An actor was once quoted as remarking- "the way ABC talks about their Armchair Theatre, you'd think they were creating another Hamlet. How is it then their plays are so bad?"
Yes, this was a popular judgement at the time, and I must admit I always avoided the series, especially when it went through what critics regarded as its golden era (1958-1962) under the direction of the brilliant Sydney Newman, whose name became almost synonymous with the jibe Kitchen Sink.
Nevertheless, it has to be admitted Newman built up a talented team of writers who understood the demands of the new medium of television, and who were not merely writing theatrical or film scripts. Amongst these were Harold Pinter and Alun Owen. But more than this, Newman discovered directors who could mould a tv screen in a new way, amongst these were William 'Ted' Kotcheff and Philip Saville.
When Leonard White took over the reins in 1962, he made the series more accessible whilst managing to retain the unique feel to many individual plays, and the 'glorious disasters' under Newman's reign were eliminated. Perhaps however also, the brilliance of the Newman era had also departed.
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Now Let Him Go (15th September 1957)
Script: JB Priestley. Director: Dennis Vance.
Only Hugh Griffith could roll his eyes thus. He's a most confused passenger on a late night train that has arrived at the terminus of Scroop.
The unusually helpful staff take him to the Railway Arms, where he is put to bed, a local doctor examining him.
He's actually the famous painter Simon Kendall, who knows his "time is running out." A bevy of press surround the pub, where his family
descends, though it transpires he'd been trying to escape from them. There's his pompous son Edmund (William Mervyn) a politician, and his drunken daughter.
It's significant they do not go to see him for ages, but merely chat in the back room of the pub. The queen's physician attends,
and lots of miscellaneous "zombies."
Granddaughter Felicity (June Thorburn) is more welcome, she listens to the old man and agrees to help him in whatever way the muddled old chap wishes.
Kendall has taken a liking to the dogsbody at the pub, Tommy (Gerald Lawson, a kind of Wilfred Lawson clone), who has recommended Simon entrusts the estranged son of the landlord,
Stan, with this unspecified job. Another to help is Nurse Judith (Ursula Howells), a widow, who also responds to his ramblings. She has to, so do we, "I want a new heaven,
a new earth."
Yet another caller is Leo, the dealer who agrees to sell all Kendall's remaining paintings, currently estimated to be worth around £150,000. But it is not yet decided who will inherit them.
More relevantly, Simon can't remember where they are. He is sure he had them with him on the train...
What the author is struggling to say, the loneliness of dying, is all too trite and obvious, not to say sad. The "dreadful noise" of a trombone practising in the background a lot of the time just adds
to our depression. Maybe it's Edmund's attitude, seeking to get immediate control of his father's estate and those paintings. But Felicity and Stan race to find them first.
As they do so, Simon spends his last hours forgetting his pain and sorting out the problems of others. But the crisis comes when his son demands he sign over
his affairs. The tired old man refuses, ranting against administrators like solicitors.
At last the paintings are found by Felicity. Now Simon can "stop worrying." To his doctor he hands his will, in which Felicity, and oddly Stan, inherit all. And the painting he is completing on
his deathbed is given to kind Nurse Judith.
More dreadful trombone music, playing Now The Day Is Over. Viewers still watching must have wondered how Priestley could have earned his reputation. Those that were still awake that is.
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The Lady of the Camellias (16th February 1958, 9.35pm)
Script adapted by Norman Ginsbury and Jacques Sarch from the story by Alexander Dumas.
Director: George More O'Ferrall who was, claimed Ann Todd, responsible for getting this fine actress to perform this celebrated title role.
Stagey, but the plot moves with a satisfying pace, the fine camerawork focussing on the facial expressions of the cast.
The talk is all of Marguerite (Ann Todd), once a shop assistant, now "dressed like a princess," moving amongst wealthy admirers, a duke, a count and the wealthy
Arthur de Varville (Douglas Wilmer). She toys with them all.
Armand Duval (David Knight) is entranced by her. "He loves you more than anyone else in Paris." And she is smitten by him.
But in the best melodramatic tradition, she is prey to a degenerating disease and her sombre private moods contrast with the gaiety of her public profile. Her tragedy is summed up when she poses the hopeless question
to her lover, "what happiness can I bring you?"
Thus the seeds of the crisis are set. Further, she is in debt, Arthur will pay them off, so will the count, but the price will be Armand's estrangement, and she cannot face that.
Instead she pawns her possessions and she smiles "I'm happier than I ever dared to hope."
But her past reputation returns to haunt her from an unexpected source. Armand's father (Henry Oscar) warns her that Armand's sister cannot marry her rich fiance, with a girl of Marguerite's reputation
such a shadow on Armand's family. In the best vein of Victorian moralism, Armand's father puts it rather plainly, "will Armand learn to love
you when your beauty begins to fade?" Then the tortuous logic: to prove she really loves him, is she prepared to give him up?
In the fashion of those times, she resigns her love for him for a nobler cause. The modern viewer finds this hard to accept, more so when the score is settled by a duel.
Thus Arthur engages with Armand.
As she lies in bed, wasting away, hope drained, her estranged lover returns to her, all crises in the past, misunderstandings miraculously resolved.
"Snatch our happiness while we can," is one well-worn line. However one crisis cannot be avoided: "I want to live," she cries nobly, but alas, "so easy to die," as she swoons away in his arms. Yes this was true melodrama, but nicely presented for the tv age.
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"Live from Manchester," written by Jimmy Sangster. Directed by Wilfrid Eades:
I Can Destroy the Sun (12 October 1958) -
These are the cryptic words sent in a letter to a government official. "Mark it unbalanced anonymous," declares civil servant Henry Walpole (John Barron).
But others have received similar warnings, and not just in Britain, for Petrov of the Russian lot, and Boardman (Robert Ayres) of the USA have been equally perturbed by such communications. And this occurs immediately after talks between the superpowers "have just broken down" over agreement on limiting the H bomb.
Travers of MI5 (Leslie Sands) has received a more detailed letter, convincing him "this is no hoax." Dr Peter Lunn (Maurice Denham) of the Tipston Observatory confirms the writer is no crackpot, for Lunn himself has already witnessed the recent destruction of a minor star, Phobos. The ultimatum is- get agreement on the H bomb within 4 days or else.... Travers gets an ultimatum too: "find that man!" A hard task for he has "nothing to go on at all."
To keep up the pressure, the crank announces he is going to destroy another small stellar body, Atheos. This will surely concentrate the minds of those conducting the talks! Yet the question has to be asked: what would happen if the sun were to be destroyed? Lunn paints a "very serious" scenario- temperature loss, oxygen "non-existent," leading to asphyxia, crust of the earth splitting, earth flung into outer space. Pretty final, in fact.
Spurred by such a peril, Travers feels justified in giving the US and Soviet delegates a lecture on their immorality. It sums up the aim of the play. They must wake up to their responsibilities and stop merely talking and talking. But herein lies the weakness of this play, for it itself is too wordy, the improbable threats of the crank are never given any real visual impact. But perhaps the words are enough: "in 15 to 20 years time our atmosphere... will be so filthy with radiation that our grandchildren will be born into a world of deformity, mutation."
Thus international peace is secured.
But the madman has not been traced. His invention could itself destabilise the world. He and it must be found.
Travers questions "the person who can see what no other human can see," Dr Lunn. In his observatory he'd worked up this whole scheme. We hear about it in this overlong coda. "I wrote those letters..." All prompted by his own desperate concern for the future of the planet. "Already," he warns Travers presciently, "our weather pattern has begun to change..." ah- you've heard that since, haven't you?
This is a typical Jimmy Sangster script - was it left over from his Hammer days?
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The Widower (1 June 1958) -
Written by Cyril Campion. Directed by: Wilfred Eades
The opening depicts a bustling scene at the Cafe de Deux Chats, as a newcomer enters, unusually alone. Is he watching someone? When a lady departs, he secretes something in her purse.
Paul Marley (Kenneth Hyde) then goes back to his opulent home. The young lady, Julie (Maggie Smith), knocks oin his door to return these jewels she'd found:
"they're worth something quite fabulous."
He tells her what he's been up to- he's an eligible bachelor who believed he had just found his ideal woman. In stilted terms he explains he'd found she'd been unfaithful. Disillusioned, he'd decided to get rid of the jewels he'd bought for her.
And of course one thing leads to another, and Paul and Julie's friendship starts to blossom. Into marriage.
Marley's private secretary, Gilbert, had been a close friend of Julie's two years previously. Gilbert is jaundiced in his view of his employer, whom he sees as "completely heartless." He attempts to show him up to her but she refuses to believe anything against her new husband.
But it's obvious she still feels attracted to Gilbert.
The critical time comes when Marley is away in London on business, and Gilbert and Julie become lovers, though it's not very convincingly portrayed.
Julie finds it a "delightful arrangement," though he dreams of a more permanent attachment. But that's, in a drama cliche, "that ridiculous outmoded idea," and though he delivers an ultimatum,
she can't accept his offer of marriage, rather odd as she's trapped in one of her own.
Paul evidently knows about Gilbert's relationship with his wife, and maybe this latest trip away of his is a ruse. She's awaiting a diner a deux with Gilbert, but it's Paul who joins her. "I found everything
as I expected," he tells her in a quiet but menacing voice. In an overlong scene, he reveals he does know all about her infidelity. "Somewhat boring," is how
Paul depicts it. This decides her that she definitely will run off with Gilbert.
And oh dear, the author develops the plot in a way that is so easily guessed....
Thus when Gilbert arrives for the assignation, there's only a dead Julie, strangled with Gilbert's own scarf. It looks bad for him, and you do long for Paul's rascally cunning to be exposed. Another cliched scene next, as Paul phones the
police to say he's caught his wife's killer, then pretends Gilbert is attacking him and has to shoot him: "I had no alternative." This is a triumph for evil, as the jolly closing theme tune starts to play as though this were nothing but a French farce. I think I might have preferred it done this way.
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The Criminals (December 28th 1958)
Script: Malcolm Hulke and Eric Paice. Director: James Ferman.
A contemporary verdict from Margaret Cowan- "The whole thing is incredible. The action, motivation and execution of the plot are
all artificial. It fails to convince and it fails to move. Stanley Baker gives a strong performance as a forceful leader... but it was a losing battle with an unconvincing script."
Our own review: A New Year's Eve party at the office is interrupted by escaped convict Dorell (S Baker). Managing director Crawford (Raymond Huntley),
Foley (Allan Cuthbertson), Stone (Peter Swanwick) and Saunders (Frederick Bartman) are forced to help the criminal steal £200,000 from the next door bank.
"This is preposterous," correctly shouts the upper class Crawford, and tries to phone home. Dorell pulls out the phone wire adding darkly, "I just saved Mrs Crawford's life." His partner
Harry has taken each of the men's loved ones hostage.
It's fine contrast between the executives and the rough unshaven criminal, even if the premise seems rather far fetched. Pinstripes doing the digging! The four strong management team
have to excavate a tunnel to the bank to Dorell's barking orders. Whilst Dorell shores up the tunnel, Foley proposes the obvious- phone the police. They don't. A bobby on the beat
joins the nightwatchman for a celebratory drink, unaware of the drama in the next room.
Dorell offers the four a cut from the bank, for he knows each of them has financial problems. He's learned that much from the weakest member, Stone.
It turns out it's been a complete bluff about the hostages, but this knowledge comes too late for the men, for Dorell now orders them with his gun. As they are now accomplices, he promises them his silence, and even provides them with alibis.
The crisis reaches a head when the nightwatchman has to be blindfolded and tied up. There is no turning back now for The Criminals. But why these fairly upright men are still assisting is dubious- and is a very weak point of the plot.
The New Year rings out, coinciding with the explosion that opens the vault. But this aspect of the play is never exciting or plausible and the characters of the businessmen needed more detailed delineation to explain their motives.
For all these reasons, I was not absorbed, even though Stanley Baker is always watchable.
Sacks of cash are passed along the tunnel. "All this money," swoons Stone. Dorell teases them by handing Foley then Crawford his gun. They can't shoot him, and it must be admitted they did have their chances to stop the robbery. Dorell intends to join
the four on their planned private plane trip to Germany, but he realises he's left a clue at the bank, and as he retraces his way along the tunnel, it just has to collapse, killing him. The four men argue over what to do, contact the police
or grab the money and run. When they find the nightwatchman has amazingly died, it's murder, and flight is their only option.
Their reactions at this point are the best part of the story, even though their actual predicament is unbelievable.
Criminals always fall out over the loot, and so it is here. The local bobby interrupts the argument and Crawford gets his friends arrested and walks off with some of the loot.
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Scent of Fear
Script: Ted Willis: Director: John Moxey.
Comments from 1959 by critic Guy Taylor-
"Armchair Theatre returned for its autumn season with a new opening
(still not good enough) and a new play - it was not Willis at his best.
The first act was excellent, with plenty of tension and first
class acting. After the first interval, however, the play suddenly
faltered and came to pieces in the third act.
This was mainly due to the fact that there were too many revelations
all at once."
Most of the action is set on board British World Airways special flight
to London, leaving from an Iron Curtain country with 5 VIPs on board, six if a wanted man can get on board.
Karl (Neil McCallum) is seeking political asylum, and the air hostess Joan (Dorothy Tutin)
takes a liking to him and stows him on board.
Complications! Two extra passengers, Col Kralik, Commissioner of Police (Anthony Quayle) and his wife.
He sets Joan on edge. "I wish you a pleasant trip," she bids passengers automatically, but nervously.
Kralik in the manner of communist police chats to Joan, though to her it's an interrogation. "You're impulsive,"
he tells her, as he claims to be an expert in discerning if people are telling the truth.
The tension isn't really sustained however, as the faintly irritating Kralik keeps on probing, speculating and
supporting his communist ethic.
But this play is all about Joan who's more flustered the longer the trip lasts, still flying over communist soil.
Even the crew have noticed it, for normally "if we came down in the drink, she'd make hot coffee
and dish it out with the lifejackets."
"Why are you afraid?" the colonel comes out with it at last. "Fear has its own aroma," he tells her, adding
that too familar line about answering the questions. Then a surprise! One passenger, Sten, reveals he's from the
secret police and starts to question Kralik. "This is a British plane," protests Joan to no avail, as Sten
institutes a search for the escaped man.
Orders for the plane to turn back and land on communist soil. But another shock. Kralik rebels. It seems
he's been planning to defect. He castigates the secret police for their gestapo-like techniques. Yes, Kralik is a
proper communist, fed up with the current regime. "I apologise in the name of my country for this man," he says of Sten.
It's Willis' comment on communism. But he also gives the British attitude to communism: "maybe it's because
we're all so ruddy indifferent that this sort of thing happens."
This is a strong finish, for now the plane is able to fly serenely on its way to freedom.
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Doctor Kabil (6 December 1959)-
Script by Gil Winfield, directed by Charles Jarrott.
In the title role is Peter Illing, who is on screen for most of the play and gives a strong performance in a rather melodramatic story.
Dr Gerard Kabil is an eminent dedicated surgeon, whose wife is a vociferous supporter of the Algerian rebel cause.
His loyalties are taxed when he is required to operate on the seriously wounded oil baron Corrazzi after he has been shot by a sniper. For it's this crooked millionaire's money that is keeping the government in power.
Security chiefs refuse to allow Kabil to operate when they appreciate his dilemma, but there is noone else, and, warns the doctor, "if you move him, you will kill him." Whilst a sample of Corrazzi's rare blood group is located, the investigation into Kabil's bona fides is urgently prosecuted.
Kabil's difficulty is exacerbated when he learns his daughter is the man's attacker. Jacqueline is only sorry her bullet hasn't finished off this evil millionaire- "I am going to finish what I've started," she tells her father. "He should be dead!"
So the question is- will Kabil act as a doctor and save his patient, or, as Jacqueline urges, as a true Algerian, and act unhippocratically. When she realises she is to be thwarted, she tries to break into Corrazzi's room, but her father pushes her aside and to Kabil's consternation police chase her. A gunshot. Wounded, she hides in her father's surgery whilst he prepares for the imminent operation. Local police chief (Leslie Sands) discovers her there, but she eludes him, murder in her eyes. Wending her way to the operating theatre, a policeman shoots her down.
Though Kabil knows in his heart of hearts that his daughter needs help, he continues his task of removing Corrazzi's bullet. It's no good anyway- "she's dying." With the patient finally able to hold his own, Kabil is left to reflect on his daughter's tragedy. Corrazzi's money has bought about his own child's death
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Where I Live (10 January 1960) -
Script: Clive Exton. Director: William Kotcheff
This melodrama is pure Kitchen Sink, a reminder of working class values when the woman used to do all the cooking and washing, yes and the ironing too. It's a study of family tensions revolving round the thorny problem of caring for an elderly father. The dialogue is gritty and common and true to life, except for one confrontation which Madge Ryan suddenly turns into a stagey exchange which exposes the whole for what it is- thoroughly unreal. The issue however is serious enough though Exton can offer only the problem, no answer. The drama ignites with the visit of the upwardly mobile brother of Jessy (Ruth Dunning). George (Lloyd Lamble) with his wife Vi (Madge Ryan) oddly echo George and Mildred's Esher inlaws, only this story has naturally no humour.
Before their arrival, there's a well constructed introduction to the characters: Jessy and her husband Bert (Robert Brown), whose name sums up his ordinariness. Dad (Paul Curran) is sitting in the kitchen, bored. Jessy is clearly at breaking point with his presence. George and Vi are coming!- this will relieve some of the gloom for Dad looks on George as "a little tin god," a self employed shopkeeper who has made something of his life, unlike stuck-in-a-rut Bert.
Jessy is determined to discuss dad's future with her brother and sister-in-law. It's their turn to look after Dad. After much inconsequential chatting, Jessy finally seizes the opportunity, as Dad takes his afternoon nap.
Jessy: "We wondered if you'd like to take him for a bit."
Vi: "Take him?"
Jessy spells it out. George is doubtful, Vi says it's "out of the question." Awkward silence.
Dad awakes, and over tea, Jessy forces the issue with him present. "I wouldn't mind that," decides Dad. But George's excuses about being too busy at work are understandable- in Dad's eyes.
Alone with Dad at the kitchen sink (yes, she's washing up), Jessy makes dad face up to why George won't take him. But he can't see the truth and Jessy explodes: "If you think that George is something so marvellous, I don't know why you don't go down and live with him.... your precious George wouldn't have you." She goads him into putting that question directly to George. "I can see where I am not wanted," cries Dad who informs George he's coming to live with him.
Showdown. George claims that at the moment he's just too occupied at work. As the family argue, the camera closes in on Dad, wounded.
He resolves to leave, just leave. Though Jessy has succeeded in showing George up, she realises it's been too hard on Dad. With bad grace George escorts Dad away. The parting shot is of George and Vi driving away, without a word, Dad in the back seat
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A Night Out
(24 April 1960)-
Script: Harold Pinter, directed by Philip Saville.
A pretentious study of a spinster and her smother love for her only son Albert.
The whine of mother's voice sets the tone of the play. Against all mother's wishes, Albert wants to go out to a works do. She's unreasonable, selfish, using his late father's memory to stifle Albert's existence, warning him not to lead "an unclean life." Various delaying tactics from mother as Albert, in silence, attempts to get ready to leave. She blathers on as he finally departs.
He joins up with two coarse mates, to whom we have previously been introduced in a far too long scene. Predictably, they tease him about his mother.
Act Two is old Mr Ryan's retirement party, at the home of boss Mr King (Arthur Lowe). One of Albert's mates persuades Eileen to "lead him a dance," Albert that is. He's something of a fish out of water in the social chit-chat, though "he's not bad looking when you get close." A moment of embarrassment when Eileen screams "he took a liberty." Mr Ryan's clebrations are marred as Albert walks out, but colleagues follow, ordering him to apologise. What for, asks the aggrieved Albert. The inevitable jibe is stuck into their fight "mother's boy!"
Midnight sees Albert crawling home, to mother's speculation he's been "messing about with girls." She dishes up a meal, and a lecture. Albert sits quietly taking it all in, as the camera zooms in on him. Sacrifice she is going on and on about, as he cracks.
Act Three finds Albert on the dark street. A woman picks him up, and they go to her home. Whilst he listens, yes, the usual pattern, she talks, justifying her position. When he does get in a word, he spins a line about being in films, assistant director even. Though this scene seems improbable, it makes some sense when we understand the woman is broke, in need of cash, though unlike today's fare, Pinter gives us nothing gratuitous. As she starts undressing, he cracks again under her incessant babble. "You never stop talking," he rants, rather truthfully. Incoherently he shouts out his own problems until he finds the strength to order her about, for once a master. Then he exits leaving her on the floor. Weird. Perhaps he decides it's a case of the devil you know.
As day breaks it's back to mother. Of course she's awake to greet him. "Do you know what time it is?" She complains and pleads in her whinging tones as an exhausted and silent Albert suffers, not uttering a word.
This is certainly a brilliant character study of a "retarded" misfit of a loner played by Tom Bell, and his suffocating one dimensional mother, brilliantly portrayed by Madge Ryan, which, if you admire realism, is existentialism at the sharp end. Painful even.
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My Representative
Script: Kenneth Jupp. Director: John Moxey.
"In-a-rut sales rep Ronnie Page (Paul Massie) spends his life pushing shoddy goods on to his customers. He's not satisfied with the products and he's
dissatisfied with himself. His colleague Jack Jones (Glyn Owen) is tired of Ronnie's unfulfilled aspirations to be anything more than just average. Ronnie's
"bright understanding girlfriend" Sheila (Sylvia Kay) accepts that he'll never settle down until he tastes success. In an embarrassingly overacted scene, they
reminisce as they touch cheeks.
The big chance comes when his "pleasant nitwit" of a boss, the appropriately named Pratt (Laurence Hardy) secures the exclusive rights to The Lotus Line.
But he's out of his depth with such a hot fashion potato, though he tries to woo "one of the most celebrated figures in the entire fashion world," Lady Hunt, with a lavish dinner.
This ruthless businesswoman has soon got Pratt sized up and her 80-20 offer he cannot accept. Unfortunately Helen Cherry as Gillian Hunt is sadly wasted in the part, for she, like
the other characters, are all too stereotyped.
She moves quickly and offers Ronnie the promotion he's been yearning. "You've got to take your chances when you can," for "it's the only way to get on." True, but this is stock dialogue
and sums up the author's own limited ambitions and vision perfectly.
Ronnie's loyalty to Pratt is forgotten as he attends for interview at the large fashion house. She outlines her flattering reasons for wishing to head hunt him, she is in a sense a kindred spirit as they both have humble origins.
They shake hands and he arranges for Sheila to be his secretary.
Now he's into the swing of the job, we see his hardening through Sheila's eyes. He's enjoying leading clients on, he likes the entertaining, he's absorbed in his work.
His next assignment is The Lotus Line, for Pratt had not secured a watertight contract and it's been snatched from him. "We haven't done anything unethical," Lady Hunt says in another
stock line, though Ronnie seems to feel a conflict over whether this ruthlessness is a step too far. For Pratt is £20,000 in the red, though kindly says
he bears no hard feelings against his former star salesman. However after telling Ronnie this, he shoots himself.
Sheila resigns: "I don't enjoy it any more." I was feeling the same. But Ronnie is where he wanted, "the luckiest man in London." Perhaps. The play concludes
suggesting he is not as happy as he should be. But it never explores the ambiguity of his feelings in depth and in the end the whole play falls flat because Ronnie is not a convincingly real character.
The script has posed good questions but never answered them. Haven't I written that somewhere before?
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Toff and Fingers (Armchair Mystery Theatre, 3 July 1960)
Script: Robert Kemp. Director: Robert Tronson.
The opening shots of a train puffing over a viaduct to romantic Scottish music, evokes the mood of an old film. To add to this flavour, some muffed lines and the odd dodgy prop.
In the title roles are Roger Livesey as Toff and Harold Goodwin as Fingers. Seeking to elude the law, they are posing as servant and master. "I've got everything it takes to make a gent," remarks a wistful Toff, "except the money." And now, after a successful snatch of £20,000, they are to hide away in the remote Auchenlochan Hotel.
The 'Colonel' makes a favourable impression on residents there, including Cooke (Robert Dorning) who is eager to talk about the crooks who have robbed Brassworth's London store of £20,000. Lord Brassworth happens to be the local laird, very unpopular with locals as he is forcing the crofters to give up their grazing rights. Gallantly, Toff contributes to their fighting fund thus winning a good name amongst the locals. Higgins, his man, alias Fingers, also creates a favourable impression, by joining in the local poaching. He gets itchy fingers when he hears from Perkins, butler at Brassworth's castle, that the gold dinner service is being shipped from London for a special occasion. But the more level headed Toff can see the risks: "I don't know how another £20,000 is going to make us better off." Anyway, having won their trust, he doesn't want to betray his new found friends.
But the guests, and the hotel owner, widow Mrs Cameron, start gossiping about the cash that's been spotted in Toff's room. Are they dropping hints when they tell him of "nouveau riche bounder" Brassworth's gold dinner service? "Society will always need a Robin Hood." But Mrs Cameron is worried enough to contact her brother at the Yard.....
Against his better judgement, the Colonel has been persuaded to open the local sale of work. The minister welcomes him whilst the Colonel shifts anxiously in his seat, as listeners are informed of the colonel's fine war record. In response, Toff answers that he's charmed by "a dreamland where a man can recapture his lost illusions."
With inquiries being made, however innocently, about his past, it's time for Toff to pack his things. But the Yard have been making inquiries too and Dt Supt Chisholm has traced them through fingerprints. "It's a fair cop," is Toff's awfully corny response, and just as he'd been considering helping himself to that gold dinner service before departing....
But the detective is human, and agrees to preserve Toff's good name amongst the locals, if only to avoid the embarrasment of their knowing their fair had been opened by a swindler. So it's an ending quite in keeping with that olde-worlde atmosphere we'd begun with. The train steams away with its prisoners: "thank you inspector, you're a gentleman too."
Though a pleasant character study of intangible perfection, this is ultimately charmless, sadly. Livesey adds moments of the lugubrious, as he almost parodies Roger Livesey.
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Lena O My Lena (25 Sept 1960)-
Script: Alun Owen. Director: William T Kotcheff.
Set in a Salford food wholesalers, here's a study of male chauvinism in the workplace, and yet another exploration of class differences. This was the sort of entry that won the series critical acclaim, but I find it plain tedious.
Ted the foreman is played by Colin Blakely with his usual brilliant Northern bluntness, though the most interesting minor character is perhaps simple minded Derek (Patrick O' Connell), whom Ted looks after like a child.
Newcomer is student Tom (Peter McEnery) who is looking for a holiday job. He wants to get away from student types, but though he is from a working class background, he's not used to the brash ways he encounters.
Object of his affection is the worldly loud-mouthed Lena (the enticing Billie Whitelaw), who works in the adjacent press tool factory. "You're funny, you make me laugh," she says of his Liverpool accent. He thinks she's "funny" too, the way she shows her working class ideals.
Lorry driver Glyn (Scott Forbes) warns Tom off for "Lena belongs to him." And Ted tries to dissuade Tom from taking her out, but Tom won't listen, taking her to a cafe populated by noisy students: "you're lads, not men," observes Lena. Then they sit alone. "I can't think of anything to say," admits Tom, but she loosens his tongue and they have a long kiss. "You're always thinking too much," she tells him when he declares his love. She doesn't love him in the same way. Here's the core of their differences, he young and innocent, she experienced and worldly wise.
Next day at work "Glyn'll knock his block off." That's what the men are murmuring, though Lena knows he won't be bothered by any threat from Tom. Ted tries to save Tom from himself, but Glyn tells Tom the truth: she'd only been trying to make Glyn jealous. Tom starts a fight but Lena stops them- it was, she admits, only a bit of fun for her- "go back to where you belong." And that seems to be the message of this play.
"It's never easy to learn," are Ted's concluding words. Nor is it easy to watch this self-satisfied analysis of sixties working class, which is very dated today. Perhaps it's because we don't have the same sort of culture clash that it's so hard to see that at the time this was quite avant garde stuff.
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The Cupboard (11th December 1960, Armchair Mystery Theatre)
Script: Ray Rigby. Director: David Greene.
Donald Pleasence was one of the best at playing sinister characters with dark secrets.
Here, he's Fred Watson, and the question is, where has his wife Sarah got to? She's been away from their basement flat for four weeks, and now he's flogging off his wife's jewellery for a mere £20 to Bert Spooner, because his rent is in arrears.
His landlord Mrs Sparrow, "all alone in the world" since her husband's unfortunate accident, wants to know why Watson has papered over the cupboard in his bedroom. It seems rather too obvious what he's up to, as he plies her with drink.
The second act of the play sees Watson informing a potential buyer for the property, Mrs Williams, that Mrs Sparrow has gone away to Brighton, and that he, Fred Watson, has the option to purchase the place. He also has her written authority to collect the other tenants' rents.
"I think you've done away with her," shouts Sarah's sister and she calls in Dt Sgt Roberts who soon spots the papered-over cupboard. Despite protests, he smashes the door in. "See anything?" comes Watson's ironic voice. Empty. Privately, he confides to the detective where his wife really is. In a mental home "for a rest."
So it all seems above board. At the moment.
Secretly, Watson meets Mrs Sparrow, whom he's been blackmailing over her husband's fatal 'accident.' Watson's plot is evident- Mrs Sparrow is for that cupboard!
Dt Sgt Roberts is back questioning Watson about the jewellery Spooner has been caught with. Watson breathes a sigh of relief that that is all he's there about. The policeman admires the cupboard that Watson has already papered over again.
We learn the truth about Sarah Watson, that she had run away with a garage owner, though Fred denies this obvious fact. In his sadly naive way, he seems convinced she'll soon be returning from that mental home.
An unforeseen happening knocks Watson's scheme on the head. Mrs Sparrow had apparently asked workmen to
solve the damp problem in the building, and today's the day they start work. They break down the cupboard. The game is up, as the play closes with a long close-up of Watson's resigned face
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The Big Deal (5 March 1961) -
Script: Jimmy (here as James) Sangster. Director: Julian Amyes.
I enjoyed this play - and I can't often say that of Armpit Theatre- with its well drawn characters and a plot which asks questions about business ethics via an absorbing storyline. The theme is summed up in this line- Business scruples "get in the way of business." This looks a mite like a forerunner to The Power Game with Edward Chapman ideally cast in the ruthless John Wilder role.
Chapman is actually playing Sir Pierson Cale, a "tyrant" head of a company tendering for a multi-million nuclear power project in Iran. But he realises his tender will be "too high" and he demands cost cutting of his underlings so they "shave off" at least "half a million." John Hamilton (William Franklyn) is given a special assignment to ensure Cale's firm submits the lowest bid- Britman's is the rival company best placed to undercut Cales: "get me that figure, Hamilton."
So Hamilton poses as a Mr Northwood and is given work at Britman's. "No unnecessary expenses" is the keynote of the company, and "with no deadwood" on the staff, Britman's looks set fair to win the contract. Can Hamilton get a peep at their submission, hidden in the company safe? Does he want to? For here he finds "a workman's Shangri-la," where all employees are happy to work for the good of the firm. His plan to chat up the boss's secretary (Diana Fairfax) evaporates, and instead he bares his soul to Helen. She gives him the figure, but he just can't use that information. Disgusted at his duplicity, Helen phones the figure through to Cale herself: "now you can go and order your Rolls Royce," she jibes at Hamilton.
On the carpet before Mr Britman next morning, he's surprisingly allowed to keep his job. Grateful, Hamilton promises to try and prove that Cale's now winning bid is fraudulent. But how, how can he prove Cale's figures are impossible?
Helen is persuaded to join in back at work at Cale's, but try as he might, he's not allowed a sight of the successful tender. So, taking a leaf out of the unscrupulous Cale's own book, he uses "terrorisation" to wheedle the data from the costing team leader. Unfortunately Cale catches him in flagrante, and isn't at all perturbed, because he has Hamilton where he wants him- for he's ensured Hamilton's name, as the late head of the costing team, has been put at the head of the cheap tender. "Get out," Cale orders Hamilton. But the latter has his own trump card- demanding £50,000 for silence on the deal. "Evidence of bribery," he tells Cale when he's paid off.
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The Man out There (12 March 1961) -
Script: Donal Giltinan. Director: Charles Jarrott.
Wildly improbable tale, but really tense.
A Russian manned flght into space. A lot of shaky camerawork to convince us it's for real. A failure- Troika is ordered to "eject," Russian expletives from the astronaut, a major (Patrick McGoohan).
Back at control, the General (Clifford Evans) tries to devise a rescue plan, with the rocket now floating out of radio contact, orbiting the earth. He has five hours before the rocket will crash back to earth.
In an isolated snowbound Canadian trading post we meet a man and wife with quite a different problem. Young Cora (Heather Lyons) is in urgent need of medical help. Whilst he ventures out into the blizzard, stepmother Marie (Katharine Blake) sends out repeated messages for help- "this is an emergency, please answer." It comes from an unexpected source- Troika! Two people who need help badly!
"I am a doctor," the major radios to her. That's fortunate! Diptheria is the diagnosis. There's only one thing to do- "pierce the windpipe from the outside through the neck." Such a terrifying procedure is the only way Cora can be saved. Such a frightening remote controlled operation is surely any parent's worst nightmare. What is worse, such blunt instructions are all Marie is going to get because now the major has drifted out of contact. We follow his reflections on his own dilemma. This is perhaps less absorbing than Cora's drama, however much more world shattering his crisis is.
Another orbit and radio contact is reestablished. Despite his own worries, he encourages her as she dares to attempt the incision: "do it now!" shouts the major. His own chance is dwindling now- "you're talking to a dead man" he admits.
Even less absorbing is the activity at ground control who are explaining away the disaster to the press and announcing their rescue plan.
Next orbit. "You did what had to be done," the major reassures Marie. Now she is able to help him by taking down some important readings from the rocket.
With no way out for the major, it's time for McGoohan to perform his well-oiled raving looony act. His weird singing awakens an exhausted Marie on his last orbit. It's she who can encourage him now- "you mustn't give up." At last she is in a position to appreciate his danger. She thanks him for helping Cora over the worst. But she's quite helpless as she shares his last moments.
Reentry of Troika. Control implement their bold rescue plan. A last message from the major to Marie as he succeeds in understanding what has caused the catastrophe. Then screams and silence.
With Vaughan Williams' grim Fourth Symphony as the title music, we can guess there's not going to be a fairytale end. At least some joy as Cora stirs. Maybe the play would have been better if it had been tighter with Ground Control scenes omitted, and, as surely would happen today, more close-ups of the DIY surgery, which is strangely underplayed here.
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Danger, Men Working (7 May 1961)
Script: John D Stewart, Director: Alan Cooke.
Irish navvies on a muddy, a very muddy hospital building site. Work is already behind schedule in very trying conditions. Experienced general foreman Desmond Docherty urges caution so how can work be speeded up? Workmen are already near to breaking point.
The answer comes in the shape of blustering new boss "Trumbull the Terrible" (Richard Pearson). He "reads the riot act to site manager Erskine Craig (Mark Eden) without understanding any of the technical problems. He also takes a shine to secretary Mary Riley, asking her to come away "strictly business" for the weekend. Though she's in love with Craig, she consents.
"Tough nut" Scanling (Barry Keegan) is appointed new foreman, Docherty given notice: "I need boldness, Craig." Retorts Craig "you couldn't have made a worse choice... there's going to be trouble here."
When it comes, it comes on two fronts.
Firstly Erskine Craig gets wind of Mary's weekend. She's rebuffs Trumbull's advances anyway.
Then Scanling's hard tactics give rise to a deputation from the workers, lead by Jerry (a sadly wasted Leo McKern). "He has neither rhyme nor reason," complains Jerry about Major Trumbull. Management response: Jerry is sacked. Workers get agitated about their working conditions. "You're not going to dictate to me," shouts Trumbull. Craig vainly attempts to arbitrate, but the Major's attitude is too abrasive: "we've had enough Communist tripe from you." A fight breaks out between Jerry and the thick Scanling, and it's left to Docherty to separate the feuding pair. But all those short cuts come home to roost as a muddy foundation collapses with Docherty buried in the rubble.
Now everyone pulls together in some sort of common purpose for the rescue. But nothing can save the arrogant Major Trumbull, who admitting his error takes his leave. Some kind of peace is restored.
Richard Pearson does his usual reliable role as an uppercrust, out of touch with everything except the profit motive. Plenty of authentic Irish on show though Mark Eden's accent wavers a little. The building site set, complete with slime is an impressive creation from Assheton Goreton. But the story itself never quite builds up any sympathy for the characters, it's never quite clear which side of the fence the author is sitting on
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The Ship that Couldn't Stop (2 July 1961)-
Script: Christopher Hodder-Williams. Director: Alan Cooke
It's the maiden voyage across the Atlantic of NPS Crusader, a nuclear ship that cruises at over 34 knots. Proud captain is Commodore Grant (veteran Frank Pettingell), and also on board, in the cabin next the reactor, is a physicist Michael Holland "with a death wish" (Donald Churchill) who is predicting a Titanic-sized disaster. He'd worked on the pilot project and knows all the pitfalls.
Passengers are given a tour of the ship by technical expert Tony Roman (Scott Forbes), who reassures everyone, all except Holland that is, who has some pressing questions. "It's like a king sized boiled egg," observes one American, Richard Bollanger (Michael Balfour). But it's his wife Emily's childish desire to press the buttons in the allegedly dead back-up controls that causes the trouble.
The speed of the ship is unaccountably increasing now, a neutron surge seems to be the reason, and stop the reactor seems the only sensible solution. Commodore Grant orders the shutdown but too late, "she's gone unstable." Radiation levels rising. 40 knots!
A warning to other ships in the area to steer clear is given. "There's no way of getting the people off,"- worse than Titanic. No way the engines will stop working.
There is one way but it's dangerous- change the angle of the reflector in the reactor. Holland might be able to accomplish this task, though after delicate remote manoeuvres,"it's not possible." All Holland can do is expose himself to a lethal dose of radiation and move the reflector by hand. He has saved the ship but at cost to himself: "just the way he planned it."
All the technical jargon has the effect of making the incomprehensible very tense and although the merits or otherwise of nuclear power are never discussed, the play makes a definite statement about its dangers
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The Omega Mystery (10 September 1961)-
Script: James Mitchell. Director: Guy Verney
This story at least proves that not all Sydney Newman's offerings were dull and drab.
Butler (John Gregson) and Robinson (Donald Churchill) are counter intelligence investigators, who are on their way to a nuclear power station where an experiment has gone badly wrong. They discuss their case whilst the industrious Robinson repairs their broken down car. We learn about all the workers at the lab, but I found this scene too complicated to digest properly. But once there, at a place that reminds Butler of his old prep school, there's a better introduction to the main characters, all of whom, of course, appear to have motives to wreck the place. They'd been working on what they call The Omega Process, which if successful will see the dawn of an era of cheap electricity. Unfortunately the process might have other uses, such as making h-bombs.
In charge of the plant is Kendrick (Frank Gatliff), who believes it must have been an accident.
He's supported in this view by a mathematician, Diamond, who's sure that anyway, the experiment can never work.
Dr Jones (Stanley Meadows) is the inventor of the process, though he's very much opposed to its use as a weapon of war. He is pally with journalist Isabelle, who has been lent the doctor's pass to the lab.
Finally there's Dr Chattalai, whose lab monkey Vashti was the only victim of the recent debacle.
The play is basically a picture of the two sleuths questioning their suspects, trading off comments and personalities. Gregson and Churchill make an entertaining pair, Gregson dour, slightly cynical, matter-of-fact, whilst Churchill provides a balance with some light quips. "You don't leave us much dignity," Dr Jones tells them, as they probe deeper. It's quite an absorbing variation on the usual mystery, with interesting characters, though perhaps too predictable, especially the stock drunken Irishman Diamond.
To get his proof, Butler arranges for the experiment to be reconstructed. Tension builds as Butler sets himself up for the saboteur to attempt to eliminate him. Alone in the lab, Isabelle joins him, but they are both locked in, the air conditioning switched off. "The obvious solution to a very nasty problem I set the fellow." But the question still is- who?
Butler is prepared for the situation, and some deftness extricates them from the lab. Now the experiment proceeds: "suppose the Masked Avenger strikes again?" jokes Butler.
Yes, there's the same disaster, but this time Butler and Robinson are able to demonstrate who is causing the problems. I wouldn't pretend anyone could have guaranteed to have guessed the culprit, but then that's true of almost any detective story. For that's what this is, in essence. "Who'd have ever thought of xxxxx ?"
There's an overlong coda, by way of explanation
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The Trouble with Our Ivy (19 November 1961)
Script: David Perry. Director: Charles Jarrott
You don't know whether to laugh or cry in this wayout variation of Laurel and Hardy's silent classic Big Business, carrying the warring neighbours motif to the ultimate.
"The biggest surprise Surbiton ever had" is planned by the Chards (John Barrie, Gretchen Franklin) on their estranged neighbours the Tremblows (Laurence Hardy, Dandy Nichols). This is suburbia at its exaggerated worst!
"All the neighbours think we're mad," comments Nell Tremblow, though in typical middle class-speak, this only means they prefer to spend their holidays at home. But it's partly true because the couple are fanatical prize rose growers. They exchange plenty of barbed gossip about the Chards who are "a bit peculiar too." More than a bit, for the neighbours haven't exchanged any words for the past three years, ever since Ivy Chard had committed suicide. The Chards blame the Tremblows for it too.
Jack Chard has been harbouring his revenge, and this evening he's begun his plan. To try and learn what he's up to, Nell Tremblow even pops rounds, to break the sacred silence.
The truth comes out- Amazonian Creeper! Says Nell: "that's a funny sort of thing to want to plant." The penny hasn't quite dropped, so she sends her husband to dig deeper. The contrast between the prim Harold Tremblow and the Chards, eaten up with hate, is excellently portrayed. But the "quick growing" tropical ivy even bestirs Harold out of his monotone existence, specially when he realises the creeper is actually growing six inches every five minutes! "Aren't we letting our imaginations run away with us?" he queries. Yes, that sums up this story very well!
A 999 call brings a fireman with his chopper to the Chards, but they soft sawder him til by now it's "galloping" all over the Tremblow's rose garden: "It's unnatural!" Jack jibes at them "say goodbye to your daughter Rose."
Now an eerie silence, "deathly quiet." "It's coming through the letter box."
"I'm dreaming all this," cries the fireman who is now alerted to the danger, but too late. For its stalks are growing into trunks! "It doesn't seem like Surbiton any more!"
How do you end such an inflated fantasy? The couples confront each other in a frenzy, blows exchanged. I think the Creeper was the winner, or maybe the writer who pocketed his fee. It's nearly quite fun, if you suspend your critical faculties
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Night Conspirators
Script: Robert Muller. Directed by Philip Saville.
An ultra impressive modernistic set by Voytek, only the black telephone restricts the action to the 1960's. At this time, there's "a fantastic conclave of power,"
as top Nazis reconvene in an embassy. Behind closed doors they are introduced to a special guest. In a wheelchair, his face muffled by a scarf is revealed....
"Mein Fuhrer!"
"Sensational," breathes journalist Loder (Peter Wyngarde), the only outsider permitted to attend.
Some of the old Nazis think it a hoax, but a general (John Arnatt) who knew Hitler well is sure it is He. "Herr Hitler has returned to be judged - by you."
It is explained how Hitler (actually Peter Arne) fled to Iceland. Rather conveniently, he now cannot speak, so his son is his mouthpiece, "a fine looking boy," Adam.
The military solution is straightforward: "he must be shot, without ceremony." More tongue-in-cheek, Loder suggests exhibiting him in a zoo, behind bars naturally.
The bishop's solution is what one might expect from the church- "God will find a way of punishing him." Retorts Loder, "well, He's certainly taking his time about it."
So there's an impasse over whether they should try their former leader, or hand him over to the proper authorities. Their deliberations raise some thorny questions about their own complicity in the war,
as well as about their current motives for seeking power in the new West Germany, not forgetting the fragility of democracy. Loder is there as a balance, "what have you learned from your
experience?" he asks, though it's a rhetorical question. But they give the newspaperman short shrift, reviling his own army of "repulsive snoopers."
This debate is too protracted as they consider whether the new Germany needs a strong leader, not that the aged Fuhrer would be up to the job, he seems but a shadow of himself, though his
followers perceive that they could now wield the power in His name.
"They want to exploit your father," Loder warns Adam, adding the rather obvious line, "your father made the name of humanity stink."
The Nazi solution is to shoot Loder. At least the general wounds him.
But now the Fuhrer does speak. He announces in a strong voice He assumes power. "Our enemies will tremble before us." Ranting and yet higher Ranting. Just like the rallies of old.
This play has an absorbing plot that threatened to flag under too much philosophy, but thankfully never succumbed. It leaves you pondering deep questions, but also
wondering what the conclusion was trying to convey. If anything.
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Afternoon of a Nymph (30 September 1962)
Script: Robert Muller. Director: Philip Saville.
Shakespearean quotes commence this pretentious showbiz parable. "Being normal means being a failure," sums up very well the world that isn't depicted.
Awoken at noon by her suburban mother, actress Elaine (Janet Munro) falls into a reverie as she reflects on last night's dizzy partry. She's an ambitious girl whose agent (Patrick Holt) believes she's destined for great things- "you're going to be very big soon, Elaine."
She's been promised a meeting with great director Francis T Green, the man who makes his artists cry "only after he's slept with them." But is that the only way for Elaine to get on?
Off to work, where director David Simpson (Ian Hendry) directs her Juliet in the famous balcony scene. But it proves to be only a "murderous" version, a mere commercial for chocs! At least David is refreshingly honest about his work- "you call this directing....! Is pineapple marzipan fudge the height of your ambition?" he asks Elaine. For he helps her understand herself, perhaps, as they exchange genuine lines from the Bard, plus a kiss. "Forget all these dry-clean suburban emotions," David advises her. The question is, is he only like all the others too?
"Stand up to these phonies," he boldly warns her, when they meet again at Lord Tony's party. But the "scumbag" David has brought a tart with him, suggesting that indeed he is the same as the rest. Noting Elaine's disappointment, her publicist tries to encourage her- "you've got bigger fish to fry here," he promises. This part is taken by Peter Butterworth who has
perhaps the best supporting role, which he plays with fire, a shallow character really only out for number one.
Certainly Elaine starts to believe her own rubbishy publicity, as she outlines to reporters her exotic past- "are they taking your lies with good grace, the gentlemen of the press?" asks David. Now the best and key scene as Elaine sprawls on a balcony and David opens her eyes to the sharks and pimps and pedlars. Hers is "the pose of the professional party virgin," though maybe her ambition to be a "real actress" will help her break from this ghastly circle.
Now the big moment as she's introduced to Francis Green. With more Shakespeare droning in the background she wavers over what to do. She decides, but she doesn't look too happy. Nor was I, trying to watch this introverted examination of the hollowness of the underlings of show business.
"Nothing about you is real," David tells her. And he was right. "You don't understand do you?" he adds. Well yes, but maybe no. You can admire the cleverness of the script, the matching of Debussy's music to the mood of Elaine, but enjoy it?- no it's not meant to be enjoyed. To parody the script, being normal, I failed to enjoy or even admire Afternoon of a Nymph.
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The Snag (4 August 1963)-
Writer: Donald Giltinan, Director: Jonathan Alwyn.
A light hearted saga of sixties property development.
One "old dear" stands in the path of progress, to be precise- a new civic centre to be constructed by Goggins. "Calculating cad," Ed Crayshaw, and his charm, is to be turned on Madame Emma, to persuade her to sell her quaint old shop. But behind Emma is the forceful "elephantine dowager" Lady Wittering who stands against "the encroaching desert of vulgarity."
As the pair seem so "bloody minded," Ed turns his attentions on Emma's assistant, her niece Agatha; this to the dismay of Jill Goggins, who rather fancies Ed herself.
Her dad provides Derek Francis with a typically brash role, that of a Northern industrialist, the type of part he plays so beautifully. Judith Furse, as Lady Wittering has a fine forceful role of "a boa constructor," whilst Patsy Rowlands as Agatha wins the comedy acting honours with her spot-on timing. Barrie Ingham as the likeable rogue Ed, has a fun part, but he is not the ideal actor for getting laughs.
So, is it time "to cut loose" for Agatha when her aunt falls ill, and she has to take over the reins of the shop?
For his failure to persuade the old lady, Ed is sacked. He tries smooth talking Jill, but is he just spinning a line to get a toehold back in the firm? She sees through him and sets out with her dad to get her own back: "once more unto the breach, dear dad." Goggins makes his own approach to the ailing Emma. His sympathy is insufficient to bring about any agreement, but they part with mutual understanding.
Ed makes new advances on Agatha in the best comedy scene. She is rightly dubious of his kind words, and no wonder, for Jill has told her the very words he will try on her. But when a proposal is drawn from the reluctant bachelor, the lonely Agatha suddenly becomes the dominant one, and insists he honours his commitment.
The final scene is after Emma's death. "In indecent haste" Ed has married Agatha, since she will inherit the shop. He offers a deal to Goggins. But Goggins' meeting with Emma had borne fruit after all, she has left him shop quite legally, so it's Ed with mud on his face.
The characters are well drawn, but the comedy is always a little too obvious and you are never really sure on whose side your sympathies are meant to lie.
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Long Past Glory (17 November 1963) -
Script: Len Deighton. Director: Charles Jarrott.
Gritty drama more akin to the Sydney Newman era, but at least this proves that under Leonard White, Armchair Theatre had its dour moments.
"What a ghastly place this is." A mysterious damp subterranean hideout where rats, real ones too, crawl as two tramps Charles (Maurice Denham) and Harry (John le Mesurier) eke out a surprisingly peaceful coexistence together.
"This is hell, when someone dies here, they go to heaven."
The arrival at their "Acacia Avenue" of Roy makes Charlie and Harry reappraise their relationship and situation. "I don't know how you have the stamina to endure it." True, Harry dreams of "getting away" to Eastbourne, but he never leaves. "I'll go in the morning," he tells Charlie.
The play is a study of the depressing triangle of three men at rock bottom- the garrulous Charlie, his weaker pal Harry, both old school tie types, and the young working class newcomer. Their talk of "wogs" and "Indians" polarises attitudes: "you wouldn't be against them so much," observes the shrewd Roy, "if you knew any."
All this time, the viewer wonders what they are doing here in this God-forsaken wilderness, especially the two upper class gents. "I'm in the Slough of Despond," groans Harry, a feeling with which we can heartily concur. The author uses class differences to expose their natural weaknesses in what seems to be a parable about England: "the painful death rattle of the heart of the Empire." Things come to a head with inevitable violence: "he'd have killed you."
So why do they stay there? A neat coda gives some poignancy, if you haven't splashed into oblivion yourself by then. It has been brilliantly prepared but is nevertheless a surprise. Perhaps it makes the play worth sitting through, so I won't spoilt all and reveal the ending
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The Fishing Match (19 August 1962)
Script: Norman King. Director: Alan Cooke.
Not really a study of the peculiar fascination of fishing. On a thundery day, four men drive to a river in Alf's vintage car.
Boney (Peter Butterworth) seems keener on the pub, where Cissy (Yootha Joyce) is pulling the
pints. The others, Alf (Edward Evans) and Councillor Reuben (Kenneth Griffith) can't wait for opening time either.
Cissy's niece Kath takes a shine to
the only young member of the group, shy nineteen year old Peter (Colin Campbell), who dreams of getting out of his rut, destination Tahiti!
The puzzle for the viewer, is, what's it all about? The dialogue is as unreal as the rain which splashes everywhere but actually on the actors. "You're mad, the lot of yer,"
exclaims Cissy, and who's to say she was wrong? For with the invisible rain still falling, the men help get the pub ready for the time when "the hand points to heaven,"
good old-fashioned opening time.
The brief appearance of the coarse Eric (Derek Jacobi) shows up Peter for the sheltered boy he is. But Eric is a rival for Kath's hand, and that spurs Pete to action and the pair scrap.
Eric retreats, Kath bathes the injured Pete but she can't reach the upright lad. His heart is in Tahiti, where his dad lives.
12 o'clock, and the pub fills with fishermen because it's raining- odd fishermen is all I can say. After a pointless if jolly two hours, the pub closes. Peter asks his guardian Alf
about his dad. It's a highly unreal conversation in front of the stranger Cissy. Kenneth Griffith stands by looking embarrassed, his is a wasted part. As does Peter Butterworth.
The discussion is about Peter's dad who left his slut of a mother, though Peter had not known of any of this until now. We have no interest in these unseen people, who have hardly been
mentioned until now. It's left to outsider Cissy to protest why Pete has never been told all this before. Or should she have complained about why tell him now? But it helps the boy grow up.
Now he is no longer shy. It's his moment of truth as they say. In true theatrical tradition, he expounds his own new perceptions to his silent elders who look suitably baffled, or stunned, or maybe
bored. Like us viewers no doubt. Ends Peter, "I can see clearly now."
The rain stops. They've all gone fishin.'
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The Swindler (19 December 1963)
Script: John Hall, Director: Jonathan Alwyn.
A station buffet, but this isn't Brief Encounter for sitting there is Grace (Petra Davies) waiting for friend Alec Waterman (Ronald Lewis) who has "left the ball and chain" and needs to make a fresh start. His best friend Dick, a teacher (Denis Quilley) has arranged for him to work at old pal Ed's construction company. Though Alec doesn't trust Ed Laurie, he's persuaded to give it a try.
He's employed as a timekeeper, and soon becomes popular with the workforce. Now he has everyone's trust, he proposes a moneymaking scheme to start a school, "charge a guinea an hour" in premises like the Ritz. Impressed by Alec's "education," employees chip in. But this was exactly the type of enterprise that had previously got Alec into hot water, when he had opened a business school that got into financial difficulties. When they learn of the scheme, Dick and Grace worry he's making the same mistakes all over again, and decide to talk to him about it.
Alec's popularity increases more when he organises a staff Christmas party. Dick is worried when he hears Ed describing Alec as "a lousy pay clerk." All his figures need checking. But is this view really clouded by Ed's knowledge of Alec's past? However Ed is nearly won round when the men present him with a £50 set of golf clubs, but then doubts are renewed when Ed realises it could have been bought for £40. Ed clearly believes Alec has pocketed some of the men's contributions.
Alec has now stopped working at Laurie's and his replacement finds Alec's books are a mess, "a strangely gifted man... a great awful villain."
Dick however still has faith in his friend who is now laying money out on his venture. Dick stands by Alec even when the men, spurred on by Ed's revelations of Alec's swindling, ask for their money back.
The jazzy theme tune had suggested this is a comedy, though Ronald Lewis never comes anything near being the charming gentleman swindler. The writer tries a bit of everything, and ends up with nothing, as the pros and cons of Alec's character are discussed in a very unconvincing exchange of views. It's all about safe worlds and jungles- so this is Armchair Theatre after all!
Alec faces up to his investors who also argue over Alec's bona fides- "I don't think you've been straight with us," is the prevailing view. For his part Alec reproaches them with "you morons," and returns all their cash. "I'm no con man," he argues, and whatever else, he had great faith in his own plans.
Moral- reputation of an ex-prisoner is hard to shed. We leave Alec alone at the buffet with a fiver Grace has insisted on lending him.
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Sharp at Four (12 January 1964)-
Script: Donald Churchill. Director: Guy Verney
Here's a prolonged study in the dreaded experience of tense waiting, before the result of a job interview is known. Trouble is, Donald Churchill's slight script is just far too easy to predict, even if it is rather well performed.
Personnel Manager CW Boatwright (Derek Godfrey) is interviewing for a new shorthand typist for Mr Sutcliffe, director of the company.
It's the fourteenth interview for Mrs Jean Hobley (Rosemary Leach), "and I haven't clicked yet."
She has only one stipulation- each day she must leave "sharp at four" to collect her young son from school.
The interview never gets going as a result. Sutcliffe is looking for something much more feminine, but lonely Mr Boatwright sees in Mrs Hobley a kindred spirit. "If you don't hear from us by five o'clock today," she's told, she will have got the post.
She returns to her flat and awaits that call which will, she's sure, be another rejection. Here's the heart of the play, such as it is, as she starts scouring the jobs vacant section of the paper. "Come on, ring me up," she calls out of her window at the invisible interviewers.
They are continuing their task. Next is Miss Whitehurst. Sutcliffe likes her impressive skills, though Boatwright's mind seems elsewhere. Interviews over, he begins manipulating events to render Miss Whitehurst unavailable. "Put in another ad," Sutcliffe casually suggests. But Boatwright has other ideas.
Less than half an hour to 5pm and Jean's hopes are rising. Her ex-husband phones, wanting to patch things up, but she's having none of it. As five o'clock approaches she's ever more optimistic.
Meantime, Boatwright is moving his efficient and loyal secretary, Miss Fletcher, in the direction of Sutcliffe. As she has a crush on her boss, it's a tough job: "I wouldn't think of leaving you," she affirms to the disappointed Boatwright. Flattery fails, so he plays his trump card. But she's impervious: "I definitely won't leave you, sir." Thankfully Sutcliffe comes to his rescue, with the brainwave why can't he have the reliable Miss Fletcher?
She is now phoning Jean, at just before five o'clock. Jean at first refuses to pick up the nagging instrument. Finally she does, to learn it's bad news. Inevitable depression.
Back at the office, Miss Fletcher is presented with the fait accompli- she's got to work for Sutcliffe. She's talked round by the lure of friendship from Mr Boatwright on a continued basis- "executives do not associate with office personnel out of working hours." Usually, that is.
So now the way is clear for Boatwright to pick up the phone and offer the surprised Mrs Hobley "another position, a job where you would leave at four." Smiles at her end of the line.
My query is, why do we never see her son, as it's so imperative for him to be collected Sharp at Four? Nevertheless, it's all well done, not quite a comedy, nor yet a soap opera.
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Last Word on Julie (26 January 1964) -
Script: Lynne Reid Banks. Director: Jonathan Alwyn
A portrait of "pain in the neck" Julie Lister, whom we see through the eyes of her friends and acquaintances.
This oppressive story starts with that old trick of watching a headless person, in this instance walking to a letterbox to post four letters. Then she returns to her flat and pops her head in the gas oven.
Julie's first letter is her unofficial will. Her solicitor opens the missive from "our most troublesome female client." It's a sort of "deathbed confession."
Letter no.2 is to her "adored" mother Mary (Joan Miller), who is under the thumb of her sister Jenny (Jessica Dunning), a spikey lady who hadn't had time to talk when Julie phoned last night.
Third letter is addressed to friend Helen whose husband Adam looks on Julie as a "female fiend." The contents set Helen in a panic.
Ex-boyfriend Jimmy (John Bonney) is the recipient of Julie's last letter. It arrives at an inopportune moment, for he's just about to leave on an important assignment abroad. But he chucks it in, to go to Julie's.
So, after this twenty minute introduction, the characters assemble at her flat: "she's not there."
A week on, and still no word. The main focus is on mother Mary, who is convinced her child is dead. She blames Jimmy, as Julie had fallen out with him. Jimmy is going to pieces. He talks with Mary and it appears Julie had lied to both of them. Helen is in a bad way too, having lost her unborn baby through the stress, for Julie's letter had contained allegations about Adam's relationship with Julie.
Two months have passed now, and steps are being taken to declare Julie legally dead. Reflection has led to a hardening of attitudes. Mum still believes the best of her late child, Jimmy is now jobless.
After 45 minutes, we do meet Julie (Sue Lloyd), with her latest boyfriend, an older, richer man (Bill Owen). She is just the seductive, selfish creature we knew she would be. Even Raymond realises "you've got tiny streaks of unkindness," though he hasn't grasped the depths as yet. Raymond is free to marry Julie, as his wife has killed herself- he's quite "indifferent" to her fate, just as Julie is to her past life.
A monologue from Julie is supposed to explain all. Her head in the oven was a bit of a cheat. If the characters are convincing, which they are, and if this is 'realism', then give me fantasy. "Here's looking at you my sweet," utters Bill Owen in the ultimate in corny lines, as a close-up on Julie transforms into a still photo.
In fact, the play is a series of snapshots which fail to make a satisfying or even credible whole. For the writer shows us the pictures, without ever making sense of them, or bringing the conflicts to a resolution. As "slut" Julie concludes, "it must be their fault too."
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The Blackmailing of Mr S (26 July 1964) -
Script:Michael Gilbert. Director: Robert Tronson.
John le Mesurier seems ideally cast as a gentle solicitor Mr Sparrow, who runs an efficient office, mainly thanks to his right hand man Varley (Peter Butterworth). The smooth running is also due to the behind the scenes efforts of ex army sergeant George (Peter Vaughan).
Less serenity however, when secretary Miss Angie Dundas (Jo Rowbottom) tackles Mr S on the subject of his dubious tax returns. She demands a pay rise! George is also in on the blackmail, and wants an even bigger rise.
"Call their bluff," is Sparrow's first response, after consulting Varley. He persuades Varley to listen in to the next confrontation, then to give the crooks a taste of their own medicine. However the plan backfires when Varley turns out to be the brains behind the scheme- he wants a golden handshake of £5,000. But how can Mr Sparrow find such a large amount of money? Swindle the clients, proposes Varley. It seems poor Mr S has been doing this already anyway, perhaps thanks to his laid-back approach to his work.
Mulling over his problem, Mr S is befriended on the train home by fellow traveller Angus Kendrick (Robert James). At Mr S's home, Angus admires a Faberge collection. Is it coincidence that Kendrick is the cousin of Miss Tripp, a client Mr S is now swindling?
You feel almost sorry for Sparrow: "have any of you thought this thing out to the end?" he inquires of his blackmailers. Or perhaps he was asking the author whose play ambles on, without developing satisfactorily, or providing any new insights into the blackmailing motif.
Yet Mr S gets his own back by persuading the crooks to keep their money in the firm's strong boxes. They might suspect a catch, but what is it?
Tis down at the bank, where Mr S is packing away his precious Faberge collection. But before he can do a bunk to Rio, Kendrick locks him in the vault. He knows his cousin has been swindled. "I wasn't really stealing at all" is Mr S's rather hollow excuse, rather like this story, which despite some charming touches from le Mes, is a rather feeble apology for a crime caper. Perhaps the unexpected ultimate casting against type of John le Mesurier was the most inspired part
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The Trial of Dr Fancy
(made August 1962, but not screened until 13 September 1964)-
Script: Clive Exton, Director: William Kotcheff. This was made in the Sydney Newman era. - Quite difficult to successfully construct a television hour around one set, even a courtroom. Especially when one gradually gets the feeling that the author is laughing at us.
Set in 1966 for some reason.
The accused: Dr James Fancy.
The charge: Causing the death of Ernest Spratt, aged 33.
Plea: Not Guilty.
The prosecution (Barry Jones) relates how Dr Fancy had amputated both Spratt's legs, even though, it is alleged, there was nothing wrong with them. Dr Harmon (Ronald Hines), afflicted with an unfortunate stutter, confirms there was nothing physically wrong with the patient.
"That's showbiz," was Dr Fancy's alleged comment when the operation on Spratt failed. In the hands of the defence (an impressive Nigel Stock), the nervous Dr Harmon is but putty- a cruel exchange with the stuttering witness.
Police surgeon Dr Pilbeam, adds to the confusion stating he had not been able to examine Spratt's legs, as Bert the boilerman claimed "he had burnt all the legs."
From Spratt's mother (Dandy Nicholls), we hear that ever since he had gone to buy a new pair of trousers from Penders Department Store, her son had expressed this strange desire to have his legs amputated.
The defence case is that Spratt's operation had been for his "general wellbeing." Ever since 1955 Fancy has been successfully amputating legs, one of the first Charles Lincoln (Norman Bird) testifies he had once been 6ft 3ins (one inch less than the deceased), and had suffered from being so tall. Now, thanks to Dr Fancy, he's living a normal happy life.
Then it's the turn of a psychologist (John Paul) to outline the Cyclops Complex, the desire to become smaller and more childlike again. The treatment is to "remove the physical basis of the condition." The prosecution however argue that the fee for the operation is the doctor's principal consideration.
John Pender (Peter Sallis with almost a Welsh accent) has made it his life's work to help "little people" by opening his Little Man's Shop. Business boomed and he opened several branches, one in Africa even, catering for pigmies.
Says the judge (Kynaston Reeves - a perfect role) in summing up - "indeed the whole of the prosecution case has a touch of fantasy." Or did he mean the whole play?? You can see the end a-coming a mile off....
The jury's verdict proves Exton is poking fun at the British legal system, though much less acceptable is his attempted humour, if that's what it is, at the expense of stutterers
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The Cherry On Top (27th September 1964)
Script: Donald Churchill. Director: Guy Verney.
TV Times correctly billed this as the opening play in Armchair Theatre's ninth season.
"Dumb egghead" Flight Officer Audrey Inskip wants to resign her job at a radar station, but her application is turned down. There's a lack of feminity in the service,
as she sees it, in those immortal words, she wants to be Alone. "I want to find myself." She may have got a double first at Cambridge, but she wants to be a Woman. A failed romance is the cause for such depression.
At the pub she encounters a kindred spirit, an unsuccessful salesman for Topper Cocktail Cherries (Robert Lang). Looking faintly ridiculous, pathetic even, in his top hat, Bill Hemmings
has also failed in the romantic stakes, but unlike Audrey, failure has not dimmed his good humour.
Their chance meeting blossoms slowly as they chat. There's one nice touch as a barman (Ernest Hare) stares quizzically at Bill.
His chance comment on babies gives her the inspiration- what she wants is a baby of her own. That will fulfil her.
The dialogue borders on the surreal as she becomes more and more enthused by the idea, and he praises her unique character. To reciprocate his understanding, as it were, she helps him reflect on his failed love life. But now the talk has become too protracted, the plot is crying out to move forward.
It does, at a crawl. His face registers surprise when he finally clicks. What she is proposing is that he is wanted to be the father: "is it me you're talking to?" No strings either side. She talks him round at long long last, so they repair to the Bunch of Grapes Hotel.
One can imagine how this scene would be staged these days. But here it's so innocent, as the couple settle down to do the deed. He talks very nervously
as she undresses. They lie together with inconsequential chatter.
Next day they part. The next scene sees Audrey leaving her job. She's expecting. She's happy. Of course Bill walks off with her.
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The Man who came to Die (18 April 1965)-
Script: Reginald Marsh, Director: Jonathan Alwyn.
A cold house greets a weekend couple, Michael Richardson (Ronald Leigh-Hunt) and Jo (Toby Robins) who have been celebrating their seventh anniversary. It's all very lovey-dovey: "I don't need alcohol to make me amorous." They anticipate a happy time together, alone.
But then there's a shock- Jo finds Ted Fellowes in the spare bedroom, fast asleep. They argue over whether to awaken him, but there's really no need, for Ted is dead. Neighbour Dr Clarkson (Peter Copley) is phoned, and as it's past 1am it's not surprising he's rather grumpy: "he's killed himself," is the abrupt diagnosis, as he quickly departs.
Inspector Wadcot (the author of this play, Reginald Marsh), in a businesslike way, gets Mike and Jo to recount events. Remarks Mike afterwards: the police have "an uncanny way of making you feel quilty, whether you've done anything or not."
Facts about Ted have been emerging. He was Mike's business partner, and Mike isn't sorry he's dead. He had been overselling insurance policies to locals, including Dr Clarkson.
Bad news- the gun Ted shot himself with belongs to Mike. Mike does a bunk.
Now the scene shifts to an invalid, William Ashcroft, and his sister Mrs Trevington who cares for him. They discuss the death furtively. "I've met you before," observes Wadcot, when they call at Mike and Jo's later.
The play perks up when Mrs Marriott the cleaner (Gretchen Franklin) arrives next morning. "Just having a look at the scene of the crime, inspector, no harm in that," she tells Wadcot. From her, he obtains all the local gossip.
Mark is caught at Waterloo Station. He's brought back to his home and shows the policeman proof of Ted's swindling that he's recovered from their office. Dr Clarkson had been paying premiums of £25 a month. From Mrs Marriott, it seems he had been 'seeing' Mrs Trevington, but this liaison had ceased when her 'brother' had moved in to the village. Questioned, the doctor admits being blackmailed by Fellowes over the affair. Fellowes was also blackmailing Ashcroft. In a curious change of scene to a trial, we hear Clarkson's account of the killing.
Otherwise this is a very straightforward and uninteresting murder mystery, with no message, not at all typical of Armchair Theatre.
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Man and Mirror -
(Armchair Mystery Theatre, 13 June 1965)
Script: Robert Muller
Are the characters believable? - Not for me.
Are they sympathetic? - Hardly.
Is the denouement credible? - Daft is a simpler, better description.
GP Geoffrey Manners (Maurice Denham) lives with his brother Edward (Richard Pasco) and mother Isabel (Sybil Thorndike) in a dark mansion. Mama believes "someone is trying to kill me," but is she imagining it?
Edward is a frustrated composer, who spends more time bemoaning his bored existence than in any desultory composition.
Geoffrey attends to his patients, studying the latest Freudian theories, and suffering from recurring headaches. His one love is his chameleon. Apparently its colour changes are significant, not only in biological terms, you see. Let's face it, they're all batty. Or is it the author, for daring to inflict such depression on us?
Clock ticks louder, chameleon changes colour, as Edward, Jekyll and Hyde-like seeks a lady's pleasure.
Fretting with good cause is Isabel, for someone is certainly trying to frighten her. Her murky past, or more correctly, her late husband's murky liaison is the root of her angst. She contacts the police about her fears. They have just received another, anonymous, communication, accusing one of the brothers of something unspecified but obviously some nasty deed.
She then discusses with the doctor Edward's schizoid character. It's all caused by his repressed past, in this repressive house, ruled by a dominant matriarch.
Edward wears a wild look in his eye as the crisis looms. "You do understand?" Geoffrey asks Edward. Apparently he does. He's the only one though. He has to rid himself of one nature, in order to become "one whole man."
'Tis all part of the doctor's plan to get Edward to act. Will he? He can't do what a man has got to do, so Geoffrey does himself. He's the potty one, as if you cared. But he's stopped in his foul act.
This is the sort of play that Armchair Theatre was celebrated for. It was the sort of play that may have won the critics, but certainly lost the viewers. And for me, the viewer is hardly ever wrong, not me anyway
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Neighbours (15 January 1966)-
Script: Arkady Leokum. Director: Paul Almond.
The setting is a swish modern American property in commuterland, in the best district. The Robinsons, Chuck and Mary, are preparing to receive potential buyers for the house. "They happen to be negroes" so this "simple business transaction" could influence neighbours' opinions, indeed predicts Chuck "it will get a little rough."
After this scene setting, enter Bill and Vicky Kingsbury. You have to put aside the improbable plot of this couple spending so much effort entertaining these possible buyers. The meeting starts with idle and rather dull opening chat, sellers doing most of the running. The ice is only broken when Bill is entertained by Chuck's absurd advertising gimmick, his latest creation in his advertising job. Oh yes, Vicky does get to be shown round the house. We learn she used to be a nightclub singer, but now is bringing up their two kids.
"For Pete's sake, we're gettin' all involved now," though I found it hard to get into this museum piece studying racist attitudes. Yet the real clash proves to be one of ideals: "you're tellin' me I got to act a certain way." In fact it's all to do with a rather contemporary issue, as Bill and Vicky are only moving into this area for the school. "I don't think I understand," declares Mary, of Vicky's way of life. The line sums up the play just too well.
Though a sale has been agreed somewhere along the way, Chuck seems to want to impose his suburban ideals, but Bill isn't having any: "I don't want to hear all that!" Community is not part of his vocabulary.
So how it's going to pan out?- that's the only interest in this play. Chuck dances with Vicky as Bill dances with Mary. What will the neighbours say?! I never met a couple of sellers like these, and though I know house buying is a fraught process, 'twas never like this in my experience. There's no reality at all in the dialogue. Moments of truth as Bill's lack of education is exposed, but also the fact he's a successful self-made man.
A kind of climax is reached when Bill proposes to tear up the contract unless Chuck begs him not to. Deal off. Yes, house selling is tough. But then it all changes as self-made man is revealed to be a famous composer- Mary is his greatest fan!
Mary apologises. Just shows celebrity status covers a multitude of sins. But nothing can hide the flimsy structure of Neighbours. Perhaps Dick Gregory as Bill nearly holds the story together, yet he would have had to have been a saint to succeed
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Don't Utter a Note (9 April 1966)
Script: Anton Delmar. Director: Patrick Dromgoole.
In this light comedy, two sisters Florence and Nellie inherit their brother Charles' arto deco home. "As living examples of Christian charity," they see the opportunity to extend their charitable works, not only to family, newlyweds Nicholas and Sally, but also to Basher Bates (Sid James) as they continue their attempt to "lead him into the paths of righteousness." Some hope with Sid!
Their joie de vivre is rather curtailed when it's shown some of Charles' cash he's left hidden round the place is forged. A printing press in the secret cellar gives them the idea of helping the vicar out by printing the parish magazine. For once Christians are not shown only as eccentric extremists, though the two good sisters are evidently tempted. And from little acorns.... A few extra pounds for their good works wouldn't come amiss. "I think it would be unwise to say anything of this to Basher!" But they need his 'expertise,' and after giving his trademark chuckle, Sid is persuaded to set the presses a-rolling. With some enthusiasm too.
Sgt Howlett (Peter Bowles) briefly threatens to upset this paradise when Florence gives him a ten shilling donation, but fortunately Nicholas retrieves it.
The anonymous charitable gifts snowball, with numerous grateful recipients. Would they "have kittens if they really knew where the cash came from?" And Basher has now his eyes set on a £1,200 sloop, South Sea Lady.
With the help of the Adult Delinquents Association the forged notes are distributed across the country as the operation reaches fantasy proportions- they even plan to pay everyone's income tax!
It is inevitable some of the Delinquents are not that reliable. Arnold, inebriated, "louses it up." Here comes Sgt Howlett, after Arnold has talked freely. Thankfully this policeman isn't too bright and only wants the sisters to take Arnold under their wing, and he leaves them with the fine line "may I say that I think you two ladies are doing a grand job." Ironically it's Florence, unusually slightly the worse for drink, whose tongue is loosed. But who believes such a nice old lady?
Ending this piece of absurdity was always going to be difficult, but the author keeps to the spirit of his play. "We've got to get out of the country," advises a worried Basher, and that sloop is the perfect solution. A quick bunk with forged francs and lire, and they have a new start....
This is a lively bit of fun that moves along so briskly you don't have time to worry about its improbability. With Sybil Thorndike and Athene Seyler occasionally sparking it off as the eccentric sisters, who needs the red tape of the Lottery Fund?
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Dead Silence (10 September 1966)-
Script: Monte Doyle. Director: John Moxey.
No dialogue in the openng five minutes, which doesn't really succeed in intriguing us. Who is the Peeping Tom? Who is he spying on, from his small room? As it turns out to be not directly relevant to the denouement, it's a puzzle. Eventually, we realise he's a caretaker and he's taking a bouquet now to Miss Shaw. After five and a half minutes' economy of silence, the dialogue begins. It's to establish she's all alone in this luxury block of flats.
Now more dialogue saving, or is it more padding? This time someone is banging on a drum in the background, most irritatingly, as another bouquet arrives, but this time a scream, and a shot.
Ten minutes in, we move to a police station, the infallible Chief Inspector Newton who "lives by the book" (Patrick Allen), and his loyal assistant Bob Bedford (Glyn Edwards) are introduced in much the same detailed way. But this technique is too slow for an hour-long play, and any interest in the murder is evaporating after six more minutes painting the picture of a dinosaur amongst detectives, one of the old school, as he himself readily admits. Patrick Allen plays him with that familiar brand of rugged grit.
His investigation of Carol Shaw's death is conducted with autocratic precision. But as the drums start their din, he discerns something that makes his attitude change. It's this discovery that's at the heart of the play. His underlings debate whether the 100% clear-up rate of this "sadist" will remain intact, as he is up to something. Surely he's not tampering with the evidence? His erratic behaviour hasn't gone unnoticed by Bedford and his other more antagonistic colleagues. Why is he not playing it straight, as he always does? He has cleared the area around the flat in order to pursue his "odd" inquiries: "what the hell is he up to?"
Newton interrogates the caretaker, who lies. "I don't think you're telling the truth," notes the sagacious Mrs Masters, who knew Miss Shaw as the nurse who had cared for her late husband in his dying months. "Any men friends?" persists the abrupt Newton.
Pathetic dope addict Len (Ronald Lacey) is summoned to meet Newton at Miss Shaw's flat- why there, not the station? Len admits she supplied his dope.
Next is Mrs Masters that he questions in the flat. Or is it she interrogating him? "What are you hiding inspector?" We learn Carol Shaw had obtained her supply of drugs from Mr Masters, causing him immense suffering. That's why she killed the girl. Drum roll as she produces a gun. A shot.
Newton is on the carpet next morning to account for Mrs Masters' suicide and his own erratic performance. Why had he deviated from the book? At last he explains to Bedford just why. An excellent twist to end. And there's time for one last rumble of those drums.
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A Magnum for Schneider (4 Feb 1967)-
Script: James Mitchell. Director: Bill Bain
Perhaps I'd better start by admitting I am not really a fan of Callan. Maybe the evocative music is the best thing in this seedy drama.
Callan (Edward Woodward) is a disillusioned man- "I used to like my trade." His conscience has rendered him too "soft" to be a licensed killer, but now he's being given a chance to prove himself by killing Schneider.
Yet still Callan wants to know too much about this German, he wants to know the reason he has to kill the man. On his first encounter with Schneider he finds a common interest, which seems genuine, in model soldiers. "I wonder what the hell he's done," ponders the broody Callan. These moments when he shares his inner thoughts are perhaps the best feature of the play.
From the repulsive Lonely, Callan purchases a gun, but complications follow when he finds Scotland Yard are already pursuing inquiries into Schneider. It seems he is suspected of gun running, and a probing of Schneider's safe confirms this for Callan. His mind is now made up. Poetic justice demands the criminal is shot with one of his own smuggled weapons- a Magnum.
Though the interesting morality issues are explored mildly, and Callan's doubts over his job are quite absorbing, the story takes for ever to get to the crux, which is when Callan goes to play soldiers with his target. To cover himself, Callan has left a confession of murder on his tape recorder, which is promptly erased by his faceless superiors. Indeed Callan is constantly shadowed by 'them' (in the shape of Peter Bowles), and to protect this faceless man, Callan is finally forced to eliminate Schneider. But regretfully, one feels. "My God, you took your bloody time!" Too long, I felt.
He's a fine anti-hero, if you like. But no cold blooded killer. And Callan knows that, as he hands in his resignation
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Reason for Sale (4th March 1967)
Script: Derek and Donald Ford. Director: Patrick Dromgoole.
The opening shows off the impressive set of the lavish home of an enigmatic Hungarian widow, Ylena (Nadja Regin). She and her stepdaughter Anna are showing their home
to prospective buyers. One is Ben Lewis (William Lucas) of the Paisley Group, who manage private country houses.
The characters are well drawn and quickly, Anna being the most odd, seeming to hint that there is more to the sale than meets the eye.
As Lewis is leaving, Ylena invites him to stay to dinner. But this is only the first of the downward steps that leads a promising story into an abyss of unlikelihood.
The odd Anna believes Lewis is from the police and she tells him her father Ferenc had been killed. A writer he had been, who had fled Hungary in the 1956 uprising. Ben Lewis starts to wonder if Ylena hasn't manufactured events so he can stay the night.
After some serious words with her, Ben retires for the night to find Anna in his bed. Now we start to border on the improbable as the two talk more of the alleged murder. She points him to the extensive cellar. In the dark, he creeps down there, and what does he find?
A recently bricked up wall. But then, does he see the dead Ferenc alive?? Ylena is there next minute and explains he might
have seen her husband's portrait, which has mysteriously been taken from above the fireplace. It was Anna playing tricks, explains Ylena, for the girl is mad.
Ben asks to see Ferenc's death certificate as he kisses Ylena. Reality is evaporating as the cameras come closer and closer to focus in on their kiss.
Such intimacy gets him to admit that he's come unofficially to investigate Ferenc's death. They now struggle as he tries to force her to admit she killed him.
Anna then teases him as the action becomes more frenzied and incomprehensible. "You're mad," Ben tells them, or is it me?
For Ben had been blackmailing, as yet another revelation is bombarded on us. This must absolutely have lost most viewers, well it did me at least.
But before you can reel from that, Ferenc appears, alive and well. The two men face up. "Talk sense," screams Ben, as if anyone could now. It seems Ben is to decide his own
punishment and he is goaded into shooting Ferenc, though the gun explodes in his own face. "It was his trial," utters the resurrected man seemingly by way of explanation, and if you swallow that, you are a true Armchair Theatre devotee.
Reason for Sale this was titled. Can't have been many buyers
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Mrs Capper's Birthday
It's hard to believe that Noel Coward could write a script right up Armchair Theatre's street, but this one is the goods, meandering and plotless. This version is not funny either, though it aims to analyse middle aged loneliness. The play was adapted for tv by William Marchant and the director was Guy Verney.
Happy Birthday, Hilda (Beryl Reid)! 'Tis her fiftieth birthday, though what follows looks more about someone in their sixties. She shares a house with the suffocating Alice, living on memories of her Fred who died in the war. Also in the house are Audrey and her husband Tony, but this Sunday morning, after a wild party, it's not he but Bobby, and Hilda Capper helps the rather unsympathetic Audrey to cover her tracks when Toby returns home.
With Alice in church, Mr Godsall (Arthur Lowe) takes advantage and brings Mrs Capper a present, and a hesitating proposal. It's a good offer, he's a prosperous tobacconist, but she confesses she is too set in her ways now.
To see her granddaughter (for once, a real baby) and daughter Maureen (Pauline Yates) plus her husband Jack, Mrs Capper travels by bus, "old cow" Alice accompanying her. Another present, then they all go to Chez Maurice to celebrate.
By now you are puzzling if this is to be anything more than a character study. That first scene with Audrey seems vaguely irrelevant, and Godsall's proposal forgotten. Here, camp waiter David adds one more unneccessary character, but he is upstaged by the final visit of the night, to a "slummy" downtown pub where a noisy drummer pounds out the worst cabaret ever. Even Mrs Capper admits she's a bit tired of it all, and if she was, I certainly wouldn't want to say her nay. Beryl Reid does work hard to hold the scenes together, but there's no cohesion for her to hang on, and, for me, no depth to her. As a final insult, an improbable guest, reliving his old haunts is famous film star Kenny Blake (George Baker). He joins all present to sing Happy Birthday, "after all these years." It would have just needed the queen to drop down the pub to add her half century telegram in person for the insult to viewers to be complete. Noel Coward, I could have written a better play than this- I think
Armchair Theatre menu
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Call Me Daddy
Script: Ernie Gebler. Director: Alvin Rakoff.
An opening scene grabs the attention with the ever eccentric Donald Pleasence singing happily in his flash dressing gown, awaiting a caller in his expensive flat.
Miss Smith (Judy Cornwell) arrives on cue. She makes a contrast to his eager anticipation.
Her heart is definitely not in their agreement that is to last seven days. Apparently her boss, Benjamin Hoffman has some hold over her fiance, Tom,
who has committed some crime.
"It's monstrous, what you're doing to me." Yes, he's the original "dirty old man," and who better to capture all the comic creepiness of this role than Pleasence! Deliciously, he describes himself
as "an embarrassed currant bun."
But her initial fears are somewhat calmed, when he offers to take her out to dinner. But when they come back, he tells he it's "time to embrace her fate."
Into bed, she shaking in pjyamas. Then a surprise, he's taking sleeping pills!
"You are safe until 6am," he concludes.
At 3am, she is still not asleep and decides to leave. Why she doesn't is not so convincing.
6am, the alarm rings. Off for... a walk on Wimbledon Common! Then breakfast as he sings merrily in a comic chef's ensemble. She starts to relax, "you can call me Janet if you like."
The tension has gone, but this serves only to reveal the implausibility of it all. Comedy is now to the fore.
How can it end? At last she asks him what this "cultural exchange" is really all about. Is he just mad? "You treat me as if you're my father," she almost jibes. Yes, it seems he's just a frustrated old bachelor.
This night she wears a nightie. "If I told any sane person about this...." Or any sane viewer. She again presses him as to his intentions. "When the fruit is ripe," he answers enigmatically, "it falls from the tree."
For the last evening she wears a new dress. She wants to go out swinging, and he turns out to be the original oldest swinger in town.
Now that night she is first into bed. A provocative pose. Only Goodnight.
Next day, time to leave. She gives it him straight. "You never even kissed me," which may be an accusation or complaint.
Apparently all he wanted was to be a father figure. They part on the worst of terms. "I wanted you to care about me," he finally confesses.
She bids him Goodbye. Perhaps she ought to have added Good Riddance.
But even yet, the torture is not over. It's only the start!! No this is not gritty realistic theatre, it's theatre for the voyeuristic
To Armchair Theatre, or should it be Voyeur Theatre?
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Compensation Alice (1st July 1967)
Script: Jack Rosenthal. Director: Patrick Dromgoole.
"Isn't that gorgeous?" asks Alice (Sheila Hancock) of a 20 guinea hat in a fashionable boutique.
But "it's for mods and rockers," not for one Alice of the Women's Guild. "It's a bit young for madam,"
explains the shop assistant, "perhaps in your flapper days...!"
For she's fighting anno domini: "you're not 16, love." Back in her suburban home with Wilfrid (Robert Lang)
she despairs of her marriage: "I've done nothing exciting for twenty years." Her husband is much more content as he does his office work in bed:
"Wilfrid, why don't you talk to me any more?" Their stalemate is in stark contrast to their Swiss au pair Lisa, who's enjoying
a lovely time with her young man.
"I suppose I couldn't go to Switzerland and be an au pair girl," muses Alice to Lisa.
She decides it's time for a "giggle" as she pretends to look pregnant. The boutique assistant accuses Alice of stealing, but realising the mistake offers
£5 by way of compensation. That sets Alice off. In a cafe some more "excitement" as she introduces broken glass into her ice cream. Her staid friend Beryl
insists on complaining, and another £5 in compensation is the result.
Alice is soon earning more compensation, this time from a motorist who almost runs her over. She'll soon be able to afford that hat!
We find out the reason for Wilfrid's working at home. At his office he works with his friend Cecil selling insurance, or rather not selling insurance,
for they spend all their time talking and playing about.
So that evening, Wilfrid has more work to do at home. Alice is wearing her new hat. "Alice, have you unhinged?" She does look faintly absurd.
But there's no time for more, because the once-happy Lisa is crying the place down. Her boy friend isn't so keen as her on marriage. It's more than a little embarrassing this scene,
though it's supposed to be funny. Even more incredible, Lisa admires Wilfrid, masterful character. And she loves Alice's happy lifestyle. As a study of mid-life
crisis, this would have been a better play exploring Alice once she has bought her hat. Instead the play degenerates.
Alice realises her faux pas, Wilfrid offering her twenty quid for her never to wear it again.
To make it moral, all the compensation is returned. Now Alice is happy performing the household chores, happily it would seem.
One senses that the author's good idea has been all but lost. Amazing how so many writers can't finish off their good plots. Even someone of the reputation of Mr Rosenthal.
To Armchair Theatre Menu
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Edward the Confessor (1969)
Script: Leigh Vance, Director: Henry Kaplan.
Edward Gobey (Ian Holm) is a habitual visitor to the police station, confessing to numerous lurid murders. The usual police
response is "run away, there's a good fellow."
Widow Mrs Blaxill (Beryl Reid) is his landlady and they enjoy a cosy friendship, which is now spoiled by the appearance of Gobey's old school acquaintance
Gland (Alfred Burke), a seedy driving instructor. He's one of those strong characters who has Gobey under his thumb.
So which of the three is the play, a crime drama, a comedy, or a love triangle?
I thought it was a comedy, for that was Beryl Reid's forte. To support this view, there's also a snippet of Edward Gobey at his work of conducting a door-to-door
questionnaire, and the questions are of an intimate nature. It's supposed to make you laugh.
But no, perhaps it's a love affair, because Gland is now moving in to the lodgings and is quickly making advances to Mrs Blaxill in the kitchen, then in the bedroom.
However you always feel this play might be a crime story, with Edward putting his confessions to good, if rather corny use, by eliminating his rival. But he ponders the deed too long, and only stiffens his resolve
after hearing sounds of their lovemaking. Back to comedy, as although he toys with gun and axe, his protest appears limited to cooking his own breakfast. However he does announce he
is going away for the night...
Finally the deed is prepared, and in the dark that evening he creeps back, and the axe falls.
Time now of course for another confession. As usual he explains how he did it. "I shot him!" He's not believed.
To absolve himself from any accusation of being too obvious, the author now embarks on a series of surprise, occasionally clever, revelations.
"Indestructible old" Gland is still at the lodgings! Gobey had got the wrong victim! Gland goads his rival but the play now turns into an overlong study of the
tragic figure Gobey, as the pair talk for what seemed like eternity to get behind the rationale of it all. Yes this play fell
between three, no four stools.
To Armchair Theatre Menu
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Armpit Theatre menu
Main TV Menu
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ITV Plays
My reviews of some other plays
(apart from Armchair Theatre) shown on ITV
Women In Love (A-R 1958)
The Big Pride (ATV 1961)
The Lover (A-R 1963)
A Midsummer Night's Dream (A-R 1964)
Blithe Spirit (Granada 1964)
The Human Voice (Rediffusion 1966)
Your Name's Not God, it's Edgar (Granada 1968)
The 'Play of The Week' and 'Television Playhouse' were regular highspots of ITV's serious output.
But by the mid sixties, it was clear that the one-off play was a dying creature, often replaced by a group of plays
based around a unifying theme. Certainly by now it was being proposed 'the single television play must die.'
America, for commercial reasons the arbiter of taste, had seen the virtual death of such plays except for big budget productions.
Wrote Anthony Davis in 1968, "must Britain go the American way? The odds seem stacked against the single play." Why? More expensive to produce.
Certainly the days when The Play was the centrepiece of a night's entertainment had gone by this date, and not that many viewers mourned its passing.
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Women In Love
A two hour collection of six international playlets to mark Associated Rediffusion's third anniversary, shown on Wednesday 24th September 1958.
Here's one viewer's barbed comment (TV Times no 155), "such tepid, milk-and-water women wouldn't have raised the eyebrows
of our strictest Sunday School teachers."
The stories were linked by George Saunders, who describes himself rather charmingly as the "masculine dreamer."
Here are reviews of the stories we have seen-
Story 1, After So Long. This is about Henry's longwinded encounter with "a jewel of a girl" called Topazzia (Scilla Gabel).
It starts as a happy reunion, but "there's something you didn't tell me-" she now has children. Not that as Henry, Terence Morgan's
character's reaction rings at all true. (Script: Bridget Boland. Director: Julian Amyes)
Story 4, Song Without Words, includes location shooting in Stockholm. On a boat tour, tourist Robert (John Fraser) attempts to beat the language barrier
and pick up a Swedish blonde called Karin (Ann-Marie Gyllenspetz). It's all done in the style of a latter day silent film, a gallant but failed attempt to show
a love story with little verbal communication. (Script: Michael Meyer. Director: Peter Graham Scott who was also in charge of overall production)
The final Story, 6 The Stowaway, is set on a boat off the south of France where eligible bachelor David (Daniel Massey)
is sleeping in the Honeymooners' Cabin: "such a pity" but there's no woman on board to share it. But as it happens,
there is a stowaway hiding in his cabin, Felice (Yvonne Monlaur), and a romance that teeters on farce develops, and then dies,
in a nicely constructed finish. Also appearing were Henry Kendall as Ashley, Andre Maranne as the steward
and Guy Deghy as Mr Morand. (Script: Charles Terrot. Director: Ronald Marriott)
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The Big Pride
(ATV Drama 61, #6, May 28th 1961)
A calypso singer introduces "Sutlej and Dowling, a man burning with a big pride."
Three black convicts "decked out in misery."
Their leader, Sutlej (William Marshall) is an intellectual with a chip, brought on by years of humiliation at his unjust lot: "when you are a slave, you can only breed slaves."
Smallboy Dowling (Johnny Sekka) is still the apple of his mother's eye, even though "I've finished with prayin'."
The third of the trio is Van Kruze, a less well drawn character, only useful to further the plot.
This day, they are to break out. They tie up their guard. Van Kruze, unknown to the other two, throttles him. It seems to be a simple task escaping.
Van Kruze wants to go it alone and is soon caught. Dowling needs to keep with the experienced Sutlej, who has a scheme. The pair enter the head office
of boss man on the island, Randall. For his half brother has provided Sutlej with the lowdown on "first black tycoon" Randall's illegal activities.
"How much?" asks Randall. "I'm after much more than money," replies Sutlej, for it's freedom and a leg up in society that he craves.
"Impossible," Randall tells him, but he has to concede. The convicts are thus put up in a posh hotel, the very building where Dowling's mother slaves in the kitchen.
"All this is like a dream," smiles Smallboy, but their smugness is wiped away when they hear the guard has been killed. "Sit tight, wait till de shooting die down."
This good advice however turns out to be impossible when Sutlej learns his girlfriend Dolly is to marry a white: "I don't want my child growing up as any white man's boy."
He has to meet Dolly, but this is one complication of the plot too many. The racial issues are relevant to the 1960's, but they cannot be explored fully in this 55 minute play.
The best character is Dowling's mother (Nadia Cattouse) who can see the futility of her son's actions. "Oh Absalom," she screams rather absurdly, but this futility isn't conveyed to the viewer.
As Sutlej and Dowling trudge through a swamp to elude the police dogs, it seems hopeless.
Sutlej takes his bottle of poison, though Dowling tries to dissuade his hero from doing so. Too late. Sutlej grovels in the mud, and with his dying breath attempts to nerve Dowling to face his grim future
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The Lover
(A-R, March 1963)
Script: Harold Pinter
TV Times blurb:
"This is not a story about the eternal triangle, but one might call it an eternal quadrangle." I see
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A Midsummer Night's Dream - June 24th 1964, 9.10-11.10pm.
"Beauteous" Hermia (Maureen Beck) and her love for Lysander (John Fraser) never grabbed me, but Jill Bennett
as the "transparent" Helena was much more idiosyncratic, wistful and indeed appealing.
Patrick Allen was Patrick Allen, ditto Peter Wyngarde who came across as almost a panto demon.
At Quince's Cottage were assembled the more popular commercial attractions, lead by Benny Hill as Bottom, who gave the role his own occasional
cheeky little laugh. I liked his scene when he manipulated poor Arthur Hewlett as Snug's face. But old stager Miles Malleson
as Quince seemed the most seeped in his part, uttering his line "he's a very paramour," as only Malleson can.
Alfie Bass as Flute and specially Bernard Bresslaw as Snout must have disappointed the popular audience, as they never uttered even one of their catchphrases.
Directed by Joan Kemp-Welch with some fine close-ups, and one striking visual moment when a match was lit, superimposed on the scene as Snug and Snout
are scared off by Puck. That of course, could never have been done on stage, and this was only one example which showed some care had been taken to make the play into a televisual one.
Perhaps the best done comedy moment was when Bottom as a "monster" is wooed by the spirited Titania (Anna Massey). You just longed to see Benny Hill's face, but that of course was impossible, hid behind
the mask of an ass.
So there was much to admire, my favourite scene was the stunning effect, despite the cramped studio, of the fairies' ballet, to the accompaniment, naturally, of Mendelssohn's
enchanting music.
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Blithe Spirit
Granada, TV Playhouse 9:52, 1964
starring Griffith Jones, Helen Cherry and Hattie Jacques
A pompous introduction from the author himself nearly lost this viewer before we ever get going,
as I am by no means a Noel Coward fan.
However I did start to warm to this condensed 72 minute version which moves at a cracking pace
under the direction of Joan Kemp-Welch.
Hattie Jacques is of course eccentric as Madame Arcati,
but also amazingly balletic whilst Griffith Jones is simply marvellous darlings
in the master's role. I had to keep reminding myself that I was watching Griffith Jones,
who does the role so much better than Rex Harrison.
Only Joanna Dunham as Elvira is a trifle disappointing, acting rather woodenly,
even if she does make a sensuous ghost.
For those brought up on the film version, this is a pleasant surprise. Quite stagey,
but so well edited from the original play that it really is an improvement! I wonder what NC made of it all?
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The Death of Bessie Smith
(Granada, TV Playhouse 10:43,
June 28th 1965)
It's 1937 in Memphis. "Goddam nigger records" give father (Robert Ayres) a headache. Playing them is his daughter, a frothy nurse (Patricia English) who works in a "secondrate" white hospital with the fewest patients you ever did see, a model for NHS practice surely. Forgotten legend Bessie Smith ("is she still singing?") is admitted after a car smash. This is two thirds of the way through the play, the first act of which is used to define the deadbeat staff who are to 'treat' her. The final act has yet more inconsequential talk whilst the "nigger" has to wait. Personally, I can't take this static type of play, an actor's play perhaps, but shouldn't the author Edward Albee be sued under the Trades Descriptions Act for saying he's putting an incidental historical context to a play which is really examining Southern racist attitudes? A true historical analysis would rather have started with the excellent final scene when black driver (Earl Cameron) confronts our white nurse. "I never heard of such a thing."
Donald Sutherland as the distracted intern gives it all a veneer of credibility, but only a veneer.
Note: Pat English's part was originally to have been played by Gene Anderson who said of the role:
"it's a horrible part- I play the nurse who refuses coloured Bessie entry to a white hospital- and a great challenge."
Sadly Gene died suddenly before the programme was recorded.
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Main Drama menu
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The Human Voice
(Rediffusion, November 1966)
Script: Jean Cocteau, adapted by Clive Exton
Director: Ted Kotcheff
Set designed by Michael Yates
Starring: Ingrid Bergman
"A virtuoso part... the voice of her caller is never heard... but a good actress can make the audience imagine every word he is saying to her."
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Your Name's Not God, It's Edgar
Screened December 9th 1968
Script: Jack Rosenthal.
Director: Michael Apted
What an awful start to this northern play, as scenes of t'north are accompanied by an irritatingly jokey rendition of Jerusalem. Followed by Lily's reflection of what this song means, if anything.
Edgar (Alfred Lynch) is under t'thumb o' his dad (Jimmy Jewel). Flashbacks to his youth reveal his deep seated awareness of original sin, especially (this was the sixties) is relation to the female form.
When his mam had got "a bug in her belly," it's connected in the lad's mind with his original sin. Now she's died, but was it because he'd watched a rude film?
Left alone, "great white Buddha," his malingering bedridden dad is the bane of Edgar's life, spoiling his romance with the plain Phoebe (Yootha Joyce), or is it an excuse? His friend's nickname Blessed Art Thou, from t'Bible, might give us a clue as to the attraction to the opposite sex that Edgar longs after, maybe lusts after, though his veneer is a respectable religiosity.
Perhaps this nonsense is summed up best by one long scene in which Edgar converses with a beast of the field. The latter talked more sense to me. Matters with Phoebe reach crisis point, and Edgar adopts his dad's "childish" ploy of feigning illness. But after eight long years, Phoebe is remarkably persistent, "I'll wait for yer," she promises. Why, she must be desperate.
A weekend away from dad in London's fleshpots may "drown his conscience." However it seems uneventful, though back oop North, Phoebe seems to be hitting it off with dad, "would you like a sherbert fountain?"
But Edgar has discovered Phoebe's more attractive double in the big city. "There's other things in life besides sex," and though it's mostly talk, she does seduce him.
Returning home, Edgar finds dad up and about, "nothing wrong with yer." Truth downs on t'lad, it had dawned on us before we fell asleep a long while ago, truth regards his dad and his own guilty inner feelings. "Round the twist he always was," and you'd be too after suffering this pseudo comic sixties twaddle. But I canna give yer a fair review, as I never liked this play one bit
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BBC Plays
The drama department at the BBC earned a top class reputation for producing quality tv plays. The genre culminated in the gritty realism of the Wednesday Play, this was sixties television at its most dour. I have to confess that this is not what I enjoy on my television screen, and ironically it was only because the BBC recruited top ABC man Sydney Newman, that their dramas really descended from stagey theatrical plays to the kitchen sink abyss. Critics of course will love anything they don't understand, and a lot of the Wednesday Play output was just that, down to earth language with down to earth situations, that dragged the nation down into its pit. Television reflects life, was the excuse, but television also moulds life, and mould be the word.
Having ranted against it, let's conclude on a positive note, and recommend the excellence of some modern day classics, from which I single out John Hopkins' Fable, hard going, depressing even, but almost prophetic.
To TV Drama menu
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It is Midnight Dr Schweitzer (1953) -
This is primitive tv drama, based on one set, the story in real time, with dialogue and little action, nevertheless an interesting historical document. Indeed unlike modern historical reconstructions, this is acceptably close enough to reality. However there is never any very probing analysis of Schweitzer's motives, as the various sub-plots, even though they are all drawn together by the end, detract from a proper focus on the main man.
Midnight on a fateful night in 1914 in an African hospital. Dr Schweitzer (Andre Morell) plays Bach, as his nurse, Sister Marie (Greta Gynt) stands by, looking discontented. "It seems to me some people just give the money, whereas others give themselves." She's restless over her vocation and the doctor, maybe for the viewer's benefit too, goes over the reasons why he himself has given up a great career, even leaving behind his family.
But the philosophising is interrupted by a sick child who has been rescued by the priest Father Charles (Douglas Wilmer) from having her throat cut by superstitious natives. So the doctor attends the girl whilst Marie and the priest discuss the meaning of life, until I rather echoed Schweitzer's own comment "I grew impatient of talk."
Marie's lack of happiness may be related to the Commandant who now enters with the governor to spout politics. The latter is clearly antagonistic towards the doctor, possibly as he's German, and war seems imminent. "I hate war," is Schweitzer's stance, especially of course, if it means an interruption of his medical supplies from Europe.
There's more work, even at this late hour, when seven "monsters covered in enormous tumours" are brought in for treatment. This brings on a religious argument about suffering and God's existence, before Father Charles makes his farewell, possibly for the last time with war so near: "God be with you."
After 50 minutes we have an Interval, with a record of Schweitzer himself at the organ.
The next evening, the governor declares his love for the nurse "with the great heart." But she still isn't happy. The governor is here to give the pacifist doctor protection, but
the offer is rejected, unwisely as it turns out, for natives break in and steal the medicines. There's unrest on account of war being declared: "the white men of Europe have started a great palaver. The tribe of the commandant is fighting the tribe of the great doctor." It drives the doctor to despair, and suddenly it's Marie who needs to bolster Him. Some Bach soothes them.
The commandant shares his love for Marie, who happily responds: "one single moment of happiness,".... but then "happiness is not thinking of others." They both have a higher duty. This becomes evident as Father Charles staggers in, a native sword in his back. All reflect on his death.
It's sufficent to make the commandant see that he must return to Europe, and for Marie to realise that her life is with the doctor: "I shall put my joy aside."
However there will be no joy at all, for the governor will be closing the hospital, for he has orders to intern Schweitzer at midnight. The doctor bemoans, not his own fate, but the fact that leprosy and all he has striven to fight, will now return to the peoples. There's a last tour of his hospital, and a soliloquy. He prays.
But Marie pledges herself to running the hospital alone. Schweitzer plays Bach until he is taken away at midnight.
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This Day in Fear (July 1958) -
starring Patrick McGoohan (James Coogan) with Billie Whitelaw (Mrs Coogan), Donal Donnelly, Hugh Moxey, Harold Berens.
Police believe "law abiding" citizen James Coogan needs protection as The Movement is after him. But Jim hasn't told his family or colleagues at work about his IRA past, which he has now put well behind him. But when it seems he is really going to be "live bait," he accepts the police offer.
Spasmodically the tension is notched up, but in between there's too much flagging. At last the climax, as Jimmy calmly accepts his fate. He explains his previous philosophy to his uncomprehending wife, before the priest, present to hear Jim's last confession, coaxes the truth out of him.
A neat conclusion leaves his political assassins baffled and the way of the gun is exposed for what it is.
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Brand (August 1959)
Author: Ibsen, Producer: Rudolph Cartier, transmitted 11th August 1959.
(Note- available for sale on dvd on various sites).
Patrick McGoohan won plaudits for his powerful portrayal
in this pseudo religious drama, but for me, even The Prisoner
is more comprehensible than this drama which lacks a storyline.
Be a martyr if you want to sit through it all.
St John Roberts under the headline 'Magnificent McGoohan' gave this glowing account- "'If you do not give all, you give nothing,' says Brand. This is the rule by which he lives and which he mistakenly serves God. The Doctor, tending his dying son replies, 'Your love account is as white as a virgin sheet.' These two lines provide the background of a play that is powerful, passionate and moving. Beautifully produced by Michael Elliott, it starred Patrick McGoohan in the greatest role he has yet appeared in on tv. He gave a truly magnificent, monumental performance as Brand, a performance of granite, strong and solid- until he discovers humanity glimmering within him- a discovery which is made too late. McGoohan was more than ably supported by Patrick Wymark as the scheming mayor, Dilys Hamlett as his pitiful wife and Peter Sallis in two clever cameos. Neither must one forget striking Olive McFarland as Gerd."
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Whistle and I'll Come to You (1968, Omnibus)- Michael Hordern plays a Cambridge professor staying in an isolated hotel. Finding an ancient whistle, he blows it and lo, a treatise on survival of death, before some slightly spooky occurrences in his bedroom. Lovely scenery with a fine solo from Hordern (who else could utter "Rumpled" like him?) but forty minutes is way too long for this MR James short story and, despite Jonathan Miller's pompous introduction which purports to be a serious analysis, I think I believe I experienced no "terror"
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The Interview
(1968, Thirty Minute Theatre) by Barry Bermange. Directed by Donald McWhinnie-
More specifically this should be titled The Interview Waiting Room.
Inconsequentially and intermittently, candidates chat until one gets down to the subject at hand: "were they all as boring as this one, all those other interviews you've had?" Thankfully, half way through the boring wait, we learn that one interviewee, Dennis Gray, had a wife who died "in a boating accident."
After this is established the others decide to teach him to speak German. Why?- you might well ask, that is if you are still interested. For the author is determined to inflict his own mundane experience on us, but as each interview lasts but a few minutes, it's not very true to life.
At last, it's Dennis' turn! His fellow candidates greet him in the most improbable conclusion to any interview.
Nothing is made explicit which is a cheat, even though we know what we know, I hope. It is quite a clever end, but not worth 29 minutes wait
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Without Love -
Script: Colin Morris, Producer: Gilchrist Calder. -
Scene 1 plunges straight into the original sixties generation clash. Working class dad Jim (Alfred Burke) of 14 Paradise Street argues with an "out of control" 17 year-old who lives "in a different world" to her father and stepmother.
The upshot is that Jacky (Clare Austin) leaves home to join friend Betty (a fuller Billie Whitelaw), hostess at a club. According to the barmaid there, Jacky's "just a baby, the first man that shows her affection, she falls for it." A Yank- and she's pregnant, and he's gone.
Now she's in the dock, charged with being drunk. Mrs Hammond, her probation officer (Barbara Couper), hears her sorry tale of how lonely she is now she has had her child fostered. But she can only offer advice and it's Betty who's more likely to help Jacky solve her financial crisis.
Thus it is that she's picked up by the smooth talking Tony (Paul Stassino) whom she naively falls for. He persuades her to earn cash by being a prostitute. To the courtroom again, in her finery, and a second interview with Mrs Hammond. More heart to heart with the probation officer echoing the writer's purpose: "a girl will give anything to get a man to stay with her. Oh, the clients have nothing, just pound notes." Observes her counsellor: "you obviously don't know anything," for the youngster cannot see through Tony's facade. Mrs Hammond's prediction of the future is not what Jacky wants to hear: "he's a parasite who won't stand on his own."
There's no happy ending to a play that doesn't offer much, except a touching performance from the rarely cheerful Jacky. But the ending is quite effective as she fades from the courtroom, leaving others to reflect on her fate, and the rounded probation officer to offer a gleam of light with her own settled existence
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12 Fable (1965) -
A kind of 1984 state where apartheid in reverse is in operation.
White man Len (Ronald Lacey) is a government employed driver, in the service of
his black boss Mark Fellowes (Thomas Baptiste), a famous writer, "the authentic voice of protest."
But Fellowes is under house arrest and Len, now unemployed, is
forcibly transferred from his family in London to a work reservation in remote Scotland.
His wife Joan appeals to Len's former boss to take up his case, but Mark's campaigning work is rendered ineffective by his wife
Francesca, who, to ensure her husband does not incur further official wrath, secretly burns his current writings which are pressing for
social justice.
In Scotland, Len finds his new master harsher, and his master's wife enigmatic, pumping him about Fellowes.
Len is accused of raping her, but he succeeds in escaping and flees back to the despairing Joan who has been forcibly rehoused.
Rather improbably, Len is able to shoot the head of state, as the story becomes too extreme, losing its main and most absorbing emphasis on the
morality of the new order. There's civil unrest. The media are manipulated. News of the president's death is kept quiet, until the proper moment.
Greater segregation of black and white.
A key scene is when Jean, now a necessary prostitute, gets to see Mark Fellowes and almost opens his eyes.
Television pictures expose the late Joan's "sordid" life, slanted for political ends.
It leaves a bleak and depressing ending, the only ray of hope
being in campaigners like the sadly toothless Mark. "What battle are you fighting?" Francesca demands of him. He's the frail reed for the future.
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64 Way off Beat (1966) - This is really Sydney Tafler's play. He dominates the action as "The Mr Bradshaw," upper crust hairdresser in a regional kingdom of thee own. But Gordon Reid as "innocent, impecunious yet talented" Norman has the most sympathetic part, of a working class lad who's groomed by Bradshaw to partner his innocent daughter Linda (Helen Fraser) in Come Dancing style events. But Norman's only being used by the ruthless Bradshaw to enable his daughter to leap out of the Novice Ballroom class. "Where would you be without me, Norman?" But when the pair actually kiss, the tale becomes what it has always threatened to be, the usual Sixties Clash of Culture and Class Differences. On the night of the Big Competition, a touch of bribery to the adjudicator (Jimmy Hanley- "it's in the bag") fails to help the overbearing Bradshaw achieve his goal
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In Two Minds
Script: David Mercer. Director: Ken Loach.
Anna Cropper was made for this role with her sad melancholic looks, as the Schizophrenic Kate.
"She's sick isn't she?" is how her dad Joe explains it in a nutshell. But of course he can only see his side, for this is yet another generation gap study.
"She's brought shame on this house," cries her mum Dolly.
The characters are seen through the eyes of a psychiatrist, in the manner of those invisible tv interviewers a la Esther Rantzen.
The trouble with this sort of drama is that it can be so predictable, like this. The characters must have their moments of self truth during chats
with the shrink, who never does more than probe with more and more questions.
"Sometimes I want to go, but I feel that I can't," is how Kate feels guilty, trapped at home. She can't make that break.
And that is only the first third of this play! Katie's sister Mary is added to the recipe, she is one who has made that break, so no wonder her answer is,
"get her out the way from these lot." Thus there are plenty more heartaches for the family, revelations of abortion, "nuclear war," even, allegedly.
Off to hospital for Kate. There mum's drone never cheered me up, I think it was supposed to have that effect on Kate. I think I am going round the twist too.
Dolly tried to kill her. "I don't exist." And other such dreary angst.
The next section of the play is seen through Kate's clouded eyes. She pals up in the madhouse with Paul (George Innes) who advises her to play the game if she wants to be free.
She doesn't and her treatment is like that of a child. Another parental visit ends in even more crying and tantrums as Kate can't fast forward (unlike myself)
their grumblings and mutterings. Mum and dad keep repeating their viewpoint, and this play could, heaven help us, go on for ever and ever and ever. You just write the same words,
maybe in a different order, dad saying his line, mum hers, no understanding.
Result- for Kate that is (me, I was beyond saving), she withdraws yet more into herself as Chief Shrink (Patrick Barr) ends the torture with a lecture to students whom the author portrays as maybe as wise
as their master, or indeed as unwise as their master. She is "childish," explains Mr Expert. Plus a lot more technical jargon. It's the recycled plot all over again!
What's the treatment? The students proffer their ideas. The doc demonstrates his own brutal method- "it does work." Well he thinks so.
"The outlook is not very good," declares a more perceptive student." Who needs electric shock treatment? Just show this.
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117 The Golden Vision (1968)- unique footballing docu-drama directed by John Boorman. Jeff is a single-minded Everton supporter, his mates ditto. I'm a footer fan too, but this is a turn-off unless you like airy-fairy realism. Even the fanaticism is somehow muted, perhaps as Everton aren't doing that well, and dead characters lead to dead drama. Gratuitous night club scenes to spice it up, it's only for nostalgia, for the back to back terraces I mean, that you could view this. I'm only sorry Ken Jones whom I like, got roped into this glimpse of 'reality'
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122 The Gorge (1968) - with Constance Chapman
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146 Last Train Through Hardcastle Tunnel (1969) - A study of that spotty phenomenon, the train spotter, young man Benjamin (Richard O'Callaghan), whose conversation only comes alive when discussing railways, otherwise he's a square. Rather like those dull Great Railway Journeys programmes, this is a montage showing his encounters with disparate humans, of whom Joe Gladwin as an ancient railwayman of the old school is the most appealing. Signalling expert John le Mesurier, what Benjamin is likely to grow into, is the saddest, inhabiting his own world, which appears to be the message this play attempts to convey as it gradually runs out of puff, shunted into an exceptionally rusty siding
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148 Mark II Wife (1969) - directed by Philip Saville and written by William Trevor.
Hell is being isolated at a party of "damned half wits" as neurotic Anna discovers. This is a tough part for Faith Brook who conveys well her "escape into madness," driven by her knowledge her husband is having it off with a 19 year old. By half time Anna has flipped, forced to phone her shrink who gives her that modern phenomenon, on-line counselling. Her host realises it's their daughter who's running off with Anna's partner, but then Anna, after her phone call, declares it was all in her mind, but by now the trouble has got to the others and anyway she's wrong and anyway I've changed my mind too, for Hell was surely The Wednesday Play.
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Treasure Island (1959, made in New York) -
Without the perennial Robert Newton, this production full of British stars is no parody but a faithful if dark account of Robert Louis Stevenson's tale of smugglers' treachery. Hugh Griffith is a rather run-of-the-mill LJ, Richard O'Sullivan's Jim Hawkins simply merges into the scenery, whilst only George Rose as a camp Ben Gunn seems to think that he's in panto.
Also starring Michael Gough, Max Adrian and Boris Karloff
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The Forsyte Saga
BBC's elegant but rambling 1967 period soap opera with Eric Porter, Kenneth More and Nyree Dawn Porter
1. A Family Festival - "Oily bounder" Monty marries the "spendiferous" Winifred, whilst Jo ponders an ugly divorce
2. A Family Scandal - Jo realises he's "a parasite," and Soames first encounters the enchanting Irene
3. The Pursuit of Happiness - Frances dies, Juley finds a dog but Soames nearly loses Irene, though she finally consents to marriage, with one condition
4. Dinner at Swithin's - Jo's daughter June is happily engaged to Bosinney, but Irene is now very lukewarm towards Soames
5. The Man of Property - Soames gets Bosinney to design his house at Robin Hill and Jo is reconciled to his dad on the death of Aunt Ann
6. Decisions - Collapse of Soames' marriage, with all the better effect for focussing on this one storyline without so many subplots
7. Into the Dark - Irene hides in a small hotel, Soames though enjoys a triumph in the courts over Bosinney, who suddenly dies
8. Indian Summer of a Forsyte - Happy times at Robin Hill as Uncle Jolyon enjoys reconciliation with Irene. A fine gentle interlude
9. In Chancery - "A blessing" when Helene dies, according to her doctor. "Bounder" Monty leaves for a new life, while Soames ponders marriage
10. The Challenge - In court Winifred's divorce commences. Holly falls for "rotter" Val. Irene hides from Soames in Paris, and meets Jo there
11. In the Web - Are Jo and Irene, in modern parlance, an item? Soames believes so, and sues for divorce. Monty returns in poverty to Winifred
12. Birth of a Forsyte - Soames and Irene divorced, leading to marriages: Soames and Annette, Jo and Irene, then of course two babies are born
13. Encounter - Suddenly it's 1918, the two 'babies' Fleur and Jon secretly are in love, but casting a shadow are their feuding families
14. Conflict - Despite a rival in Michael, 'Cautious Cuthbert', Fleur's love for Jon only deepens as it takes for ever for her to learn of the family skeleton
15. To Let- In the worst moment of the series, almost comic, Jon, after an age, also learns all. Soames and Irene face up as Jon calls off the engagement
16. A Family Wedding - Fleur's marriage on the bounce to nice Michael, but soon she's toying with an affair with his best friend, Wilfrid, a poet
17. The White Monkey - Soames blows a balloon with his business about to burst. He gives Fleur a painting, while a painter discovers a new model
18. Afternoon of a Dryad - The series was gently fading as Wilfrid escapes to "Jericho," and Soames buys a nude
19. No Retreat - Fleur: "There's nothing wrong now except my own nature," as she gives birth. Soames resigns at a stormy shareholders' meeting
20. A Silent Wooing In Carolina woods, Jon falls in love. Soames calls Fleur's enemy Marjorie a "traitress," and thus Fleur faces a libel suit
21. Action for Libel
22. The Silver Spoon
23. Strike
24. Afternoon at Ascot
25. Portrait of Fleur
26. Swan Song
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Taxi (1963)-
Lasting 45 minutes, these stories starred Sid James in a rare dramatic role. The tales of a London taxi driver, Sid Stone, his cab is RYK 424: "Right mate, 'op in!"
The Villain - Sid pulls his mate Fred's legs before Sid starts to work. £2 for a fare to London Airport!
Then at Paddington Station, Sid shops rogue driver Jack Melia (Alan Curtis), who's touting illegally for fares by pushing to the front of the rank. However calling in the police gets Sid rather unpopular in some quarters as The Villain, although admittedly a villain, is set to lose his licence. When Sid's mate is talked round by Jack's wife (Jennifer Jayne) with a sob story about her children suffering because of her husband's stupidity, a smitten Fred persuades Sid to let Jack off. "All I want is a bit of peace," agrees Sid. But is there something fishy going on as Fred phones to tell her the good news in Brixton, yet Sid knows Jack lives in Forest Gate? "Something a bit dodgy going on 'ere mate." So it's round to Brixton and the exposure of a bigamist. "'E deserves all 'e gets."
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For Sid in Citizen James
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DR FINLAY'S CASEBOOK (BBC)
In 1967 a Radio Times reporter visited the location where Dr Finlay's Casebook was being filmed. In the best BBC tradition he starts his article with the disappointing news "Tannochbrae doesn't exist," and then continuing "until recently
the location of the Finlay filming was an official - but widely known - secret." The town of Callander, 36 miles from Glasgow, was the setting. Apparently until the railway station suffered the indignity of the Beeching axe in 1965,
porters would allegedly shout "Tannochbrae... Tannochbrae," as trains pulled in. "If you follow the directions to Dr Finlay's house you'll find yourself outside a rather austere guest house which overlooks the town. Inside you'll be welcomed by a kindly efficient Scotswoman Mrs MacIntyre... during the last few years she has noticed that stones keep disappearing from her drive- taken by eager souvenir hunters."
13 A Time for Laughing (1963) - On a wild night, Mrs McBain (June Tobin) gives birth, but her husband is impotent. Is tinker Tim O'Shea (John Cairney)- "service with a smile"- the father?
The doctors take a long long time sorting out the problem, solving it by rather unhippocratic methods
49 The Red Herring (1964) - Instead of "scurrying," Dr Snoddie seems to be dithering after ordering a well to be closed, causing inconvenience to elderly folk. A consultant (David Langton), an expert in salmonella, comes to help, dining at Arden House, but to Janet's dismay falling victim to food poisoning, and as we all know doctors make the worst patients: "Cameron, this is the last straw!"- when a biopsy is ordered. But comedy nearly turns to tragedy: "you didn't think I'd snuff it, Cameron?"
59 Charity Dr Finlay (1965) - In the grocers, a shoplifter faints. Dr Finlay attends Jeannie and gets a kiss for his efforts. Snoddie has palmed off St Bride's, an old people's home, on Dr Cameron, so of course it's Finlay who has to do the visits. "You'll bankrupt them," is Cameron's comment after Finlay finds a lot of improvements need making.
Finlay gets a job for Jeannie in the kitchen, but she is sacked for stealing. However Cameron turns the tables on the dour matron, Mrs Micklejohn, who has been syphoning off funds herself
69 Another Opinion - Two patients for Dr Finlay and two doctors to dispute his diagnoses. One is Dr Cameron who believes he himself's caught measles, but it's surely only a cold! The other is Corporal Grant whose gone AWOL because his leg needs amputating, though Dr Finlay believes the leg can be saved. The comedy of the one is nicely contrasted with the potential tragedy of the latter as Finlay and his consultant Sir William (John Harvey) contest with Colonel North (Moray Watson) Grant's uncertain future. Is Dr Finlay fallible? As Dr Cameron brusquely concludes: "it's only when a man's sick, he knows his true friends"
79 Dr Finlay and the Phantom Piper of Tannochbrae
- Lord Morcroft wants to erect a statue in memory of his son who fell in the War. The Piper (Andrew Keir) persuades him of a more noble cause. The final line from our doctors sums up this
mystifying story - "Blessed are the peacemakers - They shall inherit the war." Perhaps The Wednesday Play wasn't so obscure after all.
105 Gifts of the Magi (1966) - Is Dr Snoddie "a good hand at a comic song?" And how about Dr Cameron as a budding Shakespearean actor? And what can Dr Finlay do? The three are enrolled to perform at a Christmas party in the children's hospital ward, though it's Janet who steals the show and is "called to higher things." In other words, she's invited to continue her storytelling act on the BBC, yes the BBC! It all invokes just a little jealousy on Dr Cameron's part, though Dr Finlay persuades her to ride the storm. Will Janet find fame and fortune, or stick to her last?
178 Comin' Thro' the Rye (1970 colour) - Dr Cameron was first to get it- haluccinations. Then it spreads, with the source traced to infected flour from Bruce's Mill used at the bakery of Robsart (James Hayter)
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SAKI (Granada) -
Programme 1 (July 1962)
Stampeding of Lady Bastable- the one occasion when titled lady (Martita Hunt) who "loves owing" was persuaded to pay up, believing the end of the world was nigh.
A Holiday Task - The Lady with No Name(Fenella Fielding) asks for help in a Brighton hotel. Major Caterham 'lends' her £10 to discover who she really is. Foolish man!
The Way to the Dairy - There's a gleam in the eyes of Nora Nicholson as she plays Aunt Amy, who's come into a fortune. Veronique and Christine have been promised they will inherit a quarter each, but "rotter" Roger will get the other half. They take her to Dieppe to demonstrate to her what a wastrel he is, and there she succumbs to the fever of the Tables so now "she's worse than Roger ever was."
Sredni Vashtar - This is the name of a large ferret polecat, worshipped by ten year old Konradin. He prays it will "do one thing for him," a punishment on his suffocating cousin (Sonia Dresdel).
A Defensive Diamond - Sir Hector (William Mervyn) gives a crass bore (Peter Bathurst) short shrift
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GUY de MAUPASSANT (Granada) -
Programme 5 (July 1963)
A Sale -
The trial of a drunken husband who's offered his wife for sale (with Barbara Hicks, Bryan Pringle)
A Family Business -
Is grandma "soft in the head"? The quack doctor advises her son "Mother Nature must call the tune." She does and gran "goes to her reward" sparking very differing reactions from son and daughter-in-law. But the quack has got it wrong and gran revives to reveal she has heard those family rows her 'death' has caused. Remarks a relative: "I've never been to a funeral like this one before!"
The Devil -
When a miserly peasant (Jack Smethurst) engages a sitter at a fixed price for his dying mother it's hardly in the sitter's best interest to keep mum alive. Indeed she is finally scared to death with tales of the devil. However this black tale lacks any real payoff.
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OUT OF THIS WORLD (ABC)
ABC's innovative 1962 Saturday night series with Boris Karloff as host.
Sadly only this one story seems to have survived...
Little Lost Robot -
The year 2039: a robot is told to "get lost" and promptly obeys. It might prove a Killer Robot, so a robot psychologist(!) (Maxine Audley) has to devise a method of detecting it from among its 20 identical brothers.
Imaginative, if slightly overlong, with a poetic conclusion.
Also starring are Gerald Flood and Clifford Evans
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UNDERMIND (ABC)
Imagine John Wyndham writing a hybrid of The Human Jungle and The Avengers.
Instance One
(first screened on ABC Midlands 8 May 1965) - Why does "damn stupid" policeman Frank (Jeremy Kemp) insist on charging cabinet minister Hugh Bishop with assault? Perhaps it's because Frank's split with his wife Anne (Rosemary Nichols). "He doesn't have any feeling," she says, not even when Bishop commits suicide. "Unique aural perception" is shown up on Frank's tests, but when he resorts to murder, he's put in charge of investigating his own crime!
2 Flowers of Havoc (15 May) - Anne of her late husband: "There must be other people in Britain like him, brainwashed, taken over in some frightening way." A card posted to Frank leads Drew and Anne to Welling-on-Sea where the town is on the edge of a teenage rebellion. Councillor Ogilvie (Glynn Edwards), "a ruthless zombie," runs the local beat joint and this is where the riot starts, masterminded by "the ton-up vicar" (Michael Gough). Drew is trapped with him in the belfry as the church bells start a-ringing
5 Too Many Enemies (June 5th)- William Gill is injured in a car crash. In hospital his EEG shows a blank- is he another Undermind agent? It seems he has been involved in the robbery of top secret equipment. Dr Hepworth injects Gill and makes him unbrainwashed enough to reveal some secrets, but too late, Hepworth is murdered and vanishes. As usual, Drew and Anne confide in those they should not: "we trusted you, you're the last person in the world...," and they face being brainwashed themselves!
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HARPERS WEST ONE (1961, ATV)
The staff included widowed personnel officer Harriet Carr (Jan Holden),
with her secretary Julie Wheeler (Vivian Pickles), also public relations officer Mike Gilmore (Tristram Jellinek), and male staff controller Edward Cruickshank (Graham Crowden). The chairman of the store was Aubrey Harper (Arthur Hewlett).
The Second series in Autumn 1962 saw new regulars alongside Jan Holden- Philip Latham as the male staff controller Oliver Blackhouse,
Bernard Horsfall as PRO Philip Nash, with old timer Wally Patch as the security man.
After a few weeks, a new receptionist was introduced named Susan Sullivan- and the actress who played her? She was Wendy Richard.
The series was devised by John Whitney and Geoffrey Bellman, though the on-screen titles note that Diana Noel and Derrick de Marney provided the initial idea.
For cast details of some of this series.
My review of Story 1.5, shown on July 24th 1961 and featuring John Leyton.
Preparations are well in hand for the opening of the new Self Service Record Department. Johnny St Cyr and the Saints are coming at 11am to open it! He's a big idol in the pop world- "just a few twitches in the right place, fifteen thousand girls fall at your feet. What a way to go!" Or, if one is more jealous of his good looks- "a truly regal figure in the age of the indifferent."
The morning of the event sees Geoff Turner (John Kelland) getting a lucky break with the sale of a 600 guinea piano, to be "delivered today." But he's still in financial difficulties despite this windfall and he fiddles a colleague's commission. His expectant wife comes into the store telling him she's got to go into hospital "for a check-up."
Now Johnny arrives with the screaming fans- "isn't 'e lovely?" He signs autographs. However there are some snags- problem one is the group's pianist gets drunk. Geoff agrees to act as a "fill-in." Problem two- Johnny's wife Maureen (Gwendolyn Watts) appears, wanting to talk desperately with her husband. She shares her sob story with Geoff's wife.
Finally we get to the pop songs. Geoff does well accompanying. But afterwards he's on the carpet in front of his boss, Cruickshank. He's lucky not to get sacked.
The day ends with Geoff having a heart-to-heart with Johnny. He learns life at the top can be lonely- "it's not all milk and honey." But Geoff is offered the job of pianist with the group- but it will mean separation from his wife....
Although a straightforward story written by Richard Harris, there are some insights into the rather pathetic existence of top pop stars, with a contrast well delineated with the ordinary shop worker's struggle to meet ends meet.
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Episode details of some Harpers West One stories:
1.1 June 26th 1961
starring Jan Holden, Graham Crowden, Tristram Jellinek, Arthur Hewlett.
With Pauline Stroud (Jackie Webb), Fred Griffiths (George Barrard),
Vivian Pickles (Julie Wheeler, Miss Carr's secretary), Jean Gregory (Miss Springer), Jean Harvey (Miss Lindrum),
Susan Lyall Grant (Valerie Pritchett), Sylvia Melville (Mrs Sayers), Blanche Moore (Mrs Templar),
Frederick Peisley (Albert Fisher, floorwalker), Katherine Parr (Mrs Pritchett), Maureen Davis (Maureen),
Hazel Bainbridge (Connie Fleming), Pamela Greer (Sheila Selby), June Murphy (Eileen Mitchell),
Brian Hankins (Metcalfe), David Broomfield (Adler), Michael da Costa (Clegg), and John Dunbar (Ernie Wedge).
1.2 July 3rd 1961
starring Graham Crowden, Tristram Jellinek, Arthur Hewlett.
With
James Villiers as Lucien Harper, and Eynon Evans as Len Garrett.
Other regulars: Vivan Pickles, John Dunbar.
Also in the cast:
Jeremy Bisley (Wesley Pickering), Joyce Hemson (Lily Oakes),
Christina Gregg (Hilda Garrett), Felicity Young (Jane Carpenter), Natalie Kent (Customer),
Edward Burnham (Emlyn Lewis), Dixon Adams (John Crawford), Leslie Weston (Charlie Sweet),
Jill Melford (Sylvia Stephens), Dorothy Batley (Lady Burnette), Jean Marlowe (Miss Wilson),
Malcolm Webster (Morton Edwards), Trevor Baxter (Compere), Sheila Raynor (Mary Garrett).
1.3
July 10th 1961 - written by Owen Holder.
Starring Jan Holden, Graham Crowden, Tristram Jellinek, Arthur Hewlett.
With Maxine Holden as Araminta Green.
Regulars: Vivian Pickles, Pauline Stroud.
Also in the cast: Pauline Winter (Mrs Goddard), Hilary Crane (Lucy), Bridget McConnel (Joyce),
Joyce Cummings (Miss Berry), Violetta Farjeon (Freda), Gillian Cobbold (Diana),
Una Venning (Mrs Walby), Carole Allen (Jessie), Thelma Holt (Maisie), Norman Bowler (Roger Pike),
William Young (Bob Trevor), John Clarke (Bill N'Gya), Jeanne Mockford (Mrs Marks),
Winifred Hill (Mrs Rush), Gerald Anderson (Douglas Hurst), and Roger Avon (Charlie Wilson,
in several future stories).
1.4
July 17th 1961 - script: Jeremy Paul. Director: Peter Sasdy.
Starring Jan Holden, Graham Crowden.
With Richard Briers as Patrick Wainwright.
Other regulars: Pauline Stroud, Vivan Pickles, Roger Avon (Lift man).
Also in this cast: Norman Bowler (Roger Pike, who became a semi-regular), Judy Child (Dolly Freeman), Anna Cropper (Yvonne Seymour),
Louise Dunn (Anne Bailey), Douglas Muir (Mr Seymour), Emrys James (Donald), Jean Challis (Elspeth Seymour),
Bessie Love (Customer), and Patrick Boxill (Supervisor).
1.5 July 24th 1961 (my review above)
Script- Richard Harris. Director: Wilfrid Eades.
Starring Graham Crowden, Tristram Jellinek, Arthur Hewlett,
with John Leyton as Johnny St Cyr.
Other regular: Vivan Pickles.
Also in this cast: John Kelland (Geoff Turner), Clovissa Newcombe (First salesgirl also in 1.8),
June Speight (Second salesgirl), Eric Thompson (Peter Green), John Woodnutt (Mr Macalister),
Norman Pitt (Mr Newbold), Fred Hugh (Commissionaire also in 1.8, 12), Patricia Rogers (Mary Turner),
Monty Landis (Monty Davison), Gordon Rollings (Sammy Rivers), Mary Barclay (Mrs Brander),
Gwendolyn Watts (Maureen). Though not credited in TV Times, the on-screen credits also add these actors:
Vicki Wolf, Delia Wicks, Janette Rowsell, June Ritchie and Andrew Lawrence.
1.6 July 31st 1961
Script- John Whitney and Geoffrey Bellman. Director: Philip Dale.
Only star in this story was Graham Crowden.
Other regular: Vivan Pickles.
With Arnold Bell as Pascoe (also in 1.12).
Also in this cast: Peter Layton (Ronnie Cobb), David Coote (Ginger Hunkin),
Joyce Hemson (Lili Oakes also in 1.9), Carole Lorimer (Beryl), Pamela Conway (Thelma),
Angela Douglas (Shirley Arnatt), Robin Wentworth (Ted Arnatt), Irene Arnold (Rose Arnatt),
Ian Percy (Gary Arnatt), Anthony Woodruff (Mr Fox), Philip Ray (Joe Stock), Michael Segal (Frank Mercer),
Roy Denton (Lift man),Raymond Hodge (Police sergeant).
1.7 August 7th 1961 -
Script: Diana Noel. Director: Peter Sasdy.
Starring Jan Holden, Tristram Jellinek,
Norman Bowler and Jean Harvey as Miss Lindrum (first seen in the first story, but now in a starring role),
with Noel Hood as Miss Duke, and Brian McDermott as Peter Charlesworth.
Other regulars: Vivan Pickles, Judy Child (previously in 1.4), Roger Avon.
Also in this cast: Norman Chappell (Tom Fowler), Trevor Maskell (Bill Annerley),
Francesca Annis (Jenny Bates), James McLoughlin (Paddy O'Hara), David Brierley (George Barton),
Annette Kerr (Miss Smith), Grace Newcombe (Mrs Cranleigh), Katy Wild (Penny Angel),
Betty Henderson (Customer), Daphne Freman (Maggie O'Hara),
also appearing: Jacqueline Lacey, Barbara Archer, Lissa Gray, Katherine Newman,
Lilian Grassom, Patricia Clapton.
1.8 (August 14th 1961) -
Script: Dail Ambler. Director: John Knight.
Starring Jan Holden, with
Norman Bowler and Donald Morley as 'Man.' Other regulars:
Vivian Pickles, Pauline Stroud, Joyce Hemson, Fred Griffiths, Fred Hugh, Clovissa Newcombe.
Also in this cast: Bridget Armstrong (Gillian Hulls), Adrienne Poster (Cathy Hulls),
Shirley Thieman (Joan Balred), Liane Winters (First Italian girl),
Mia Karam (Second Italian Girl), Elizabeth Reber (Elizabeth Hamble),
Muriel Zillah (Waitress), Bill Cartwright (Packer), Vincent Charles (Maintenance man), Joe Ritchie (Fireman),
Fred McNaughton (Policeman).
1.9 (August 21st 1961)
1.10 (August 28th 1961)
- Script: Max Marquis. Director: Philip Dale.
Starring Jan Holden, Graham Crowden and Norman Bowler.
Plus: Vivian Pickles, Joyce Hemson,
Also in the cast: Norman Scace (Henry Bastable),
Mary McMillen (Laura), Barbara Joss (Jennifer), Patricia Garwood (Joan Moore),
David Rose (Ken Ford), Jeremy Longhurst (Walter Stone),
Dennis Edwards (Simon Wood), G Ruthven Mitchell (Customer),
Robert Desmond (Flash boy), Juno Stevas (Wanda Savage),
Sidney Vivian (Ted Moore), Marion Wilson (Dolly Moore).
1.11 (September 4th 1961)
- Script: Richard Harris. Director: Dennis Vance.
Starring Jan Holden, with
Gerald Andersen as Douglas Hurst (also in 1.12, 2.14), Tenniel Evans as Charles Underwood and
Richard Longman as Wilfred Ashton.
Plus: Vivian Pickles and Norman Bowler.
Also in the cast: William Gaunt (Robert Stacey), Veronica Strong (Betty Elliott),
John Rutland (Assistant), Dorothy White (Elisabeth Ashton), Edward Phillips (Waiter),
June Monkhouse (First customer), Sydney Bromley (Second Customer), Harriet Petworth (Third Customer).
1.12 (September 11th 1961)
- Script: Bill Craig. Director: Philip Dale.
Starring Jan Holden, Graham Crowden and Arthur Hewlett,
with Gerald Andersen and Arnold Bell.
Plus: Vivian Pickles and Fred Hugh.
Also in the cast: David Gregory (Bob Prior), Jill Booty (Liz Barton),
David Graham (Anderson), Fred McNaughton (Johnson), Billy Milton (Middleton),
Grace Newcombe (First customer), Frances Cohen (Miss Egret), Tim Pearce (Joe Stobbart),
Pat O'Reilly (Second customer).
1.13 (September 18th 1961) -
Script: G Bellman and J Whitney. Director: Peter Sasdy,
and starring Jan Holden, Graham Crowden, Tristram Jellinek and Arthur Hewlett.
With Derek Francis as Hinchcliffe.
Plus: Vivian Pickles, Norman Bowler, and Pauline Stroud.
Also in the cast: Cameron Hall (Rumbold), Michael Da Costa (Clegg),
Janet Bruce (Mrs Brice), Jeanne Mockford (Woman), Keith Marsh (Snaithe),
John Brooking (Bamber), Charles Morgan (Gurney), Henry McGee (Roberts),
Lilian Grassom (Miss Huxtable).
End of series 1
Second series:
starring Jan Holden, and new characters:
Bernard Horsfall as Philip Nash PRO.
Philip Latham as Oliver Backhouse, male staff controller.
Other semi-regulars: Gordon Ruttan as Jeff Tyson, assistant to Nash,
Jayne Muir as Frances (Fanny) Peters, secretary to the PRO,
Rona Leigh as Tracey Wiggin, receptionist.
Veteran Wally Patch played the security man, though he is not in any of the stories of which I have details.
2.1 (Monday September 17th 1962 8pm)
- Script: G Bellman and J Whitney. Director: Dinah Thetford. Producer: Rex Firkin,
starring Jan Holden,
Bernard Horsfall, and
Philip Latham.
Other semi-regulars: Gordon Ruttan,
Jayne Muir,
Rona Leigh.
Also in the cast:
John Kelly (Painter), John Garvin (Chadwick), David Calderisi (Nicolas Ortega),
Elizabeth Ashley (Mrs St Clair), Gay Cameron (Ruth Byng), Derek Benfield (Cedric Gilbert),
Andre Charise (waiter), Gerald Case (Gerald St Clair), Paul Bacon (Tilling), Beaufoy Milton (Harry).
Synopsis-
Nicholas Ortega, the Spanish salesman in the Antique Department at Harpers,
is given a present by a wealthy customer, Mrs St Clair. This leads to unexpected trouble
for Ortega, both from his girlfriend Ruth, and also Mrs St Clair's husband.
Seeking publicity on a new French cheese, Philip Nash takes a journalist to lunch at a restaurant
where he has arranged that Harpers' cheese will be on the menu. This gets the publicity,
but catches the Food Department unawares.
2.2 (September 24th 1962)
2.3 (October 1st 1962)
2.4 (October 8th 1962)-
Script: Jeremy Paul. Director: Geoffrey Nethercott.
Starring Jan Holden,
with other regulars Gordon Ruttan,
Jayne Muir,
Rona Leigh.
Philip Grout as Len Carson.
Also in the cast:
Iris Russell (Shirley Medhurst), Rex Graham (George Medhurst), Peter Fraser (Keith Lacey),
Ann Davies (Angela Clarke), Sheila Bernette (Pat Williams), Keith Anderson (Martin Cobb),
Jennifer White (Gillian), Nigel Green (Marinus Van Leut), Michael Beint (First reporter),
Dixon Adams (Second reporter).
Keith Lacey, a young assistant in the photographic department, and his girl friend Angela,
break a valuable camera.
2.5 (15th October 1962)
2.6 (October 22nd 1962)-
Script: Richard Harris. Director: Royston Morley.
Starring Jan Holden, Philip Latham, Bernard Horsfall and Arthur Hewlett.
With other regulars Gordon Ruttan,
Wendy Richards as Susan Sullivan,
Philip Grout.
Also in the cast:
Geoffrey Palmer (Harry Adams), Bruce Beeby (Pat Woodthorpe), Mark Burns (Dennis Scott),
Maitland Moss (Landlord), Anne Blake (Berenice Sheridan), Nan Braunton (Miss Osborne),
Joe Ritchie (Ernie), Royston Tickner (George).
Harriet has entered an art competition set up by the London Guild of Shopkeepers.
The artistic, and not so artistic, employees submit their entries- with surprising results.
To Harpers West One main section . . . Drama menu
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MRS THURSDAY
Accomplished film actress Kathleen Harrison was a natural in this role of a charlady who comes into a fortune, a series created by Ted Willis for ATV.
Hugh Manning starred as her 'guardian,' the slightly irritating Mr Hunter.
The first series surprisingly hit the top spot in the TAM ratings.
Question- What was the appropriate title of the very last story?
Answer
The episode below has been released on dvd and is worth buying. 37 others from the three series remain unseen for 40 years.
1.8 You Don't Have To Book for Buckingham Palace (May 3rd 1966)-
Mrs T's trying to avoid another of those "rather boring" business meetings "hiding" in Mr Hunter's office. On the agenda is a discussion about holidays, but Mrs T doesn't need any rest. "I've got nothing to worry about even," she says rather plaintively. The truth is she has no friends now, so Mr Hunter arranges an evening with the directors and their wives, but it's a "frost." So she contacts old cleaner friend Ethel (Dandy Nichols) and their long bouts of silence are hardly encouraging. "I'm neither one thing or the other," observes Mrs T.
However Mr Hunter wants Mrs T to have a holiday, if only, to be frank, because he wants to have it off with someone, anyone. He attempts to bring Ethel and Mrs T together at bingo, but Ethel fails to turn up as she has just had a flaming row with her boorish husband Arthur (Colin Douglas). Mrs T looks her old pal up and she's in her element looking after Ethel and tidying up her home. Her example almost reforms Arthur who promises to take Ethel away on holiday. So Mrs T is once again all alone, and as Mr Hunter has failed to impress any secretary going, he and Mrs T enjoy a happy 'holiday,' seeing the sights of London Town
Drama menu
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Virgin Of The Secret Service (1968)
was perhaps one of ATV's most maligned studio bound series.
The stars were:
in the title role Clinton Greyn,
Veronica Strong as Virginia Cortez his fiance,
John Cater as Doublett, Virgin's boss,
Alexander Dore as von Brauner, and
Noel Coleman as Colonel Shaw-Camberley
The series was a kind of Boys Own drama of
Captain Robert Virgin who has to stop the enemy in the shape of Karl von Brauner
from bringing down, gasp, the Empire. Gad!
My review of 1 Dark Deeds on the Northwest Frontier
"Damn it all, that's not good enough," yells Col Richards of the 7th Punjab Cavalry, maybe echoing the verdict on this series, though in fact he is complaining about the murder of cavalrymen, and gad sir, even worse, the loss of Major Hamilton's three fingers. If the restless natives are not behind the killings, then who is?
Croquet on the lawn- Cpt Virgin is commissioned to find out.
In Afghanistan, a celebrated butterfly expert Theodor Green (Cyril Luckham) is captured by Princess Katerina. She hates all English, as they killed her husband. She's backed by, gasp, the Russians. With their help she plans to invade India, but the plans are hidden in beads which Theodor's 18 year old daughter Polly inadvertently finds.
In by balloon descends Virgin, discerning Polly is being molested. The attackers scatter before him, "oh captain, how can I ever thank you enough?" cries Polly clutching her breast.
She is whisked by ballooon to safety, away to the 7th Punjab, and "the joy of 800 rough tough lusty fighting men." When Col Richards realises Virgin is "one of them," he agrees to arrange for him to meet the local emir. But before that happens, another murderous attack on Polly, her screams saving her as Cpt Virgin dangles from the lightshades to chase off the intruders, "Miss Green, are you all right?" "Oh yes, captain," (swooning), though the captain isn't bright enough to see that the intruders are after something, her beads in fact. With the arrival of the enigmatic Mrs Cortez, there's now a chaperone for Polly.
The emir's emissary, the wasir (Denis Shaw) has his confab with Virgin, but it is interrupted by another attack. This time Mrs Cortez is on hand to sensuously bathe Cpt Virgin's wound.
"You bumbling cretins," screams Katerina, "this Captain Vrigin is a fly in the soup." So she leaves it all to her ally, von Brauner. "I shall recover ze beads and send Captain Virgin to his final resting place," (evil cackle).
But Virgin has found Green in Katerina's dungeon, but maybe it's a trap by the evil von Brauner, for Virgin finds himself locked inside the jail with the butterfly expert. Absurdly he had brought Polly with him too!
Von Brauner snatches her beads, and the attack on India is now imminent.
"There may be one slender chance," offers the gallant captain, it's a carrier pigeon. There's another ray of hope as Mrs Cortez has followed them all and learned that the veiled princess is not the legendary beauty of her reputation. She is locked in her boudoir.
"If you have one stroke of decency in you..." appeals Virgin to von Brauner, but of course he has none, and "the entertainment commences," that is the execution of the prisoners.
Mrs Cortez however impersonates the queen rather well and the deaths are called off by her. There is an unseemly scuffle and many scores are settled. "The British Empire will be a safer place without her."
There are several ways of playing this Boys' Own stuff. The straight laced, which is largely how the lead Clinton Greyn plays it.
Or you can act childlishly, a la Cyril Luckham. Or the usual method is to overact, the approach adopted by
Alexander Dore as the evil German, and by Bernard Hepton as the colonel, and most splendidly by Patience Collier as the ranting princess. But on any count, the mixture here never gels at all
Brief Details of all 13 stories . . Drama menu
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The thirteen stories in Virgin of the Secret Service
were: 1 Dark Deeds on the Northwest Frontier (Thursday 28th March 1968 9pm) - my review is above
The other stories were: 2 Entente Cordiale (4th April 1968).
With Frederick Peisley, and Robert Crewdson.
3 The Great Ring Of Akba (11th April 1968).
Written by Ted Willis, with
John Collin, John Horsley, Mark Colleano.
Cpt Virgin crosses the burning sands of Arabia alone, to meet a cruel usurper face to face.
4 Russian Roundabout (18th April 1968).
guest stars Michael Coles and Gabrielle Drake.
With Desmond Llewellyn, Peter Diamond and Terence Rigby.
Cpt Virgin travels to St Petersberg and finds in the centre of a web of villainy and intrigue a Prince
who dreams of being crowned Emperor of India.
5 The Amazons (25th April 1968).
guest stars: John Welsh and Sean Lynch.
Cpt Robert Virgin fights his way through the jungles of Brazil,
and finds himself caught up in plot to drive out the British
and seize the Inca gold.
6 The Rajah And The Suffragette (2nd May 1968).
With guest artists Rodney Bewes, Jennie Linden, Clive Morton and Roger Delgaldo.
Cpt Virgin locates a missing suffragette in a Rajah's school of love,
and learns of a plot to entomb an entire British regiment in the Valley of Sindra-Lal.
7 Persuasion Of A Million Drops (9th May 1968).
With guest artists: Norman Scace, and Michael Lees.
Cpt Virgin goes in search of a new and terrifying invention
and finds himself face to face with a man who dreams of making the whole world a province of China.
8 Pride Of Assassins (16th May 1968 - the series was shunted off in some regions to the post News at Ten slot).
With Eugene Deckers, and Tommy Godfrey.
Cpt Virgin hunts down the brilliant French marksman Bobo le Mec,
who is suspected of planning to assassinate King Carol of Croatia.
9 Across The Silver Pass Of Gusri Song (23rd May 1968).
With Georgina Hale, and Ewen Solon.
10 The Pyramid Plot (30th May 1968).
With Lisa Daniely, William Kendall and Paul Darrow.
11 A Fate Worse Than Death (6th June 1968).
With Oscar Quitak, Sean Lynch and Michael Wynne.
12 The Professor Goes West (13th June 1968)
With David Bauer, Al Mancini, Carlton Hobbs and Jerry Stovin.
13 Wings Over Glencraig (20th June 1968- final adventure)
With Peter Sinclair, Freddie Earlle, John Grieve and Milton Reid.
Cpt Virgin travels to Scotland in a desperate bid to save a new and terrifying
invention for the Empire.
Viewer reaction was probably worse than for even The Prisoner,
with even TV Times finding
few viewers to praise it. Here are some typical comments from numerous disgruntled viewers:
"load of rubbish"... "childish and over-acted"....
"a load of tripe. The adverts are far more entertaining"...
"unadulterated drivel, and badly acted drivel at that"...
"please spare us the agony of such rubbish. They must think
the viewing public have the mentality of 12 year olds"....
"I failed to find anything remotely entertaining in it"....
"please do not sell it abroad. Foreign viewers would never
believe that anyone could put together such a programme."
The responsibility was talented producer Josephine Douglas who
seems to have fallen out of favour as a result.
Ted Willis had created the series, but this must have been one of his off days.
Question- Name the famous mouth organ virtuoso who composed the theme music for the series?
Answer
Drama menu
Virgin of the Secret Service
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