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“Not the Most Gripping of Tales”

Published 22nd August 2023

TV Comedy

Of all the books I’ve used for research on Dirty Feed over the years, I’ve rarely quoted from one as extensively as I have from Tooth & Claw: The Inside Story of Spitting Image (Faber, 1986). It is, for me, the absolute gold standard of any behind-the-scenes book. Not just because it’s fascinating – although it clearly is – but because it’s goddamn accurate.

This is a constant bugbear of mine. While researching the Doctor at Large episode “No Ill Feeling!” for this article in 2019, it was notable that certain books managed to get both the TX date and title of the episode incorrect. Which is kinda the basics, really. Tooth & Claw, meanwhile, manages to correctly cite which exact episode certain sketches appeared in, which gives you confidence in the rest of the book. And making sure such things were correct was a lot harder in 1986 than it is now.

Anyway, surely everybody loved the book at the time of its release too? Sadly not. Thanks to Sham Mountebank, who pointed me towards the following contemporary review of the book, from short-lived LM magazine.1

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  1. Not Living Marxism; this was a project from the publisher of Crash & Zzap!64, which folded after four issues. ↩

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The Facts of the Case Are These

Published 11th August 2023

TV Comedy

Sometimes, I come across something fun in my research which I just have to share. The following is the official synopsis for the famous One Foot in the Grave episode “The Trial”. It is, frankly, difficult to imagine it being written by anyone other than David Renwick.

Victor is summoned for jury service at the Crown Court... and ends up as the man on trial The facts of the case are these A man is found with his wrist cut, following a visit by a youth from the local garden centre who bears a striking resemblance to Plug of The Bask Street Kids The prisoner delivers an impassioned thirty-minute speech, in which he speaks of threats on his life and his acute desire for some OK Fruity Sauce After struggling to work out various clues, Victor comes to the conclusion that he himself is the guilty man and has committed murder inside his own house. Mrs Warboys flies back from Ireland to make a statement, but is refused a hearing on the grounds that she is too boring And then, just when it seems that all is lost, a letter from Victor's brother Alfred provides a vital piece of evidence that saves the day...

In comparison, the Radio Times capsule for the original broadcast of the episode on the 28th February 1993 is simply the following:

“Popular sitcom about a grumpy old man for whom nothing ever seems to go smoothly. Victor is called up for jury service and ends up as the man on trial.”

Which essentially only uses one line of the full synopsis.

That full synopsis is fun for a number of different reasons. Most obviously, it shows Renwick’s thought process for the episode: that Victor is both awaiting a real trial, and actually experiencing a mock trial. This does eventually become text in the episode – killing a woodlouse and being sentenced to death – but it’s all done fairly subtly. It being stated so obviously is its own joy.

But my favourite line in that extended synopsis is the following:

“Mrs Warboys flies back from Ireland to make a statement, but is refused a hearing on the grounds that she is too boring”

Which is, obviously, very funny indeed. But I was especially reminded of the line when reading of the sad death of Doreen Mantle the other day.

Because the thing Doreen did so brilliantly in One Foot in the Grave is taking what could have been an immensely irritating character who you were desperate to get rid of, and turned her into a delight to watch. To the point where, even when you’re watching Richard Wilson’s 30-minute tour de force monologue, Mrs Warboys is right there in your head anyway. And part of the reason “refused a hearing on the grounds that she is too boring” is funny is because it conjures up Mantle’s confused, tedious face.

Her performance manages to echo not only into an episode she isn’t actually in, but a text description of an episode she isn’t actually in. I’m not sure you can get any more captivating.

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Freeze-Frame Gonna Drive You Insane, Part Two

Published 6th August 2023

TV Comedy

Part One • Part Two • Part Three • Part Four • Part Five

It’s the 8th April 1970 at 9pm, and BBC1, BBC2 and ITV are all transmitting the same thing. It is, of course, a Party Political Broadcast: this one by the Labour Party, titled “What’s at Stake?”. It seemed pretty normal, on the face of it. I mean, the promise of MP trio George Brown, Anthony Crosland, and Robert Mellish might sound a bit too exciting, but I’m sure the country could keep itself under control.

The very next day, the papers were in uproar.

The Daily Mail is typical, in its piece “Complaints on Labour broadcast”:

“Both the BBC and ITV had callers last night complaining that the first one or two minutes of the Labour Party’s political broadcasting contained subliminal advertising.

The programme had been recorded and the BBC explained: ‘We are not responsible for the content of party political broadcasts, it is entirely up to the parties concerned. We provide the facilities.'”

Uh-oh. So what did Labour have to say about this?

“‘Subliminal advertising?’ said a Labour Party spokesman. ‘No, not really.

What happened was that we opened the programme with an anti-switch off factor to grab people’s interest. It went on for not more than 30 seconds with film shots and some raucous voice saying: ‘We don’t expect you to vote.’

I understand that the complaint is that the words “Labour Tomorrow” appeared twice very quickly, so quickly that they registered on the eye and not the brain.'”

Hmmmmm. Regardless of anything else, I would suggest statements like “registered on the eye and not the brain” are liable to make people more suspicious about what was broadcast, not less.1

Regardless of that, for a while it looked like nothing else would happen. The Daily Telegraph published the following on the 10th April, under “Subliminal advertising by Labour denied”:

“Neither the BBC nor the Independent Television Authority is to take any action over allegations that the Labour party political broadcast on Wednesday contained subliminal advertising.

Both organisations maintained yesterday that no such advertising was included in the programme. They said no action would be taken about complaints from viewers.”

But a week later on the 16th April, the front page of The Times reported the following, under “Investigation on Labour TV film”:

“The Labour Party political broadcast on television which used a quick flash technique and brought claims that subliminal methods were being used is to be investigated by the Director of Public Prosecutions.

The men behind the inquiry are Mr. Norris McWhirter and Mr. Ross McWhirter, the publishing twins.”

Oh, hello there. Well, we’ve been avoiding this topic for about as long as is practical. We need to talk about the McWhirters.

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  1. Some newspapers, like the Lincolnshire Echo, report this quote as “the brain and not the eye”, which actually makes more sense. But either way round, the quote seems ill-judged. ↩

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The Teaching Room

Published 10th July 2023

TV Comedy

Welcome back to yet another article where I look at Red Dwarf‘s sets in mind-numbing and excoriating detail. And having already recently investigated some thrilling wall sections and the Captain’s Office, we turn to what might initially seem an unpromising avenue for spectacular revelations: the Teaching Room in Series 1.

I think, however, you may be surprised. Because telling the story of this set leads us into some rather interesting areas which I don’t think have been examined before. As ever, we don’t have the paperwork handy to be able to check any of this: we have to do some deduction, some guesswork, and leave some questions unanswered.

With that health warning, let’s take another trip through early Red Dwarf – as ever with these articles, in order of recording rather than broadcast.

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The Captain’s Office

Published 10th July 2023

TV Comedy

Hello everyone. Last time in the crazy world of Red Dwarf set analysis, we took a look at the history of three wall sections used at BBC Manchester in 1988. (You need to have read that to have a hope of following this piece.) How could I possibly top that majestic piece of writing?

Answer: with one of Series 1’s most famous oddities. Yes, it’s the disappearing and reappearing Captain’s Office. This article was intended to be a more general look at the Drive Room set, but believe it or not I have found enough to say about this single topic to make a full standalone piece. I am not dumbing down my material. It’s always been this stupid.

As before, we need to take this one in recording order, rather than broadcast order.

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The Pictures Are Much Much Better on Television

Published 6th July 2023

TV Comedy

Here’s a question for you. When did Alan Partridge first appear on television?

Caveats: a) I specifically mean television. Radio is brilliant, and also outside the scope of this article. b) For now, ignore any unbroadcast pilots. I’m talking about actual, broadcast telly. c) I do mean material exclusive to television, not just part of a radio programme aired on TV.

If you immediately went for the first episode of The Day Today, on the 19th January 1994, then join the club. That’s exactly where my mind went at first. So that would be this trademark awkward exchange between Chris and Alan:

But wait! The day before each episode of The Day Today aired, BBC2 broadcast The Day Today MiniNews, three minutes of extra material which served essentially as an extended trail for the next day’s episode. Or in other words: the closest you’d get to deleted scenes this side of a LaserDisc, at least in the first half of the 90s.

Partridge makes an appearance in the first one, which was broadcast on the 18th January 1994:

So is that the answer? Not quite. Because, of course, there were trails1 running for the series the week before air. Here’s one from the 14th January 1994, which features a brief bit of Partridge:

Incidentally, isn’t that a great trail? For all that Chris Morris has the reputation for scowling at publicity, you couldn’t ask for a better introduction to the show.

The above would usually cause me to make a variety of shrill and unpleasant noises, as I vainly tried to find the first transmission of a trail for the series. Luckily, we can sidestep that problem entirely. Because Partridge had an even earlier appearance on TV.

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  1. The BBC term is trails, not trailers, despite someone trying to correct me on this earlier in the year. ↩

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A Leak, Right, in Stasis

Published 23rd June 2023

TV Comedy

Many, many years ago, on a forum known as NOTBBC, somebody said something which caused me a fair amount of anguish. I can’t remember the exact words. Nor can I find the forum post in question. But I remember well enough the point of it.

It was a rather sharp remark about how fandom, in its various forms, often seemed more interested in making lists of things, instead of actually analysing the show they were a fan of. And that most of these things were done because people enjoyed the list creation itself, and all the mental tics which go along with that, rather than actually talking about a show properly.

It stung. It was unfair. It was insulting. And it maybe had a little more truth to it than I cared to admit.

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Loss.

Published 12th June 2023

Life / TV Comedy / TV Presentation

A couple of years ago, I had a great idea. In the BBC’s centennial year, I wanted to write a diary of the BBC presentation department. Capturing not only what we did, but what it felt like. The nuts and bolts of putting together reactive linear television at the coalface, no holds barred. All the great things about it, and all the awful things too. Oh, not for publication now, you understand. Or even in 10 years. At least 30, probably more. But there would have been no more worthwhile thing I could have done in 2022.

I failed. I never even started it.

It wasn’t laziness. I did loads of writing last year; over 50k words here on Dirty Feed. But I can’t do my fairly stressful job all day, and then go home and write it all up. Nor can I use my days off to do it either. My brain desperately needs to think of something else. I can put on Eurovision, and then go home and write about Fawlty Towers. But I can’t put on Eurovision, and then go home and write about putting on Eurovision. A few vague tweets is the best I can do.

All of which makes me sad. Because I mean it: there really is no better thing I could have done with my time last year. For all the fun stuff I published on here, that pres diary would have been far more useful. In decades to come, capturing what we did in our corner of the BBC to make everything work on air would be an amazing thing to have. But it was impossible to write. For me, at least.

Oh well. Sorry.

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Nightmare of an Archivist

Published 2nd June 2023

Life / TV Comedy / TV Drama

They say moving house is one of the most stressful things you can do in your life. This is, of course, entirely correct. This is the case in triple when you haven’t thrown out enough of your old shit before you move. Finding the Donald Duck tracksuit I wore when I was ten was a low point. Actually packing it away and moving it anyway was even lower.

Also present is boxes and boxes of my schoolwork. Some of which is pretty good, and some of which is utter bullshit. Here’s a good one:

Here’s a bullshit one:

And some, well…

I presume we’re at least a couple of years away from ITV commissioning Masturbate and Shit Yourself.

Anyway, all this rubbish got loaded up into storage years ago. (We’ve been trying to move since the start of the pandemic. It’s finally happened, three years later.) And as I was idly talking to my mother the other night, she revealed that she used to have some of my best schoolwork… and a fair amount of it got chucked out when she moved to London. Not all of it. But some.

In other words: I’ve kept loads of absolute nonsense, and some of my better stuff ended up in the bin. No matter how hard you try, variants of the above will happen. Sometimes, the things you put aside to keep, are the exact things which end up being destroyed.

Including things rather more important than my dumbass schoolwork.

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Wiped.

Published 1st June 2023

TV Comedy / TV Drama

Over the past year, I’ve occasionally indulged in one of those answer anonymous questions things on Twitter. Which is amusing, if only for some of the questions I get through which I wouldn’t touch with a bargepole publicly. Yes, especially that one.

But one rather more harmless recurring question I get is variants of the following:

What programme wiped from the archives do you most wish existed to watch today?

And, of course I have my answers. On a day when I’m feeling particularly culturally switched-on, I might wish to see The Confidence Course (1965), a very early Dennis Potter effort for The Wednesday Play. On a less cultured day, I might be tempted by The Gnomes of Dulwich (1969), a Jimmy Perry sitcom about gnomes. I repeat: a Jimmy Perry sitcom about gnomes.

But I’m always a little wary of answering the question. Perhaps the following will explain why. Yesterday, the brilliant blog Forgotten Television Drama posted their latest entry in their “Rediscovering the Half-Hour Play” series. And one line in particular caught my eye.

“Associated-Rediffusion’s Tales of Mystery (1961-63) anthology was one of the earliest manifestations of the genre, but unfortunately none of the 29 dramas made for the series have survived.”

Tales of Mystery. A programme I had never, ever heard of before. And a programme which doesn’t tend to show up in these kinds of lists about “most-wanted missing TV shows”.

The programme wiped from the archives which I most want to see? It’ll be some piece of incredible work which I’ve never heard of, and probably never will. The lost material isn’t just a few programmes that might catch your eye. It’s huge swathes of television, most of which never ends up on any list. Most of it won’t even be mentioned in a blog post.

Yes, I specialise in making fun questions utterly depressing and faintly infuriating, why do you ask?