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A Very Peculiar Practice – Contact Tracer

archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1980's, BBC Drama - 1980's , , , , ,

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At the start of this episode Lyn and Stephen enjoy a relaxing post-coital moment. Lyn tells him that she’s his best client and that their experiences (with the names changed of course) will make valuable research material. Is she attempting to unsettle him with her talk of other partners – all part of her researches maybe? Stephen, although he’s immensely grateful to Lyn, can’t help but feel like an experiment subject. At one point he likens himself to a “smoking beagle”.

John Bird returns as Vice Chancellor Ernest Hemmingway with Frances White appearing as his ever-loyal secretary Dorothy Hampton. The members of the practice are called to an early morning meeting with the VC, where the drinks on offer – apple juice – doesn’t meet with the approval of Bob (“I’m not a bloody hippy”).

Hemmingway is a jargon-spouting bureaucrat, keen for the practice to pay its way. Stephen’s weak protestation (made even less impressive by the way he’s clutching his carton of apple juice) that they have an impressive treatment rate piques the VC’s interest for a fleeting second, but since it’s not actually something that’s generating income he’s unsure of how they can spin it into a success story.

Stephen’s encounter with Jeannie MacAllister (Geraldine Alexander) has unforseen consequences. She’s charming and Stephen is his usual affable and friendly self, but she’s also a journalist and despite Stephen’s protests that he can’t discuss confidential medical matters with her, he attempts to put a positive spin on their treatment successes. Alas, this means that he turns into Doctor Blue Eyes whilst their success at treating VD becomes a major talking point of the article.

But then there’s a rash – as it were – of cases of sexually transmitted diseases. Stephen and Rose Marie, of course, are delicate, patient and understanding with their patients whilst Bob is forthright, brisk and uncaring. “Below the waist I take it? Front or back? So we’ve got a bit of tool trouble, well, well, well”. Jock is his usual avuncular self, telling one student that it’s “one of the minor penalties extracted from us by the goddess aphorpdite”.

With thirteen cases in two days (“trouble with the trouser snake” as Bob puts it) Jock and the others have a race against time to stop the epidemic growing. Graham Crowden once again ramps the intensity up and effortlessly steals the scene as Jock rages to Bob that they have to tackle this undercover and with a Falklands spirit. Later bulletins to the troops (“we’re holding the enemy, but only just”) are delivered in the same entertaining military manner.

With only a limited number of extras on hand, a little bit of creative work ensures that the illusion of a stream of patients is created. First, we see a number of mute patients before rapidly cutting to close-ups of the doctors as they continue to work their way through a backlog of appointmemts. By this point we simply have to accept that the unseen people they’re talking to are actually there.

Bob’s rundown of which departments were the worst offenders is a classic VPP moment. “Arts Faculty produced the largest number of cases. Idle sods. Too much time on their hands. Whole department’s going down like dominos. Similar pattern with the secretaries and porters, and Communication Studies lived up to their name. Waitresses and bar staff were a problem till we sewed up the catering managers’ trousers with cobbler’s thread. Sociologists only appear to do it with each other and we’ve got control there. Engineers, you’ll be interested to hear, have a very low rate of sexual activity. Singing about it in the bar seems to be their only outlet. And Physical Sciences hardly troubled the scorer”.

The nuns – who have been ever-present background figures – call in to see Jock. Stephen’s shocked expression – surely, they can’t have … ? – offers Peter Davison a lovely reaction moment. The late twist that even the VC is affected is another gift for Davison as Stephen is forced to reluctantly approach Hemmingway in his den. Naturally, the VC immediatly jumps to the conclusion that Stephen’s attempting to blackmail him.

The VC is appreciative but as a skilled politician he finds it impossible to believe that Stephen won’t attempt to use this embarrassing information at a later date. So Stephen’s told gently but firmly that his days at Lowlands are strictly numbered ….

A Very Peculiar Practice – Black Bob’s Hamburger Suit

archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1980's, BBC Drama - 1980's , , , ,

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An old school friend of Bob’s, Jimmy Partington (David Gwillim), is able to put a potentially lucrative consultancy deal his way. Jimmy, now working for Hamburger – a major international pharmaceutical company – wants him to trial Confidan, a wonder drug that can cure just about any ill.

And with Jock under pressure from the Vice Chancellor, this could be just the sort of thing to prove their worth. Bob ropes Stephen in and the pair start to prescribe the drug (Stephen as and when required, Bob to anybody who walks through the door). Everything seems to be going swimmingly, until ….

Black Bob’s Hamburger Suit is, as the title suggests, a Bob-centric episode. This is a very good thing. Given a little more time and space, David Troughton is able to flesh out the character of Bob Buzzard very nicely. We start by dropping in on his home life (a swooping camera pan across a number of expensive-looking, but identical houses). After a few hurried and angry words with his wife, Daphne (Kay Stoneham), he’s straight into his car. His first job is drop his boys, Ollie and Simon, off at school.

Diminutive and bespectacled, they decide that daddy is in one of his rages. The way that Bob drives – aggressively and fast – suggests this is so, however much he denies it. His children don’t seem to have a very happy school life – duffed up by the boarders who refer to them as double-glazing salesmen. No doubt this is due to their impressive briefcases – gifts from a prestigious multi-national drugs company.

Bob is clearly happy to receive trinkets like this (as well as an expensive new suit of which he’s very proud) but until he meets Jimmy he doesn’t seem to be aware that further rewards could be his. Not only money, but a trip to Bermuda possibly. Only for him of course, no room for Marjorie. Delightfully this doesn’t seem to concern him that much. His off-hand comment when Jimmy asks how Marjorie is (“oh she’s all right I suppose”) is nicely done.

Bob, for all his aggressive outer shell, is little more than a child. Unlike the more machevilian Rose Marie, he doesn’t view Stephen as a threat (on the contrary, he invites him to join the Confidan project). And with everybody urged to develop papers or topics, Stephen – with nothing on hand – agrees with alacrity. Jock is working on a new book – The Sick University – whilst the ever industrious Rose Marie has dozens of projects to choose from.

Jock’s frequent asides into his tape recorder (as he compiles material for The Sick University) is an episode highlight. It causes some of his patients to run away although others are built of sterner stuff. “A typical consulation in the sick university. All is the same, all is new. One face, one body, taken at random from the long procession of pain. This is a young man. The unlined, greasy, pustules skin denotes innocence and ignorance. But then the eyes meet the eyes of the doctor and everything is changed, changed utterly. In that moment of acknowledgment, a shared mortality in which each symptom inscribes itself as an ideograph of the inevitable death that is all we humans share”.

And the pay-off? The young man’s come to him about his piles …

There’s yet another incredibly awkward conversation between Stephen and Rose Marie. She once again turns on the full power of her considerable sexuality to discomfort him (I love the production detail that plastic nipples were sown into Barbara Flynn’s costume – thereby ensuring that Rose Marie proved to be just that little more distracting at all times!)

When Rose Marie leans in even closer to tell Stephen that she finds him attractive, there’s another lovely touch from Davison as he swallows nervously and clears his throat. Once again, he’s mainly reacting, but it’s still done very well. It hard to take your eyes off Flynn though – the way she doesn’t break eye contact, how she uses her hand to draw attention to the points she’s making – it’s another masterclass in allure.

Rose Marie has come to tell him that he really should claim joint ownership of Bob’s paper. As we’ve already had a faint suggestion that there’s something wrong with Confidan, this is obviously another of Rose Marie’s manuvoures designed to embarrass and weaken her colleagues. There’s a very interesting cynical line reading from Davison late in the scene (“as a colleague and a friend?”) that seems to suggest he’s aware that Rose Marie is playing him, but this doesn’t seem to be as scripted as afterwards Stephen goes on merrily assisting Bob.

Both Bob and Stephen are presented somewhat as innocents. Lyn’s the one who suggests they set up a control group – supplied with a placebo – so their results can be compared against those prescribed Confidan. Stephen reacts in wonder at this (“that’s brilliant”) whilst she considers it to be simply common sense.

Lyn’s a constant presence throughout the episode. Whether she’s slowly drawing out Stephen’s confidence (first with a kiss and then by sharing the same bed) it’s plain that a great deal of his new-found resolve comes from her. The fact that he’s beginning to fall in love doesn’t please her though. She likes him a lot, but she also has interests elsewhere.

Bob’s noticed the change in him, approvingly putting it down to his “totty” (“she’s not my totty” Stephen weakly replies). Daphne refers to her as a “tart” and is highly undelighted that Bob’s invited her and Stephen to Sunday lunch. Daphne’s so utterly horrible during the scene where she and Bob are discussing the upcoming lunch, that it does shine a little light into what may be a fairly wretched home life for Bob. But when he plaintively asks Daphne if she actually loves him (again, a very child-like question) she does cease her sniping and responds to him as a mother would to her son.

Stephen and Lyn are left alone with Ollie and Simon while Bob and Daphne argue in the kitchen. The boys keen them entertained with a rundown of the terrible people their daddy has to work with. “The mad old fart and the uppity dyke. And the wet liberal. He’s so wet you could shoot snipe off his back”.

It’s no surprise to learn that Confidan has a major flaw (nothing serious, but it causes a nasty ear inflammation) which means that Bob has to reluctantly file a negative report. Stephen berates him over the fact that he already knew an American trial was similarly affected, but Bob weakly responds that he was assured the problems had been fixed. After all, if you can’t trust a major international pharmaceutical company who can you trust?

Black Bob’s Hamburger Suit has always been a favourite, thanks to the way it puts David Troughton front and centre. He seems to relish every line and delivers them perfectly. There are a number of stand-out scenes, but one of most memorable has to be when Bob – making an early start – discovers Jock attempting to hang himself (a bleak moment, albiet dealt with in a comic way).

After Bob is told to go away he does, all the way to his office. There’s a few exquisitely timed beats until he wheels around and returns to Jock. He then tells Jock that he shouldn’t really kill himself. Instead he prescribes him a course of Confidan ….

A Very Peculiar Practice – Wives of Great Men

archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1980's, BBC Drama - 1980's , , , , ,

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Professor John Furie (Timothy West) is a middle-aged senior academic going through a serious mid life crisis. Suffering from listlessness and a lack of drive, he reacts with anger after Stephen tentatively suggests they dig a little deeper to discover what the problem might be. But Furie is a man of wild mood swings and shortly after he informs Stephen that he’s made an enemy for life, he’s suddenly changed tack and decides that Stephen is “one hell of a doctor”. Although whether it’s better to have Furie as an ally or an enemy is debatable ….

The obvious highlight of Wives of Great Man is Timothy West’s barnstorming bewigged performance as Professor Furie (aptly named, since he’s in constant state of … well, fury). But the rest of the episode is excellent too, kicking off with a typically entertaining practice meeting.

Today there’s an innovation as Maureen (Lindy Whiteford) is an unwilling attendee. It’s interesting to see whilst Rose Marie supported her presence, after Maureen praises Stephen there’s a decidedly chilly atmosphere between the two women. And even affable old Jock, who brought Maureen into the meeting in the first place, is irritated by the fact that she actually has the temerity to open her mouth and voice an opinion. The practice hierarchy (with Maureen at the bottom – despite doing a good deal of the work) is made very clear here.

Clashes between Jock and Bob are always a highlight.

Jock: Bob has some figures for us, culled from his rinky-dinky little computer. Bob!
Bob: Thanks Jock! [pause] Do you think you could manage “Robert”?
Jock: I’ll try, Bob. Old habits die hard.
Bob: Riiight.

Bob continues to look for savings. Closing down the sick bay and ceasing treatment for the wives of the staff would certainly be one way to streamline (and then they could look for some lucrative private income). But everyone else rejects this, leaving poor Bob frustrated (Troughton’s tight-lipped affability at this point is perfectly done). When Jock calls him “cynical” and an “opportunist” Bob doesn’t react with annoyance, instead he agrees with him. “Not dirty words in my book”. It is the 1980’s after all.

Stephen later has several meetings with his colleagues. First of all Jock, who tells him to “search out the deep sexual anxiety” when dealing with his patients. Stephen later does this with Furie of course, with disastrous results. Rose Marie once again unsettles him (she describes Furie as a “hollow plaster phallus”). Davison may not seem to be doing too much during these scenes except react (as he also does when facing the Furie onslaught) but it’s the way he reacts that’s key.

Stephen’s first meeting with Furie is rocky. “You insulting little bastard” rages the Professor after Stephen has tentatively attempted to find out how Furie’s tiredness manifests itself. Stephen’s suggestion that Furie undertakes a full medical doesn’t go down any better. “Oh yes you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you? Feel a little more in control of the situation if you had me naked and bent double with two rubber-gloved fingers up my arse”.

Post consultation, a shattered Stephen seems to have regressed to a schoolboy, anxiously looking out the window and then skulking in corners when he does leave the practice, convinced that Furie will leap out at any moment and duff him up. Jock and Bob – united for once – offer no comfort as they tell him that whilst Furie isn’t exactly a homicidal personality he’s definitely a bit of a ruffian. The glee on Bob’s face makes it plain that he’s anticipating some pain (a few broken ribs maybe) to come Stephen’s way.

When Furie suddenly treats Stephen as his best friend (“one hell of a doctor”, remember) it’s another wonderful opportunity for Davison to play the straight man. But he’s gifted some nice comic touches too – when Stephen spies Furie advancing on him and Lyn he dives under the table, convinced that a battering is on the cards. So when Furie instead wants to shake him by the hand, Stephen has to do so from under the table ….

Earlier, Stephen had reacted with surprise at the news that the wives of the university staff required so much treatment. Rose Marie wasn’t (telling him that their husbands make them sick, literally). As per the episode title, this is a theme developed throughout as Furie’s manic suspicion that his long-suffering and ever-loving wife Helen (Philippa Urquhart) is having an affair colours his every action. Thanks to his manic mood swings (not helped by mixing the pills prescribed by Stephen with alcohol) he changes from acidly suspicious to remorseful in a heartbeat.

Although given that it seemed to be earlier set up that Furie was unsure about whether his wife was having an affair, when we later discover that she is (and Furie knows about it) it does feel slightly odd. Why was he so suspicious if everything was already out in the open?

The humour of Furie’s earlier, unbridled public insults (telling the waitress after an indigestible steak that he wished to pass “my compliments to the chef, and would he care for a fistfight with Professor Furie?”) gives way to a quieter tone as Helen unburdens herself to Stephen. That he reacts in horror to the tales of her home-life whilst she treats the stories of her husband’s manic mood swings with amused indulgence is an interesting touch.

Furie has been down, then up and then down again. His climatic encounter with Stephen – now once again more his enemy – is another classic moment. Having walked through the pond to reach the surgery, he bursts into Stephen’s consulting room, convinced that the mild Dr Daker has been conducting an affair with his wife.

Stephen: Do sit down, I was hoping we could have a chat.
Furie: About my wife, perhaps?
Stephen: No. I did speak to her yesterday, I hope you don’t mind.
Furie: In bed, no doubt. While you were shafting her, no doubt! Typical of you cold-blooded Tavvy types! Yes I do mind, very much indeed, does that surprise you? My God, I thought of Buzzard, I even thought of McCannon, but it was you, you all the time, Daker! And don’t think I’m unaware of the part the Chilean government played in this!
Stephen: [pressing intercom, meekly] Help!

Delightfully, after pressing the intercom, Furie’s continuing diatribe is then broadcast to a rapt waiting room full of patients who soak up every word!

Help arrives. Bob is felled with a single blow and Jock cowers in the corner, so it’s possibly not too surprising that Rose Marie is the one who takes charge – efficiently pinning Furie to the floor whilst calmly advising Stephen that he should phone for an ambulance.

The parting shot of the episode – Rose Marie suggests to Stephen that she is the person Helen is having an affair with – is intriguing. Whether it’s true or not – and with Rose Marie you often can’t be sure – it ensures that the episode closes on a reflective note.

A Very Peculiar Practice – We Love You, That’s Why We’re Here

archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1980's, BBC Drama - 1980's , , , ,

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The episode begins with Stephen suffering from an anxiety nightmare. Dressed in his pyjamas, he finds himself driving through the confusing university one-way system. The honking incidental music slightly spoils the mood alas.

He’s broken from this reverie by Chen, his roommate, who’s brought him a cup of tea. Chen’s a rarity – someone who accepts Stephen for who he is and was friendly towards him from their initial meeting. He listens with sympathy when Stephen tells him that his nightmare was simply “panic and terror, just ordinary stuff”.

The practice meetings are always a joy. Jock is holding forth on today’s topic with Bob and Rose Marie sniping at each other whilst Stephen looks on (a common occurrence). It’s the first day of term and Jock decides that – King Lear like – he’s inclined to share his kingdom amongst the others.

The prize on offer is Jock’s job of informing the freshers precisely what the health centre can offer them. After Jock’s delightfully condescending treatment of Rose Marie (calling her a lovely wee lassie and patting her knee) the three outline their ideas.

Bob’s all for telling the new intake precisely how much it costs to treat them and why they should be grateful. To him they’re machines and whilst he’s prepared to patch them up, he also believes that they need to look after themselves (a very Thatcherite spiel). Rose Marie is more concerned about the way that the university is little more than a phallocentric organisation designed to oppress women.

Given all he’s observed, Stephen’s initially reluctant to articulate his own opinions. But his stuttering heartfelt philosophy chimes with perfectly with Jock. It’s inevitable then that Jock will offer the job to a very unwilling Stephen. Bob (offering an ironic slow handicap) and Rose Marie (later telling Stephen that she’s unable to help him with his speech as he’s part of the problem, not the solution) are both far from delighted but it’s interesting that neither attempt to challenge the decision. Do they believe that the job is a poisoned chalice?

More dream sequences follow as Stephen – in pyjamas again – faces an oppressive hall full of chanting students. Even Lyn offers no succour (she jogs out of the hall smiling). Will the real meeting be better? Well, a dangerous mix of drink and drugs helps to loosen his tongue ….

The drugs – of the anti anxiety kind – were supplied by Bob. This was an act of decency on his part (after gleefully telling Stephen he was “up shit creek”). Troughton’s embarrassed reaction after Stephen thanks Bob is a lovely little moment. The alcohol was supplied by Chen (in Stephen’s tea) which is a problem since the drugs and any alcohol don’t really mix. Stephen’s freewheeling speech goes down a storm with the students although the grim-faced academics sitting alongside him seem less impressed.

We also follow two new students, Megan (Kate Eaton) and Angie (Francesca Brill), throughout the episode. Roommates they may be, but they could hardly be more different. Megan is Welsh, plain, humourless and dedicated to her studies whilst Angie is attractive, hyperactive, stylish and desperately keen to throw herself into university life (she’s constantly on the look out for the in crowd).

Angie later seeks out Stephen for a consultation. This helps to chip away at her confident public image (revealing the anxious girl underneath). Davison has an excellent bedside manner it has to be said. Angie wants to go onto the pill as she’s decided that her new drama teacher, Carl Pierce (Peter Blake), is the man for her.

Stephen and Lyn enjoy a drink as she fills in a bit of her background. Lyn’s a policewoman who’s come to the university to take a PhD in body language. That couldn’t be more perfect as she’s therefore uniquely qualified to heal Stephen’s touch taboo. He’s fine with patients, it’s just everyone else he can’t touch (admitting to Lyn that nobody gives him any cuddles).

Hugh Grant makes a brief appearance as Colin, a Scottish preacher. Megan and Stephen both attend one of his overpowering sermons – Megan is an instant convert whilst Stephen is much less connected.

Peter Blake’s role isn’t much larger than Grant’s, but it’s fairly key. Participating in Carl’s drama workshop is another way of attempting to cure Stephen of his touch taboo. What’s more important though is that Stephen’s on hand to diagnose that Carl is suffering from glaucoma. This scene also punctures Angie’s hopes and dreams – Carl tells her that he doesn’t mess around with his students, plus he’s in a long term relationship and there’s the small matter that he’s gay. Brill – who appears to have dropped out of acting some twenty years ago – handles this scene well. Indeed, overall it’s a very nicely judged performance.

Angie later admits to Stephen that she’s something of a fantasist (which of course should have been plain by now). But she maintains a cheerful persona and we leave her in a hopeful place. The news that Megan has got engaged to Preacher Colin is more of a surprise (when the pair visit Stephen, Hugh Grant isn’t called upon to do anything more than look faintly surprised and/or apprehensive).

With Stephen and Lyn ending the episode holding hands, it seems that things are looking up for him as well …

A Very Peculiar Practice – A Very Long Way From Anywhere

archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1980's, BBC Drama - 1980's , , , , ,

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AVPP was born out of necessity rather than inspiration. Andrew Davies had been commissioned to write a series about three mature women students but had lost inspiration after penning several episodes. The BBC, having already paid him upfront for the whole series, gave him two options – either return the money or write something else.

Davies decided that writing something else would be less painful, so the bizarre world of Lowlands University began to take shape. Drawing on his memories of his own past (Davies had been a lecturer at the Warwick Institute of Education) he set to work.

Receiving top billing, Peter Davison, as Stephen Daker, is the still point of the series. Surrounded by three grotesques – Jock, Bob and Rose Marie – Stephen’s function (especially in this opening episode) is to operate as their straight man. Although Davison possesses a sly and sharp sense of humour, he was quite relaxed at the prospect of being the “normal” one. “I was quite happy to be surrounded by lunatics. In effect, I was the one who the audience related to in the midst of these madmen – or madwomen”.

Miscommunication is at the heart of A Very Long Way From Anywhere. Stephen, having made the decision to make a clean break from the shattered detritus of his marriage, is determined to make a fresh start at Lowlands. But his problems start right from the moment he runs into the formidable practice receptionist – who needs some convincing that he’s a doctor and not a patient.

But that’s nothing compared to the confusion generated when he meets the senior member of the practice, Dr Jock McCannon (Graham Crowden). It won’t surprise you to hear that Crowden has a habit of stealing scenes, although when he’s placed opposite David Troughton then the honours are more even.

Jock: Would you care for a wee drop of something, Stephen?
Stephen: Oh, not for me! Bit early in the morning.
Jock: Oh! Very wise! I’m delighted to hear you say it. As a matter of fact, your predecessor gave us some cause for anxiety there. Ohhh, he gave the vodka bottle a most tremendous pummelling! [he pours himself a very generous tumbler full of scotch]
Jock: A total abstainer, eh? Very wise!

David Troughton’s Dr Bob Buzzard is gifted a whole tranche of sparkling dialogue. He begins by outlining to Stephen exactly how the University runs. “I’ll tell you what it’s like. It’s like a very, very inefficient sector of British industry. Top management are totally corrupt and idle, middle management are incompetent and idle, and the workforce are bolshy. And idle. And of course, there’s no bloody product!”

The moment when they compare notes, re their respective careers, is also wonderfully quotable. Davison underplays beautifully.

Bob: Now then. What’s your track record, old chap?
Stephen: Track record?
Bob: Absolutely right! Fair’s fair: Mine first. Classical tale of a promising career gone sour. Shrewsbury. Trinity. Guy’s. Royal Durham, ICI, Princeton. Spell in Saudi. Then, fatal mistake: Came here. What about you?
Stephen: Birmingham… Birmingham… Birmingham… Walsall.

Dr Rose Marie (Barbara Flynn) is a formidable feminist whose character seems to be just as relevant today as she was then (easy to imagine she’d be a hit on Twitter). Stephen’s introduction to her is short but not terribly sweet (I love the way that Davison’s face falls when Bob cheerily tells Stephen afterwards that she’ll now be his enemy for life!)

Rose Marie’s modus operandi is made clear when she later tells a patient, Antonia (Liz Crowther), that illness “is something that men do to women”. Flynn’s performance is a great deal more contained than the hyperactive Troughton, but it’s the contrast between the polar opposite characters of Rose Marie and Bob which helps to generate some lovely comic clashes in the upcoming episodes.

After reeling from these three encounters, Stephen then has a more pleasant meeting with ministering angel Lyn Turtle (Amanda Hillwood) at the pool (she eventually saves him from drowning). But Stephen’s continuing inability to express himself clearly leads to conflict later, after he runs into her at a drinks party organised by the Vice Chancellor Ernest Hemmingway (not that one). He’s surprised to see a pool attendant at such a party, a faux pas which he regrets straight away. And she twists the knife, just to drive the point home.

Hemmingway (John Bird) doesn’t have a great deal to do here, although he’ll play a major role later in the first series. Instead it’s his wife, Deirdre (Harriet Reynolds), who’s more to the fore during the rather excruciating (for Stephen, anyway) drinks party. Told it was very informal, Stephen’s choice of dress (a scruffy jumper) proved to be just a tad too informal. The way that Deirdre sweetly attempts to rationalise this breach of etiquette (possibly he’s just got off a flight and the airline has lost his luggage?) is another delight.

The final significant moment of the episode comes after Stephen dispatches a Chinese student (Sarah Lam) suffering from acute appendicitis to the hospital. Jock had examined her earlier, but decided that her symptoms were nothing more than home sickness. The fundamentally decent Stephen is appalled at the way that Jock let her down (made worse by the fact that she later displayed no malice towards Jock). But since Stephen can’t bring himself to publicly reproach his new boss, Jock’s little mistake is brushed under the carpet and life goes on.

Except, of course, this has served to bind Stephen just a little closer to Jock ….

Love on a Branch Line – Second Sight DVD Review

archivetvmusings BBC Comedy - 1990's, BBC Drama - 1990's, Second Sight , , , , , , , , , , ,

7457The year is 1957 and civil servant Jasper Pye (Michael Maloney) is stuck in a rut.  When his girlfriend mentions to a fellow party guest that he’s something of a bore, Jasper decides to take immediate action.  But his initial plan – to move to France and become a painter – is shelved after his superiors send him deep into the English countryside.

Since 1940, a small outpost of the Ministry of Information (Output Statistics) has been in residence at Arcady Hall.  Jasper is sent with the express mission of discovering a reason to close it down, but he finds himself constantly distracted.

The delightfully eccentric Lord Flamborough (Leslie Phillips), owner of Arcady Hall, is happy with the status quo – especially since the upkeep of his house depends on the subsidies he receives from a benevolent government.   Lady Flamborough (Maria Aitken) intrigues Jasper, but it’s Flamborough’s three daughters – Belinda (Abigail Cruttenden), Chloe (Cathryn Harrison) and Matilda (Charlotte Williams) – who all manage to bewitch him at different times …..

Based on John Hadfield’s 1957 novel, Love on a Branch Line is a serial which simply oozes class.  Adapted by David Nobbs (The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin) it has the sort of cast to die for.  Leslie Phillips looks to be enjoying himself enormously as Lord Flamborough, an idiosyncratic aristrocrat who, along with his wife, lives on a train at the defunct local station. He bought the station, track and train and he now indulges himself by travelling backwards and forwards.  That he never actually goes anywhere might be a not-so-subtle metaphor.

There’s no doubt that the serial’s appeal rests with the quintessentially English atmosphere it generates even if, as with the best examples of the genre (such as PG Wodehouse), events are clearly taking place in an idealised and stylised England that never was.  Therefore steam trains, cricket matches and village fetes are all very much to the fore.

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Charlotte Williams, Michael Maloney, Cathryn Harrison and (front) Abigail Cruttenden

When Jasper arrives he suspects that the team at the Statistics outpost, having been left to their own devices for so long, might be somewhat behind with their work.  Both the statistician Professor Pollux (Graham Crowden) and the data collector Quirk (Stephen Moore) have found numerous distractions over the years – Pollux has been researching the history of Arcady whilst cricket is Quirk’s passion.  Luckily for both of them, they have the efficient Miss Mounsey (Amanda Root) on hand to keep them in some sort of order.  Crowden and Moore are great value with Crowden (arch scene-stealer that he was) never failing to entertain every time he sidles onto screen.

Belinda (“the wicked one”) is the first of Lord Flamborough’s daughters encountered by Jasper. Within a few minutes she’s already kissed him, although this unexpected moment of pleasure is short-lived after Lady Flamborough interrupts them. As so often throughout the serial Michael Maloney’s comic timing is spot on (he delightfully leaps back in horror after Lady Flamborough calls out).

Matilda, the youngest daughter, is neatly summed up by her mother. “Funny girl. She spends all her time reading old-fashioned thrillers and wating to be seduced by a sinister monk. She’ll grow out of it”. Chole, the eldest, is plainly the apple of her father’s eye (“she’s a damn good engine driver”).  A later encounter at the pub with the drunken Lionel Virley (David Haig), husband to Chole, puts another piece of the jigsaw in place. Also there is railway enthusiast Mr Jones (the always entertaining Joe Melia).

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Charlotte Williams

Jasper quickly becomes a part of the local cricket team and is also drafted onto the local fete’s organising committee. That the fete is in aid of fallen women is something which has endless comic potential. Lord Flamborough declines to be chairman.  “I never could be trusted with fallen women”.  This line is delivered in the trademark Leslie Philips style.

By the end of the first episode Jasper’s been kissed by all three daughters and is somewhat perplexed by his experiences. He continues to ping between them like a pinball as the rest of the serial plays out.

A lovely comic moment occurs in episode two after Belinda decides that Jasper’s proposed painting of the Hall doesn’t sound terribly interesting. Surely he’d much prefer to paint her in the nude? Belinda’s very keen and Jasper doesn’t take too much persuading either (although he valiantly attempts to keep his mind on his art). Although he does wonder if they should ask Lady Flamborough’s permission so Belinda, stripped to the waist, casually leans out of the window and shouts down to her!

Further complications ensue when Pollux turns up with Miss Tidy (Gillian Rayne). Pollux is giving her a guided tour of the Hall and his desire to show her every nook and cranny means that Belinda is forced to beat a hasty retreat. The vision of a fully-frontal nude Abigail Cruttenden, albiet in long shot, was a slight surprise (I wonder what the original Sunday evening audience made of it?)

The sight of a desperate Jasper – convinced that Lord Flamborough knows about his dalliances with his daughters – dancing the Charleston whilst his Lordship tunelessly bashes away on the drums is another stand-out scene. Maloney cuts some impressive moves whilst Phillips is his usual louche self.

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Leslie Phillips, Abigail Cruttenden, Maria Aitken, Michael Maloney & Cathryn Harrison

The big cricket match occurs in the third episode. Unfortunately, Jasper and Lionel are locked in one of Arcady’s wine cellars with only several thousand bottles for company. Few actors can resist a spot of drunk acting and Michael Maloney and David Haig are certainly no exception as Jasper and Lionel take solace in some of the more obscure vintages.  Carrot whisky anyone?

Things look grim for the village since their two best batsman have failed to appear but – improbable as it may sound – Jasper and Lionel do eventually stagger up to the crease. But will they be able to save the day? The cricket match is another entertaining setpiece sequence, as is the aftermath (everybody crowds into the pub for a hearty rendition of Yes, We Have No Bananas).

Love on a Branch Line has a delicate path to tread regarding tone.  It would be easy for Jasper to appear as little more than a letch  – after all, he’s already seduced (or been seduced by) Belinda and Chloe and when the sweetly virginal Matilda comes crashing down his bedroom chimney it seems that his cup runneth over.  Luckily, the unreal tone of the serial – and Michael Maloney’s skilful playing – ensures this is never too much of a problem.

The concluding episode promises to bring a dash of reality to the Shangri La of Arcady.  Jasper’s recommendation that the Statistical Unit be closed down forthwith doesn’t please either Lord Flamborough or Pollux and the arrival of jazz musician Ozzie Tipton (Simon Gregor) seems to turn Belinda’s head.  But Jasper – pressganged into becoming a judge at the Fallen Women fete – might just have secured his own future after he awards first prize in the prettiest ankle contest to Miss Mounsey.

In the end everything turns out fine for everybody and as the credits roll you can be assured that the sun at Arcady will always continue to shine (just as it will at Blandings Castle).

With an experienced cast of comic hands, beautiful locations and a sharp script from David Nobbs, Love on a Branch Line is a treat from start to finish.  Abigail Cruttenden, Cathryn Harrison and Charlotte Williams all catch the eye (although it’s Abigail Cruttenden that we definitely see the most of) whilst Michael Maloney, as the lucky Jasper, reels from one unlikely encounter to the next with aplomb.

Originally released on DVD by Acorn back in 2006, it’s now been brought back into print by Second Sight.  It comprises of four 50 minute episodes and whilst there are no additional features, the episodes are subtitled.

Something of a forgotten gem, this really is something that any devotee of British archive television should have in their collection.  Highly recommended.

Love on a Branch Line is released by Second Sight on the 17th of July 2017.  RRP £15.99.

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Michael Maloney

Doctor Who – The Horns of Nimon. Episode Four

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The Nimon’s hyperspace portal has transported Romana to the Crinoth (the previous planet occupied by the Nimons) where she meets Sezom (John Bailey).  Bailey adds an instant touch of class to proceedings: after some of the exuberant performances seen during the last few episodes he essays something which was much more subtle and grounded in reality

Needless to say, after what we’ve witnessed recently it’s somewhat jarring to have a decent spot of acting but never mind, this first scene brings into sharp focus the Nimon’s planet hopping and destructive capabilities.  Sezom, like Soldeed, foolishly believed the Nimon’s promises.

SEZOM: But I have caused the deaths of so many others. The total destruction of our planet and all its people. I am to blame.
ROMANA: Why? What did you do?
SEZOM: I allowed the Nimons to come here. I worked for them, became their creature. They promised us technology, peace, prosperity. It ….
ROMANA: Go on.
SEZOM: It seemed so easy. Such a small price.
ROMANA: Did you have to provide them with some sort of tribute?
SEZOM: How did you know that?
ROMANA: I’ve seen something similar.
SEZOM: There was only one of them to start with. I never knew what was to come. I swear, I never knew what was to come. It seemed such a small price to pay.
ROMANA: It always does.

It’s something of an egregious info-dump it has to be said. Romana just happens to stumble straight into the path of someone who can put the final pieces of the plot together, but no matter – at least now we know the fate that awaits Skonnos.

Elsewhere, the Doctor has a friendly chat with the Nimons, which features one of my favourite exchanges of the story.

NIMON 2: Later you will be questioned, tortured and killed.
DOCTOR: Well I hope you get it in the right order.

The other main point of interest is Soldeed’s death scene which has to be seen to be believed. And even then, I don’t quite believe it …

To be fair to Crowden, it does appear that he believed they were only rehearsing rather than going for a take, but as the clock was probably ticking round to 10 pm (when the plugs would be pulled) it presumably was felt to be “good enough”. Which rather sums up the end of season feel of the story (even if Nimon was never intended to finish S17). By this point it seems that time, money and inspiration had rather run dry.

The Horns of Nimon is certainly fun if you’re in the right mood – Tom Baker, Lalla Ward and Graham Crowden are always worth watching – but it also has a definite end of an era feeling.  Change was coming and for many it wasn’t a moment too soon.

Doctor Who – The Horns of Nimon. Episode Three

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nimon 03

Anthony Read once admitted that The Horns of Nimon was written as a somewhat tongue in cheek story, but he’d hoped it would have been played in a slightly more serious manner.  Although if you script scenes like the opening one of this episode – the Doctor uses a red handkerchief to indulge in a spot of impromptu bull-fighting with the Nimon – then you can’t really be surprised if things turn out the way they did.

After being absent from the main action for the last episode or so, the Doctor is back in the thick of things after meeting up with Romana, Seth, Teka and the remainder of the Anethans (who remain – as befits non-speaking extras – mute).  He starts to wonder exactly what the Nimon are up to, whilst also highlighting Soldeed’s clueless nature (whatever the Nimon are planning, Soldeed seems to be kept in total ignorance).

Sorak has begun to question why the Nimon has decided to aid them in their quest to once again become the dominant force in the galaxy.  “Soldeed, it sometimes occurs to me to wonder exactly why the Nimon is doing this for us. I mean, to be blunt, what’s in it for him?”  It’s a reasonable question, which you’d have assumed someone would have asked before.  Possibly Skonnos is a totalitarian state which brooks no free will from any of its subjects or maybe Read’s script was just rather ill-defined on this point.  Skonnos is pretty much represented by two individuals only – Soldeed and Sorak – which means that it never comes alive as a real, functioning society.

This isn’t a problem isolated to just this one story, since Doctor Who often struggled to create well-rounded civilisations.  Some writers – such as Robert Holmes – were skilled at using dialogue to put meat onto the bones (think of The Ribos Operation which builds up a fairly vivid portrait of its planet – complete with changing seasons and a strong air of religious dogma) but this isn’t something that Read attempts here.

The major revelation in this instalment is that the Nimon isn’t a single creature as Soldeed thinks.  There are many, many others and they all plan to use their newly built hyperspace tunnel to travel to Skonnos and take over the planet.  As far as invasion plans go it’s rather long-winded – couldn’t they have found a planet closer to home to colonise?

This leads into a rather nice piece of dialogue, with Teka declaring that the Nimon’s invasion is going to take quite a while, considering they’ve only got the one transmat machine.

DOCTOR: Yes, it happens all the time. When a race runs out of space or destroys its home, it has to find somewhere else to live.
SETH: Skonnos?
DOCTOR: Yes.
SETH: But it’s already inhabited.
DOCTOR: Yes.
TEKA: Then how many more are coming?
DOCTOR: Well
ROMANA: To make all this worthwhile, there must be thousands.
DOCTOR: Millions.
TEKA: What, two at a time?

As Romana is accidentally transported in the hyperspace capsule to who knows where, Soldeed once again pops up to menace the Doctor ….

Doctor Who – The Horns of Nimon. Episode Two

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Episode Two opens with an ambitious effects sequence, which sees the TARDIS deliberately placed in the path of a spinning asteroid.  The Doctor succinctly sums this up.  “Oh, you know, K9, sometimes I think I’m wasted just rushing around the universe saving planets from destruction. With a talent like mine, I might have been a great slow bowler.”

With the Doctor and K9 stuck in the TARDIS, this leaves Romana, still onboard the ship, free to quiz Seth and Teka.  She learns that the Nimon lives in the Power Complex (“that fits”) one of a number of witty lines which possibly may have gone a little unnoticed due to the broad performances elsewhere.

We meet the Nimon.  Season 17 really wasn’t a vintage year for monsters, was it?  Following Erato and the Mandrels, the Nimon are another disappointment. With a combination of stack heels, an obviously stuck-on head and weird movement, it’s hard to see the Nimon striking fear into anybody.  It’s interesting to learn that the Nimon heads were supposed to look artificial (with their real faces being visible beneath) but this isn’t something that ever comes across during the story – they just look like cheap, ill-fitting masks.

Whilst Romana, Seth, Teka and the others are delivered up to the Nimon, the Doctor eventually arrives on Skonnos and has a chat with Soldeed.

DOCTOR: Having a little trouble with the neutrino converter?
SOLDEED: Neutrino converter?
DOCTOR: Neutrino converter.
SOLDEED: What do you know about such matters?
DOCTOR: Oh, I’ve seen similar things here and there.
SOLDEED: Oh, come now, Doctor. This is my invention.
DOCTOR: How very odd, how very extraordinary, then, you don’t know what a neutrino conversion is. Did you know that someone’s building a black hole on your doorstep?

It’s remarkable for Tom Baker to come up against a fellow actor who makes him look fairly normal, but Crowden’s idiosyncratic performance left Baker with two options – either attempt to match him or play it straight.  Tom decides to play it straight, which was a wise move (leaving the field open for Crowden to indulge himself).  Soldeed’s manic cackling as the Doctor enters the Power Complex is a joy to behold, a weird joy, but a joy nonetheless.

What’s interesting about this scene is the way it shines a light on Soldeed’s self delusion.  He later claims to Sorak that making the Doctor venture into the Power Complex was all part of his great plan, when it was plainly nothing of the sort.  Soldeed might nominally be the power on Skonnos, but he’s continually buffeted by events outside of his control (with the result that every time something unexpected happens, he desperately attempts to reconcile it into his worldview).  This character trait makes Soldeed a much more interesting character than if he’d simply been just another single-minded maniac, utterly convinced of his own omnipotence. Soldeed’s increasing self-doubt is a nice touch.

Before the Doctor enters the Power Complex, he dashes about desperately looking for an alternative.  This gives rise to one of my favourite moments in the story, as he spies a group of councillors standing about.  “Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I’d like to say one thing and let me make it perfectly clear, I stand before you desperate to find the exit. Can anybody help me?” A wonderful Tom moment.

Meanwhile Romana and others come face to face with the terrifying Nimon. Roarrrrrr!!!!!

Doctor Who – The Horns of Nimon. Episode One

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nimon 01

I have an affection for many of Doctor Who‘s also-rans, those stories which sit unloved and unappreciated at the bottom of every favourite story poll.  You could argue that this is because I have absolutely no taste at all, but I prefer to believe that it’s more about appreciating what does work, rather than criticising what doesn’t.

There’s certainly plenty wrong with Horns of Nimon, but it also entertains (and sometimes intentionally).  The first scene offers an impressive info dump, as we learn that Skonnos was once a mighty planet of warriors which has now fallen on hard times.  No matter though, as the mysterious Nimon will make them great again (provided they deliver the final cargo – which turns out to be a collection of young people dressed in yellow jumpsuits).

The co-pilot (played by Malcolm Terris) has a limited line in insults (“weakling scum”) which he freely uses on several occassions to taunt the cargo.  Terris possibly wasn’t best served by the two Doctor Who stories he appeared in (The Dominators being the other) but still manages to make something out of this unpromising material.  The co-pilot, like most of his fellow Skonnons, is a weak man, full of bluster and desperately clinging onto the hope that Skonnos will rise once more to become feared throughout the galaxy.  Is there a faint touch of satire here?  For Skonnos, read Britain, which back in the late 1970’s had also fallen on hard times.  I wonder.

Two of the cargo have speaking parts – Seth (Simon Gipps-Kent) and Teka (Janet Ellis).  Seth and Teka are young and earnest (especially Teka, who hangs on Seth’s every word).  Like most of the other roles across these four episodes, their characters are only lightly sketched, so both Ellis and Gipps-Kent have to work hard to make Seth and Teka come to life.

Meanwhile, the Doctor’s tinkering with the TARDIS.  This is a scene which allows Tom Baker to freewheel as we see the Doctor carry out some slapdash repairs.  If you view Tom’s performance during this era as somewhat self-indulgent then this probably isn’t the story for you – since the tone for Nimon is firmly set right from the start (it should come as no surprise to learn that the Doctor’s mouth to mouth resuscitation with K9 was unscripted).

But what we do have is a nice contrast between the increasingly erratic Doctor and the long-suffering Romana (as has often been observed, throughout the story Romana – complete with her own sonic screwdriver – acts more like the Doctor than the Doctor does).

We then jaunt to Skonnos to meet Soldeed (Graham Crowden) and Sorak (Michael Osborne).  Plenty has been written about Crowden’s performance over the years and I can’t add much to what’s gone before, except to wonder what would have happened had Crowden been cast as the fourth Doctor in 1975.  Given how exuberant he is as Soldeed, one can only imagine how his Doctor would have ended up by 1979.  In contrast, Osborne looks faintly embarrassed, but then he is encased inside a somewhat bizarre costume, courtesy of June Hudson.

The Doctor, noticing the Skonnos ship in distress, naturally can’t resist popping over to help.  He doesn’t take to the gun waving co-pilot, but is more concerned about the shivering cargo, which he learns are “sacrifices”.  The Doctor agrees to help, but the co-pilot, more concerned about his cargo and his reputation, leaves the Doctor and K9 stranded in the TARDIS once the ship is operational again …

The Cleopatras – Episode One

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They don’t make them like this any more.  Indeed, they didn’t make them like this very often back then.

The Cleopatras, written by Philip Mackie and directed by John Frankau, is a series that delights in its own artifice.  At a time (1983) when British television was slowly moving towards film as the dominant medium for drama, The Cleopatras was an all videotape production which used every available video effect to create a unique atmosphere.

The series makes its intentions clear in the first few minutes – various picture dissolves and wipes (which are also used throughout the eight episodes) instantly tell us that this isn’t a run-of-the-mill production.  The sets at times appear more impressionistic than realistic and doses of CSO help to heighten the unreality.

All this helps to place the series firmly in the camp of electronic theatre rather than the naturalistic world of filmic drama (such as Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy) which was increasing in popularity at this time.  Serials like I, Claudius had shown that videotaped historical drama could be compelling, but The Cleopatras – although it had a similar mix of power-struggles, incest and murder – never had the same impact.

Looking at it today, you have to be able to embrace the production (or at least to tolerate it) and ignore some of the riper overacting.  If you can do that then it’s possible to derive a considerable amount of enjoyment from all eight episodes.  And if not, you can at least admire their ambition.  Today, many dramas look pretty much identical, but for better or worse you could never say that about The Cleopatras.

Philip Mackie had previously penned a six part series called The Caesars (Granada, 1968) and it’s possible to regard The Cleopatras as something of a companion piece (both were studio-bound productions, although The Caesars didn’t indulge in trippy camera effects).

Although Mackie’s name isn’t that well known today (even amongst the select band of archive television enthusiasts) there’s plenty of interest to be found in his cv.  The Naked Civil Servant is one of his most high-profile screenplays, whilst I’d strongly recommend An Englishman’s Castle, a taut three-parter starring Kenneth More, set in a Britain where the Germans had, thirty years earlier, won WW2.

The premise of The Cleopatras is simple.  Theodotus (Graham Crowden) is instructing the latest Cleopatra (Michelle Newell) about the history of her family.  He tells her (and us of course) that the kings of Egypt, who are all called Ptolemy, almost always marry Queens called Cleopatra. The latest Cleopatra will ascend to the throne when her father dies and she marries her brother. Otherwise how will the royal blood line be kept pure? But before that happens Theodotus takes some time (the first five episodes in fact) to tell her the histories of some of her famous predecessors.

We travel back to 145 BC for the first of these history lessons. It opens with Cleopatra’s mother (played by Elizabeth Shepherd – doomed to be known as the actress who was Emma Peel for a very short while) who’s emoting in a most peculiar fashion. She tells her daughter (Michelle Newell, who plays all the Cleopatras) that her father is dead. We briefly see his death scene, but it’s presented in the characteristically abstract way that’s a feature of the series.

Eupator (Gary Carp) is in line for the throne, but Pot Belly (Richard Griffiths) is chosen ahead of him by Cleopatra’s mother. “He’s revolting. He’s so fat and horrible” says Cleopatra in disbelief. Griffiths is great fun and a highlight of these early episodes.

Eupator doesn’t last long (a mercy since Carp’s very shrill). He’s murdered in his bed in a scene that’s just as artificial as the rest of the series. We don’t see his murderers, but we hear one of them, although the voice sounds like it’s been dubbed on. Why this would be I don’t know, but it creates a strange sense of disconnection.

This continues when Theodotus pops up to explain the current state of the plot. Graham Crowden appears in a small box which then increases to fill the size of the screen. Once he’s imparted a vital nugget of information the box then shrinks before vanishing.

Cleopatra’s clearly power-hungry. She attempts to resist Pot Belly’s attentions, but ends up being raped by him. It might be expected that she’d treat him with contempt afterwards, but that’s not the case. When she tells him she’s pregnant it’s plain she’s delighted as it gives her a chance to move closer to the throne.

Cleopatra manages to easily dislodge her mother and proves to be an ideal helpmate for Pot Belly. This is demonstrated when they both attempt to bribe a visiting Roman official called Scipio Africanus (Geoffrey Whitehead). Pot Belly offers him gold (which is refused) and then a selection of topless serving girls (there’s an awful lot of bare breasts in this series, maybe one reason why it achieved a certain notoriety). When Scipio declines them, Pot Belly desperately wonders if he’d fancy boys instead! A nice comic moment from Griffiths.

There’s predictable familial strife ahead as Cleopatra’s mother doesn’t intend to lose her position of power. Cleopatra and Pot Belly are forced to flee Egypt, but we haven’t heard the last of them. And the final image – Cleopatra and Pot Belly send Cleopatra’s mother a memorable birthday present – ends the episode in an unforgettable way.

Zodiac – The Horns of the Moon

archivetvmusings ITV Drama - 1970's , , , ,

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Written by Peter Yeldham
Directed by Joe McGrath

General Weston (Peter Jones) is the autocratic chairman of a small merchant bank.  He wishes to initiate a merger (which effectively means selling the bank).  His fellow directors and his son Tony (Peter Egan) are against the plan, but the General always gets his way – and he does so again.

But shortly afterwards, he falls down the bank’s lift shaft.  As Tony later remarks, anybody else would have broken their neck, but he escaped with just a sprained arm.  However, it does seem to indicate that somebody at the bank wishes him harm.

There’s no shortage of suspects.  His son would inherit everything on his death, whilst the vampish Julie Prentiss (Michele Dotrice) seems to have the General wrapped around her little finger.  The other directors, Rodney Tyce (Graham Crowden), Ian Rentoul (Ronald MacLeod) and Agnes Courtney (Gillian Raine), could all have motives whilst the servant Dobbs (Norman Chappell) is another possibility.

Tony is a regular client of Esther’s and he calls on her to ask for advice.  He wants to leave the bank and break free from his father – but only if she confirms that the stars are correctly aligned.  She visits him at the bank to deliver the horoscope and he suggests they have a drink.  It comes as something of a surprise to find the General frozen solid in the fridge …..

The Horns of the Moon is by far the best mystery of the series since, as the above list indicates, there’s no shortage of suspects.  Once again, Esther is at the scene of the crime when the body is discovered, much to Gradley’s despair.  He’s also a little peeved at having to leave his dinner companion.  “You may not know it but I was at a charity dinner, escorting a debutante of the year.”  When Esther asks which year, he tells her it was quite a recent vintage.

Gradley quickly gets a feel for the list of suspects and it’s clear that Tony is his favourite.  Esther violently disagrees as she says it’s astrologically impossible for him to have committed the murder.  Gradley doesn’t arrest Tony straight away as he knows he’ll make his way to Esther’s flat in order to unburden himself.  This he does and what Tony says is pretty damming.  “What would you say if the files showed that I embezzled two hundred thousand pounds from the firm and the gun that killed the General was in my desk and that I wiped it clear of fingerprints and put it back in the boardroom and I took the files and put them in the cellar?”

Tony protests his innocence – he looks guilty, but that’s only because somebody has framed him.  Later on, even more evidence pointing to his guilt comes to light and Gradley arrests him.  Esther remains unconvinced and continues to nag at him to consider the other possibilities.

As with all the episodes, there’s a lovely group of actors here.  It’s a shame that Peter Jones doesn’t last longer as he’s got some nice comic business as the General.  Peter Egan is a bundle of nerves as the perpetually twitchy Tony whilst Graham Crowden is quite restrained as Tyce.  Tyce is a character that exists on the outskirts of the majority of the story, but he does have a part to play later on.

The banter between Gradley and Esther also helps to keep the interest chugging along.  Both of them, especially Anton Rodgers, have great comic timing and it’s their partnership which is one of the main strengths of the show.

The Horns of the Moon was the final story of this short series.  The real murderer is eventually found and Tony is set free, but that’s the end of the line for Gradley and Esther.  The premise of the series (detective and astrologer teamed up) was an intriguing one, although it’s fair to say that some of the plotting was a little loose in several of the episodes .

The partnership between Hempel and Rodgers as well as the guest casts more than made up for this though and there was certainly enough potential for a further run of episodes.  It wasn’t to be though, which is a shame since Zodiac is a nice little series and provided you don’t mind studio-bound drama (not a single location shot in the six episodes) it’s well worth tracking down.

Weakling scum! Doctor Who and the Horns of Nimon

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"Unaccustomed as I am to public speaking, I'd like to say one thing and let me make it perfectly clear, I stand before you desperate to find the exit. Can anybody help me?"

With The Horns of Nimon, Graham Williams’ (televised) tenure as producer ended with something of a whimper rather than the bang he intended.

Williams had budgeted two cheaper stories (Nightmare of Eden & Nimon) in order to lavish a generous amount of location filming on the season finale, Shada. But Shada was never completed due to industrial action, which was the final piece of bad luck to befall Williams on Doctor Who.

Even before this though, Williams had more than his fair share of problems to deal with. The late 1970’s was a bad time to be a Doctor Who producer – hyper inflation meant that year on year the show’s budget was shrinking, industrial action was a constant threat and Tom Baker was proving to be more of a handful than ever.

Nimon is rated 223 of out 241 stories in DWM’s 2014 poll. So it’s very much down amongst the also-rans, rubbing shoulders with similarly unloved stories such as Arc of Infinity, Warriors of the Deep and The Time Monster. But whilst nobody in their right mind would call Nimon an overlooked classic, it does have some good points which go some way to balance out the numerous production mis-steps.

On the credit side, Tom Baker is still coming up with the goods. Six years in, there’s no doubt that he’s done all of this stuff hundreds of times before but he still manages to make it seem fresh. Whatever his thoughts about poor scripts and his off-screen spats with Williams, on-screen he’s focused and giving it 100%. And he does have the odd gem, such as –

Nimon: “Later, you will be questioned, tortured and killed”

The Doctor: “Well, I hope you get it in the right order”

Lalla Ward is equally good value as Romana. Separated from the Doctor for an episode or so she effectively becomes a surrogate Doctor and manages to effortlessly carry the narrative. Forget K9 & Company, a spin-off with Lalla and K9 was a huge missed opportunity.

romana
Lalla Ward as The Doct, sorry I mean Romana.

As for the guest cast, a mixed bag is the kindest way to describe them. Simon Gipps-Kent and Janet Ellis are really just the Babes in the Wood – and their characters are so under-written that they aren’t called on to do much acting.

Malcolm Terris is pretty poor as the Co-Pilot which is summed up by his final scene as he faces the wrath of the Nimon and his trousers fail to take the strain.  Elsewhere on Skonnos, Sorak (Michael Osborne) and Soldeed (Graham Crowden) are an odd couple, to put it mildly.

Sorak (Michael Osborne) models a typically understand costume from designer June Hudson.
Sorak (Michael Osborne) models a typically understated costume from designer June Hudson.

Osborne plays it dead straight, which is all the more impressive when you consider his costume. Crowden, on the other hand, gives a performance that is on another planet to everybody else – even managing the impressive feat of making Tom look like an actor of great restraint.

Much has been written about Crowden’s turn as Soldeed and it’s the sort of performance that you either love or hate.  Frankly, I love it as Nimon is the wrong story for too much naturalistic acting. But as some people have never liked Doctor Who to be fun it’s no surprise that many either don’t get the joke or consider it to be out of place.

"My dreams of conquest ....."
“My dreams of conquest …..”

But amongst the under-acting, over-acting and no-acting, there is one perfectly pitched performance – John Bailey as Sezom. Bailey had previously appeared as the doomed Waterfield in The Evil of the Daleks (1967) and there’s a similar vibe to this character. It’s only a small part, but Bailey is excellent and it’s one of the highlights of the story.

As for the Nimon, oh dear. The Williams era is notable for a run of underwhelming monsters (immediately prior to this viewers would have been reeling from the glowing green bag that was Erato and the less-than-terrifying Mandrels) so the Nimon are pretty much business as usual. And as soon as the first one stumbles onto screen in his platform heels you know it isn’t going to end well.

nimon
“Roaaaarrrrr!!!!”

The Horns of Nimon was the end of an era in many ways. When the series returned it would feel quite different with a much more serious tone to proceedings.  But everything is cyclical and there would eventually be heirs to Crowdens throne (Paul Darrow in Timelash for example).

But for the moment, Nimon is the last gasp for this kind of goofy Doctor Who. Full of faults yes, but anything with Tom Baker, Lalla Ward and Graham Crowden can’t be all bad.