The Strange World of Gurney Slade was a programme that came and went very quickly – just six episodes, broadcast in 1960 – but in retrospect it’s a show that had a strong influence on some notable people and programmes (especially David Bowie and Patrick McGoohan’s The Prisoner).

At the time, Anthony Newley was a hot property.  He’d been acting since the 1940’s (including a memorable turn as the Artful Dodger in David Lean’s 1948 film version of Olivier Twist) and by the late 1950’s had also enjoyed a string of hit singles.  So a half-hour comedy series seemed to be the next logical move.

Gurney Slade was anything but logical though.  It’s a bizarre, surrealist trip through Newley’s psyche that appeared to totally wrong-foot the viewing audience, who were no doubt expecting something much more straightforward.  The muted critical response and poor viewing figures relegated the last few episodes to a graveyard slot and after the sixth and final episode limped out there were no calls to commission a second series.

The series was written by Sid Green and Dick Hills, although it’s tempting to assume that Newley himself had a considerable input in shaping the content of the show.  Green and Hills would become well known during the 1960’s as scriptwriters for Morecambe & Wise, but whilst their material was always solid (for example, they wrote the classic Grieg Skech, later remade with Andre Previn) it rarely displayed the flights of fancy seen in Gurney Slade.

What’s really remarkable about the series is that it was made in 1960.  Had it appeared later in the decade, then such a reflective, self-aware programme would have fitted in better with the overall television landscape.  But when you consider the type of programmes on offer in 1960, it makes Gurney Slade seem even more out of time.

Is it funny?  Well, it doesn’t offer many laugh-out-loud moments, but it’s wry and witty and it certainly isn’t predictable.  It’s unashamedly a star vehicle for Newley, who although he’s all but forgotten today, was a major star at the time.  His influence can best be seen in the career of the young David Bowie, who during the 1960’s copied Newley’s style almost perfectly.

Episode One sets out immediately to confound the audience’s expectations.  We open on a typical family living room, the Pagets, who have just moved into their new home .  We see the wife ironing, the son doing his homework and the mother-in-law unpacking.  Albert Paget (Newley) is sitting in an armchair, but it’s clear that something isn’t right – he appears to be disconnected from the events unfolding around him.  More visitors appear – the lodger and the man next door.  Every character (apart from Albert) is a clearly defined archetype and the dialogue is laboured and not terribly interesting.

After a moment, Albert gets up and puts on his coat.  He declines to answer the question about whether he’d like a nice egg for his tea, which throws everybody else into confusion.  The question is repeated sotto-voce several times, obviously in the hope that he’ll go back on script, but that doesn’t happen.  He walks out – and we see that the room is nothing more than a studio-set.  Newley strides past the cameras, the bewildered floor manager (Geoffrey Palmer) and escapes into the real world.  So he becomes Gurney Slade.

It’s a comprehensive “breaking the fourth wall moment”.  And things just get odder as he encounters objects and animals that can talk.  He picks up a stone and is about to launch it into the river when the stone asks him politely not to.  He then has a chat with a dog, who tells him that he likes Lassie but has little time for Rin-Tin-Tin.  When he picks up a newspaper without paying, the headline reads “Can’t You Afford Twopence Halfpenny”.

Later, he becomes enchanted with a poster that depicts a model advertising the Klean-o hoover.  The model (Una Stubbs) comes to life and he follows her down the street.  Interestingly, we also see a bystander watch him and he only sees Gurney – but not the girl.  This implies that whatever Gurney Slade sees, it’s only seen by him (and the audience of course).

With the notion that anything can happen, it’s a busy twenty-five minutes.  Most of Newley’s dialogue is prerecorded and then played in to simulate his thoughts.  This method is also used when he actually speaks and therefore it means that his words never quite match his lip movements.  This is another device that helps to give the programme a slightly off-kilter feeling.

At the end, Gurney returns to his sit-com family from the opening scene, only to find that they’ve been watching him all the time.  Although he escaped from the television studio, it’s clear that he’s still part of it.  He glumly admits that “I’m a walking television show. I can’t get away from them. Big Brother is watching me, and Big Dad and Big Mum. The whole family’s watching me. I’m like a goldfish in a bowl.”

The Strange World of Gurney Slade was a series of two halves.  The first three episodes were largely shot on location whilst the last three were studio bound.  Episode three finds Gurney in the countryside, musing that even though you may seem to be alone, you are always being observed by “bird’s eyes, cat’s eyes, sheep’s eyes, bull’s eyes, butterflies, customs and excise.”

Gurney begins by wondering exactly what life would be like in an ant colony.  He decides that he wouldn’t last very long – the life of a worker ant simply wouldn’t be for him.  Ants are able to carry approximately ten times their own body-weight – in human terms this would be akin to Gurney lugging around a grand piano (something he finds it hard to imagine).  This is a characteristically off-kilter opening to the episode – it’s hard to imagine many programmes that could feature Gurney’s internal monologue about industrious ants (although it’s possible to find an echo in the early series of Last of the Summer Wine, where plots took second place to inconsequential musings.  Although the three old boys never encountered any talking animals!).

Gurney later stops by a sign.  One way leads to Gurney Slade (such odd names they have in the countryside, he says) whilst the other points to Cuckold’s Comb.  Gurney Slade is a real place, of course.  Cuckold’s Comb is less so.

Episode three is probably the most fragmentary and plotless episode of Gurney Slade.  It’s also the one that has to be virtually carried by Newley alone – either via monologues with himself or by conversations with the various animals he meets along the way.  The most substantial encounter with another human being occurs when he encounters Napoleon (John Bennett) in a field (as you do).  Watch enough archive television and it’s almost certain that you’ll see the same actors again and again.  So only a few days after catching Bennett in the Cadfael story The Leper of St. Giles, here’s a chance to see him again (some thirty four years earlier).

Gurney wanders into a farm and has a lively conversation with a dog, who invites him to take a look around.  There’s a seperate plot which is developed between the farmer, his wife and a farmhand that pays off at the end – although it’s done with no dialogue and no interaction with Gurney.  He then chats to a cow (seductively voiced by Fenella Fielding) who tells him that she much prefers hand milking, as she points out to him that he probably wouldn’t like his “lactic glands stuffed into a vacuum cleaner.”

All in all, this is twenty five minutes that’s hard to adequately describe (and we haven’t even discussed the scarecrow who sings Greensleeves).  As we’ll see in the next episode, even at the time the show was being made it must have been clear that it probably wouldn’t be received with whole-hearted approval.

This one is probably the least engaging of the series, although it’s fair to say that the scattershot approach does generate more hits than misses.  But it’s only a slight dip, as episodes four to six are all very strong.  And it’s tempting to wonder if a young Patrick McGoohan was watching the final three and making notes ….

Gurney is entertaining a group of children with a tale about a magic tinker.  If they’re very good, he tells them, the tinker may visit and grant them a wish.  When they ask him exactly when the tinker will appear, Gurney is forced to admit that he may not arrive today – since Gurneyland (where he lives) is a long way, away.  Gurney then tells them that “the tinker is really symbolic. He’s an allegorical figure, who represents our innermost thoughts.”

He then explains a little more about Gurneyland.  It’s a place where any of your dreams can become true.  You want to be a great footballer, better than Stanley Matthews?  Or maybe the best singer in the world?  In Gurneyland, you can.

The recursive nature of the series is once more highlighted when Gurney asks one of the children why they didn’t stay inside and watch the television.  He’s told that “there’s nothing on. Just some bloke telling kids a story.”  Shortly afterwards, two partygoers Albert (Bernie Winters) and Veronica (Coral Fairweather) arrive.  And then a few minutes later, Gurney and the children are excited to see the tinker (Charles Lloyd-Pack).

Earlier, we saw Gurney explaining to the children that the tinker wasn’t real – but once he arrives (or at least someone who could be the magic tinker) Gurney is keen to see him demonstrate some of his magic.  Was he actually the magic tinker or just an ordinary tramp?  You’ll need to make your own minds up about that – although it’s not a vitally important point.

What is important is that everybody (the children, the tinker, plus Albert and Veronica) have taken a trip to Gurneyland – quite literally, as they all find themselves transported inside Gurney’s mind.  This is frustrating for Gurney, the point of his story was that Gurneyland is inside everybody (their own personal imagination).  So he’s a little upset to find so many people running amok inside his.

How to get them out?  Once he goes into his mind, he meets his dark side – a horned version of himself.  The bad Gurney suggests drinking and visits to scurrilous French films will instantly make the children want to leave.  Our Gurney is shocked by this and refuses (although at the end of the episode he realises it’s the only way to sort things out).

Gurney’s subconscious is divided into various rooms, such as the Depression Room, the Memory Room and the Common-Sense Room (the last one, he admits, isn’t used very often).  Wandering around his own psyche allows Green & Hills (and maybe Newley himself) to poke some fun at Newley’s public persona.  He admits he has “quite a big mind, but then they always said I had a big head.”

Later on, after he finds that many of the children have invited their parents to join them, he follows them and finds them all watching a version of himself.  He’s singing Strawberry Fair (which was a hit for Newley that year).  After the performance, “our” Gurney reflects that “I should have thought that would have driven them out” and critiquing his own performance he decides that ” I always had the impression I sang better than that.”

Like the previous episode, this is a very theatrical production.  Although the first half is meant to be set outside, it feels stagey and unrealistic (this is a clear production choice, had they wished to shoot on location there’s no reason why they couldn’t have done so).  Newley excels with his multiple personalities and he also plays well off the children.

Although there’s plenty of jokes along the way (such as an invisible elephant that takes a liking to Gurney) it also has some interesting things to say about good and evil, as well as the borderline between fantasy and reality.  It’s another deep and rich episode that covers a lot of ground during its twenty five minutes.