One morning, two hours after dawn, the first manned rocket in the history of the world takes off from the Tarooma range, Australia. The three observers see on their scanning screens a quickly receding Earth. The rocket is guided from the ground by remote control as they rise through the ozone layer, the stratosphere, the ionosphere, beyond the air. They are to reach a height of 1,500 miles above the Earth and there learn what is to be learnt. For an experiment is an operation designed to discover some unknown truth. It is also a risk. (Opening narration)
Contact Has Been Established opens with Professor Quatermass and his team anxiously checking for news of the rocket. It’s an early opportunity to see the main members of the British Rocket Group in action. John Paterson (Hugh Kelly) and Peter Marsh (Moray Watson) are, at this time, fairly anonymous button-twiddlers and they don’t really have a great deal of opportunity to establish specific characters (although Watson does have a memorable moment at the end of the episode when he reacts with horror at the news that two of the three astronauts are missing. Had this not been live then possibly another take would have dialed down his intensity – but alas, this was live and there were no second chances).
Isabel Dean played Judith Carroon, wife of Victor (one of the astronauts). She had the sort of cut-glass accent that was still common at the time (although it was slowly vanishing). Her rather stilted delivery does play against the emotion she had to express – but it’s a difficult role anyway, so it’s probably wise to cut her some slack.
The obvious man in charge is Quatermass (Reginald Tate). Tate is probably the forgotten Quatermass (due to only two episodes from this story existing). Had he not died suddenly, just before production of QII, then that obviously wouldn’t have been the case, since there was every indication he would have carried on with the role as long as Kneale had continued to write it. Certainly Kneale himself had envisaged Tate continuing, both on television and on film, and in time it’s probable that he would have been synonymous with the role of Professor Quatermass.
It wasn’t to be though, so we’re left with just these two episodes to gauge how he played the role. It’s certainly very different from Brian Donlevy’s take of the character in the Hammer film (which Kneale strongly disliked). Whereas Donlevy was brash and loud, Tate is quiet and thoughtful – but there’s nevertheless an intensity about him. Would he have been as good as André Morell in QATP, playing the older, more embittered Quatermass? It’s difficult to answer, but the evidence we have with these two episodes suggests that he would have been more than decent.
Technical imperfections are always going to occur during live broadcasts and there’s a few in this episode, although nothing too terrible. The first sight of the rocket, crashed into the house, is impressive – but it appears that the grams weren’t cued up straight away, as there’s a pause of about five seconds before we hear any sound effects (dogs barking, babies crying, the sound of fire, etc).
If Isabel Dean gives a performance that to modern eyes seems somewhat unrealistic, then the same could be said of Iris Ballard as Mrs Matthews (“oh my gawd Len, it’s something dreadful”). It’s a character drawn from a stock type (frightened working-classes) and it doesn’t really convince. The first few minutes of the scene with the crashed rocket are rather tricky anyway – there’s some wobbly camera-work and the sound is indistinct at times (it seems that the boom microphones couldn’t get close enough to the actors).
Thankfully, Katie Johnson as Miss Wilde is on hand to liven up proceedings. Best known as Mrs Wilberforce in the classic Ealing comedy The Ladykillers (1955), Johnson is delightful as the little old lady more concerned about the safety of her cat than the fact that a rocket has crashed into her house!
The area quickly becomes a circus, with reporters (headed by the foppish James Fullalove, played by Paul Whitsun-Jones), policeman, fireman, barrow-boys and drunks. But whilst there’s chaos all around them, Quatermass’ team work on, attempting to establish contact with the crew within the rocket.
One of the pleasures of watching the BBC Quatermass serials is to observe how many times the makers of Doctor Who later ripped off/lovingly paid homage to (delete as applicable) Kneale’s story concepts. Nigel Kneale famously loathed Doctor Who and refused the offer to contribute a script for the series, but that didn’t stop the programme (at various points in its history) borrowing heavily from the Quatermass canon.
The end of this episode, when the rocket is opened and it’s discovered that two of the astronauts are missing, is very similar to the Jon Pertwee story The Ambassadors of Death (although they went one better and had all three astronauts vanish!) The sole survivor, Victor Carroon (Duncan Lamont) must hold the answer to the mystery and maybe in the next episode things will become clearer.
If you wanted to make the case that Nigel Kneale and his BBC trilogy of plays featuring Professor Quatermass were key moments in the development of British television drama, then there’s plenty of evidence to back that up.
The fledgling BBC television service launched in 1936. Its reach was initially restricted to a fairly small radius around the London area (since only one transmitter – at Alexandra Palace – was in use). It therefore made little impact during these early years, which wasn’t helped when WW2 forced it off the air (it ceased broadcasting in 1939 and only resumed in 1946).
Post war, more transmitters began to pop up around the country – so that by the early 1950’s the majority of the country could now receive television. And as the familiar story goes, it was the coronation of Queen Elizabeth II on the 2nd of June 1953 that provided the impetus for many people to purchase a television set of their own.
With the launch of ITV still two years away, the BBC had a captive television audience. So what did the average television schedule look like in 1953? Thanks to the BBC Genome website (a wonderful resource for the researcher and the merely curious) we can find out. This is the complete schedule for the 11th of July 1953 (the week before episode one of The Quatermass Experiment made its debut).
13.15 : Cricket
ENGLAND v. AUSTRALIA
Third Test Match
The third day’s play at Old Trafford, Manchester
Commentators : E. W. Swanton and Brian Johnston
15.15 : AQUAVIEW
A glimpse of the preparations for this evening’s cabaret on land and water
15.25 : Athletics A.A.A. CHAMPIONSHIPS
Some of the events in the Amateur Athletic Association’s Annual Championships at the White City Stadium, London
Commentators: Peter Dimmock, Jack Crump and Geoffrey Dyson
16.30 : Cricket
ENGLAND v. AUSTRALIA
Third Test Match followed by a short summary of the day’s play
18.30 : CHILDREN’S TELEVISION
Bruce Gordon in Gordon Gets Going
A family serial
3-‘ Flying Visitors’ by David Edwards
Settings by Michael Yates
Produced by Kevin Sneldon
19.15 : THE WEEK’S NEWSREELS
This week’s Television Newsreels
20.25 : Interlude
‘Making a Posy’ by William Powell Frith
20.30 : Betty Paul and Andrew Osborn in ‘STAND BY TO SHOOT’
A serial play in six episodes by Donald Wilson
Produced by Dennis Vance
6-‘ Double Take ‘
21.00 : THE TEST MATCH
After the third day’s play, Brian Johnston, with some cricketing personalities, considers the state of the fight for the Ashes
21.15 : ‘EVENING ALFRESCO’
22.30 : Weather Forecast and NEWS (sound only)
Sports fans were obviously well catered for, but drama is pretty thin on the ground – with only the concluding episode of Stand By To Shoot (and Quatermass would take its place in the schedules the following week). Generally, drama was fairly sparse at this time – there would be serials during the weekend and one-off plays during the week, but it only formed a small part of the BBC’s output.
Why was this so? Partially, it was due to resources. BBC television was still a relatively new organisation and in the early 1950’s it was still finding its feet. One problem was that drama was broadcast live, as there was no effective way to pre-record. This would be solved in the years to come, but in the early 1950’s if a play was to be repeated then the cast would have to reassemble and perform it again! With a limited number of studios, and live broadcasting, drama therefore had to be somewhat restricted.
The drama output of the BBC of this time also owed a heavy debt to the theatre. The majority of television directors had come from the theatre, as had the actors, and virtually all of the plays were adapted from existing theatrical works. With the added pressure of live television, it’s not surprising that most BBC drama tended to look stagey (many consisting of a single set, for example, with actors making their entrances and exits).
The Quatermass Experiment was a conscious effort by Nigel Kneale to produce something new – not only was it a serial not adapted from a play, it also had a scope and scale that hadn’t been seen up until that point. Multiple sets, pre-filmed inserts and a heightened pace of storytelling all helped to make this something unusual.
Of course, what exists of the first serial (episodes one and two) does look somewhat clunky to modern eyes. This isn’t helped by the fact that the recording of the serial used the BBC’s oldest and least effective cameras (the Emitrons) as well as the primitive nature of the telerecordings. Indeed, it’s generally assumed that because the telerecordings of the first two episodes were deemed to be of such poor quality it was decided not to record the remaining four – hence they were broadcast live and are gone forever. Some people do cling on to a faint hope that they were recorded and that copies may exist somewhere, but I’m not holding my breath on that one!
If The Quatermass Experiment was a little rough-and-ready then Quatermass II (1955) was a major step up in quality and Quatermass and the Pit (1958/1959) was yet another major advance. It’s therefore possible to get something of a feel for the development of BBC television drama during the 1950’s by watching the three original Quatermass serials in sequence. Quatermass and the Pit was the best of the three, both dramatically and technically. Although still predominantly live, QATP was by far the most polished production, helped no end by the assured performance of André Morell.
The Quatermass story concluded some twenty years later with the Euston Films production of Quatermass, starring John Mills. Originally developed as a BBC serial in the early 1970’s, it was certainly no easy exercise in nostalgia – not surprising, since that was never Kneale’s style.
I’ll shortly be starting a rewatch of all the existing episodes and blogging my thoughts as I go along. For anybody who hasn’t yet seen the BBC episodes, the DVD is ridiculously cheap at the moment and also has some good supplementary material, such as documentaries and viewing notes from Andrew Pixley. Any collection of British archive television is the poorer without Quatermass on its shelf.
It’s disappointing that the BFI DVD of Nineteen Eighty Four, adapted by Nigel Kneale, produced by Rudolph Cartier and starring Peter Cushing, is still in limbo. The original release date was planned for the end of 2014, then it was pushed back to March 2015. At the time of writing this update (07/03/15) the DVD is no longer listed on the BFI’s website and the provisional release date has vanished from e-tailers such as Amazon, which indicates that it’s not going to appear any time soon.
This isn’t the first time that a DVD has been mooted only for it to never materialise. The story starts in 2004, when it was announced that it would be released by DD Video. This was exciting news and when DD issued a press release it became clear that considerable effort had been expended in order to present the programme in the best possible quality. Their 2004 press release is reproduced below –
BBC CLASSIC SF DRAMA PAINSTAKINGLY RESTORED
Classic TV specialist DD Home Entertainment claims to have set a new quality benchmark on its restoration work for the 1954 BBC drama Nineteen Eighty-Four.
This early landmark of British television, which will be available for the first time ever on DVD and video on November 8th, required extensive work on it, but viewers will – according to DD – find the restored picture even better than when it was first transmitted. In December 1954 videotape recorders (even for broadcast use) were two years away and existed, if at all, only in prototype form in research laboratories.
Since 1947 BBC engineers had been able to make crude recordings of TV pictures simply by pointing a film camera at a monitor screen. However, dramas were not recorded until 1953 and Nineteen Eighty-Four remains one of the earliest surviving examples of the art-form. It was recorded at the time using an ingenious system of modified telecine machines.
New transfers of the film recording were commissioned from BBC Resources using its highest quality Spirit datacine equipment. Special arrangements were made with the BBC Film and Videotape Library for access to the archive master material, which cannot normally be used.
The new copies of the play were graded. This is the process of taking each shot (or even part shot) and adjusting the brightness and contrast. Dirty cuts (where a frame is made of superimposed and distorted pictures from two cameras) were removed or, where possible, repaired using paintbox techniques.
Next, every frame of the play was examined and film dirt, scratches and other defects were laboriously re-touched and pointed out by hand. Finally a video process was applied to give the studio sequences the fluid motion appearance that they would have had on original broadcast.
The result – one of the earliest surviving examples of British television has been restored to exceptional quality.
Nineteen Eighty-Four will be available from November 8th 2004
But the DVD was never released in November 2004, instead it was announced that it had been postponed due to a dispute with the Orwell estate. The 1984 film of Nineteen Eighty Four, starring John Hurt and Richard Burton, had been released on DVD in 2004 and it appears the Orwell estate didn’t want the BBC version to be available at the same time.
After this, everything went quiet until the BFI’s press release in July 2014 announced they would release it as part of their Days of Fear and Wonder SF season. And the even better news was that they intended to use the restored master prepared in 2004.
It could be that it’s been delayed in order for the BFI to source more special features. There’s some interesting material that could be added, most especially the 1965 version starring David Buck (a remake of the 1954 script). Although it’s missing a few minutes, it would still be a very worthwhile (and long!) special feature. Further information about this production can be found here, in an article written by Kim Newman.
Or it could be that the Orwell estate are once again flexing their muscles. If so, it’s their last opportunity, since in a few years their copyright claim to this production will have expired and they’ll no longer be able to block it.
It does seem bizarre that the BFI would announce the release without ensuring that all the necessary clearances had been obtained (but then the same thing seems to have happened a decade ago, with DD Video having spent money on a restoration that remains unseen). Whilst it’s hardly difficult to source a copy of the unrestored print via the internet, it was the restored programme (along with some decent special features to place it in context – like the Out of the Unknown and the forthcoming Douglas Wilmer Sherlock Holmes DVDs) that the majority of us were keen to see.
For now, we’ll just have to wait and see if any more hopeful news surfaces in the future. Anybody who is interested in more detail about the production may find this of interest.
Edit (Jan 2016). Unfortunately the BFI DVD has now been cancelled. The reason why isn’t known (possibly problems with the Orwell estate). It does seem remarkable that both DD and the BFI prepared DVD releases which stumbled due to unspecified complications. It possible that someone will try again in a few years time, but for now the restored version remains locked in the vaults.
The Sunday Night Theatre production of George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty Four (originally transmitted by the BBC on the 12th of December 1954) is a highly significant milestone in the development of British television drama. Due to be released on DVD by the BFI in November 2014, this seems like a good time to look at the background of the production and the impact it had.
Before we look at the programme it’s worth taking a moment to consider the state of British television in 1954. The BBC had launched its television service in 1936, although the reach was extremely limited – only 20,000 viewers (those close to the single transmitter at Alexandra Palace) could receive the early television transmissions.
The outbreak of World War 2 in 1939 meant that the fledgling BBC TV output was suspended and it wouldn’t resume until June 1946. However, plans for the return of television had been discussed as early as 1943 and one of the major issues to be tackled was how to ensure that the whole of the country – not just those living in the immediate area around Alexandra palace – could view the service.
More transmitters were the answer – Sutton Coldfield in 1949, Holme Moss in 1951 and Kirk O’ Shotts and Wenvoe in 1952 ensured that a further twenty eight million people up and down the country could now access television. There were still gaps in coverage, which would be plugged as the decade progressed, but by the time Elisabeth II was crowned in Westminster Abbey on the 2nd of June 1953, BBC television had firmly established itself nationwide. By 1954 there were 3.2 million television licences (a sharp increase on the 763,000 licences registered by 1949).
The launch of ITV in 1955 and BBC2 in 1964 were future milestones which would increase viewer choice – but when 1984 was broadcast in December 1954, British television was a one channel service, so it had the uninterrupted attention of the viewership.
Nineteen Eighty Four was adapted by Nigel Kneale and produced and directed by Rudolph Cartier.
Nigel Kneale’s (1922 – 2006) earliest BBC credits were on the radio. He appeared several times in the late 1940’s, reading his own stories, such as Tomato Cain and Zachary Crebbin’s Angel. After graduating from RADA at around the same time, Kneale continued to write in his spare time while pursuing an acting career.
After winning the Somerset Maughan award in 1950 for his book, Tomato Cain and Other Stories, he decided to give up acting to become a full-time writer. In 1951 he was recruited by BBC television to become one of their first staff writers. This meant that he would be assigned to work on whatever projects were in production – adapting a variety of books or plays for television broadcast. In 1952 he provided additional dialogue for a play called Arrow To The Heart. The play was adapted and directed by Rudolph Cartier and it would mark the start of a successful working partnership between the two.
Rudolph Cartier (1904 – 1994) was born in Vienna and initially studied architecture before changing paths to study drama at the Vienna Academy of Music and Dramatic Art. Cartier worked for German cinema from the late 1920’s onwards, first as a scriptwriter and then later as a director. After Hitler came to power, the Jewish-born Cartier moved to America to continue his film career.
However, his success there was limited, so in the mid 1940’s Cartier moved to the United Kingdom and restarted his career by working as a storyliner on several British films. In 1952, Michael Barry was appointed head of Drama at the BBC and interviewed Cartier for a post as a staff television producer/director. Cartier was of the opinion that the current BBC drama output was “dreadful” and that a new direction was needed to turn things around. Fortunately Barry agreed, and Cartier was hired.
After Arrow To The Heart, Kneale and Cartier would next work on The Quatermass Experiment (1953). This six part serial, scripted by Kneale and produced and directed by Cartier, would prove to be an enormous success. Its reputation has also endured down the decades – The Times’ 1994 obituary on Cartier highlighted it as: “a landmark in British television drama as much for its visual imagination as for its ability to shock and disturb.”
Kneale and Cartier would go on to make two further Quatermass adventures for the BBC – Quatermass II (1955) and Quatermass and the Pit (1958). Their other collaborations included another Kneale original, The Creature (1955) as well as adaptations such as Wuthering Heights (1953) and Moment of Truth (1955).
Nineteen Eighty Four was therefore only one of a number of projects that they worked on during this time, but apart from the Quatermass serials it’s the production that has tended to define both of them, particularly Cartier.
Published in 1949, Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell offers a bleak dystopian picture of the future. The book is set in Airstrip One (formally Great Britain) which is a part of the state of Oceania. There are two other states – Eurasia and Eastasia. Oceania is constantly at war with one state whilst allied with the other. The allegiances are constantly changing and this means that Oceania’s history has to be constantly re-written in order to maintain the omnipotence of Big Brother.
Winston Smith is a worker in the Ministry of Truth, rectifying “errors” in Big Brother’s previous pronouncements in order to ensure they accurately now record the “truth”. Winston’s desire to find more about the real past leads him to rebel against the state.
A popular and critical success when it was first published, Nineteen Eighty Four was also a highly controversial book. So it was always going to be a difficult piece to adapt for television, particularly in the period of the early 1950’s.
Peter Cushing (1913 – 1994) was cast by Cartier in the main role of Winston Smith. Cushing notched up an impressive series of television roles during the 1950’s, which would lead to Hammer Films approaching him towards the end of the decade to star in their adaptations of Dracula and Frankenstein, thus ensuring his celluloid immortality.
Yvonne Mitchell (who had appeared in the Kneale/Cartier Wuthering Heights) was cast as Julia, Andre Morell (later to play Professor Quatermass in Quatermass and the Pit) was O’Brien whilst the supporting cast included notable performers such as Donald Pleasance and Wilfred Brambell.
The music was composed by John Hotchkis. Cartier disliked recorded music, so the score was conduced live by Hotchkis in Lime Grove Studio E, next door to where the play was being performed. Hotchkis viewed the performance via a monitor in order to ensure that the music stayed in sync with the drama.
Prior to the first live performance on the 12th of December 1954, there was some pre-filming, initially on the 10th of November with additional filming taking place on the 18th of November. Pre-filmed inserts served several purposes – they could be used to present sequences that were impossible to realise in the studio and they were also useful for more practical reasons, such as allowing the actors time to move from one set to another or for them to make costume changes. The filming also helped to “open out” the drama, for example showing Winston moving through the prole sectors or Winston and Julia’s meeting in the woods.
Kneale’s adaptation was largely pretty faithful to the original book, with only a few changes made (such as dropping the section where Julia, working in the PornoSec department, reads a excerpt from one of the erotic novels created by the machines).
Given the limitations of live production, this is, thanks to Cartier, a striking piece of television. His use of close-ups on Cushing (along with his pre-recorded thoughts) when the character was struggling to hide his “thought-crime” allow the viewer an insight into Winston’s mind. And this is enhanced by Cushing’s fine performance – throughout the play he is never less than first rate.
He is matched by O’Brien (Andre Morell) who manages a cool detachment in all of his scenes (most famously in the torture sequence) that contrasts perfectly with Winston’s humanity.
Probably the most controversial aspect of the production, Winston’s torture, is another part of the production handled very well by Cartier. The passage of time is signified by numerous fade-ins and fade-outs which help to sell to the viewer that a considerable amount of time has passed. During these scenes, Morell is quiet, calm and reasonable, which is truly chilling. When the broken figure of Winston, stripped of all dignity, Is led away it’s a shocking moment.
Following transmission, there was something of an outcry and the programme certainly stirred a healthy debate. Five MPs tabled an early motion, deploring “the tendency, evident in recent British Broadcasting Corporation television programmes, notably on Sunday evenings, to pander to sexual and sadistic tastes.”
However, an amendment to this motion was tabled, in which another five MPs deplored: “the tendency of honourable members to attack the courage and enterprise of the British Broadcasting Corporation in presenting plays and programmes capable of appreciation by adult minds, on Sunday evenings and other occasions.”
The play had its supporters in high places, as reputedly both the Queen and Prince Philip had watched and enjoyed the production.
There was still some debate as to whether the second performance (due to be broadcast on the 16th of December) should go ahead. After a meeting of the BBC Board of Governors, there was a narrow vote in favour of the second performance.
Videotape recording was still in its infancy at the time and whilst some telerecordings were made of live productions they tended not to always be of broadcast standard. For example, the first two episodes of The Quatermass Experiment had been telerecorded, but the results were judged to be disappointing and so it appears that recordings were not made of the subsequent four episodes.
The original broadcast of Nineteen Eighty Four was not recorded so, as was usual at the time when a repeat of a play was required, it was performed again. We are fortunate that the repeat was telerecoded, enabling us to have a record of the production. And due to the publicity, the Thursday broadcast had an audience of seven million, which was the largest television audience since the Queen’s Coronation in 1953.
Given the technical limitations of live performance as well as the primitive nature of the telerecording (although the film inserts should scrub up well) Nineteen Eighty Four is still an incredibly compelling piece of television, thanks to all the performers, but particularly Cushing, Morrell and Yvonne Mitchell. Its place in the development of British television drama is a key one and for anybody who has the slightest interest in archive television or simply good television, this is something that should be in your collection.