s a fair point, since the historical Richard spent very little time in England during the time he was King (and he didn’t even speak English). Robin’s response is a traditional one. “In King Richard lies England’s only hope. It’s either his rule or the evil of a man like Nottingham.” In fact, John turned out to be a decent king, although he certainly had his flaws. But the Robin Hood tales require a hero and a villain and usually we see Richard on the side of the good and John on the side of the bad (irrespective of the actual historical truth).

Elsewhere, Robin and Marion’s relationship seems to be doomed. She refuses a trinket he offers her (because it’s stolen). Marion grieves for the way that the life of an outlaw has changed him and she considers that their love is a doomed one. Meanwhile, Sir Guy grows impatient to marry her and tells Sir Kenneth that he’ll take her whether she’s willing or not. He also tells him that he’ll drown him in a barrel of his own ale if he complains! This is finally enough to convince Sir Kenneth that Marion’s marriage to Sir Guy is a very bad idea.

Highlight of the episode is the slightly incestuous relationship between Eleanor and John. Considering his age it’s disturbing to see – at one point she cradles him like a baby as well as kissing him on the lips several times. William Marlowe and Paul Darrow continue their excellent double act and Conrad Asquith’s Little John is allowed a nice character beat at the start of the episode (when he wonders exactly how he’s fallen into the life of an outlaw). Little John has probably been the most underdeveloped of Robin’s men, so it’s a welcome moment.

As a former worker at Nottingham Castle he does have his uses though – he knows a secret way in (which makes the infiltration by Robin and his men a little more plausible). Delightfully, they come across both the Sheriff and Sir Guy and take great pleasure in tying them up. Robin tells Sir Guy that he wouldn’t attack a bound man, but the next time they meet both of them will have swords in their hands and there will be a final reckoning. Sir Guy’s response is rather muffled by the gag!

The raid isn’t a total success though as John is captured. Later, Sir Guy demands to know from Sir Kenneth where Robin and his friends have taken the money. If Sir Kenneth knows then he’s not telling and it’s inevitable that the two men will fight to the death. It’s just as inevitable that the much younger Sir Guy will emerge as the victor (and Sir Kenneth’s bloody demise is viewed by a horrified Marion). Had the sword-fight been shot on film it might have been easier to cut it in a tighter way, alas videotape doesn’t allow such luxuries. So it does look rather stagey and unconvincing – but it still has a certain impact, especially when Sir Guy finishes him off with a dagger to the neck.

Little John is due to hang in the grounds of Nottingham Castle, so tradition decrees that Robin will attempt a daring rescue. This he does, but the celebration is short-lived when he learns that Sir Kenneth is dead and Marion is a prisoner of Sir Guy. So everything is now in place for the final chapter of the story.

The Legend of Robin Hood (BBC 1975) – Part Four

May 21, 2015July 18, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, diane keen, kevin stoney, martin potter, paul darrow, the legend of robin hood

Part Four is where Robin Hood becomes the outlaw of legend. At the start of the episode though, things are quite different. Robin and his small band of followers are virtual prisoners in Sherwood Forest – under constant siege from the Sheriff’s men and forced to eat whatever they can find (which isn’t much).

Hunger drives them to Ralph’s village but what they discover there puts there own hardships into stark context. The villagers are dying from malnutrition, with the children suffering the worst. A third of their food was taken in taxes for Richard’s Crusade and another third was taken by the Sheriff. What they’re left with is simply not enough.

Starving villagers are a familiar sight in many versions of the Robin Hood tales, but there’s often a lack of logic as to why (and there’s no particularly good reason given here). Robin says that it’s the evil preying on the weak, but as the villagers exist to provide the food that ends up on the tables of the Sheriff and Sir Guy (amongst many others) there’s no reason to either work them to death or starve them. If Sir Guy is so cavalier with his workforce how will he replace them?

Logical flaws aside, it’s the sight of the downtrodden masses that fires Robin’s crusading zeal. From now on, he and his men will control Sherwood and levy a tax against all travellers through the forest. This they will distribute back to the poor and needy. One such recipient is the headman of Ralph’s village, Thurkill (William Simons). It’s not a particularly large part for Simons (although he’s an actor I’ve always enjoyed watching – he’s very good, for example, opposite Alan Dobie in Cribb). He does sport a impressive false beard though – unconvincing facial hair is always a feature of series such as these (other examples are easy to find).

Tony Caunter’s Friar Tuck continues to impress. Tuck is a free spirit, roaming Sherwood by himself, but often coming into contact with Robin and his friends. In part four he attacks and kills two soldiers who are pursuing a man who they intend to brand for non-payment of taxes. Tuck’s anger is evident, just as his remorse is afterwards. Life and death is often casually dispensed in Robin Hood’s world, but it’s clear that in Tuck’s case there’s always a debt that has to be paid.

Sir Richard of the Lea is a figure who appeared in several early Robin Hood ballads (such as A Gest of Robyn Hode). He appears here (played by Bernard Archard) and his story is very similar to the one in A Gest. Sir Richard owes an Abbot a debt of four hundred marks and if he doesn’t repay the money today then his lands are forfeit. Robin and his men feed him whilst they listen to his tale. Afterwards Robin asks for payment and Sir Richard says they are welcome to what little money he has (he claims to only have a handful of coins). When they confirm that he was telling the truth, Richard is touched by the man’s honesty and integrity and loans him the money he needs to reclaim his lands.

The one major difference is that here Sir Richard needed the money to equip and send his son to fight with Richard in the Holy Land, whilst in A Gest his son had been arrested for murder and the four hundred marks were used to bribe the local Sheriff.

It’s always nice to see Archard and it’s even better news that the Abbot is played by Kevin Stoney. Stoney oozes with his trademark languid villainy and is a delight, as always, to watch. Apart from his connection with Sir Richard, he’s also scheming with the Sheriff and Sir Guy. All three are plotting to put John on the throne (although the absence of both Michael J. Jackson and David Dixon from this episode means that the political intrigue takes a backseat).

Instead, part four is much more concerned with the emergence of Robin as a leader of men. We also see him start to influence the oppressed Saxons to fight back. Sir Richard offers Robin a hundred longbows – an offer Robin gladly accepts, as he instantly sees how they can be used by the villagers. “They proved their bravery by fighting with their bare hands. No longer peasants whipped by their masters. These will make them into an army.”

But as in any battle, there’s a price to pay. At the end of the episode Robin loses a key member of his band and it’s an early indication that no-one (not even the familiar names) can be guaranteed to still be alive at the end of part six ….

The Legend of Robin Hood (BBC 1975) – Part Three

May 19, 2015July 18, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, diane keen, martin potter, paul darrow, the legend of robin hood

Robin and his small band of friends take shelter in Sherwood Forest, but they’re not alone. It would be reasonable to suppose that Sherwood would be home to many different groups of outlaws (although we’ve not often seen this developed in most of the film or television adaptations).

Robin quickly becomes aware of a formidable rival gang (dressed in green) who are led by a giant of a man, John Little (Conrad Asquith). Although some of his men aren’t trustworthy (and one later betrays Robin) Little John is presented as a dependable and honest man, although he’s somebody who’s not unused to violence. He used to work at Nottingham Castle, but he got into an argument with his superior and threw him into the moat (after hitting his head with a hammer first, just for good measure!)

Robin and John meet for the first time and settle their differences in the traditional way – via a quarterstaff duel in the middle of a streaming lake. It’s a nicely shot film sequence, with some effective quick intercuts (although it’s true that the scene is a little short). After they both end up in the water, any enmity they previously felt has been forgotten and they pool resources and information. John mentions that Sir Guy (who’s now taken charge of Robin’s estates at Huntingdon) is due to be married there.

Robin, naturally, makes haste to see Marion one more time – but thanks to one of Little John’s untrustworthy men, Sir Guy and his soldiers are waiting for him. If only Sir Guy had dealt with him here then the story would have been over some three episodes early. But, as usually happens, he leaves Robin locked up, although he doesn’t stay locked up for long (thanks to a little help from Marion)

There’s a lack of Paul Darrow in this episode, which is a shame, but on the plus side William Marlowe does get a very decent share of the action. Whether he’s playfully taunting Marion or ordering his inept soldiers about, Marlowe’s always a joy to watch. If Darrow’s Sherriff is more of an intellectual and a schemer, then Marlowe’s Sir Guy is an instinctive fighter and everything’s bubbling up nicely for the climatic confrontation between him and Robin.

So far, Robin and his men have only been concerned with their own self interest. But towards the end of part three we see them help others less fortunate than themselves for the first time. Prince John has burnt several villages to the ground and taken all the unfortunate inhabitants to work as slaves in a nearby silver mine. Robin is able to free them (rather easily, it must be said) and afterwards he confronts John.

David Dixon continues to give a layered performance as John. On the one hand, it’s possible to suggest that he’s nothing more than a stooge (manipulated easily by the likes of the Sheriff) but on the other he does seem to have a mind and a will of his own. Robin tells him that the villagers are now free and that he’ll take enough silver to rebuild the burnt villages whilst the rest will go to fund Richard’s Crusade.

Naturally, John doesn’t take this at all well and we end with him promising that Robin will hang. This now means that there’s three highly motivated men – the Sheriff, Sir Guy and Prince John – who all want Robin’s head, which helps to raise the stakes just a little more.

The Legend of Robin Hood (BBC 1975) – Part Two

May 18, 2015July 18, 2016 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, diane keen, martin potter, paul darrow, the legend of robin hood

Making his way through Sherwood Forest, Robin is attacked and robbed. But the sight of Robin’s ring is enough to make one of the robbers stop and think. After bathing Robin’s wounds, he tells him his name – Will Scarlett (Miles Anderson). It’s interesting that Scarlett and his friends aren’t actually outlaws. Although they’re happy to waylay and rob any likely traveller, at this time they’re still free men.

They’ve suffered under the rule of the Abbot of Grantham (David Ryall) though. The Abbot has controlled the Huntingdon estates for the last twenty years, bleeding them dry, as well as extracting bitter revenge on any malefactors. Once such is Ralph Gammon (Stephen Whitaker) who had one of his hands cut off for stealing.

The character of the Abbot is a familiar one from many versions of the Robin Hood tales – he’s far from a holy, pious man of god – instead, he takes pleasure in the finest clothes, food and wine (whilst many around him starve). Before he left the Huntingdon estates he stripped them bare, but Robin, together with Will and Ralph, are able to restore what the Abbot stole.

They’re helped by Friar Tuck (Tony Caunter), formally in the Abbot’s employ, but now a free agent. Caunter isn’t the rotund Tuck we usually see, but some of his other traits are present and correct (such as a love of wine). He’s also deeply argumentative and is clearly someone who won’t be pushed around. When Will tells him to kneel before Robin, his lord and master, Tuck indignantly replies that “I only ever bow to Christ, which annoys my so-called betters on earth profoundly.” After helping Robin to locate his pilfered possessions, Tuck disappears, but it’s certain we haven’t seen the last of him.

Palace intrigue is a key part of this episode (and indeed the whole serial). The Queen Mother (Yvonne Mitchell) has returned and urges Richard to make John regent in his absence. Richard refuses (his choice is Longchamps) but he does grant John a portion of the kingdom to administrate (including Nottingham). Amongst Yvonne Mitchell’s key credits are the 1954 adaptation of Nineteen Eighty Four and the Out of the Unknown episode The Machine Stops. This isn’t a particularly taxing part, but she manages to portray the Queen’s icy detachment very effectively.

The revelation that the Abbot, the Sheriff and Sir Guy are all involved in a plot to murder the King is another indication that this version of Robin Hood is, at present, more concerned with courtly intrigue than it is with the down-trodden and repressed Saxons. Robin learns of the plot and is eventually able to warn the King, but by then his unexplained absence has brought disfavour upon him.

Richard has disinherited him as well as branding him an outlaw. But in their final meeting, before Richard departs for the Crusades, he strongly implies that as an outlaw he’ll be able to stay in England and do some good. It’s slightly odd that on the one hand Richard makes him an outlaw and on the other seems to tacitly approve of him, but it means that all the pieces are now in place.

Robin Hood, and his band of men, are outlaws and they face two implacable enemies – the Sheriff of Nottingham and Sir Guy of Gisborne. And since Richard has agreed to the marriage between Sir Guy and the Lady Marion, that provides yet another reason for conflict …..

The Legend of Robin Hood (BBC 1975) – Part One

May 17, 2015August 15, 2018 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, diane keen, martin potter, paul darrow, the legend of robin hood

The stories of Robin Hood have proven to be evergreen and have featured in numerous film and television adaptations over the years. On British television, probably the two best-remembered takes on the character are Richard Greene’s The Adventures of Robin Hood (1955-1960) and Richard Carpenter’s much later, somewhat radical reworking of the legend, as seen in Robin of Sherwood (1984-1986).

The Legend of Robin Hood, broadcast in 1975, was a six-part serial which drew some of its inspiration from the earliest surviving written material (namely the ballads, such as A Lytell Geste of Robyn Hode). Naturally, some elements (such as Robin’s beheading of the Sherrif) are omitted and The Legend of Robin Hood is also content to cherry-pick material from later interpretations of the stories (neither Maid Marion or King Richard appear in the ballads, for example).

One of the strengths of The Legend of Robin Hood is that it’s a serial, rather than a series, so the tale it tells is finite – with a beginning, a middle and an end. As enjoyable as the Richard Greene series was, it did have a seemingly endless number of episodes, which ensured that character development could never be anything other than minimal. Although Robin of Sherwood was also a series, the decision by Michael Praed to jump ship (for the dubious pleasures of Dynasty) after series two did mean that his character (Robin of Locksley) could have a clearly defined fate, something also shared by Martin Potter’s Robin.

After serving a decent apprenticeship in numerous films and television series, The Legend of Robin Hood seemed to be Potter’s first step towards a more substantial career. But for whatever reason this never happened and his credits eventually spluttered to a halt – after an episode of All Creatures Great and Small in 1988 there’s nothing until the rather undistinguished television movie The Outsiders in 2006. But although his later career never developed in the way I’m sure he would have wanted, he still makes a first-class Robin Hood.

He’s supported by an impressive roster of acting talent – Diane Keen as Maid Marion, Paul Darrow as the Sheriff of Nottingham, William Marlowe as Sir Guy of Gisborne, John Abineri (later to take a key role in Robin of Sherwood) as Sir Kenneth Neston, David Dixon as Prince John, Tony Caunter as Friar Tuck, Conrad Asquith as Little John, Michael J. Jackson as King Richard and Yvonne Mitchell as Queen Eleanor.

Part one opens with the Earl of Huntingdon (Anthony Garner) preparing to leave for France. Before he goes, he places his infant son, Robin, in the charge of Father Ambrose (David King). Ambrose is charged to find the young Robin a safe place to live and when he’s of age he’ll be told that he’s the rightful heir to the Huntingdon estates. In some versions of the Robin Hood legend he’s a lowly-born Saxon and in others he’s the noble Earl of Huntington, so it’s a nice twist that this adaptation is able to incorporate both.

Robin is brought up by the forrester John Hood (Trevor Griffiths) and remains ignorant of his true identity. This isn’t the most effective part of the story as it’s hard to understand why the young Robin would have been removed from the manor at Huntingdon – surely his father could have found somebody he trusted to act as guardian in his absence? It also has to be said that Robin takes the news that he’s the Earl of Huntingdon very calmly (Martin Potter registering no more emotion than if he’d just been told it was raining outside). But now the truth is known he sets off to London to seek an audience with King Richard and claim his inheritance.

He’s somewhat delayed, as on the way he meets Lady Marion and her uncle, Sir Kenneth Neston. Neston, like Robin, is a proud Saxon, so Robin is perturbed to discover that he plans to marry his niece to Sir Guy of Gisborne. Earlier, Robin saw an example of Sir Guy’s brutal justice (a man arrested for stealing berries from one of Sir Guy’s bushes) so he queries why. Neston believes that marriages between Saxons and Normans will dilute the Norman influence – Robin is polite, but noncommittal.

William Marlowe always offered a nice line in dangerous villains and his Sir Guy is no different. Although Sir Guy is polite and courteous in this episode (and also seems sincere in his love for Marion) Marlowe manages to give the impression that he could erupt into violence at any moment. He dominates the first scene with the Sheriff of Nottingham and the Abbot of Grantham (David Ryall) although a later scene between the Sherriff and the Abbot gives a chance for Paul Darrow to show that he can be equally as dangerous.

There’s no doubt that the DVD picked up some sales due to Darrow’s appearance. Thanks to his always watchable performance as Avon in Blakes 7, he’s maintained a healthy fan following. Whilst he resists the temptation (unlike some of the later Sheriffs) to go way over the top, his Sheriff does have flashes of cold violence, which are rather Avon-like.

Diane Keen is a winsome and appealing Maid Marion. It’s a more traditional performance than some of the later, more warrior-like, versions. This Marion, whilst she has a mind of her own, is presented as a heroine to be saved (screaming and almost insensible when attacked by a gang of outlaws, for example).

Michael J. Jackson may lack the imposing presence of some other notable Richards, such as Julian Glover or John Rhys-Davies, but despite his rather slight frame he’s still commanding. He easily manages to best his brother John, who pleads with him to be made regent before Richard departs for the Holy Land. David Dixon (later to be the unearthly Ford Prefect in the BBC1 adaptation of The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy) offers a similarly off-kilter performance here. Although he has only a few moments screen time in part one, Dixon still makes an impact as John comes over as a spoilt, weak and unstable man who is easily manipulated.

Many adaptations of the Robin Hood stories open with Richard already in the Holy Land. This one is a little different, as we see Richard preparing to leave (with Robin due to join him). Richard has recognised Robin as the rightful heir to the Huntingdon estates and he bestows further honour on him by making him his squire. The outspoken Robin isn’t pleased though as he believes that strife will befall the kingdom if the King leaves to fight the Saracens.

Although Robin’s not yet an outlaw (and we’ve yet to meet the Merry Men) quite a lot of ground has been captured in this first episode. Production wise, it’s typical of the era (interiors shot on VT and exteriors on film). For anybody used to programmes from this era, the production values are pretty typical (although it must be said that some of the interior sets do look uncomfortably stagey). Possibly the worst production flaw comes at 45:54, when the edge of the backcloth (which has been hung to simulate evening outside the windows of the Throne Room) is clearly visible.

Martin Potter is an earnest and likeable Robin Hood, although it’s true that he does sound rather well spoken for somebody brought up in humble surroundings. But whilst he lacks the impish humour of some of the other Robins, he still comes over as a likeable leading man and the first fifty minutes have laid the ground nicely for the remainder of the serial.

Paul Darrow & David Ryall

William Marlowe

David Dixon

Diane Keen

John Abineri

Martin Potter

William Marlowe, David Ryall and Paul Darrow

Michael J. Jackson

Paul Darrow

Doctor Who – The Enemy of the World – Episode Six

May 16, 2015July 15, 2016 archivetvmusings Doctor Who BBC, bill kerr, deborah watling, doctor who, frazer hines, patrick troughton, the enemy of the world

The Doctor’s impersonation of Salamander places him in a rather precarious position as Benik doesn’t seem to be totally convinced. But he’s able to authorise the release of Jamie and Victoria and he asks Bruce to take them to the gates to ensure they get away safely. There’s a lovely moment when Bruce asks them to call his deputy Forrester, once they get outside, and tell him that Bruce is at the research station (using the word “redhead”). Jamie wonders if that’s a reference to his wife, but Bruce tells him no, it’s just a code-word. Typical Jamie, always thinking of women!

Once Jamie and Victoria leave they don’t reappear until the the final scene, so this, together with their fairly light appearance in episode five and their absence from episode four, means they’ve hardly featured in the second half of the story. Maybe this is because whilst The Enemy of the World is a good story, it’s not necessarily a good Doctor Who story, so Jamie and Victoria end up rather surplus to requirements. Indeed, you could remove the Doctor as well and it would have been made a very decent one-off serial with Kent and Astrid facing off against Salamander and Benik.

Astrid is able to do little for Swann, but he’s able to tell her the whole story and Astrid ventures underground to tell the workers that Salamander has duped them. She’s only able to take them up two at a time, so she naturally elects to take Colin and Mary (there’s no point taking any of the others, as they’re non-speaking extras!).

For a large part of the story, Kent has insisted that the Doctor should impersonate Salamander in order to find incriminating evidence that will expose him. In the end, this doesn’t happen (and is rather neatly reversed) when Kent meets Salamander (or so he believes) and betrays himself. Kent and the faux-Salamander seem to be trapped in the records room, but Kent knows about the secret exit.

DOCTOR: Well, that’s very interesting, Mr Kent. Why didn’t you tell me that before?
KENT: Oh no, it can’t be.
DOCTOR: Oh, I’m afraid it is. Oh, look. Here’s another surprise for you. Look behind you.
KENT: Astrid, you’ve come just in time.
ASTRID: It’s too late, Giles. I know everything.
COLIN: That’s him. That’s the man who took us down there in the first place.
MARY: Giles Kent. We thought you were dead.
KENT: Now look, I’ve never seen these people before in my life.
ASTRID: They’ve told me everything. You and Salamander were in it together.

The emergence of Astrid at just the right moment (and with two people who can confirm that Kent was Salamander’s partner) is more than a touch contrived, but it works in story terms as it finally strips away the lingering pretence that Giles Kent was on the side of the angels. The Doctor tells him that he was never convinced by him anyway, as “any man who resorts to murder as eagerly and as rapidly as you must be suspect. You didn’t just want to expose Salamander, you wanted to kill him and take his place.” Although Kent may have been more convincing had Bill Kerr played him as a more reasonable and sympathetic character, it’s still a very watchable turn. Best known as Tony Hancock’s idiot friend in the radio version of Hancock’s Half Hour, he also enjoyed a long and successful acting career (some of it spent in the UK) and once of the joys of the recovery of this serial was that we were able once more to enjoy his complete performance.

As previously touched upon, Doctor Who was still a long way away from out-of-order recording, so each episode has to mostly feature Troughton as either the Doctor or Salamander. Since it was the concluding episode, it’s not a surprise that he’s mainly the Doctor, although this means that after building Salamander up throughout the serial, he rather fades away. But he does get to confront his old associate Kent, before his first (and last) encounter with the Doctor.

Had there not been at least one meeting between the Doctor and Salamander, the audience would probably have felt a little cheated (although the Doctor and the Abbot never met in The Massacre). Before that happens though, loose ends are tied up as Bruce and Astrid take charge. Kent has apparently killed both himself and Salamander (via a huge explosion) and the Doctor leaves Astrid as she attempts to rescue the people trapped in the underground shelter.

The final scene is a bit of a cracker. Salamander impersonates the Doctor and he asks Jamie to operate the TARDIS controls. This naturally confuses the Scot, but when the real Doctor makes an appearance, all becomes clear. The Doctor tells Salamander that “we’re going to put you outside, Salamander. No friends, no safety, nothing. You’ll run, but they’ll catch up with you.” After a tussle, Salamander is flung out in the Space/Time vortex and (unusually for the Troughton era) the story closes on a cliff-hanger.

Although The Enemy of the World does have a few logistical issues, there’s plenty to enjoy (especially as it’s such a break from the norm). It was a daring move to tackle a James Bond-type plot with the series’ usual budget (and especially since 95% of the story was shot in the studio) but, apart from the odd wobbly set, it all holds together. Troughton’s great (no matter who he’s playing) and he’s surrounded by some familiar faces (Colin Douglas, George Pravda, Milton Johns) all of whom would appear in later Doctor Whos. Hines and Watling have little involvement in the later part of the story, but Whitaker keeps the story bubbling away so nicely that this never becomes an issue.

Doctor Who – The Enemy of the World – Episode Five

May 14, 2015July 15, 2016 archivetvmusings Doctor Who BBC, deborah watling, doctor who, frazer hines, patrick troughton, the enemy of the world

The mysterious visitor at the end of episode four is revealed to be Donald Bruce. Although he’s Salamander’s head of security, he also seems to have a policeman’s instinct, as he’s willing to listen to the claims of Kent and the Doctor that Salamander is not the universal benefactor he claims to be (although anybody who’s spent time around him surely would have quickly picked up plenty of negative vibes).

Astrid disarms Bruce’s guard and the Doctor attempts to bring Bruce onto their side by handing the gun back to him. As Bruce says, “you must be a complete fool or very clever.” The Doctor responds that Bruce will “have to make up your mind to that right away.” This fairly basic piece of psychology does the trick and Bruce agrees to accompany the Doctor as he attempts to enter the Research Centre. But as insurance, Astrid and Kent are left behind – under guard.

Meanwhile, Salamander is still underground. One of the slight problems with the underground scenes is that there’s only three speaking roles – Swann, Colin and Mary (there’s plenty of other people in the scenes, but they’re all just rhubarbing extras who rush around with clipboards, looking busy). Adam Verney (as Colin) is still machine-gunning his lines, delivering them with an intensity that borders on the manic. As the character is supposed to be somewhat stir-crazy, it’s a reasonable performance choice – although a little of him does go a long way. Especially when delivering lines such as “I don’t think it’s right. Just work, sleep, eat, if there’s enough to go round. Like worms under the earth, sightless worms wriggling about without hope, without purpose.”

Mary (Margaret Hickey) has the thankless task of having little to do except react to Colin’s complaints. Swann (Christopher Burgess) initially seemed also to be a rather uninteresting character, very much Salamander’s yes-man, but events take an unexpected turn when he discovers a fragment of newspaper which was stuck on their new boxes of supplies. Salamander has told them all that there’s a global war occurring on the surface, and that their work (engineering natural disasters), is vital to the war effort.

But the scrap of newspaper has a report about the sinking of a holiday liner. How can there be holiday liners in a world at war? Swann confronts Salamander and it’s the first time that we’ve seen Salamander even slightly shaken. He quick back-peddles and tells Swann that the war is over, but the survivors are deformed in mind and body. “They have a kind of society, but it’s evil, corrupt. You don’t think I could expose you to that sort of thing? Think of Mary and the other women.” Swann insists on going up to the surface with Salamander. Salamander readily agrees and it’s not hard to understand why – Swann may go up, but he’s not coming down again.

Jamie and Victoria were absent from the previous episode and in the first half of this one were only in a brief shot (as their unconscious bodies were carried past the camera). Once they’ve woken up, they have to face the tender devotions of Benik. Milton Johns excels in this scene. So much is left unsaid, as it’s left to the viewer’s imagination to wonder exactly what Benik would be prepared to do to them. Jamie tells him that he must have been a nasty little boy, Benik concedes he was, but that he had a very enjoyable childhood.”

But he only gets as far as tugging Victoria’s hair when he’s interrupted by Bruce and (apparently) Salamander. In order to convince Bruce that Salamander is as corrupt as he believes him to be, the Doctor stays in character for a while – and he’s convincing enough to fool both Jamie and Victoria. The recovery of this episode allows us to see a few more nice visual touches – as Jamie and Victoria confront the man they believe to be Salamander, the Doctor takes fright and falls off his chair. He’s then concerned that his friends don’t recognise him, but after miming playing the recorder he’s delighted to find they believe him after all. Just before this, Letts manages to ramp up the tension as he rapidly cuts between close ups of Hines and Watling as they list some of Salamander’s crimes.

Kent and Astrid manage to distract the guard (thanks to some HP sauce, it appears) and Kent hot-foots it to the Research Station. He says he’ll have no trouble getting in, since he has a pass (are we supposed to believe that Salamander wouldn’t have had it cancelled by now?!).

At the same time, Astrid is trying to shake off the guard (through a very unconvincing section of forest – alas, it’s too obvious that it’s a studio mock-up) when she hears a cry for help. She stumbles across a mortally injured Swann, who clearly has come off second best in a tussle with Salamander. It’s interesting that a few minutes earlier Salamander asked Swann if he was sure he wanted to go right up to the surface – the inference being that if he’d changed his mind, Salamander would have spared his life. I’m not sure if that was the scripted intention or just how it was played, but it does make the character of Salamander a little more interesting (was he reluctant to kill? And if so, was it just because he didn’t want to get his own hands dirty?)

As it is, we once again end on a cliff-hanger where neither the Doctor and his friends are in danger. It’s another atypical ending to an atypical (but far from uninteresting) story.

Doctor Who – The Enemy of the World – Episode Four

May 13, 2015July 15, 2016 archivetvmusings Doctor Who BBC, doctor who, patrick troughton, the enemy of the world

Episode four is where the story takes a unexpected turn after Salamander’s underground base is revealed. The Enemy of the World has often been likened to a James Bond film and the eventual reveal that Salamander has been engineering natural disasters (with the help of a group of duped underground workers) places him firmly in the Bond villain category.

It also helps to give the story more of a science fiction/fantasy slant, as up until now it’s been pretty much a contemporary thriller (although set in the future, it could have just as easily been set in 1967). But before this mid-episode about-turn happens, we spend some time with the Doctor, who’s still a master of inactivity.

As a vehicle for Troughton’s Doctor, Enemy isn’t the best, since he’s absent for long stretches to enable him to play Salamander, which makes his limited screen-time when he does play the Doctor even more precious. There’s a definite feeling that the Doctor is still at something of a disadvantage and he only agrees to the impersonation in order to rescue Jamie and Victoria. Kent continues to be totally ruthless, telling the Doctor he has to kill Salamander – if he doesn’t then Kent won’t lift a finger to help his friends. Naturally, the Doctor isn’t happy. “Private justice, eh? Oh no, no. I’ll expose him, ruin him, have him arrested, but I won’t be his executioner. No one has that right.”

In the power struggle between Kent and the Doctor, at present you’d have to say that Kent has the upper hand. Troughton’s Doctor may not quite be the fool that he sometimes appears, but the world of early 21st century politics isn’t his natural environment and he continues to be buffeted along by events, rather than shaping or initiating them.

More evidence comes Kent’s way when Fariah (who appears to be wearing a black bin-bag) offers her help to expose Salamander. The hinted back-story between him and Fariah is teased a little further when she explains that “I have every reason to hate Salamander. He blackmailed me into being his personal servant. I even had to smile when he told me to.” We never find out what he blackmailed her about, as the Doctor is happy to accept her at face value.

There then follows the main action sequence of the story, as Benik and his guards surround Kent’s office (which means that Kent, Astrid, Fariah and the Doctor are trapped). The sequence does show the limitations of studio shooting – Astrid has a fight with a guard that looks terribly unconvincing, whilst the guards make something of an effort to break down Kent’s door, when the wobbles we’ve already seen would imply that just leaning on it would be enough to collapse it!

It’s also another opportunity to see the sadistic side of Benik. He orders the guards to shoot to kill and one does – hitting Fariah. Even when she’s dying, he continues to question her (much to the disgust of the guard captain). And after the captain tells him that she can’t tell him any more, because she’s dead, he’s unruffled, simply saying “good”.

Bruce (Colin Douglas) has been something of a background figure for a few episodes, but the seeds are sown here for the action he’ll take later in the story. We’ve seen that he’s not a man who’ll blindly follow orders (and he lacks Benik’s pleasure in killing). Douglas’ performance is rather bluff (and sometimes he seems to be struggling for his next line) but Bruce is a good counterpoint to the more hysterical Benik.

Prior to the episode being recovered, exactly how Salamander travelled underground was a bit of a mystery, the telesnaps didn’t really cover it and the camera script wasn’t very precise. It’s actually quite an impressive few moments and does sell the illusion that Salamander has journeyed deep underground – where he meets a rather rum bunch of people.

Swann (played by Christopher Burgess, who’ll be cast again several times by Barry Letts in later Who stories) is the leader, whilst Mary (Margaret Hickey) and Colin (Adam Verney) are two of the younger workers. Verney is incredibly earnest, delivering his lines as if his life depended on it. “Don’t stop me now. I’ve got to see the surface, Mary, I’ve got to. I want to see the Sun again, walk on top of the Earth, not hide like a rat underground. I’ve got to do it, Mary. I’ve got to ask him.” True, his dialogue is a bit ripe, but it would have been nice if he’d approached it in a more naturalistic way.

The story teases us as we learn that the underground workers believe the surface to be radioactive and that it’s not safe to leave the safety of the bunker. They also believe Salamander to be their benefactor, risking his life to bring them supplies. But the reason why they’re there isn’t revealed until the next episode, although those who’ve been following the story could probably work it out.

We end with the arrival of an unseen visitor paying a visit to Kent and the Doctor …..

Doctor Who – The Enemy of the World – Episode Two

May 11, 2015July 15, 2016 archivetvmusings Doctor Who BBC, deobrah watling, doctor who, frazer hines, patrick troughton, the enemy of the world

The Doctor manages to bluff Bruce into believing that he’s Salamander, but afterwards he’s still not convinced that he should help. “I don’t know where you stand, Mister Kent, but you and this Salamander are obviously on opposite sides. That at least is clear. But which side is good? Which side is bad? And why should I interfere?”

Kent’s proposal is that Jamie and Victoria infiltrate Salamander’s HQ (using a plan he’d already devised for his own operatives) to find proof of his criminal activities. Given the Doctor’s reluctance to get involved, it’s a little strange that he agrees so freely to this, as it will place both Jamie and Victoria in terrible danger. We’ve seen the manipulative side of Troughton’s Doctor before, notably with his treatment of Jamie in Whitaker’s The Evil of the Daleks, but it’s still difficult to believe that he would agree to such a risky plan so readily.

As Jamie and Victoria leave for the Central European Zone, Kent suggests that he and the Doctor take a look at the Kanowa Research Station. They won’t reach there until episode three, but we briefly see inside it this episode, as we meet a character who’ll become more central to the story later on – Benik (Milton Johns). Before we go inside, there’s an establishing shot of the outside of the building. Although it’s represented by a still photo, it’s a nice touch that a small piece of foliage is slowly waved very close to the camera, increasing the impression that it’s a live action shot. It’s a very simple trick, but quite effective.

Like many of the actors in Enemy of the World, Milton Johns would make several appearances in Doctor Who as well notching up hundreds of other credits. Frankly, he’s something of a national treasure – one of many, many actors of this era who could always be guaranteed to enliven whatever tv show or film he appeared in. Never the lead, but always solid support.

He’s tended to specialise in playing odd, weak or ineffectual characters and Benik fits into all three categories quite nicely. We’ll discuss Benik in more depth later on, but even in his single scene here it’s quite possible to get a good grasp of his character. He occupies a position of some power and he’s no problems with exercising this authority (witness his confrontation with Bruce). But there’s something slightly repellent about him and he certainly doesn’t give off a very trustworthy vibe.

We then move to the Central European Zone, where we get our first proper look at Salamander. He’s got an interesting accent which at times does slightly rob the character of a little of his menace, but it’s Troughton, so you know that he’s always going to deliver a nuanced performance that will command the screen.

He’s meeting with the Zone controller Denes (George Pravda) and Fedorin (David Nettheim). Salamander warns that the Zone will shortly suffer a devastating earthquake. Denes is polite, but noncommittal, although he promises to have his experts check the data (much to Salamander’s irritation). Denes is another of Kent’s allies, although when he speaks to Astrid later he mentions that the meeting he just had with Salamander was the first time he’d met him. This would imply that Denes has only just been made controller, as surely he would have had contact with him on a regular basis. And since he’s never met him, why is he so convinced that Salamander is evil?

Once Denes leaves, Salamander explains to Fedorin exactly what will happen next. Denes will die and Fedorin will take over. Salamander has incriminating evidence (faked, if we believe Fedorin) on Fedorin, but doesn’t plan to use it, “this just an insurance, hmm?” It’s a joy to watch Troughton’s Salamander steamroller the ineffectual Fedorin and it gives us an early indication that he’s utterly ruthless – replace an honest man with one that you have a hold over and your power-base is immeasurably stronger. David Nettheim’s role isn’t particularly large (he only appears in this and the next episode) but his twitchy, anxious turn is a memorable one.

Barry Letts elects to use back projection for the park scenes, which is an innovative, if not entirely successful, attempt to suggest the action is taking place outdoors and not in the studio. After the initial location splurge at the start of episode one, the rest of the story is largely studio bound so it was reasonable enough to try and open things out. When he became producer of Doctor Who, Letts would delight in using CSO in ways that few other directors would ever attempt, so it’s not surprising that he tried something similar here. It looks just as fake as CSO often did, but we’ll give him points for effort.

The other major character introduced in this episode is Fariah (Carmen Munroe). She’s one of Salamander’s servants, but Fedorin observes that she doesn’t appear to be an ordinary servant. Fariah tells him that she’s his food taster, as there have been many attempts to poison him. As her contempt for Salamander is barely concealed, Fedorin wonders why she decided to work for him. Fariah tells him that Salamander has a way of persuading people and Salamander’s own comments on her are quite noteworthy. “She was hungry. Only thing is, now she has all the food she needs, she’s lost her appetite. Both Troughton and Munroe are skillfully able to imply an intriguing back-story with just a few lines.

Meanwhile Jamie and Victoria have managed to win Salamander’s confidence (in a slightly unbelievable way, it must be said). Salamander’s security must be really poor for Jamie to be able to get within touching distance of him without any of his guards being able to stop him. Although his ruthless streak is made even clearer when he tells his guards to take the guard that Jamie overpowered away. “Look after him. Better still, get rid of him.”

Episode two ends with Salamander’s forecasted volcanic eruptions. This is achieved, less than satisfactorily, via stock footage which doesn’t at all match with the clean VT studio sequences. It’s also a little strange that Salamander quite calmly watches the devastation from the veranda in his Presidential Palace, which implies that that the eruptions can’t be too far away. But at no time does anybody suggest that they should leave and move to a safer place.

Salamander orders Denes to be arrested and we then see a rather odd cliffhanger which ends on the worried face of Fedorin who’s clearly deciding whether to agree to Salamander’s plan or support Denes. It’s a convenient place to pause the story, but rather atypical (normally we’d expect to see one of the regulars in peril).

Doctor Who – The Enemy of the World – Episode One

May 10, 2015July 15, 2016 archivetvmusings Doctor Who BBC, deborah watling, doctor who, frazer hines, patrick troughton, the enemy of the world

Even some eighteen months later, there’s a faint air of unreality about the recovery of The Enemy of the World and The Web of Fear.

Maybe this is because the notion of complete (or nearly complete) stories returning to the archives seemed to be such a remote possibility. Yes, it had happened back in 1992 with Tomb, but as time went on that appeared to be a miraculous one off. Post-Tomb, we’d become conditioned that the small (but very welcome) trickle of orphaned episodes would be all we could ever expect.

The recovery of these nine episodes changed that though and it allows us to reassess a substantial chunk of season five. For most people, including myself, viewing these two stories was a very different experience from watching The Tomb of the Cybermen back in 1992. Tomb might have been a legendary lost story, but in 1992 I didn’t even have a complete collection of the existing episodes (although I was well on the way). So Tomb was just another story and I approached it with none of the baggage that some older fans would have had.

Enemy and Web were very different. I’d had the orphaned episodes for twenty five years and the audios for nearly as long. So the small amount of existing visual material and the audio of the remaining episodes were very familiar – meaning that finally being able to put pictures to the sounds was an exciting, if slightly nerve-wracking experience, first time around.

This was Barry Letts’ first brush with the series and it’s apt that episode one features both a hovercraft and a helicopter, given that the Pertwee era would show a similar love of hardware. The opening ten minutes or so are mostly shot on film and they help to give the story a glossy, expansive start. As a first-time director on the show, Letts was clearly keen to push as far as he could and there’s some impressive shots (such as the POV from the helicopter showing Anton and Rod firing as it pulls away) that maybe a more experienced (or jaded) director wouldn’t have bothered with.

The early minutes are peppered with some lovely visual moments – such as the Doctor stripping down to his long-johns to take a dip in the ocean. This emphases the Troughton Doctor’s child-like nature although he’s also quick to sense that the approaching hovercraft means them harm (although this seems to be via a sixth sense as there’s no visual clue).

The hovercraft is piloted by Anton (Henry Stamper), Rod (Rhys McConnochie) and Curly (Simon Cain). It’s Anton who gets the lion’s share of their dialogue, although sadly it’s not particularly memorable and Stamper’s unsubtle delivery doesn’t help. Thankfully, all three are put out of our misery shortly afterwards.

The Doctor, Jamie and Victoria are rescued by Astrid (Mary Peach). Our first sight of Astrid is from the rear and it’s easy to believe that this was a deliberate shot-choice from Letts as Ms Peach does have a rather attractive derriere. Certainly something for the dads there!

But although it’s impossible to deny that Astrid is an objectified figure right from the start, she’s also a strong, capable woman at a time when that was still something of a rarity in Doctor Who. There are other examples in the Troughton era – Anne Travers in the next story and Gia Kelly in The Seeds of Death, for example – but they were still the exception rather than the rule.

After the Doctor attended to a flesh-wound she picked up during their escape, she begins to delicately pump him for information. Once she learns he’s a Doctor, Astrid wonders in what field, possibly law or philosophy. Troughton’s reply, with a faint smile playing around his lips, of “which law? Whose philosophies, eh?” is another of those lovely moments that only works when you have the visuals to match up to the soundtrack. And it does make you wonder just how many more examples of Troughton’s magic are lost on the audio-only episodes.

Another nice moment comes shortly afterwards when she tells the Doctor that he’s “the most wonderful and marvellous man that’s ever dropped out of the skies” and asks if he’ll do something for her. The Doctor’s quite taken with her compliment and dreamily tells her that, yes, he will. But he’s brought up sharply when Astrid tells him it’ll probably cost him his life! It’s a gag moment, as it’s impossible to believe that the Doctor would ever be taken in by such a cheap piece of flattery, but it’s still amusing.

What happens next is interesting. The Doctor seems reluctant to meet with Astrid’s boss, Giles Kent (Bill Kerr) and wishes to leave. It’s Jamie who for reasons unknown (perhaps he fancies Astrid?) tries to persuade him to stay. The Doctor’s inaction during the story was mainly for practical reasons – an episode could either largely feature Troughton as the Doctor or as Salamander, but it would be hard to do both. So the Doctor had to drop out of the narrative for a few episodes in order for Salamander to dominate. Therefore, if the Doctor had agreed to the impersonation straight away, then the story would have been over much sooner.

There could be another reason though – since the story was scripted by David Whitaker, the show’s original script editor, whose view of the series was very different from those who came after (especially Dennis Spooner). Something very consistent in the Whitaker script-edited stories is that the Doctor never decides to stay and help purely out of a sense of moral duty (instead it’s generally because he’s unable to leave – the TARDIS is taken by Marco Polo, the lock of the TARDIS is stolen in The Sensorites, the TARDIS is trapped by a fallen girder in The Dalek Invasion of Earth, etc). It’s therefore quite reasonable for Whitaker to script a Doctor who’s reluctant to act.

This is unusual for the series at this time though, where the Doctor is generally quite happy to pitch in straight away. But it’s an interesting move, as whilst Giles Kent is very convincing in painting Salamander as a villain, there’s little actual evidence to back this up. For anybody familiar with the parameters of the series to date, it would seem clear that Salamander = Bad and Giles = Good. As we’ll see though, things aren’t quite as clear cut and this is an early example of the series taking a more pessimistic world-view where few, if any people, can be trusted. Possibly the best example of this is The Caves of Androzani which must be unique in lacking any characters (outside of the regulars) that could be said to be wholly “good”.

But even this early on, we have clear evidence that Kent is a ruthless manipulator. He wants the Doctor to impersonate Salamander but obviously knows that he’ll take a great deal of persuading. So he contacts Salamander’s head of security Donald Bruce (Colin Douglas). Since they’re implacable enemies, quite what he says is something of a mystery, but Bruce turns up shortly afterwards and Kent gives the Doctor an ultimatum. He has to impersonate Salamander and he has to be good enough to fool Bruce, otherwise the lives of Jamie and Victoria will be forfeit.

Late Night Line Up – Z Cars

May 10, 2015May 10, 2015 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1960's, YouTube BBC, youtube, z cars

I’ve uploaded some more archive bits and bobs to my YouTube channel, including this fascinating edition of Late Night Line Up from the mid 1960’s, which takes a look behind-the-scenes at Z Cars.

Dixon of Dock Green – Conspiracy

May 5, 2015May 5, 2015 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, dixon of dock green, jack warner, peter byrne

No police series could ever hope to avoid the thorny topic of corruption within the force, but it’s fair to say that it was always a difficult one for Dixon of Dock Green to face. This is due to the overwhelmingly positive picture of the police force always painted by the series (which by the mid 1970’s made it clearly something of an anachronism).

Z Cars’ first episode (Four of a Kind, tx 2/1/62) showed us coppers who made bets on duty and would think nothing of giving their wife a black eye. So for all of Dixon’s strengths, Z Cars (and other later series including The Sweeney) did tend to be streets ahead when it came to showing the police’s weaknesses as well as their strengths.

But Dixon did occasionally tackle police corruption. The most famous example is The Rotten Apple (1956), largely because it’s one of only a handful of episodes from the 1950’s and 1960’s to survive. And the fact that the bent copper was a very young Paul Eddington also helped to keep it in the public consciousness (via clips in documentaries, for example).

A more recent episode, Eye Witness, also had an interesting throwaway moment – when the villain told his henchmen that they’d be able to track down the witness currently held in police protection since they had a pipeline into most police stations up and down the country. Nothing actually comes of this in story terms (the witness is found another way) but it’s an subtle acknowledgment that corruption was rife in the 1970’s.

N.J. Crisp’s Conspiracy (originally transmitted on the 10th of May 1975) is essentially a three-hander – shared between Dixon, Crawford and PC Len Warren (Andrew Burt). Dixon receives an anonymous letter claiming that Warren was seen drinking with a criminal out on probation, Ben Randall (Jon Laurimore). Warren is the chief prosecution witness in Randall’s upcoming case, which makes the allegations even more damaging.

Dixon regretfully tells Andy that ten years ago they could have simply thrown this letter in the bin, but now it has to be investigated. Andy’s keen to call in A10 (the department created to investigate matters like this) but Dixon wants to keep it in-house for now (which causes friction between them).

Warren is portrayed as an ambitious man, keen for promotion. His over-zealous nature and his strict adherence to the law means that he has few friends (either within or outside the force). He’s a loner, who likes to bend the rules occasionally, and Dixon tells Andy that he sees much of the young PC Crawford in him (although Andy doesn’t take this as a compliment!).

Although the circumstantial evidence of Warren’s guilt is strong (and the story does throw in a few scenes that seem deliberately designed to show him in a bad light, which is something of a cheat) eventually it’s proved that he didn’t accept a bribe from Randall. But he’s already decided to resign, since he found the investigations into his private affairs (such as questions about how he could afford to buy a new car) to be incredibly intrusive. Dixon tells him that it’s part of the price he has to pay for being a police officer, but for Randall it’s clearly unacceptable.

Conspiracy was originally planned to be the final Dixon episode (another series was only given the go-ahead very late in the day). When you know this, it’s easy to see how it was crafted in order to conclude the series. For one thing, Dixon is much much centre-stage than normal (by this time he’s usually relegated to giving sage advice from behind the station desk). There’s also several key speeches from Dixon which make specific points. The first is directed at Andy.

I remember, a long time ago now, a young copper on the beat pressing hard to get into CID. I remember that same young copper as a detective constable, always convinced that he knew best. And later as a detective sergeant who wasn’t above ignoring the book when it suited him. You, Andy. You’ve crossed your fingers and taken a few shortcuts in your time. Mostly they worked out but sometimes they didn’t. Do you know why it took you so long to become a detective-inspector? You got the reputation for bending the rules. But you’re a good copper. And so is Warren.

The second occurs a few minutes later and is directed at Warren. It’s a signature moment for Jack Warner and it’s very clear that he feels every word. As the camera slowly closes in on Dixon’s face, Warner seems to be struggling to hold his emotions together – as presumably he believed this would be the last time he’d play the role. It’s a beautifully delivered monologue.

All the years I’ve spent as a copper, I think every minute’s been worth it. Oh, the police force isn’t perfect. It can’t be. It’s manned by ordinary men. I know we talk about red tape and frustration when a villain goes free and the harm done by the occasional bent copper. But, for all the criticism, the police are there to protect the public, and that’s what we do. We curb violence. We do our best to deal with villains who want to prey on society. I’ve been proud to have been a part of that. Even a small part. It’s been my life for a long time now and I don’t regret any of it.

Dixon and Andy then exit the station as the camera tracks up to show the blue lamp above the door, which is followed by the end credits. This is a subtle nod to the original film and had the series ended there then it would have been a very decent conclusion.

Instead, we’ve one more series to look forward to, although Conspiracy is still the end of an era as Peter Byrne decided not to return. As a regular since the very first episode in 1955 (which was titled PC Crawford’s First Pinch) Crawford was as much a part of the fabric of the series as Dixon himself and his presence will certainly be missed.

Dixon of Dock Green – A Slight Case of Love

May 4, 2015May 4, 2015 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, dixon of dock green, jack warner, julian glover, peter byrne

A Slight Case of Love opens in a non-linear fashion, but the reason why quickly becomes clear. We see a woman telling her fiance that their marriage is impossible, since she has to care for her invalid mother. This is repeated twice more – with different men but the same woman (although her appearance changes each time). We then see each of the men hand over a cheque for one thousand pounds.

And this is only the tip of the iceberg as the woman, Kate Harris (Moira Redmond), has also conned at least four other men. Crawford and Brewer have little to go on – apart from the irate responses of her victims. One of them, George Bunning (Alec Wallis), can probably be taken as typical, as he’s incredibly angry and demands immediate action from Crawford – warning him that if there’s not a satisfactory conclusion he’ll make Crawford suffer. Needless to say, Andy’s neither impressed or cowed by this.

This makes the response of Harris’ eighth victim, Lewis Naylor (Julian Glover), even more extraordinary. He’s also keen to find her, but he doesn’t want her to go to prison – he still wants to marry her and so wouldn’t want his wife to have received a prison sentence.

Naylor is a powerful man (a merchant banker) and it’s hard at first to know if his motives are quite what he claims them to be. This is due to Julian Glover’s icily efficient and clipped performance. It’s one we’ve seen from him many times before (his career has often consisted of him playing villains and rogues) so there’s a certain ambiguity in his playing. But it soon becomes clear that he’s completely sincere and, though he knows he’s not the first she’s conned, to him it doesn’t matter.

Later, we see why Kate has carried out these deceptions – together with her sister Fleur (Isla Blair) she owns a pottery business that is suffering from considerable financial difficulties. If they don’t find eight thousand pounds then the bank will foreclose on their loan. It explains why, although when the law catches up with her it’ll hardly be a defence.

Naylor does visit Dock Green but it becomes clear to him that whilst they also want to find the woman, when they do she’ll suffer the full penalties of the law. So he leaves to hire a private detective to track her down whilst Brewer ponders on the two mugshot pictures he’s picked out. No other victims were able to identify anybody from the photos held by the police, which strikes Brewer as a little odd. Dixon surmises that it may be because although Naylor knows they’re not the ones, he wants to question them to see if they know Kate’s true identity.

This is a reasonable assumption, but it’s never followed through and the true reason seems to be that it allows the Dock Green boys to visit the two suspects, add them both to the identity parades, and also bulk out the running time of the episode. But both encounters are good fun, especially Andy’s run-in with Heather (Mela White). Andy and Heather are old acquaintances, although she insists that she’s now going straight and tells him she’s writing a memoir of her colourful career entitled Horizontal Confessions. Andy caustically responds that it should be titled A Hard Time Was Had By All (!).

A Slight Case of Love is an interesting tale of morality. Both Kate and Fleur are unrepentant – they needed eight thousand pounds and they took it from people who wouldn’t miss a thousand each (Kate considers they would be able to write it off as petty cash). As a hard-headed, rational businessman, Naylor’s desire to marry her (even though he knows that she’s a serial con-artist) seems inexplicable – and can only be explained away by the fact that he’s in love.

Naylor’s private detective manages to find Kate, which allows the Dock Green coppers to take her into custody. Five of her victims are lined up to pick her out of an identity parade – four do so and one doesn’t (the one who doesn’t is, naturally, Naylor). Dixon’s outro tells us that Kate was convicted but also that on her release Naylor was waiting and he closes by saying that it’s “not every discharged prisoner who comes out to spend her honeymoon in the Bahamas.”

Julian Glover gives an excellent performance and he’s the main reason why this episode works as well as it does. A lesser actor might have struggled with the apparant contridications of his character, but Glover is never less than totally assured. Moira Redmond (a familar face from both films and television) has a hard role to play – does she love Naylor or is she simply marrying him for his money? But this ambiguity is something that Redmond can play with and it helps to provide a little spark to the story. Glover’s real-life wife, Isla Blair, played Fleur. It’s the less rewarding, more passive role, but it’s always a pleasure to see her.

This is one where the detection is pretty minimal (and it’s the private detective that does most of the work anyway, although Crawford is happy with that). Instead, the focus is on the rather mismatched pairing of Kate Harris and Lewis Naylor.

Timeshift – Live on the Night: The Story of Live TV Drama

May 3, 2015May 3, 2015 archivetvmusings BBC Documentaries, YouTube BBC, brian blessed, dixon of dock green, nigel kneale, peter byrne, quatermass ii, timeshift, youtube, z cars

I’ve uploaded some bits and bobs to my YouTube channel over the last few days and one of them is this Timeshift documentary from 2004.

It tells the story of live British television drama – from the early days and then right up to date. Covering programmes like the original Quatermass serials, Nineteen Eighty-Four, Dixon of Dock Green and Z Cars and featuring interviews with Nigel Kneale, Peter Byrne and Brian Blessed amongst others, it ties neatly into some of the shows that I’ve written about in recent months.

Dixon of Dock Green – Looters Ltd.

May 3, 2015February 12, 2017 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, dixon of dock green, jack warner, peter byrne

Charlie Barnet (Sam Kydd) is an old time villain, newly released from prison. In his prime he could scale any building – but a bad fall on his last job put paid to that and now he’s reduced to walking with a stick. On the way back to his welcome home party he notices a man (played by Robin Ford) being mugged and intervenes.

He leaves his name and address with Sgt Wills and promises to pop into the station later to make a statement. But when Dixon learns his identity, he realises that it’s unlikely that he’d make an appearance under his own steam, so he decides to gently gatecrash his party.

The relationship between Dixon and Charlie is a familiar one from the series (and in fact you can date it right back to the original film The Blue Lamp). Charlie may be a criminal, but he’s an honourable one and there’s something of a grudging respect shown by Dixon towards him – one professional to another. When Dixon crashes the party, there’s an awkward silence from most of the guests (mistrust of the police is obviously ingrained) but Charlie’s polite and hospitable, offering him a drink. Dixon accepts (compare this to Harry’s Back where we see Dixon look askance at a drink bought for him by Harry). George then offers to find Charlie some work.

At the start of The Blue Lamp, a voice-over contrasts the type of decent old-school criminal (like Charlie) with the younger, wilder criminal element who use violence without thinking. It’s an interesting dichotomy – which is also expressed in this story as on the one hand we have Charlie and on the other we see his son Ray (Terry Cowling).

By a remarkable coincidence, Ray was one of the muggers who attacked the man in the street (Ray later gave Charlie the mugged man’s gold wristwatch as a present). Charlie tells his son he’s ashamed of him, but doesn’t want him to go straight. “I’m talking about you learning a proper trade. I don’t want no son of mine to turn out to be a small-time mugger. A proper trade. Like I had.” He offers to have a word with one of his friends, but he’s told that “the young-un’s today, they’re too wild.” which reiterates the chasm between old-school career criminals and the younger ones.

The rest of the family are doing nicely – Charlie’s wife Olive (Margery Mason) and their daughter Diana (Gwyneth Powell) run a thriving business, offering virtually anything for sale at reasonable weekly installments. Naturally, all of their stock is stolen – they’re prolific shoplifters.

Sam Kydd delivers a nice turn as the head of a thoroughly criminal household and Gwyneth Powell (previously seen in Eye Witness), Margery Mason and Terry Cowling offer very solid support. And the opening party scene is great fun, with the sort of bad-taste visuals that clearly mark this as the mid seventies!

Gerald Kelsey was a prolific writer for Dixon (forty three episodes between 1963 and 1976) although the majority no longer exist. But on the evidence of this one he had a good grasp of what made the series tick – namely the conflict between the police and their prey.

Dixon of Dock Green – Baubles, Bangles and Beads

May 2, 2015September 6, 2015 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, dixon of dock green, jack warner, peter byrne

Baubles, Bangles and Beads opens with a scene that could have come from The Sweeney. A police car is in hot pursuit of another car which contains three dangerous-looking characters (played by Brian Glover, Johnny Shannon and Frank Jarvis). They’re desperately looking for a place to stash a bag of stolen jewellery, but the police car is too close behind. In desperation they fling it out of the window and it lands in somebody’s back garden. Unfortunately for them, it doesn’t remain there for long …..

Given how much of Dixon is lost (only thirty two episodes exist from over four hundred made) it’s hard to get a feel for the variety of stories that the series might have tackled. And one thing we haven’t seen so far with the colour episodes is one played for laughs, until Baubles, Bangles and Beads.

It’s an interesting culture clash as we see three old school villains – Chuck (Brian Glover), Bert (Jonnny Shannon) and Syd (Frank Jarvis) – confronted with the bewildering world of alternative religion. The bag of jewellery was found by Eric (Leon Vitali) who has been squatting with Phil (Peter Denyer). Both are seeking enlightenment – although Phil seems to be further down this road than Eric (which is something he takes great pleasure in pointing out to his unfortunate friend several times).

Eric’s a simple trusting soul whilst Phil is rather humourless and dogmatic. When Eric expresses dismay over Phil’s purchase of tomatoes (Eric can’t eat them as they make him sick) Phil has no sympathy. “That’s what I call giving in to your lower centres. Don’t you realise the body is always trying to subvert your higher consciousness?”

They move from the squat to another location and in the room opposite is Marion (Kitty Stevenson) and several of her friends. Like Eric and Phil, Marion and the others are also seeking enlightenment, although they do so in ways that shock Eric. When he pops over to ask for a match, he rushes back to Phil to tell him that they’re meditating – but with no clothes on. Phil takes the news quite calmly. “That’s nothing. That’s your trouble, that is. You’re carnal oriented. I’ll go see ’em.” Marion later explains that “to deny the body, one must first see it as it is, in all its gross intransigence.”

She’s learnt this from Guru Rhum Rhaji. His Temple – the Temple of Godly Effulgence – is close to their flat and Eric, iimpressed with what he’s learnt about him, joins Marion to pay homage. Eric’s delighted to hear that Rhaji doesn’t charge people to enter his Temple (unlike Phil’s guru, Shashti Ap Davies, who requires 10% of all his disciples earnings). Rhaji is pleased to accept gifts though – although he refuses the one offered by Eric (a rather indifferent picture). So the next time he goes along, Eric takes something that he’s sure will be acceptable – the bag of jewellery. And unsurprisingly, Rhaji accepts this offering.

Rhaji bears some similarity to the likes of the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi. By the mid seventies, he would have been best known by many people for his brief association with The Beatles (and also for their later denunciation of him as a fake). Baubles, Bangles and Beads also takes this line – that some religions are nothing more than a con. As Sgt Wills says, the people who believe (like Eric, Phil and Marion) are decent enough, but the inference is they’re nothing more than fools being misled by tricksters.

This is made plain when Rhaji and his sidekick are exposed as two very English con-men – Ernie Bishop and Gus Todd. This is a funny scene (although the fact they’re browned up and affecting cod Indian accents probably means that not everybody will see the joke). Once they’ve been rumbled by Dixon, they remove their false beards and turbans (with Gus changing from an Indian accent to a Cockney one, telling Dixon that it’s “nice to get this clobber off. Don’t half make you sweat, you know.”) Ernie’s unrepentant, telling Dixon and Wills that “we’ve all got to earn a crust haven’t we?” He then admits that there’s “more money in religion, pays quite well.”

Although the message of the story may strike some as a little narrow-minded, the comedic performances of Peter Denyer, Leon Vitali and Kitty Stevenson make up for it. Denyer (who died far too young, at just 62 in 2009) had two signature roles – Dennis Dunstable in Please Sir! and Ralph in Dear John. Both of those characters were rather dim, as is Phil here, but the difference with Phil is that he doesn’t realise it. Denyer perfectly captures Phil’s parrot-like nature (it’s clear that everything he says has been learnt by rote from Shashti Ap Davies and he has no original thoughts of his own).

Leon Vitali also appeared in Please Sir! (although just one episode) and later was a regular in the spin-off series The Fenn Street Gang. He also seems to have been a favourite of Stanley Kubrick (appearing in both Barry Lyndon and Eyes Wide Shut). Although Eric seems somewhat naive, he ends up in a much better position than Phil – since he elects to stay with Marion (who’s going to teach him mediation and maybe other things). One delightful scene later in the story occurs when Marion decides that the only way for Eric to conquer his carnal thoughts is to confront them head on – and as the camera tastefully pans away, the audience can guess the rest.

This was Kitty Stevenson’s sole television credit, which is a little surprising since she gives a deft comic performance. Elsewhere, Brian Glover, Johnny Shannon and Frank Jarvis are three very familiar television faces who help to enliven proceedings.

This is one of two episodes from series twenty one that only exists as an off-air recording (presumably made at the BBC, although domestic video recorders were available at the time). There’s some picture interference, but for a recording of this age it’s not too bad. It’s obviously several rungs down from the original VT, but it’s better to have it than not.

An unexpected comic episode, it may not be to everyone’s tastes but I found plenty to enjoy.

Dixon of Dock Green – Seven for a Secret – Never to be Told

May 1, 2015May 1, 2015 archivetvmusings BBC Drama - 1970's BBC, dixon of dock green, jack warner, peter byrne

Seven for a Secret – Never to be Told has an eye-catching opening. A man enters a house, cigarette in mouth. Once inside he strikes a light and there’s a deafening explosion. Gas is the culprit, but it wasn’t a leak – all the gas points had been deliberately turned on. The discovery of a woman’s body points to suicide, but there’s a few things (such as an open window) which strike Dixon as odd.

The dead woman was called Mrs Pengelley. Her neighbour paints a less than flattering picture of her – an alcoholic who also enjoyed the company of many male friends. She did have a husband, Alf (Forbes Collins), but he claims not to have seen her for several years. One of her recent liaisons, Ralph Harding (Andrew Bradford), has disappeared – and what concerns the Dock Green officers is that he has the Pengelley’s sixteen-year old daughter Chrissie (June Page) with him.

Dixon’s pieces to camera, which traditionally top and tail the programme, can often set the mood of the episode as well as informing the viewer about the type of story they can expect. Here, Dixon’s quite upfront in telling us that there wasn’t actually a Pengelly case at all – which leads the viewer to suppose that no crime was committed. That’s a nice piece of misdirection and it keeps the story ticking along until all the pieces of the puzzle are put into place right at the end.

It’s clear from the start that there’s a bond of secrecy between Ralph and Chrissie (hence the title). The obvious inference is that he’s killed Mrs Pengelly and taken the girl away for reasons of his own. There’s certainly several indications that this might be so and Bradford gives a nicely off-kilter performance. Later, we learn that Ralph suffered as a boy at the hands of his abusive father and was institutionalised for several years. As for Chrissie, her father told Crawford and Brewer that she was “a bit backward, like.” June Page captures this well – giving her a child-like naivety and a blankness that marks her out as a potential victim.

This was another all-film episode and moving into the countryside in the second half (as Crawford and Brewer pursue Ralph and Chrissie) allows for a sharp change from the normal visuals. The Dock Green environs are rather grimy and rundown, so the beauty of the open countryside is very different. It’s just a pity that, as with all the film inserts we’ve seen, it now looks so poor (a decent restoration would have made a considerable difference).

Jack Warner has a few nice scenes, as he questions several witnesses, although his lack of mobility is pretty obvious. He’s either very static or if he has to walk, we only see him take a few steps before the camera cuts away. The most obvious example of this is at the fairground, where the brief shot of him walking makes it painfully obvious just how slow he now is.

Seven for a Secret – Never to be Told was the second story of the twenty first series (originally broadcast on the 22nd of February 1975). It’s odd that it followed the series opener, Target, since that was another all-film production (you would have assumed they’d want to spread the few film stories out a bit). It’s undeniably a slow, character piece but June Page and Andrew Bradford are both worth watching – as they’re a strangely mis-matched couple whose bond with each other only becomes clear right at the end.

Also good value is Denis Goacher as Sgt. Dawes, the country copper who assists Crawford and Brewer in tracking down Ralph and Chrissie. His performance has a delightful slowness to it and this clashes with the urgency of the London officers. But he’s no fool – he spots a clue that Crawford and Brewer miss and his knowledge of the area proves to be invaluable.

Not the most memorable Dixon episode to have survived, but Derek Ingrey’s script is not without merit. He was quite a prolific writer for the series – penning nineteen episodes between 1972 and 1976. Two more of his scripts from this series (Baubles, Bangles and Beads and A Slight Case of Love) exist as do all of the five stories he contributed to the final series in 1976.