Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 02.04: ‘Fable’ (BBC1, 27 January 1965)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), It’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without textual analysis.

In order to convey accurately the coverage of, and reaction to, the following play under analysis, some racially offensive language is quoted.

02.04: Fable (BBC One, Wednesday 27 January 1965) 9:35 – 10:50pm

Directed by Christopher Morahan; Written by John Hopkins; Produced by James MacTaggart; Designed by Tony Abbott

How much worse off would we be if controversial, thought provoking and hard hitting plays such as “Fable” were banished from the screen altogether by some unseen Big Brother (Desmond McMullen, Belfast Telegraph, 29 January 1965, p. 7).


Our next Wednesday Play as far as I’m aware began an occasional trend in screen works which inverted established racial power hierarchies, being followed by BabaKiueria (1986), an Australian mockumentary, the Hollywood film White Man’s Burden (1995) and the BBC TV adaptation of Marjorie Blackman’s novels, Noughts + Crosses (2020). While further away narratively, Fable shared certain resonances with aspects of Black Like Me (1964), Planet of the Apes (1968), The Spook Who Sat by the Door (1973) and The Brother from Another Planet (1984).

The first mention of Fable noted a ‘provocative’ plot, ‘about a Britain in which the white man is in a minority and subjected to the laws of apartheid’ (Daily Telegraph, 14 December 1964, p. 15). The same writer L. Marsland Gander pointed out the ‘unlucky’ original broadcast date of 20 January, due to the Leyton by-election, before a change was made (Daily Telegraph, 11 January 1965, p. 15).

Writer John Hopkins wrote the play in May 1964, after reading an article about South African legislation to move non-whites to reservations (Aberdeen Express and Journal, 13 January 1965, p. 7). Yet, annoyed by the postponed, Hopkins argues the play ‘is not political’ – never a convincing claim – while noting he was using irony, ‘a complex little weapon little used on television because we think our medium has to be written for the children to understand’ (ibid.). Setting the play in England enabled ‘the degredation of racial intolerance’ to be brought closest to us (ibid.).

Hopkins came from a London Grammar School background, studied English at Cambridge after doing National Service in 1950-51. He had been a prolific TV writer since 1957, including a prodigious number of  Z Cars episodes, including ‘A Place of Safety’ (24 June 1964) which, as Sarita Malik highlights, focused on police racism (op. cit. p. 95). Fable was broadcast the same year two films were released with Hopkins screenplays: Two Left Feet and the third James Bond film, Thunderball. This was broadcast on his 34th birthday. There will be more on Hopkins later in The Wednesday Play story…

Director Christopher Morahan became closely associated with screen versions of plays or prose by varied, and at least somewhat canonical, writers like W. Somerset Maugham, Michael Frayn, Alan Ayckbourn, Peter Nichols, Harold Pinter and Anthony Powell, among others. Morahan became BBC Head of Plays 1973-76, thus playing a crucial distant enabling role in PfT’s solidly mainstream heyday when it adopted the Carl Davis piano-led ident and title images using actors’ faces from the upcoming plays. This approach marked, for many viewers, a welcome change from a play as bizarre and alienating as David Mercer’s The Bankrupt (1972), directed by Morahan! Much later he later directed Granada’s adaptation of Paul Scott, The Jewel in the Crown (1984), which has been associated with an upturn in ‘Heritage’ screen representations.

On Sunday 24 January 1965, Winston Churchill died, an event often understandably seen as part of the transitional nature of a year which ended with Edward Bond’s Saved at the Royal Court and The Wednesday Play Up the Junction being on BBC One concurrently. Churchill’s legacy is complex; many racist and classist utterances and actions when in power, but he was also a central galvanizing force leading our coalition government in the Second World War, who alongside the US, the Soviets, the French Resistance and troops from all around the world, defeated the Axis powers led by Nazi Germany.

In words about Churchill, Maurice Wiggin made a somewhat Canute-esque protest at how Britain was changing:

He lived on into the age of the anti-hero, and perhaps he almost lived right through it for it cannot go on for ever. It is an aberration, lying athwart the mainstream of British tradition like a shifting shoal. It is foreign to the native temper and it must give way. A nation does not  nourish and renew itself on the cynicism and petty self-regard of tiny men (Sunday Times, 31 January 1965, p. 44).

Amid such tumult, the Radio Times promised that Fable would be ‘stark, explosive and contemporary’ play, startling not cosy, noting its pugnacious approach in contrast to ‘crusading coloured [six] hero’ Mark Fellowes’s sentimental liberal bromides (16 January 1965, p. 35). Hopkins is quoted:

We the whites have made the problem – that we are frightened of them for various reasons including the sexual challenge that we imagine they offer. It’s our problem and we’ve symbolised it – the fact that they are black and we are white. (ibid.)

Interviewed by Clifford Davis, 28 year-old actor Kenneth Gardiner, who plays a policeman, is concerned about viewers getting ‘the wrong idea’, given how the play is ‘quite realistic’ (Daily Mirror, 27 January 1965, p. 14). ‘This is the first time I have been called upon to act this type of role… I didn’t particularly enjoy it’, but he appreciated it as a ‘challenge’ (ibid.). Actor Carmen Munroe noted:

it was actually very frightening… because suddenly you were being asked to perform the sort of acts that were performed against you in real life (Malik op. cit. p. 95).

Martin Jackson’s Daily Express article reports a TV announcer saying, before Fable started,

We want to make it clear that Fable, as its title suggests, is in no way a forecast of what could happen in this country.

The author, in order to bring home what racial discrimination means, assumed a situation in which white people find themselves oppressed second-class citizens, living in fear and trembling of their coloured [sic] masters.

What you are going to see is a play against prejudice and intolerance (28 January 1965, p. 6)

Rating *** / ****

While it’s somewhat over-extended, not necessarily needing 75 minutes to convey its philosophical points, and for its sometimes slight drama to unfurl, Fable has an electric topicality, plugged into the grid of Britain’s collective unconscious at this time. A progressive vanguard across the world wanted to challenge Apartheid South Africa, and I’d argue John Hopkins takes a highly effective stance in using an allegorical morality play form to assail the racist authoritarianism of Apartheid rather than a worthy realistic mode. It feels infinitely better judged than Charles Wood’s Drums Along the Avon (1967), as witnessed by Sarita Malik’s praise of its ‘radical drama’ which challenged the social order, like the later Shoot the Messenger (BBC2, 2006), in comparison to Gavin Shaffer’s (2014) critique of the latter, Bristol-set Wednesday Play. [1]

Britain was far from in a position to be smug, as the Bristol Bus Boycott of 1963 revealed, and the ascendancy of politicians using racist rhetoric to their advantage like Tories Enoch Powell and Peter Griffiths. Hence, Hopkins’s play directly ruffled feathers by challenging racism with its narrative of an inversion in racial power dynamics: displaying Black policemen (like the one Rudolph Walker plays with frightening banality) treating an ordinary White couple as subhuman.

As Sarita Malik wisely discerned, Fable ‘took viewers on an imaginative voyage in order to remind them that racial discrimination is based on social and conceptual, rather than biological, differences that have manifest [sic] themselves politically’ (op. cit. p. 95). The play implicitly calls for people of all hues to go beyond rhetoric and put their bodies on the line in actively resisting tyranny.

In British screen history, this is vastly progressive for its time, in giving so many roles to Black actors which transcend stereotypes they were often used to. Thomas Baptiste plays the key role of Mark Fellowes, a writer of weighty, conscience-venting tomes, kept under the sort of comfortable house arrest familiar in Eastern Europe: the velvet prison. Hopkins exposes Fellowes’s cowardice and ultimate haplessness, with his wife ensuring their comfortable existence is not threatened by burning everything new that he writes about the horrendous Black-led regime.

This is an intimate video studio drama showing us art on the walls, a stair carpet, the litany of high-minded but irrelevant books Fellowes has written on his own book shelves. The film inserts deal in the kind of dank, urban imagery helpfully scattered throughout the then-recent Doctor Who serial, ‘The Dalek Invasion of Earth’, screened in November to December 1964. With the often extensive use of still photographs with a voice-over, it felt oddly like Chris Marker’s superb science fiction short film La Jetee (1962) infused usefully with some of the analytical insights of Stuart Hall et al’s Policing the Crisis (1977). Thus, however clumsy and dragged-out Fable can occasionally feel (random allusion to some odd link with Norway, just left hanging!), it will engage anyone interested in art and ideology.

This play feels rather in the lineage of certain, directly political entries of The Twilight Zone and Black Mirror, or, indeed, Nigel Kneale’s The Year of the Sex Olympics (1968). It is a dystopia in being basically a tilted version of the present, fusing aspects of South Africa and the UK, and aiming to change Viewers’ minds by upturning the familiar. It is an excellent example of subversive counter-theatre, broadcast into people’s homes, aiming to disconcert and jolt. I value its serious, challenging intent.

Appallingly, we aren’t in a world which has turned its back on this. After the disastrous, enabling actions of the Biden administration as regards Gaza in 2023-4, 2025 sees the USA turning towards a right-wing authoritarianism that will gradually progress down the path of fascism, steered by Elon Musk, a businessman and social media mogul whose own family history is rooted in the evils of Apartheid. This drama’s focus on ID cards, work permits and forced labour camps accesses fears of totalitarian, and illiberal democratic, regimes. Therefore, this is sadly the most significant play for today so far in our chronicles of The Wednesday Play.

The narrator’s final words indict societal inaction, complacency and ignorance towards racism, and it’s a somewhat more didactic variant on the final phase of Jonathan Glazer’s The Zone of Interest (2023).

Best Performance: THOMAS BAPTISTE

There is a fine range in the performances, including Ronald Lacey and Eileen Atkins, who are movingly fragile and theatrically emotive as a harassed and victimised White couple; the latter implied to have been brutally raped, but who is blamed in the media as a ‘prostitute’, in a significant echo of trends in real reporting.

But Thomas Baptiste is stunning as Mark Fellowes, capturing the veneer of sophistication and being ‘civilised’, while ultimately cleaving to the racism of his society. A licenced fool, whose writings do not reach anyone, least of all speak any truth to power, or crucially the powerless!
His forlorn awareness of his comfortable impotence is crushingly etched on his face at the end. He is in house arrest, in a velvet prison where his own wife is the shrewd, controlling warder.

Best Line/s: “The people should know what sort of lives they lead. It’s sordid, yes, but it’s the truth and the people must be told the truth… They’d rather not know. It is our duty to tell them. Prostitutes, pimps, murderers, living right among us now. We have to know. The people have to be told. Get some pictures…” (Editor, played by Leo Carera)

Audience size: 6.93 million

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 46.7%

The opposition: BBC2 (Night Train to Surbiton / Victor Borge / Newsroom & Weather), ITV (It’s Tarbuck / America on the Edge of Abundance, narrated by  James Cameron)

Audience Reaction Index: 52%

Reviewed in London press publications consulted: 84.6%

Reception: A very mixed reception from London critics, with as many hating it as admiring it, but a generally warmer reception from critics outside the capital. Viewers in the large audience were highly polarised: this was the first such instance of a Wednesday Play generating strong, clashing views. This would become a hallmark that lasted pretty well into the Play for Today era; see, for instance, reactions to The Other Woman (1976). Relatively few were mixed, neutral or indifferent, understandably given the play!

In the Express, Martin Jackson notes how an ‘anonymous phone caller threatened that petrol bombs would set fire’ to the BBC Television Centre Studios at White City if the play was broadcast (op. cit.). Jackson notes the BBC claimed to have received protests but wouldn’t reveal how many; he himself rather misses the point by terming the regime ‘a Congo-style black dictatorship’ (ibid.).

The usual anonymous Times reviewer felt that while the theme was unoriginal, the inversion and use of news film ‘achieved an unusual degree of intensity’ (28 January 1965, p. 18). They discern Hopkins’s critique of Fellowes’s condescending liberalism, which is truly not an act of fellowship with the persecuted (ibid.). Much of the play’s success is down to Morahan expertly deploying ‘effective journalistic and documentary techniques’ (ibid.).

Mary Crozier approved of the decision to have postponed the play, given how ‘a thousand misunderstandings’ are possible with TV (Guardian, 28 January 1965, p. 9). Crozier admired ‘a powerful play’, impressively acted, especially by Eileen Atkins, feeling it would reinforce hatred of apartheid and ‘awaken conscience’ in other viewers (ibid.). Richard Sear mused that the play was weakened by just having one despairing white couple, but admired the ‘strong meat’ this parable offered, with Ronald Lacey ‘outstanding’ (Daily Mirror, 28 January 1965, p. 14). Sear also notes that ‘Even ITB received protests’! (ibid.)

Contrarily, Maurice Richardson reflected that, while its blunt message would get across to ‘less imaginative customers’, ‘as a play it was so inept that it came rather near to defeating its own ends’ and was not as disturbing as ‘it ought to have been’ (Observer, 31 January 1965, p. 24). Richardson described Fellowes as played ‘like a zombie’ and Len as a ‘total no-hoper’; in 2025 friendly mode, he bemoans, ‘There was nobody to identify with’ (ibid.).

Another Maurice, Wiggin, was even more scathing, bemoaning ‘wretched stuff’ which he perceived as ‘didactic propaganda’, which only Shaw ‘could get away with’ (Sunday Times, 31 January 1965, p. 44). He sees Hopkins as modishly influenced by James Baldwin in attacking liberalism (ibid.). Similarly, Philip Purser lamented a ‘tract play’, where character is ‘subjugated to Thesis’, like in J. B. Priestley’s Doomsday for Dyson (Sunday Telegraph, 31 January 1965, p. 13). Purser then makes a questionable reference to how reversing the usual roles in The Black and White Minstrel Show could have ‘made the point equally graphically’ (ibid.).

Similarly, John Holmstrom – himself a disturbing figure, by several accounts – attacked Fable‘s ‘hysterical bludgeoning’, ‘stereotypes’ and, pejoratively, as ‘melodramatic’ and not ‘real’ (New Statesman, 5 February 1965, p. 210). Patrick Skene Catling appreciated what Hopkins was trying to do, but regarded Fable‘s overall view of mankind as overly ‘despairing’ (Punch, 3 February 1965, p. 180). He felt Hopkins’s characters were symbols, rather than articulate people; this shifts into the questionable view that a single drama inherently needs to offer balance (ibid.). Catling has a touching EngLit veneration of the word:

the final message seems to be that in the battle for men’s [sic] minds, actions speak louder than words. Well, Hopkins, they don’t, and shame on you for trying to get people all worked up without explaining much better why. (ibid.)

Marjorie Norris liked its clear bluntness, but not how Hopkins ‘became so fascinated with the characters of Mark and his wife that he let them pull his story out of shape’ (Television Today, 4 February 1965, p. 14). However, Norris felt Ronald Lacey was moving and compelling, and grows in ‘acting stature every time I see him’ (ibid.).

Norris also, alone among reviewers, praised how the largely Black cast got to ‘act real men and women – good or bad, wicked or weak without being lumbered with the chip-on-the-shoulder or much-too-good-to-be-true roles they usually get’ (ibid.). She praises many by name, including Baptiste, Assoon, Carmen Munroe, Dan Jackson and Leo Carera and even advocates proto-colour blind casting:

In the light of this, it seems to me there is a strong case for occasionally taking an ordinary play and casting it entirely with coloured [sic] actors. If the acting were as good as this, the strangeness would be forgotten within minutes. (ibid.)

Amen to that, Marjorie!

Frederick Laws felt Thomas Baptiste played Fellowes ‘excellently’, but that the play was blunted by the announcer’s prefatory remarks, ‘some of the irony was over-sophisticated’ and, like Catling, questioned its attack on intellectual writers (The Listener, 11 February 1965, p. 239).

Reactions outside London were, by and large, more consistently positive. Geoffrey Lane felt it wasn’t dramatic enough in ‘recognisably British terms’, and, oddly, called for ‘fuller treatment’ of Mark Fellowes’s story – which, unquestionably, is given significant focus – alongside the rape accusations against Len (Birmingham Express and Star, 28 January 1965, p. 13). However, Linda Dyson rejoiced in a TV play that, ‘for once’, had ‘something to say’; noting its cleverness, while pointedly asking, ‘would the average viewer have felt the same sympathy for a Bantu family in unfamiliar surroundings?’ (The Birmingham Post, Midland Magazine supplement, 30 January 1965, p. IV). Dyson here identifies how Hopkins successfully got many British viewers to empathise through the inversion technique, which a ‘straight’ drama wouldn’t have done.

Reviews either side of the Pennines were good. N. G. extolled fine production and performances, which had an ‘impact’, pointing out ‘the lesson of human degradation visited on both colours in any battle for supremacy’ (Liverpool Daily Post, 28 January 1965, p. 3). Peter Quince appreciated a ‘vivid, powerful and quietly sickening piece of writing’, but also that it should really have been ‘a straight report, in dramatic form, of conditions in South Africa’ (Huddersfield Daily Examiner, 30 January 1965, p. 4). Quince admired Baptiste’s ‘great skill’ and Lacey’s and Atkins’s ‘outstanding’ performances, which put the seal on ‘a formidable production, both technically and intellectually’ (ibid.).

Tom Gregg noted how ‘compelling’ it was in details like the forced labour camps in Scotland to redress overpopulation in the South East, and its portrayal of media manipulation (Runcorn Guardian, 4 February 1965, p. 6). However, Gregg did not feel it would work to lessen prejudice, or win converts from ‘those who believe in white supremacy and segregation’ and may even have the opposite effect to what Hopkins intended (ibid.). This is basically the Till Death Us Do Part argument: i.e. Alf Garnett being claimed as a hero against Speight’s intent.

Desmond McMullen acclaimed ‘a ferocious assault on the whole concept of apartheid’, with writing ‘as taut as a hawser knot’; its dramatic points ‘were driven home with brutal precision’ by Hopkins, who ‘is none the worse’ for retaining some of the ‘dust of Newtown’ (op. cit.).

Audiences were highly divided, with 38% of the BBC sample giving it A/A+, 34% the low C/C- scores, and 28% being in the middle (BBC WAC, VR/65/50). Many did ‘genuinely misinterpret’, clearly not bothering to listen to the prefatory BBC announcement in feeling fearful that ‘the tables could be turned’ (ibid.). Those against Fable generally expressed an ’emotional repugnance’ combined with feelings Hopkins overstated his case.

The slightly larger more favourable group praised its honesty in dealing with the problem of racism; one viewer perceptively notes how ‘It made me realise that “coloured” [sic] can mean any colour and that to think of black people as in any way different from white people in their basic virtues and vices is the first step on the road to apartheid.’ (ibid.). I appreciate how several found the production ‘jumpy’, with the editing, changes of scenes and newsreels confusing or distracting (ibid.). As usual, acting was praised, with Atkins, Lacey and Baptiste singled out (ibid.).

Two letters in the press matched the more positive group of viewers. In the Sunday Mirror a Mrs A. Goring of Brixham, Devon, praised Fable as ‘a blow beneath the belt’, well outside ‘the syrupy run of TV plays’; stark newsreel further aided what was ‘television at its seating best’ (31 January 1965, p. 22). Maureen P. Morris of Usk in Monmouthshire, Wales, wrote to the Radio Times, finding Fable ‘thrilling and frightening’, linking it to Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four in prompting her ‘apprehension for the future’ and thus entirely missing Hopkins’s point (25 February 1965, page unclear).

In more unusual fallout from the play, Colonel Frederick Wagg, a retired Royal Artillery Officer wrote to the DPP as a common informer against the play, misunderstanding it as ‘likely to inflame racial hatred and prejudice’ (Guardian, 6 February 1965, p. 1). Wagg is noted as offering accommodation in properties he owns to nationals of Pakistan, India, Ceylon and the West Indies and having received ‘many threatening letters’ as a result; that he turned his fire on a play rather than these letter-writers says something about the time (ibid.).

This reflects the situation wherein Hopkins ‘was getting letters of protest before it was even shown’, due to the publicity around the postponement, which in itself generated ‘preconceived attitudes’; causing ‘surprise, one of the chief weapons at a playwright’s disposal’ to be ‘totally lost’ (Observer, 7 March 1965, p. 23).

Another, especially disturbing response was manifested in a letter that Thomas Baptiste received, which exuded the prevalent racism the play was challenging:

How dare you appear on our television screens, even as a friend or liberal. Get back to your country! Hideous ape! (Quoted in Malik op. cit., p. 95)

[1]. Sarita Malik, ‘Black British drama, losses and gains: the case of Shoot the Messenger‘, in: Sarita Malik and Darrell M. Newton (eds.), Adjusting the Contrast: British Television and Constructs of Race. (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2017), pp. 95-6.

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you.🙂

N.b. one curious anomaly is that extensive sequences of classical music are used throughout the play, but I’ve been unable to identify what these are. If you might have any more idea than Shazam and SoundHound, drop me a line!

— With thanks again to John Williams for sourcing much of the press coverage.

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 02.03: ‘The Navigators’ (BBC1, 20 January 1965)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), It’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without textual analysis.

02.03: The Navigators (BBC One, Wednesday 20 January 1965) 9:40 – 10:55pm

Directed by Vivian Matalon; Written by Julia Jones; Produced by James MacTaggart; Designed by: ??; Music: ??

Now, historically, the term ‘navigators’ meant the workers who carried out the arduous labour needed to establish Britain’s commercial canals, sometimes known as ‘navigations’; ‘navigators’ gave rise to the phrase ‘navvies’, sometimes used in a snobbish derogatory way.

An article notes that Jones got the idea for her ‘warm, human comedy’ from ‘watching navvies working outside her London home’ (Coventry Evening Telegraph, 20 January 1965, p. 2). The play, set in suburban Lancashire, features a middle-aged widow and ‘dowdy librarian’* Enid (Patience Collier), living with her unmarried daughter Alicia (Andree Melly). Outside a large hole is being dug in the road by workmen Fatty (Richard Pearson) and his mate, the huge ‘Vera’ (George Baker).

*(quoted from Michael Coveney, Guardian, 29 October 2015)

George Baker as ‘Vera’ (L) and Andree Melly as Alicia (R). Image from Coventry Evening Telegraph.

Fatty and Enid begin to fall in love with each other, abetted by Enid’s love of cooking, appreciated by Fatty, ‘a regular Billy Bunter’, in Bill Smith’s words (Express and Star, 20 January 1965, p. 11). However, Fatty goes too far, tries to dominate and makes a suggestion which results in disaster.

Coverage included focus on Julia Jones’s shift from acting to writing and how she thinks of her ideas while doing housework, writing up her ideas at home (Bristol Evening Post, 20 January 1965, p. 4). Judy Kirby’s interview with Jones includes her reflection that, “I wanted to show the narrowness that people impose on themselves. Even when they have a chance to get away they don’t take it” (ibid.).

Julia Jones (1923-2015) came from a modest Liverpool background, growing up in Everton, and had worked as an actor in the Theatre Workshop company, and after this – her first screenwriting credit – enjoyed a varied writing career, taking in several more Wednesday Plays and Plays for Today and even children’s dramas, adapted from literary sources into the 1990s. Michael Coveney’s obituary notes Jones’s sense of social injustice and how she wrote stories for the Daily Worker (op. cit.). Director Vivian Matalon (1929-2018) had a Jewish Manchester background and was involved in much acting and directing for stage and screen.

The Liverpool Echo included a picture of Jones (see above), listing her as a former Liverpool Playhouse actress and former pupil of Queen Mary High School who won a scholarship to RADA, while – in an age clearly before data protection – also identifying her parents as currently living at 16 Sefton Drive, Aintree Village (21 January 1965, p. 9).

The play was broadcast earlier than planned due to the postponement of the planned screening of John Hopkins’s Fable due to the Leyton by-election being the next day, Thursday 21 January 1965, and Fable‘s ‘explosive colour theme’ was seen as potentially influencing the by-election due to Foreign Secretary Patrick Gordon Walker being the Labour candidate (he had lost out to Tory Peter Griffiths’s racist campaign in Smethwick in the 1964 general election). Gordon Walker also lost in Leyton, a previously Labour seat, by 205 votes and finally resigned as a Minister, though he won Leyton comfortably in 1966 and 1970.

The lack of detail I’ve been able to glean regarding behind the scenes credits is mainly due to there being no Radio Times listing for The Navigators, with that week’s details being for the originally planned Fable…

I’d be interested to see how good The Navigators is… Jones’s Still Waters (1972) and Back of Beyond (1974) comprise an elemental yang and yin of PfT, though I felt the camera script of The Stretch (1973) was banal and underwhelmingly so at that, and her Miss Marple adaptation for BBC1 (1985) the least gripping of the opening trio. Interestingly, Richard Pearson figures in Jones’s Marple; he makes the most impression of the guest cast, giving a typically abrasive camp turn.

However, The Navigators is another play that does not exist in the archives, one of 14 in the 24 plays from January – June 1965 that we can’t now watch. (Incidentally, two of these 14 ‘lost’ plays do have clips that exist from them) It sounds in some ways like an anticipation of the domestic scenes from Arthur Hopcraft’s PfT The Reporters (1972).

Audience size: 8.91 million

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 56.3%

The opposition: BBC2 (The Hollywood Palace / The Likely Lads: ‘The Suitor’ / Newsroom, Weather), ITV (Call in on Valentine / Circus, from Kelvin Hall, Glasgow / Soccer: Manchester United v. Everton)

Audience Reaction Index: 56%

Reviewed in London press publications consulted: 67%

There was no New Statesman TV column this particular week, nor a Guardian TV review the following day.

Reception: By and large, a mixed, edging towards mildly positive, reaction, with critics and viewers in rare accord, with verdicts split within both camps.

In a punning, dismissive missive, Lyn Lockwood called it ‘homely fare [which] lay somewhat heavily on the stomach’, mocking dialogue that was too reliant on pauses and repetitions for her taste: ‘Somewhat indigestible, you must agree’ (Daily Telegraph, 21 January 1965, p. 17). However, Peter Black saluted Jones’s first attempt as good: ‘a comedy about sex that was genuinely funny and sexual’ (Daily Mail, 21 January 1965, p. 3).

Maurice Wiggin was slightly more circumspect, liking Jones’s ‘terribly credible characters’, and her ‘acute feeling for […] The terror and nightmare, that may lurk behind the discreet suburban curtain’, though also discerned a ‘constructional naivety’ (Sunday Times, 24 January 1965, p. 42). While also writes pompously about a little of ‘the common speech’ going a long way, Wiggin distinguishes Jones’s writing from a certain new Midlands-set drama series:

Her people had the slight psychical distortion, the recognisable quiddity, which distinguish a real writer’s people from the mass-produced plastic figures of soap opera (the latest of which is that teatime mums’ marathon, Crossroads. Tripe on toast.

Bill Edmund felt it was acted and directed in a leaden way which made it come across like ‘a heavy, almost sinister drama’, when it should have been played like Walter Greenwood’s recent Thursday Theatre play The Cure for Love, to make him laugh (Television Today, 28 January 1965, p. 12). He noted how Fatty was ‘an unpleasant arrogant man’, who he felt could end up killing the trembling Enid; noting slow, portentous playing and Matalon’s emphasising of ‘Fatty’s sinister qualities by showing us closeups of his hands whenever he touched Enid’ (ibid.).

A Northerner himself, Edmund never wanted to hear Richard Pearson’s attempt at a Northern accent again (!), and disliked all the characters as they went back to their deservedly stodgy daily round’ (ibid.). He did praise Terence Woodfield and Tim Wylton for offering very brief lighter relief as George and Stewart (ibid.).

The Times‘ usual anonymous reviewer largely begged to differ, liking an ‘amusing, ill-natured play’ exploring the ‘bitter dependence’ between mother and daughter, ‘that is one of the most frightening of human relationships’ (21 January 1965, p. 17). They like Jones’s ‘sourly amused attitude to people’, and ‘the endless, mindless bickering’ between Enid and Alicia ‘had the ring of unpleasant truth’, though felt the production was overly literal (ibid.). Again, acting was admired with Pearson’s ‘fat, slow, lazy pirate [proving] a rich, comic study (ibid.).

Perfectly completing a definitive mixed reaction from London critics, Frederick Laws found it ‘beautifully managed’, with the navvies’ performances ‘excellent’ and admired the breakdown of romance and the ‘tragi-comic ending by which the daughter takes to over-eating as a cure for love’ (The Listener, 11 February 1965, p. 239).

Outside the capital, Michael Beale approved of a play that initially appeared ‘an artless little comedy’, but whose idea was original, ‘if not quite believable’, though its underlying construction was sound (Newcastle Evening Chronicle, 21 January 1965, p. 2). Beale appreciated ‘beautifully drawn’ performances by Andree Melly and Patience Collier, though ended with a weary broadside against The Wednesday Play’s title sequence! :

But must we have the build-up to the Wednesday play? It looks and sounds like a certain newsreel. Why not go straight into the play, after introducing it by way of title? (ibid.)

Peter Quince noted how in contrast to Fable, Jones’s play ‘could not be held to frighten anyone’, though its excessive length bored him – ‘tediously slow and repetitive’ (Huddersfield Daily Examiner, 23 January 1965, p. 5). Quince felt this a particular shame, as at 50 minutes it would have been ‘pleasant’ and he liked the acting very much – including Richard Pearson, ‘not normally one of my idols’ (ibid.).

Norman Phelps felt Jones’s ‘outstanding’ play was part of a fine upturn in the quality of TV plays which were increasingly ‘well worth settling down for’ (Liverpool Daily Post, 30 January 1965, p. 10). Enforcing the more positive reaction outside of London, Peter Forth in Bristol praised ‘natural’ dialogue in a kitchen sink drama which wasn’t aiming to be strictly ‘true-to-life’, and hoped to see more work from Jones (Western Daily Press, 21 January 1965, p. 7).

The audience was large, but fairly mixed, nudging towards positive. Many were disappointed by a play characterised by ‘glorified grossness’, a slow pace and a ‘tame’ ending (BBC Audience Research, VR/65/37). Nerves were touched, by bad language; some felt it was unpleasant and unrealistic:

‘how anyone could put up with such a show of bad table manners and rudeness from such as “Fatty” in their own house is unbelievable!’ (ibid.)

Others admired a ‘frank and homely’ play for its comedic truth (ibid.). There was widespread admiration for the acting, with some feeling Richard Pearson veered into caricature, but a Sales Manager’s comment indicated Pearson’s was a ‘telling’ performance: ‘we all could have cheerfully thrown him out’ (ibid.). Garden scenes were felt to be overly artificial, but detail and atmosphere were commended (ibid.).

Oddly, no mention is made anywhere of Kathleen Byron playing Miss Stewart; this was what I think is the first key Powell and Pressburger-Wednesday Play link in our story.

Overall, it seems to have established a pattern of contemporary Wednesday Plays which reached beyond the ITV competition: even if getting a mixed reaction compared with A Tap on the Shoulder, it was a fixture and on people’s radar now.

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you.🙂

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 02.02: ‘Sir Jocelyn, the Minister Would Like A Word…’ (BBC1, 13 January 1965)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), It’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without textual analysis.

02.02: Sir Jocelyn, the Minister Would Like A Word… (BBC One, Wednesday 13 January 1965) 9:25 – 10:40pm

Directed by Stuart Burge; Written by Simon Raven; Produced by James MacTaggart; Story Editor: Roger Smith; Designed by Moira Tait; Music by Dudley Moore

Radio Times cover image

This play appeared just three days after writer Simon Raven had another play on TV, The Gaming Book for ABC’s Armchair Theatre (ITV, 10/01/1965), which concerned a grammar-school educated subaltern’s impact on an army regiment in Germany. This domination of a week’s schedules by one playwright was not entirely uncommon: in December 1970, Colin Welland had two remarkable plays on the BBC and ITV in the same week, after his fine Armchair Theatre Say Goodnight to Grandma in late October. Raven was rather a diametrically opposed figure to Welland, and his employment was evidence of the BBC’s pluralism and that it would engage more conservative voices in drama, however endangered a species they have understandably tended to be within the humanistic Arts!

Raven’s BBC Wednesday Play concerned the ‘petty intrigues of university life’, with dons vying with politicians over what the priority should be when building a new college, with funds being low: a lecture hall or a chapel? (Leicester Mercury, January 1965, p. 16). Coverage indicates there was a typical generation gap theme of youth vs age.

The Leicester Mercury made much of Raven’s roots in the city, being the grandson of the late Mr. William Raven of Portland House, Leicester (ibid.). In a fascinating vignette, Charles Greville interviewed the 37-year-old writer in his bedsitter in a Deal boarding house: ‘An odd environment for a self-confessed Right-Wing reactionary with a taste for the high life’ (Daily Mail, 15 January 1965, p. 4). Raven, possessed of a ‘George Sanders drawl’, is exiled to Deal in Kent as his publisher Anthony Blond agreed to pay his debts if he lived at least 50 miles outside of London! (ibid.). Greville recounts that this Charterhouse-educated writer, also ex-military, earned about £6,000 in 1964 – equivalent to £155,000 today – and is working on the second novel in his Alms for Oblivion series and ‘nurtures a nostalgia’ for Edwardian England:

A self-possessed, but oddly melancholy man – chronicling a world before it disappears (ibid.).

The play generally received far less pre-broadcast publicity than A Tap on the Shoulder, perhaps indicating that its somewhat more rarified milieu was less likely to entice a large audience. Uncanny foreshadowing here of how Malcolm Bradbury and Christopher Bigsby’s Play for Today about academics in a redbrick University The After Dinner Game (1975) followed a week after Philip Martin’s populist urban crime PfT Gangsters. (Both those plays are excellent with very different strengths and limitations)

Notably, the BBC gave this play more of a promotional push than O’Connor’s heist comedy, allocating not just a substantial Radio Times article to it, but featured in on the magazine’s cover, the first Wednesday Play to receive this accolade.

Raven’s play was billed in the Scotsman as a ‘comedy’ (13 January 1965, p. 16) and the Daily Mirror as a ‘COMEDY OF CUNNING’ (13 January 1965, p. 14). A Baroness Cleethorpe (Agnes Laughlan) is apparently a ‘Leftish life-peeress’ on the committee who is strongly anti-chapel and pro-electronic lecture theatre (Daily Telegraph, 9 May 1966, p. 13). Laughlan is one of very few women in a masculine ‘ivory tower’ environment; the cast also includes Michael Hordern and Alec McCowen, featured on the Radio Times cover, alongside James Maxwell, Colin Jeavons, Leonard Maguire, Gerald Cross, Christopher Benjamin, Derek Francis and Steven Berkoff, among others.

George Howe as Torquil Flute and Agnes Laughlan as Baroness Cleethorpe. Image from the Daily Telegraph (11 January 1965)

While I can’t truly assess it, with no copy in the archives and as I’ve yet to locate a script, but I wouldn’t quite say I feel that this play would match The After Dinner Game for ‘polished wit and sophisticated dialogue’, which Tony Aspler in the Radio Times claims for it (9 January 1965, p. 39). Aspler praises its ‘outspoken rakish style’, and ends with a direct quote from an unnamed character to demonstrate the ‘punch [Raven] packs here’:

The trouble with modern life, Sir Jocelyn, is that one’s sense of values is perverted. This is because in a democracy the people must be given what they want, and what the people want, for the most part, is nauseating rubbish (ibid.).

Perhaps in a sign that Not Only But Also… had not quite taken off just yet, little is made anywhere of Dudley Moore performing music for the play. Indeed, when I spoke to designer Moira Tait, she could not recall anything about this aspect, but recalls this black and white production as being recorded live at Riverside Studios and that Michael Hordern was very good in it (interviewed by the author, 11 December 2021).

Audience size: 3.96 million

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 24.2%

The opposition: BBC2 (The Hollywood Palace / The Likely Lads: ‘Chance of a Lifetime’ / Newsroom), ITV (It’s Tarbuck! / Professional Wrestling / The Entertainers)

Audience Reaction Index: 55%

Reviewed in London press publications consulted: 78%

Reception: So, did critics and/or public prefer a play from a melancholy bounder of a Tory to the previous week’s diamond geezer socialist murderer? Not really. The critical reaction was mixed, though there was a fair amount of praise, especially from outside London. A notable fraction of the viewing public took to it, but rather more didn’t, in a classic mixed reaction demonstrating this play found niche rather than widespread support.

One of the most positive critics, Peter Black in the Daily Mail, appreciated a Shavian comedy which exposed ‘ready-made’ attitudes and ‘left you more alert and interested than it found you’, having GBS’s ‘faculty for presenting different points of view with equal eloquence’ (14 January 1965, p. 3). However, Lyn Lockwood in the Daily Telegraph disliked a ‘loosely executed’ play with one of TV’s ‘ubiquitous commentator[s]’ – played by Alec McCowen – though she did admire the performances and how the outcome was uncertain ‘until the very last moment’ (14 January 1965, p. 18).

Mary Crozier in the Guardian found it ‘very amusing’ and invariably ‘fully armoured against every contemporary fallacy’, when satirizing a struggle between progressives and traditionalists (14 January 1965, p. 9). Unlike some reviewers, Crozier welcomed its larger than life cynicism and how a brilliant cast made it ‘as though Lord Snow’s solemn Corridors of Power were heard echoing with laughter and were cut down to size’ (ibid.). Contrarily, an anonymous reviewer in the Times perceived a merely ‘pleasant little comedy’, finding pleasure in Hordern’s performance, but felt the play lacked sufficient ‘intellectual toughness’ and passion, and ‘the sense of a real battle over real issues did not arise’ (14 January 1965, p.5).

Maurice Richardson in the Observer regarded neither of the week’s Raven plays as particularly successful, but felt both were more ‘interesting and entertaining than TV drama average’ (17 January 1965, p. 24). While liking Sir Jocelyn‘s characterisation, Richardson felt the plot and situation lacking, feeling too much like an absurd ‘skit on a C. P. Snow novel’, which would have benefited from ‘a faster, more stylised production’ (ibid.). Maurice Wiggin in the Sunday Times preferred Raven’s ITV play, finding Sir Jocelyn… a silly title, but a splendid idea, but poorly structured and ‘choppy’ with an ‘obtrusive’ omniscient narrator (17 January 1965, p. 44). He felt the satire went ‘way over the border of farce: a sort of Swizzlewick, M. A.’ and bemoaned how ‘Television is rapidly creating the most cynical electorate in history’ (ibid.). Wiggin had earlier mused, with unintentionally amusing portentousness:

Mr Raven’s line of thought is more sobering than most. If one may judge by these entertainments, he does not indiscriminately love the race that bore him; least of all the leading class of which he is by fortune and endowment a member. True, having not been born to it, he cannot but offer leadership [my emphasis], even if he can only offer to lead us out of complacency into perplexity, and perhaps despair. (ibid.)

Frederick Laws in the Listener found much to enjoy in a ‘reactionary’ comedy, and sensed Michael Hordern ‘enjoyed playing Sir Jocelyn thoroughly’ (21 January 1965, p. 117). However Laws felt it was too insubstantial fare: ‘An amusement of an hour and a quarter, but not a play.’ (ibid.). Laws pointedly did not discuss Raven’s other play, presumably as it was on ITV.

E. McI. in the Belfast Telegraph was more positive than most in London, finding its satire ‘penetrating’ and saw this play, ‘which shocked and entertained’, as constituting a ‘rarity’ in TV drama (14 January 1965, p. 9). C.V. in the Leicester Mercury regarded Raven’s comedy as ‘a feast of sophisticated wit’, which made three recent plays about Blackpool’s Golden Mile ‘seem like the mental meandering of a school Boy’ (14 January 1965, p. 9). A week later C.V. countered religious critics of Sir Jocelyn – who criticised its ‘heavy sarcasm’ about religion – by arguing religions are strong enough to withstand freedom of speech (21 January 1965, p. 13)

Peggie Philips in the Scotsman saw it as a ‘delightful urbane and sardonic play’, which nevertheless exposed the ‘selfish’ motives of the dons (14 January 1965, p. 14). It was ‘far superior to the general run’ and Philips praised Dudley Moore’s music as in ‘harmony’ with Raven’s writing and Agnes Lauchlan ‘as a Baroness in delicious baronial hats’ (ibid.). Similarly, N.G.P. in the Liverpool Daily Post praised ‘a fine and spirited flamboyance both in words and characters’ (14 January 1965, p. 3). While they do also go on to praise Stan Barstow’s far grittier Z Cars episode from the same night, they salute Raven in hallowed terms as ‘a television playwright who is not afraid of using the English language in an elegant, eloquent and witty manner.’ (ibid.).

Geoffrey Lane in the Wolverhampton Express and Star called it ‘smart, intelligent if superficial’, imagining Raven, like Moliere, having to explain ‘that he was attacking hypocrisy, not the true religion’ (14 January 1965, p. 13). Peter Quince in the Huddersfield Daily Examiner gave a mixed review which synthesised the whole press reaction: finding it amusing, but veering into ‘gross caricature’; he especially admired Michael Hordern’s ‘superb performance as the chairman who wanted (a) to do right; and (b) the O.M. [Order of Merit]’ (16 January 1965, p. 5).

There was a somewhat lukewarm reaction from an audience sample from what was projected as a fairly small audience compared with others we’ve analysed (BBC WAC, VR/65/24). Over a quarter were strongly critical, finding it excessively talk-driven and ‘a big yawn’ with a ‘thin and unconvincing’ theme (ibid.). Another third of the viewers liked getting a behind-the-scenes look at such University wranglings, but even these didn’t see it as amusing or realistic enough, and bemoaned ‘ludicrous’ characterisation’, or saw it as ‘a pale imitation’ of C. P. Snow’s The Masters (ibid.).

A few stuck up for the narration device as a successful update of the Greek Chorus (ibid.). A group comprising 40% of the sample thoroughly enjoyed an amusing, thought-provoking and ‘telling comment on the contemporary social scene’, with much truth ‘underlying the light-hearted, nonsensical badinage’ (ibid.). Acting was, as usual, largely praised, though Colin Jeavons’s architect’s illiteracy was felt to be unconvincing, and some ‘overplaying’ was censured (ibid.). While the production was seen as ‘competent’, an initial slowness, Moore’s ‘superfluous’ music and the (deliberate) artificiality of Moira Tait’s sets didn’t find favour, which it may be surmised was due to the setting being aesthetically unfamiliar to viewers (ibid.).

Letters to the press that reached print veered more to the positive. Patricia O’Mahony of Tunbridge Wells was delighted with a ‘humorous tilt at the windmills of the Establishment, wonderfully put over by Alec McCowen as the private secretary’ (Sunday Mirror, 17 January 1965, n.p.). Susan Ronnie of Bexhill-on-Sea agreed, finding it ‘brilliant’ and ‘scintiliating’, but A. L. Martin of Littlehampton decried a lot of ”jaw-jaw’, and not one character with a worth-while motive or thought!’ (Radio Times, 6 February 1965, n.p.).

As a coda, the theatre critic W. A. Darlington was critical of the published text of Sir Jocelyn…, finding it strained credulity, with the ‘full preposterousness’ of Mr Flute and his swaying of the Baroness (Daily Telegraph, 9 May 1966, p. 13). Notably, Darlington far preferred Ronald Millar’s recent staging of C. P. Snow’s superficially similar novel, The Masters (1950), acclaiming Snow as a ‘realist’ over Raven, a ‘satirist’ (ibid.).

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you.🙂

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 02.01: ‘A Tap on the Shoulder’ (BBC1, 6 January 1965)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), I feel it’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without full textual analysis.

02.01: A Tap on the Shoulder (BBC One, Wednesday 6 January 1965) 9:30 – 10:40pm

Directed by Kenneth Loach*; Written by James O’Connor; Produced by James MacTaggart; Designed by Eileen Diss; Music by Stanley Myers

*Misspelled ‘Kenneth Leach’ in the BBC’s audience research report!

This play opened a new, perhaps even the first, series of The Wednesday Play. It concerns a group of criminals who conduct a gold bullion robbery from the Queen’s bond at a South Coast airport. It was written not just by a writer not just new to TV, but who possessed inside knowledge…

Indeed, the Daily Mail featured the BBC’s decision to employ Jimmy ‘Ginger’ O’Connor as a playwright as a front page story (2 December 1964, p. 1), including an interview with ‘the former barrow boy, thief and convicted murderer’ who had been given the death penalty in 1942 at the Old Bailey for the murder of rag merchant George Ambridge. O’Connor was reprieved from his execution by the Home Secretary and released from Dartmoor prison after spending ten years inside. O’Connor credits his wife Nemone Lethbridge, who gave up practicing at the bar for their marriage, as giving crucial encouragement to his writing career (ibid.).ven that initial preamble, feel free to watch the play here now:

Following this preamble, feel free to watch the play here now:

PlayForEver YouTube video posting of A Tap on the Shoulder (accessed: 5 January 2025)

L. Marsland Gander disapproved of this new series’ title of ‘Wednesday Playbeat’, feeling it too offbeat and fashionable, and a misnomer as he had been reassured by Newman, Michael Bakewell and new producer James MacTaggart that there would be little background music – presumably this strand title was quietly dropped… (Daily Telegraph, 14 December 1964, p. 15). The Belfast Telegraph also used this title on 26 December, for this new play series where ‘almost all will be about life to-day and the people in a society in the move’; with writers being given ‘freedom of action’ (p. 7). ‘Special theme music’ for The Wednesday Play called ‘Playbeat’ was heard for the first time in A Tap on the Shoulder, written by Mike Vickers and played by his group, Manfred Mann (Belfast Telegraph, 9 January 1965, p. 7). Sadly, the available copy is shorn of these titles.

Gander indicated some continuation of the casting policy of the autumn-winter 1964 Wednesday Plays, which he associated with ABC’s practice of casting star names in TV plays: he lists Lee Montague, Michael Hordern, George Baker, Andre Morell [misspelled ‘Melly’] and Richard Pearson (Telegraph op.cit.).

The play itself was trailed as part of Sydney Newman’s announcement that the BBC were avoiding ‘dustbin drama’ – ‘kitchen-sink plays, obsessed with sex and domestic problems’ – instead now favouring ‘plays with strong stories, having a “beginning, middle and ending.”‘ (Daily Mail, 11 December 1964, p. 3). Notably, Newman says that sordid or sexual material can’t be entirely excluded, but he empirically pins this down to be likely no more than 3% of the Plays department’s output (ibid.). Philip Purser saw this as ‘another try at a play series by the B.B.C.’, emphasising a break with the eight 1964 plays we assessed before Christmas (Sunday Telegraph, 3 January 1965, p. 11).

Rehearsals began on 18 December 1964 at the TV Centre, White City and O’Connor was pictured, holding his script, alongside scantily-clad actors Carmen Dene and Christine Rogers, in the Daily Mail (19 December 1964, p. 3). There’s an interesting comment in Fred Bellamy’s interview with Sydney Newman which sheds light on his populism:

Personally I don’t like too much talk in drama and I look forward very much for action, physical as well as psychological (Belfast Telegraph, op. cit.)

Series producer MacTaggart expressed his aims for the season:

It should make the viewer laugh, sit up and think, sit back and be entertained (quoted in The Express and Star, 6 January 1965, p. 13).

This was in the context of the BBC having ‘taken a frightful beating’ from ITV in terms of audience viewing figures in 1964 (Liverpool Echo, 6 January 1965, p. 2). MacTaggart and Newman’s strategy is interpreted as unabashedly populist by James Green: ‘Out are those arty-crafty plays with the non-story and indefinite endings.’ (ibid.) The BBC’s Hugh Greene era populist fightback was evident more widely in BBC TV drama; the same week, Maureen O’Brien debuted as Vicki in Doctor Who ‘The Rescue’, which I’ve written about for Stacey Smith?’s edited book Outside In Regenerates (2023). This was among Doctor Who’s most popular stories in its history.

Previews included much focus on O’Connor using his ‘knowledge of criminals’ (Sunday Mail, 3 January 1965, p. 17) and an article on the day of its broadcast headlined ‘Reprieved murderer turns playwright’ (Daily Mirror, 6 January 1965, p. 12). A Tap on the Shoulder was described as a ‘boisterous comedy-thriller’ focusing on criminals as ‘professionals”, not ‘unshaven villains on the dark fringes of society’ (Coventry Evening Telegraph, 6 January 1965, p. 2).

As you’ll have seen if you’ve watched the drama, they are so professional as to successfully make off with £2 million (in 1965 dosh) of gold bullion bars, ending up on the Riviera.

Rating: ** 3/4 / ****

(Aye, fair cop, Guv. It’s a nailed-on 7/10!)

His first Wednesday Play is the closest Ken Loach has got to making a heist film, if mainly shot on video in the studio. I don’t usually like the heist sub-genre, but this is a notably blunt play which juxtaposes legal and illegal criminality. It exposes the venal Archie’s underhanded acts to gain his advancement, with splenetic irony, but there is also a glee in how these working-class ‘professionals’ get away with it. There are, of course, echoes of the Great Train Robbery of 8 August 1963. It also feels like a left-wing inversion of Basil Dearden and Bryan Forbes’s The League of Gentlemen (1960).

It’s a play about class and this is regularly expressed in its language. Have a butcher’s. Taking a liberty. Nicker. Crumpet. Straightened. Yer nut. Yer loaf. You lemon. Caper. Chummy. Get out of it. A little natter. Not speaking The Queen’s English. You’re getting in a right Harry Tate [state]. Let’s get up there and have a go. This last example expresses the spirit of a play where a ragtag group transgresses. It’s rather like Loach’s much later feature-film The Angels’ Share (2012), though this group feels rather less identifiably underdog in nature, and are making illicit gains in an “affluent” society.

Class, power and alliances

O’Connor’s play is notable for its carnivalesque, forceful working-class attitude, and it is clearly on the side of outright criminality. You feel you’re getting gritty voices from the streets, which are counter to “respectable” society and that, surely, much of the organised Labour Movement would disapprove of. This seems very much part of Ken Loach and Roger Smith’s instinctive alignment with outlaws and O’Connor significantly gives a few of the characters outspoken Revolutionary views.

The group wants to grab ‘the good life’ and raise themselves through illicit means; they have the cunning and guile to easily pull this off in a society where the establishment is clearly coded as out of touch in its Conservatism. These criminals are also aided by the emergent “enlightened” liberal mood of the 1960s, which enables and infuses this drama itself. While experiences of the Second World War hang over several of the characters, you feel they’re enjoying being able to move on. Some may move into property, others into hire purchase, when this is over, they reflect… The man whose house they’ve unwittingly used as a base, Sir Archibald Cooper (Lee Montague), ends up knighted and the prospective Conservative candidate for South Hampshire. He clearly benefits from a cosy relationship with the police and has Masonic connections.

This play centres on masculine worlds and attitudes in a way prevalent also in Play for Today’s first half (1970-77), typified by Peter Terson’s Art, Abe and Ern trilogy of 1972-74. Everyday homophobia is expressed neutrally, without any narrative coding to undermine it (it certainly figures less complexly than in O’Connor’s later Her Majesty’s Pleasure, 1973). The gang regard homosexuality as an upper-class establishment activity, associated with news stories like the Cambridge Spies, and it’s all part of the nation being in a right state, according to these underdog crooks: needs setting to rights with a Revolution. We are clearly meant to feel the group are committing more honest crimes than the Tory in the Hampshire country estate who advances hypocritical law-and-order discourses while railing against “these so-called enlightened times”.

Just as notably, we get barely any dialogue or character development for the few credited women actors here. Judith Smith does her best, and is sparky and worldly, but it’s a limited role to put it mildly. Lee Montague’s character’s wife is simply a dull, vulgar harridan, who we see once give a mouthful and then later hear her volleying abuse down the telephone line. Rose Hill gives it (im)proper welly and it’s a memorable turn, but the character is meagre. Bathing beauties stand silent at the end, flanking the men; implied to be part of the “good life” prize these rogues have won. Tony Garnett and Nell Dunn were much needed!

While it’s evidently not going to compete with Jonathan Glazer’s gangster film Sexy Beast (2000) in a million years, this seems a fairly ambitious and occasionally visually striking drama for its time. There’s good exterior filmed material in the fishing scenes and then quiet, deftly subdued – if not especially tense – scenes where the heist is enacted via boats carrying away the gold bullion from Southampton. These sequences would be better served by a restored print. Come on, BFI!

At the end, Stanley Myers’s stringed music feels oddly harried and ominous. They’ve all got away with the crime and it’s an upbeat ending from the group’s perspective, but this seems a very BBC move to have a questioning musical steer by Myers at this point. While we head light and jocular moments, wind instruments tootling away, perhaps they might be apprehended after all, due to their hubris in this scene?

Best Performance: GEORGE TOVEY

You might expect it to be Tony Selby, in the year of Saved on stage and Up the Junction. Lee Montague would really be the obvious choice. However, I’m actually going with George Tovey, who is wonderfully grizzled here as Patsy, to my ears at least, the furthest from the Queen’s lingo of them all! He later gave a fantastic performance as a lonely haunted man in the second Sapphire and Steel adventure in 1979. It’s genuinely tough to separate and single out anyone from this tight ensemble, so I just want to give Tovey a deserved shout-out.

Best line: “Do you realise that one of his sons could end up Prime Minister?” (Tim)

This line has an uncanny prescience, delivered by Tony Selby, about the nouveau riche Archie’s sons who he wants to put through Eton College.

Audience size: 8.91 million

The TAM ratings indicate 3.4 million homes for A Tap on the Shoulder, while Millie in Jamaica reached 6.66 million homes (Daily Telegraph, 16 January 1965, p. 13). This amounts to a somewhat lower figure of 7.48 million for O’Connor’s play against an estimated 14.52 million for the Millie Small programme.

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 46.1% (ITV 53.9%)

The opposition: BBC2 (The Hollywood Palace/The Likely Lads: ‘The Other Side of the Fence’), ITV (It’s Tarbuck/Millie in Jamaica/Wrestling)

Audience Reaction Index: 72%

Reviewed in London press publications consulted: [to be calculated!]

Reception: Considerable…! A mixed but largely positive reaction from the press, while a significant majority of viewers found this a refreshing and entertaining burst of vigorous real life.

Have a gander at the Telegraph‘s review heading

The anonymous Times reviewer admired a ‘cleverly timed story, told with documentary precision about rather dreary people’, feeling the thieves’ ‘technique’ kept it interesting and especially admired Lee Montague’s ‘colourful performance’ in enacting O’Connor’s comic characterisation (7 January 1965, p. 7).

In contrast, Philip Purser saw this as a ‘lamentable’ series opener, in the Graham Greene or Michael Frayn vein he clearly disapproves of, whose point about capitalism being crime he saw as being made far more ‘succinctly’ made in The Asphalt Jungle (1950) (Sunday Telegraph, 10 January 1965, p. 13). Purser saw the theft scene as lacking in tension and was bemused that MacTaggart and Smith felt this was ‘the best original script that had ever reached them’ (ibid.).

The crusty-sounding L. Marsland Gander was unhappy to see a play where crime paid, and interestingly assessed it as a depressing part of the television flow:

The regular evening news bulletin which immediately preceded it happened to be full of references to violent crime and thus came as a curtain-raiser. (Daily Telegraph, 7 January 1965, p. 18)

Despite his moralistic reservations, Gander felt the play had real ‘dramatic quality’, while admiring Montague’s performance and ‘subtly effective’ direction by ‘Philip Dudley’ [sic] (ibid.) He did find there was ‘overmuch thieves’ slang’ which he professed to not understand (ibid.). Gander later reported receiving ‘sharply critical’ reaction from his readers about the play’s ‘crudity’ (11 January 1965, p. 15). Gander seemed to have warmed to the play, however, seeing it as evidence of the new series’ ‘vitality’ with it’s smooth melding of filmed and studio videoed sequences – ’25 minutes of the 70 consisted of film shot partly at Byfleet and partly at Ealing’ – capturing the best of both worlds – cinema and theatre (ibid.).

Similarly mixed-towards-positive, Maurice Wiggin saw it as sometimes hilarious, at other times very awkward and clumsy in its social satire, with a ‘general effect […] of extreme cynicism’ created by O’Connor, who proved he ‘can obviously write very well’ (Sunday Times, 10 January 1965, p. 36).

Maurice Richardson found the Hunt Ball sequence a bit ‘preposterous’, but the play had ‘plenty of amateurish pristine zest’ and he liked how the crooks had a ‘curious veneer of slum sophistication’ which made them made more deeply real than ‘the average TV stock types’ (Observer, 10 January 1965, p. 24). He also rather approvingly expected the BBC Board of Governors to receive ‘a pained protest’ from Scotland Yard (ibid.).

New Listener reviewer Frederick Laws mused that O’Connor’s writing about the ‘county set’ revealed him as out of his depth, but enjoyed this play’s ‘cheerful nonsense’, professing it as better than ‘worthy dullness’ (21 January 1965, p. 117). Kari Anderson felt it was authentic and funny, and fulfilled the Wednesday Play’s ‘planners” aim for the strand to be ‘exciting, interesting and up to date’ (Television Today, 14 January 1965, p. 12). Anderson also made a more favourable cinematic comparison than Purser, to the blacklisted Jules Dassin’s Rififi (1955) (ibid.).

Anderson expressed understandable reservations about the ending scene set in the Mediterranean Riviera with the crooks lapping up their victory, seeing it as ‘false’ (ibid.). There is a shrewd observation of how the observant Black waiter (Harry Tracey) will likely report them and this underlining the play’s point about Archie as being the real crook (ibid.) – not something I’d picked up on first viewing. Montague again received praise, with Anderson wanting colour TV in order to see his ‘gorgeous country gentleman clothes’; as did Eileen Diss’s ‘exceptionally appropriate’ set designs (ibid.).

Tellingly indicating this play’s generally wide appeal, this is the first Wednesday Play where I’ve come across more reviews from outside London than in. Peggie Phillips in the Scotsman was disappointed in the ‘gifted’, formerly BBC Scotland-based James MacTaggart for presiding over a ‘routine’ production whose countryside scenes fell flat, and was bored by its cynicism:

It would be a pity if the MacTaggart touch were lost for the sake of beating up mass audiences for Wednesday night (11 January 1965, p. 4).

An avowedly Christian ‘Andrew’ in Esher News felt censorship needed considering that it ‘was hardly the play to put out at a time when concern was being expressed over the increase in violence in many of our cities’ (15 January 1965, p. 9).

Reviewers actually based in England’s varied cities and large towns felt differently. T.J.D. in the Leicester Mercury felt it a welcome ‘light relief after the stark realism of Z-Cars‘ and ‘relaxing’, in contrast to the police drama’s chilling and brutal scenes of ‘Bus Thuggery’, which they nevertheless praised as gripping (7 January 1965, p. 9). W.D.A. in the Liverpool Echo noted pointedly how ‘nobody was hurt’ in this play and, while finding the County set’s embrace of Archie unconvincing, they were entertained by its freshness; far more than the strand’s new title sequence:

Rather puzzling, however, was the pretentious long-winded visual introduction to the new Wednesday night series.

From the combination of missiles, riot troops, police dealing with sit-downers and racing car crashes I could only conclude that this was meant to indicate that – like a certain newspaper – the series is supposed to be born of the age we live in (7 January 1965, p. 2).

Jim Webber in the Bristol Evening Post was delighted at the lack of typical moralising, admiring Montague and Richard Shaw for his ‘menace’ (9 January 1965, p. 5). Webber also compared it to Rififi, which the BBC showed the next night in superlative scheduling! (ibid.) Laurence Shelley in the Crewe Chronicle used this play’s ‘disturbing’ theme of crime paying to have a dig at the Welfare State, admiring an instance of the BBC being ‘daring’ and ‘carefree’, producing its best satire since T.W.3 (16 January 1965, p. 9).

Capping off a largely very positive non-metroplitan reaction, Bill Smith in the Wolverhampton Express and Star revealed he would far rather have watched a second instalment of the ‘boisterous’ A Tap on the Shoulder than ITV’s ‘very unfunny’ comedy Tank of Fish, which even Milo O’Shea couldn’t save (19 January 1965, p. 13).

In terms of viewer reaction, rather more than usual appeared in the London press and they proportionately matched the BBC audience sample’s response. There were two very positive letters from viewers in the Scottish Sunday Mail (10 January 1965, p. 16), with T. Taylor from Falkirk finding it ‘terrific’, for throwing in ‘Everything but the kitchen sink’ and Mrs M. O. Smith from Leigh praising the acting and staging: ‘Crime, without violence, of course, has seldom been made to appear more attractive.’

In The Birmingham Post, a letter from Mrs. Lilian Jones of West Hagley, Worcestershire gave an archetypal NVLA style rallying cry – naming James Dance MP rather than Whitehouse (12. January 1965, p. 6). This was accompanied by a pompous attack on comfortable prisons, liberalism and ‘lethargy’ penned by someone calling themselves ‘Justice’ from Birmingham 33, which ends in a call, yes, to bring back the birch (ibid.).

The audience response was 9% above that of the 1964 plays we’ve covered. While 25-33% of the sample expressed an indignant, moralistic reaction, the vast majority found it entertaining and valued its topicality. For instance, a G.P.O. Engineer claimed it was a ‘dreadful comment on our way of life, but fair for all that’ (BBC ARR, 1 February 1965, VR/65/11).

There was praise of the ‘spicy, racy, natural and amusing’ action and ‘delightful characterisation’ with a teacher admiring their sauce and saying they ‘deserved to get away’ (ibid.). Viewers were also highly adept at spotting occasional flaws in the production like out-of-sync sound and visuals, but generally liked a slick and pacy production (ibid.).

— With massive thanks as ever to John Williams for facilitating access to much of the press coverage.

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you. 🙂

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 01.08: ‘First Love’ (BBC1, 16 December 1964)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), I feel it’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without full textual analysis.

01.08: First Love (BBC One, 16 December 1964) 9:25 – 10:50pm

Directed by Mario Prizek; Written by Ivan Turgenev (novella – 1860), adapted by George Salverson; Produced by Mario Prizek; Designed by Nikolai Solovyov; Music by John Coulson.

This second CBC production in the first Wednesday Play run adapted a novella by Ivan Turgenev (1818-1883), classed in some press coverage as a ‘short story’. Ontario, Canada-born George Salverson (1916-2005) adapted Turgenev’s narrative, and would later write a CBC Play for Today, The Write-Off (1970).

It’s a second Wednesday Play to be set in 1800s Russia. It concerns a chance encounter in Moscow between Princess Zinaida (Heather Sears) and the younger Vladimir Rostov (Richard Monette); Rostov discovers the difference between infatuation and love.

Heather Sears and Richard Monette in First Love (1964)

There have been at least 5-10 different screen versions of First Love, including Paul Joyce and Derek Mahon’s Summer Lightning (1985) for Channel 4 and RTÉ. Turgenev had moderate liberal reformist politics, opposing more radical right or left currents, and was a Westerniser rather than a Slavophile, wanting modernisation of Russia, influenced by his ties to French writer Gustave Flaubert.

Several of the previews emphasised British actor Heather Sears (1935-1994) as the ‘star’ with mention of her appearance in ‘notable’ films like Room at the Top (1959) and Sons and Lovers (1960) (Coventry Evening Telegraph, 16 December 1964, p. 2). A fascinating link with cinema history goes unmentioned: set designer Nikolai Solovyov (1910-1976) had been art director on Sergei M. Eisenstein’s Alexander Nevsky (1938) decades earlier.

The day before, Peter Watkins’s Culloden was broadcast on BBC1, reaching 7.84 million viewers: who were impressed by its trenchant, immersive docudrama, gaining a 67 RI. Watkins and Culloden are crucial to analyse as part of 1960s cultural radicalism, alongside Joan Littlewood, Ewan MacColl and Ken Loach in particular.

Like the previous CBC production and also their two plays shown in the Play for Today slot (1970-71), this could well exist in Canadian archives, but isn’t accessible to me to see, so I am only able to report on the reception.

Audience size: 5.88 million

The TAM rating of 3.12 million households equates to a probable 6.86 million (Television Today, 7 January 1965, p. 19), which is more in line with my expectation of higher TAM figures per se.

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 48% (ITV 52%)

The opposition: BBC2 (The Likely Lads: ‘Entente Cordiale’/Newsroom; Weather/Rostropovich & Richter Play Beethoven), ITV (It’s Tarbuck/Great Temples of the World 1 – San Marco/Wrestling)

Audience Reaction Index: 55%

Reviewed in London press publications consulted: [To be calculated later; lower than average!]

Reception: Fairly scant and mixed reaction from critics; audience very similarly mixed, for once!

Gerald Larner was bumptiously patriotic in decrying this ‘bad’ Canadian production, feeling cheated not to see a BBC-made play: ‘We see enough old films without switching on the Wednesday play’ (Guardian, 17 December 1964, p. 7). This was ‘an old-fashioned cinema-style film’ with cliched flashbacks, echoed whispers of youthful memory, ‘cigarette “ad” background music’ and double exposure of a moonlit garden (ibid.). Larner did appreciate Sears’s performance which captured Zinaida’s underlying ‘nastiness’ and sadism (ibid.)

Lyn Lockwood rather agreed, feeling the short story too slender for a 90 minute play, and a sub-passable production lacked atmosphere (Daily Telegraph, 17 December 1964, p. 15). She concluded that Sears and Monette ‘did their best with the sinful characters [but] it was unrewarding, uphill going all the way’ (ibid.).

Contrarily, the Times‘ anonymous reviewer admitted a ‘lyrical’ play, which kept its symbolism under control unlike Pale Horse, Pale Rider (17 December 1964, p. 14). They praised Monette’s ‘truthful and touching’ performance of the 16 year old boy within an ensemble which ‘maintained the proper elegant grace’ (ibid.). There’s an interesting point that so much “realist” writing from 19th century Russia conveys ‘a society destroying itself through the pursuit of personal satisfactions’, with ‘useless’ people ‘because they have no function’ (ibid.).

Conveying a definite 50/50 split in opinion, John Russell Taylor saw it as ‘a pleasant surprise, managing to evoke the atmosphere of Turgenev’s delicate story with great skill and style’ and appreciated how Sears was given scope to break away from the ‘pure English-rose characterisation’ she’d been stuck with since Room at the Top (The Listener, 31 December 1964, p. 1065).

In the sole review I’ve located* from outside London, F.G. simply called it ‘an exceptional production’ with Sears being ‘admirably backed by the Canadian cast’ (Belfast Telegraph, 17 December 1964, p. 11).

The audience was somewhat lukewarm, as shown in a RI of 55, seven below the average for all TV dramas in the first half of 1964 and below most Wednesday Plays so far (BBC WAC, VR/64/673). About a third of viewers admired its sensitivity and poignancy, but rather more agreed with the British Council Officer for whom, ‘there was not quite enough meat in this one for my taste’ (ibid.).

While the acting and production were admired, with ‘period authenticity’ achieved, it was too slow paced for some, and

Several viewers indicated that plays of this kind (in their opinion, wordy, dreary and introspective, ‘typically Russian’ in fact) were decidedly less welcome on their screens than contemporary drama.

Reaching the end of our first run of Wednesday Plays, John Russell Taylor’s reflections on the single play itself are striking, in this his final column before handing over to Frederick Laws. Taylor, one of the more perceptive critics of a largely appreciative bunch, asks for more 50 minute and 120-150 minute plays, feeling the Wednesday Play’s 75 minute ‘average’ is ‘an awkward compromise (op. cit.). He argues there is ‘no substitute’ for individual plays, so is dismayed by their reduction in number since BBC2 started:

the fact remains that individual drama spits are the real growing-point of television, the goal for writers, directors, and across without which they are likely to be (and feel) deadeningly confined to routine and hack-work (ibid.)

Interestingly, Sydney Newman admitted to Allan Prior that there had been a shortage of plays due to studio space being used in summer 1964 for pre-recordings to stockpile series like Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Finlay’s Casebook (Television Today, 10 December 1964, p. 11). When Prior presses Newman about losing the ‘top prestige drama hour’ Sunday play slot, he says it doesn’t matter, as Wednesday Plays will follow Z Cars and the news (ibid.). He claims he’s on the side and the writer and assures Prior that:

There’ll be no shortage of plays on BBC from now on. (ibid.)

He’d earlier promised 26 75-minute plays on every Wednesday night in the new year. Prior, of the Screen Writers’ Guild, ends with shrewd reflections:

I also believe that Sydney Newman is a better politician than most people give him credit for. He is not new to the Organisation ploy. He may get his way, yet.

We can only wait and see. (ibid.)

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you. 🙂

*Many thanks go to John Williams for locating a good proportion of the press coverage for all nine plays discussed so far.

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 01.07: ‘The July Plot’ (BBC1, 9 December 1964)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), I feel it’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without full textual analysis.

01.07: The July Plot (BBC One, Wednesday 9 December 1964) 9:25 – 11:00pm

Directed by Rudolph Cartier; Written by Roger Manvell, adapted from Manvell and Heinrich Fraenkel (book – 1964); Produced by Peter Luke; Designed by Richard Henry; Music uncredited.

Following Mr Douglas, we have another play concerning a curio, a notable footnote in history.

This biographical drama concerns the events of 20-21 July 1944 wherein Colonel Claus Schenk Count von Stauffenberg (John Carson) leads, in league with several Wehrmacht generals, an attempted military coup in Nazi Germany: to be spearheaded by an assassination of the Fuhrer Adolf Hitler himself in Rastenburg, via a bomb planted in a briefcase by von Stauffenberg.

There have been many screen versions of the real life story of Operation Valkyrie – a rebellion sardonically named after Hitler’s favourite opera: the tally perhaps even reaches double figures. This feels like the most expansive Wednesday Play yet in terms of cast size and technical aesthetics: being, I assume, all shot on 16mm film. The main setting is the German War Office in Berlin.

There is a triumphant moment when von Stauffenberg appears in the War Office, and claims that Hitler is dead. Gradually, it becomes unclear whether this is actually so, and eventually the abortive coup is easily quelled. Crucially, the Generals seem to have greater support in Nazi outposts Prague and Paris than in Berlin itself. Several of the ringleaders are summarily executed by the Army, led by the human weathervane General Fromm (Joseph Furst).

The July Plot is adapted from Roger Manvell and Heinrich Fraenkel’s non-fiction book of the same title published by Bodley Head on the plot’s 20th anniversary: 20 July 1964 (Bookseller, 5 December 1964, p. 2218). Fraenkel (1897-1986), a Polish Jew, emigrated from Nazi Germany to live in England, and collaborated with Roger Manvell (1909-1987) on many books about Nazi war criminals. Manvell did Ministry of Information work in the Second World War and became a grandee in the overlapping worlds of the media industries and film and communications academia.

Austrian director Rudolph Cartier (1904-1994) also left Nazi Germany after Hitler’s rise to power, arriving in the UK in 1935 after a brief spell in the USA. Cartier’s mother was murdered in the Holocaust. He is best known for directing The Quatermass Experiment (1953) and its sequels and Nineteen Eighty-Four (1954), but Firebrand (1967) about the 1933 Reichstag fire, Fall of Eagles (1974) and Loyalties (1976), are also highly significant works.

Notably, this play is said to have been introduced by left-wing Labour MP Tom Driberg, but, as with The Big Breaker‘s intro, this is not part of the copy I’ve been able to watch.

Rating *** / ****

This wasn’t one I was especially excited to rewatch – after seeing it back in Middlesbrough’s North East Film Archive in 2019 via a copy the BFI posted up North. However, its skilled dramatic pacing and direction meant its merits shone through and it held my attention. Rudolph Cartier keeps us close in on the action and on the faces and reactions of the conspirators as the time passes and the highs of a potential coup are gradually surpassed by the lows of what becomes a washout.

Cartier’s direction ensures this has the tautness and compulsion of a thriller, while also being  insightful about the politics, history and human personalities involved. Film cameraman Ken Westbury stays close in on individual faces or perhaps three faces in a room. Notably, it feels just as confined to enclosed rooms as a video-taped studio drama tends to be: this was surely the only way to shoot this narrative and keep it tense, claustrophobic and focus on the human personalities.

Again, I’m gratified at the lack of manipulative musical underscoring here. After a bombastic opening piece of stock music (?) as von Stauffenberg approaches the Fuhrer, we are mercifully spared any telegraphing of our emotions.

We witness this half-baked paper revolution as it dissolves into failure, while also being somewhat ambivalent about their motives. There has been much debate by historians about whether von Stauffenberg was genuinely motivated by Catholic ideals or not. It seems likely that these Generals would never have been able to unseat Himmler, Goring and Goebbels and their varied power bases, even had they succeeded in eliminating Hitler. Their motives seem to be patriotic disgust at military defeats to the Soviet Union rather than necessarily any altruism – however much this drama tries to paint their action as a laudable attempt to save lives which were subsequently lost during the War’s final year.

This play especially conveys the importance of controlling the media: the Nazis, led by propagandist Goebbels consolidated their hold over the media in order to wield total power. The rebellious Generals here have a good plan on paper, but don’t have the organisation or the steadfast allies who will seize the airwaves. It all reminds me of an inverse scenario of scenes in the British-Canadian film Power Play (1978), based on geopolitical ‘realist’ Edward N. Luttwak’s 1968 strategy book Coup d’État: A Practical Handbook.

Emphasising the drama’s biographical nature, there’s a coup-de-documentary at the end when three surviving officers involved in the Operation Valkyrie rebellion are interviewed on camera in Munich by Heinrich Fraenkel in 1964. They each explain how they escaped being killed by the Nazi regime and there’s a concise explanation that the former Captain Fritsche is now a government official in Bonn, Lt. von Kleist is a publisher in Munich and Lt. von Hammerstein is Controller of Radio and Television Programmes in Hamburg. The rebels are now power brokers.

We also see a plaque commemorating the Generals’ rebellion: clearly, part of the West German state’s post-1945 attempt to distance itself from Nazism. Given the scale of the quiet acquiescence of the German people en masse, it is inevitable this fascinating instance of doomed heroism would be used to validate a patriotism for the West German state that is distant from Nazism.

This epilogue, alongside Cartier and Fraenkel’s personal investment in the story, gives this production perhaps more of a complex, thoughtful edge than certain other fictional feature films of this story. History is never over.

Best Performance: JOHN CARSON

Within a very solid ensemble, where character actors like Peter Copley and Cyril Luckham distinguish themselves as the conspirators and John Abineri is a textbook evil Nazi Colonel, it has to be John Carson, as von Stauffenberg.

He conveys the bravery of a man willing to put himself on the line, though not one brave enough to ensure the assassination definitely works through suicide bomb tactics. With his richly honeyed voice – James Mason in an aristocratic finishing school – Carson is ideal as the eye patch-wearing maverick.

Otto John, who was involved in the Generals’ conspiracy, praised Joseph Furst as the vacillating Fromm and attested to Carson’s ‘curious smile round the corner of [his] mouth – it was authentic Stauffenberg’ (Sunday Telegraph, 6 December 1964, p. 11)

Best line: “Hitler was dead, the sky was blue, the sea was warm, like the hand of God in our hair!” (von Stauffenberg)

A line from a raging, burly leather-jacketed conspirator who tries to distance himself from them, saying “All your conspiracy’s on paper” is perhaps the key line. But I do like von Stauffenberg’s boyish grandiosity and buoyant hubris here!

Audience size: 9.31 million

Television Today reports the TAM ‘homes viewing’ figures for this and other recent Wednesday Plays, which differ in their mode of calculation from the BBC’s viewing barometers. Mr Douglas reached 2.17 million homes, Malatesta 1.9 million, while this gripped 4.06 million homes (7 January 1965, p. 19). I was once advised that this should be roughly multiplied by 2.2 for any 1960s-70s broadcasts to come up with an estimated actual viewership number, i.e. an average of 2.2 people per home.

So, Mr Douglas and Malatesta‘s implied TAM audience sizes are 4.77 million and 4.18 million (130,000 and 720,000 lower than the BBC estimates), respectively. The July Plot’s TAM figure is 8.93 million people, 380,000 lower than the BBC number; mildly surprising, as I’ve been given to expect TAM figures to be higher in general. Maybe this applies more to ITV programmes?

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 54.3%

The audience size appears to be the highest so far, but this shade is slightly lower than that for A Crack in the Ice.

The opposition: BBC2 (Top Beat/Amateur Boxing/Soccer: Holland v. England), ITV (Dave’s Kingdom/Sharon – An account of a “divine healing campaign”/Professional Wrestling)

Audience Reaction Index: 75%

Reviewed in publications consulted: 70%

Reception: This play was widely discussed by critics but they were, surprisingly to me at least, mixed-towards-negative, though this is much down to their previous nitpicking over ‘mixing fact and fiction’ and all that silliness. Viewers actually liked this more than any other Wednesday Play thus far…

L. Marsland Gander found it an uncomfortable hybrid ‘haunted by an air of unreality’ and was bemused by Driberg’s introduction (Daily Telegraph, 10 December 1964, p. 19). Alan Stewart felt the dialogue more fitting to the British officers’ mess than the German High Command (Sunday Post, 13 December 1964, p. 12). T. C. Worsley simply felt it ‘dull’, ‘a sad shambles’ lacking in ‘any atmosphere of place or occasion’ (Financial Times, 16 December 1964, p. 20).

Contrastingly, Peter Black was engrossed in the historical what-ifs summoned by this tense play, which he called ‘stupendous’, inspiring ‘pity and awe’, and  identified it as part of Festival, not The Wednesday Play (Daily Mail, 10 December 1964, p. 3). He singled out Peter Copley’s performance as conveying ‘the heart of this event’ (ibid.). The Times‘ anonymous reviewer admired how its ‘honest recreation of events’ transcended its dramatic qualities, indeed making it a ‘historical dramatized documentary’, directed by Cartier in his ‘usual, and admirable, sweeping romantic style’ (10 December 1964, p. 15). While I agree almost entirely with anon’s verdict here, they seem somewhat naive about the Generals, calling them ‘a group of humane and honourable men’ (ibid.).

Philip Purser was critical of clunky exposition, and also how ‘theatrical experience’ undermined what was sometimes very ‘affecting’ material (Sunday Telegraph, 13 December 1964, p. 13). Maurice Richardson bemoaned a ‘stiff’ start, but felt it improved and was ‘satisfyingly compulsive’, especially liking Joseph Furst’s and Barry Keegan’s performances, though feeling Carson was too ‘naively boyish’ as Stauffenberg (Observer, 13 December 1964, p. 25). Also among the more positive responses was John Russell Taylor’s, who was engrossed in the facts and admired its ‘ring of authenticity’, noting how the incompetence of the conspirators’ incompetence at key moments is supported ‘by the documents’ (The Listener, 31 December 1964, p. 1065).

In Belfast, E. McI. felt the year of research resulted in a successful play, though their review’s sign-off is deeply perplexing: ‘Even two decades after, the horrific magic of the name Hitler and the attempts to erase it are still newsworthy’ (Belfast Telegraph, 10 December 1964, p. 13). R.S. was more critical, feeling ‘few of the characters carried conviction or conveyed the tension inseparable from such an enterprise’, though felt the ending was stronger (Birmingham Evening Mail, 10 December 1964, p. 3).

Peter Quince echoed Gander, and anticipated some later criticisms of docudrama, feeling fiction provides more dramatic license and a ‘dramatised documentary’ would also have worked better (Huddersfield Daily Examiner, 12 December 1964, p. 5). This is rather stupid, as the play offers just this, as the Times review noted! (op. cit.). Laurence Shelley felt it lacked the ‘conviction of a straight forward documentary treatment’, and he liked the epilogue better than the rest (Chester Chronicle, 19 December 1964, p. 11).

The BBC audience research findings must have greatly cheered producer Peter Luke and Head of Drama Sydney Newman. A RI of 75 exceeded even the previous three weeks’ strong figures, with viewers generally finding it enthralling entertainment and deeply educational (BBC WAC, VR/64/659).

A cliched national stereotype is aired through a viewer’s claim that the plotters’ ‘indecision did not seem to tally with the accepted idea of German efficiency’ (ibid.). While a few found Driberg’s introduction ‘dull’ and not adding anything, ‘more’ welcomed it for ‘putting one in the mood’ for the subsequent drama (ibid.).

A few in the viewing sample were tired of war plays ‘in any shape or form’, but clearly most couldn’t get enough of this one, especially due to its masterly realism:

‘Rudolph Cartier reigns supreme in this Field’, summed up a housewife (ibid.)

Interestingly, The People newspaper’s own reception study saw those within a panel of 500 TV viewers who watched The July Plot award it an average of 8/10, outscoring that week’s Coronation Street (6/10) (20 December 1964, p. 4). A glowing letter from Mrs I. Hall of Northampton praised its ‘magnificent’ acting and her final comment, well: it’s safe to say that TV commissioners have been acting on it since, for series anyway: ‘True life stories always make the best plays, so let’s have more of them’ (Sunday Mirror, 13 December 1964, p. 22).

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you. 🙂

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 01.06: ‘Malatesta’ (BBC1, 2 December 1964)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), I feel it’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without full textual analysis.

01.06: Malatesta (BBC One, Wednesday 2 December 1964) 9:25 – 11:00pm

Directed by Christopher Morahan; Written by Henry de Montherlant (stage play – 1950), translated by Jonathan Griffin, adapted by Rosemary Hill; Produced by Peter Luke; Designed by Roger Andrews; Music by Richard Rodney Bennett

This is another historical play for the Wednesday slot, set in Italian Renaissance in the 15th or 16th century, according to different press articles. A freelance general Malatesta plans to murder Pope Paul. I gather this play has, more broadly, been seen as a Nietzschean tale of how the ‘superior’ man has a greater vulnerability than the ‘herd’ man: as represented in the fall of the immoral hero Malatesta.

Patrick Wymark as Malatesta (L), Cyril Shaps as his biographer Porcellio (R)

This play was written in 1943-44 and published in 1946, before being staged in 1950, opening on 19 December at the Th̢̩tre Marigny in Paris. This first production was directed by none other than Jean-Louis Barrault Рof Les Enfants du Paradis (1945) and La Ronde (1950) fame Рwho also played Malatesta.

While artistic works can be detached to a degree from the lives of their creators, it’s safe to say that this play’s dramatist had a checkered character, to say the least. Henry de Montherlant (1895-1972) came from an aristocratic Parisian family and wrote some notably misogynistic works, and was a sometime bullfighter and pederast who sexually abused street boys and openly endorsed the Nazi German invasion of France in 1940, urged the French to adapt to it and opposed the Resistance.

The postwar world was so forgiving that this Nazi collaborator was… elected to lifetime membership in the Académie Française in 1960.

Where Mr. Douglas had featured character actors old and new, Malatesta returned to the general policy of enlisting current star name performers to bolster the public profile of discrete plays. Here, Patrick Wymark plays the ruthless titular general, and was primarily known for playing the tycoon John Wilder in Wilfred Greatorex’s The Plane Makers (ATV for ITV, 1963-65), which became the equally vastly successful The Power Game (1965-69). Newspapers took the bait, with most previews emphasising the Wymark Factor; the Rugeley Times notes he is playing ‘a man of power and evil’ (28 November 1964, p. 13). That fine screen actor Cyril Shaps plays ‘a man of learning’ (Daily Mirror, 2 December 1964, p. 18).

Philip Purser stood apart from this, emphasising instead ‘Henry de Montherlant (b. 1896)’ as ‘the Charles de Gaulle of contemporary drama’ with his dialogue having a ‘Gaullist sonority’, which he discerns in The Bachelors (Rediffusion), adapted from a de Montherlant novel (Sunday Telegraph, 29 November 1964, p. 13) and which appeared on ITV the same week as this.

In opposition to Malatesta, ITV had a Norman Swallow documentary about slum clearance in Oldham, The End of a Street centring on the varied human reactions to being removed from the place they were used to.

As this play was junked, we can’t see for ourselves whether the play has a winning ‘Gaullist sonority’ and Frenchness, is a solid, more concise advance on The Borgias or is merely a ripe individualist Nietzschean débâcle…

Audience size: 4.90 million

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 35.7%

The opposition: BBC2 (Inside the Movie Kingdom/Curtain of Fear – part 6), ITV (Dave’s Kingdom/The End of a Street/Professional Wrestling from Beckenham, Kent)

Audience Reaction Index: 68%

Reviewed in publications consulted: 62.5%

Reception: Mixed towards good, with the style of play not being to all critics’ tastes, but finding favour with a slight majority and the acting, as usual, was largely praised.

The Times‘s anonymous reviewer was largely very positive, praising ‘a theatrically extravagant instalment of de Montherlant’s continuous, coldly admiring analysis of pride’ and ‘Mr. Wymark’s huge, colourful performance’, well balanced by John Glyn-Jones, ‘coolly impressive’ as the Pope (3 December 1964, p. 7). Lyn Lockwood said it was the best to date of three de Montherlant TV transfers in 1964, liking an ‘exciting play’, which gave Wymark ‘a splendid part’ and Glyn-Jones also stood out (Daily Telegraph, 3 December 1964, p. 19).

Maurice Richardson was less positive, finding it an odd pick as a TV play: ‘as difficult to get into as an apple-pie bed’; with Wymark ‘ill-at-ease’ and too ‘chubby’ as Malatesta and a total lack of action and incident in the play’s main body (Observer, 6 December 1964, p. 25). Similarly, John Russell Taylor found it ‘woefully lacking in drama’, with the ‘roaring’ Wymark and director Morahan having little ‘idea of building up some interior tension in the play to compensate for its lack of external action’ (Listener, 31 December 1964, p. 1065).

In contrast, Philip Purser loved a play which confirmed de Montherlant’s ‘towering stature’ and which enhanced ‘the already considerable standing of the B.B.C.’s Wednesday series’ (Sunday Telegraph, 6 December 1964, p. 13). He praises all in the cast, especially Shaps and Edward Burnham as like ‘a pair of ageing critics under the heel of a dynamic new editor’, and he feels Wymark could assume the mantle of ‘special hero status’: i.e. heavyweight Olivier stakes (ibid.).

Outside London, A.B. in the Leicester Mercury was mixed, feeling Glyn-Jones was in keeping with the time but Wymark wasn’t enough of a ‘loathsome monster’ (3 December 1964, p. 13). Peggie Phillips expressed almost exactly the same perspective on the performances, adding that Patrick Troughton should have played Rimini, being ‘dark, spleenful and subtle’ (Scotsman, 7 December 1964, p. 8).

While some viewers found their encounter here with the Renaissance Italy era repellent and others were simply bored, generally the play received a very positive reaction from viewers, with great praise for Wymark and the ‘lavish’ settings and costumes (VR/64/642). A Textile Spinner ‘declared’ there was ‘no sense of this being a studio production at all”, which the BBC Audience Research Department saw as setting ‘the final seal of approval on a production of unusual quality’ (ibid.). This is an atypically opinionated anti-studio opinion to hear in this particular time period.

It’s notable how this and the previous two plays all scored in the 67-68 range, showing that the range of historical periods was working, even if the audience sizes for Mr. Douglas and Malatesta were notably smaller than for the contemporary The Big Breaker.

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you. 🙂

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 01.05: ‘Mr Douglas’ (BBC1, 25 November 1964)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), I feel it’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without full textual analysis.

01.05: Mr Douglas (BBC One, Wednesday 25 November 1964) 9:25 – 10:35pm

Directed by Gilchrist Calder; Written by John Prebble; Produced by Peter Luke; Designed by Peter Seddon

You’ve got the best costume designers from the theatre coming in, set designers, directors [who] were really, by that time realising that television could be a proper art form. They were realising the possibilities of it. As an actor, it was a rather special feeling: it’s always very exciting to work with people who really know their jobs, who are really expert, because it makes a marvellous atmosphere.

Claire Nielson, interview with author, 10 March 2021

This play has a straightforward enough, historically intriguing plot. In London, 1761, a mysterious garrulous, drunken man calling himself Mr Douglas (Michael Goodliffe) turns up and inveigles his way into the household of a wealthy merchant Mr Grant (Laurence Hardy), who has migrated from Scotland. The events take place on Coronation Day, 1761, as the Hanoverian George III takes the British throne. The Grant abode is based in the City of London, the capital’s historic financial centre. “Douglas” boasts of having cuckolded three men before in a previous location and goes onto cuckold the conscientious young James Nash (Gary Bond) who he describes as “good but dull”.

Douglas, after an unpleasant unreciprocated pass at Alison Grant (Claire Nielson) soon sleeps with Alison who consents sexually due to her romantic attachment to the Jacobite cause of 1745. She clearly takes to Douglas as a symbol more than as a man, even given his “big breaker” like worldly advantages over Nash. We learn, after early intimations, that Douglas is this mountebank’s created identity and he is really Charles Stuart, former Prince of Wales: “Bonnie Prince Charlie” himself.

Amid business difficulties with his ship, the doddering softie Grant is compelled by his formidably blunt battleaxe wife Mrs Grant (Jean Anderson) to report Charles’s presence to the authorities. James does this, but, in a rather neat conclusion, he returns without any authoritative nobleman to arrest Charlie. Thus, Charlie is humiliated by official indifference. As a new king is crowned, he is an irrelevant man of the past, lost to drink and regarded as a figure of “comedy”, not as a genuine threat, as Nash reports.

Mr. Douglas‘s writer John Prebble (1915-2004) must stand as perhaps the most significant figure behind history on screen in 1964, advising on BBC2’s Culloden and co-writing the screenplay for Zulu with director Cy Endfield, based on his original article ‘Slaughter in the Sun’ (1958) for the Lilliput magazine. This London born writer and journalist, who also spent many years in Canada, was also widely known for writing several popular Scottish history books, including about the Highland Clearances. Director Gilchrist Calder was to be a regular presence behind The Wednesday Play, helming a further 9 plays from 1965-70 and would later direct 8 episodes of When the Boat Comes In.

It is framed in press previews beforehand as a story ‘based on fact’ (e.g. Coventry Evening Telegraph, 25 November 1964, p. 2). The production clearly aims to appeal to authenticity through costume and set design in studio spaces. The scenes of “Douglas” witnessing the royal crowning in the streets, which might have been highly dramatic and visually striking, are simply recounted as occurring off screen, which implies BBC budgetary restrictions.

Rating ** 3/4 / ****

I find Mr. Douglas so deeply out of time a drama, in all senses. Watching it 60 years on, you feel an incredible distance from a sardonically melodramatic representation of a period 203 years before that. I enjoyed this for being so utterly different, even to the familiar patterns of recent period dramas.

Prebble’s script here is far from being uncritically romantic Scottish nationalist, as some have said of his books. Indeed, he seems to take relish in depicting Bonnie Prince Charlie’s desultory state sixteen years after the crushing of the Jacobite rebellion. He also satirises a rich family of Scottish migrants to London, whose patriarch is a merchant – fortunes are gained and lost via various ships, which is potentially, but not explicitly here, linked to the slave trade.

Alison may be said to embody the romantic Scottish nationalist position, but is shown to be naive, and surrenders her innocence to the worldly man she takes to be the Jacobite hero. She comes across as a blithe, passionate fool. Yet, interestingly, the song she sings, ‘Bonny Moor Hen’, carries resonances of class conflict and feels more in tune with subsequent Jacobinism associated with the Enlightenment and the French Revolution rather than past Jacobitism.

The play’s small cast of six works effectively; it deserves some credit for its 50:50 gender split. Like others in this Festival/Wednesday Play run, you feel like you fully get to know each character. There’s a steady, perhaps slightly faster editing pace than the average at this moment in TV history: the video studio sequences have a 9.6 ASL, to the brief film sequence’s 4.3.

I do feel that Prebble could have included more ideological depth, in exploring the sources of Grant’s wealth, and further addressing clashing sets of ideas: Catholicism vs. Protestantism, Jacobite traditionalism vs. Jacobin revolution. However, there is a richly theatrical flavour of Georgian London in its Hogarthian harshness and bawdiness.

I don’t quite feel director Gilchrist Calder makes this as visually interesting as it might have been; say, in comparison to A Crack in the Ice and In Camera. It does lack visual artistry and feels at times a worthy object of Troy Kennedy Martin’s scorn in his famous ‘Nats Go Home’s polemic (1964). Its short film sequence, fireworks and an alleyway encounter only slightly enliven the overall texture. The Donald McWhinnie directed version of William Wycherley’s The Country Wife (1977) for BBC1 Play of the Month is rather more visually lively than this is.

One thing that strikes me so often in 1960s TV drama is middle-aged or older men repeatedly calling elder teenaged or grown women in their 20s “child”. We’ve been watching Season 2 of Doctor Who (1964-65) on BluRay and William Hartnell’s Doctor constantly calls Susan and Vicki this, conveying ingrained patriarchal assumptions. I know Alison is meant to be a callow innocent, but she is clearly an adult: indeed, Claire Nielson herself was nearly 27 when she gave birth to her daughter on 3 April 1964, ten days before the filmed sequence in Richmond Park was shot (interview with author, 10 March 2021). The majority of scenes were shot after this in the study. It indicates her subordinate power position within her home that she is called ‘child’, and notably her mother is harder on her than her father.

I agree with Claire Nielson that the production stands up well today. She feels the costume, production design and use of real paintings meant ‘it looked like the bloody 18th century, didn’t it?’ (ibid.) She puts this down to the influx to TV of skilled people from the theatre, alongside Prebble’s ‘daring’ script. (ibid.) Nielson recalls Alison as being a ‘very good part’ and Michael Goodliffe being a ‘very nice person’, but how frightened she was of him when in character as Charlie (ibid.).

Expressive finger-pointing gesture from Goodliffe!

Best Performance: JEAN ANDERSON

Margo Croan does well as servant Elspet, though it is a part coded as minor: being a potential sexual conquest of Charles, and her attraction is summarily dismissed by Mrs Grant. Claire Nielson has a hard job in playing Alison, a limited but crucial role. She imbues her with a convincing idealistic zeal and brilliantly incarnates a highly cosseted and gullible woman. Nielson is an excellent comedic player, and she knows when to underplay and when to enlarge. Her musical performance on a harpsichord and singing the folk song are excellent.

Gary Bond, also in Zulu as Private Cole and the arrogant teacher John Grant in Ted Kotcheff’s remarkable Wake in Fright (1971), has a headstrong force that toughens a part which could easily have been bland. Michael Goodliffe plays the wily, decaying Charlie with ripe, James Mason-esque relish, filling the screen and belting out choice lines with a roguish swagger. It’s a performance of volume very much in line with Gainsborough melodrama or Tod Slaughter horror. Laurence Hardy is splendidly weedy, dominated by his wife.

Indeed, I’m nominating Jean Anderson (1907-2001) this week for her performance as Mrs Grant. Anderson’s performance feels Wildean in its pithy, outspoken force, and fully earns Charles’s wry comment about the Grants’ marriage. I’m not at all surprised to see that this Eastbourne-born actor with Scottish roots was in James Broughton’s The Pleasure Garden (1955) and three Armchair Theatre plays (1961-71).

Best line: “Ha! Wine and brandy mature. Men decay… and rot…” (“Mr Douglas” to Alison)

I also rather like the bonny ‘un’s sourly realist takedown of heroism, when Alison proclaims that “He [Bonnie Prince Charlie] will come again…!” :

Like the Messiah, do you think […] in a paper hat, waving a wooden sword like a play hero with an army of dolls that spare your feelings by bleeding sawdust only…

Audience size: 4.90 million

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 34.5%

The opposition: BBC2 (International Soccer: England v. Rumania Under-23, second half of match played at Coventry/Curtain of Fear – serial, part 3), ITV (Dave’s Kingdom/Glad Rag Ball/Wrestling)

Audience Reaction Index: 67%

Reviewed in London press publications consulted: 75%

There were no TV reviews at all directly following this broadcast in the Times or the New Statesman.

Reception: The reception was one of the more starkly divided of the Wednesday Plays we’ve analysed so far.

Interestingly, Gerald Larner reflects on how viewers now want self-identification with characters in TV plays, being less interested in the ‘fate of kings’ (Guardian, 26 November 1964, p. 9). He found it ‘boring’ compared with ‘the scruffy and up to date or the smooth fantasy of the ad-man’s world’ (ibid.) Similarly, Peter Black felt it needed ‘a hotter level of drama than was offered’, being ‘a cool, mild, stylish piece, not interesting enough in its thoughtt [sic] to make up for it’s studied avoidance of the obviously romantic line.’ (Daily Mail, 26 November 1964, p. 3)

Lyn Lockwood diverged, finding the play a ‘fascinating’ speculative journey into past events where ‘by some strange urge to be present at the coronation of George III in 1761’ (Daily Telegraph, 26 November 1964, p. 19). She admired Nielson and Goodliffe as the ‘pockmarked lecher’; acclaiming ‘one of the best costume dramas I can remember seeing on the small screen’, with a ‘superbly ironic climax’ (ibid.)

Maurice Wiggin concurred about this ‘credible’ and ‘beguiling entertainment’, finding Goodliffe ‘superb as the middle-aged, brandy-sozzling, pock-marked, lecherous Charles, with flashes of his young charm and dash but no illusions about his own nature’ (Sunday Times, 29 November 1964, p. 44). Now, I’ve tended to far prefer the other Maurice’s (Richardson) reviews to Wiggin’s, but on this play I am, for once, somewhat less in agreement with Richardson, who called it ‘a total vacuum’, ‘a corny little costume piece’: ‘nearly one for the padded viewing-room’, though he produces one of the funniest endings to a review I’ve read:

The Prince, though commendably unbonny […] wooed the daughter of his unwilling Scots merchant host with all the elan of an exhausted hairdresser. He must never be allowed to come back again.

(Observer, 29 November 1964, p. 25)

John Russell Taylor shrewdly pinpoints the play’s weaknesses, seeing exiled Charlie as believable but the other characters as ‘pasteboard’, and, in contrast to his praise of Philip Saville in the same article:

Gilchrist Calder’s evocation of eighteenth-century London curiously wan and unconvincing, especially in its unfortunate excursions into the (very sparsely) crowded streets and in the absurd stock-shot interlude of some sort of military manoeuvres taking place, allegedly, in one of the London parks.

(The Listener, 3 December 1964, p. 915)

Outside London, there was a more positive consensus about the play’s merits. Norman Phelps only briefly mentions Mr. Douglas in implied favourable terms (Liverpool Echo, 28 November 1964, p. 8). Hastings Maguinness found it ‘sad, but entertaining’, loving how Goodliffe played Charlie as ‘an absolute degenerate’: shattering the ‘illusions’ of ‘whatever remnants of Jacobite supporters there may be in Northern Ireland’ (Belfast Telegraph, 28 November 1964, p. 8). Similarly, Peggie Philips in Edinburgh found this an ‘enjoyable anti-Jacobite entertainment’ with Goodliffe lacking finesse, but achieving ‘a wonderfully good facial resemblance to a sort of amalgam of eighteenth century Stuart portraits’ (Scotsman, 26 November 1964, p. 3).

As evident in its Reaction Index of 67, the play largely held strong appeal for its quite substantial audience, tapping into an existing taste for period drama, with most in the sample echoing the more positive critics’ praise of its credibility and truth (BBC Audience Research, VR/64/630). As with certain other plays, it was commended as a change from ”kinky’ modern plays’, being ‘message-free, beatnik-free and entertaining’. (ibid.) A few found it slow or disliked Charlie being debunked; amusingly, a librarian is quoted as saying, ‘It didn’t rouse me’. (ibid.) Mostly it was well enjoyed, with Goodliffe ‘a joy to watch’ and Jean Anderson ‘giving her usual sterling performance.’ (ibid.)

— With many thanks to Claire Nielson

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you. 🙂

Book Review: Molly Haskell (2016) FROM REVERENCE TO RAPE: THE TREATMENT OF WOMEN IN THE MOVIES (rev. edn.)

This is an excellent book. Molly Haskell’s deep viewing knowledge of a vast array of films provides the key to making this an expansive historical analysis of women’s representation in cinema. It is especially focused on Hollywood, but there are some insightful comparisons with European films, and different national cinemas’ distinctive ways of presenting women.

This book, originally published in 1974, does what any academic book should do, and make you want to watch the films being analysed. Helpfully, Haskell shows command of a wide field and avoids focusing too much in depth on specific case studies. She prefers to dissect the narratives of the full range of film output. Being film criticism first and feminist argument second aids the book, and Haskell makes the most eloquent critique of Laura Mulvey and John Berger’s English structuralist critique of the ‘male gaze’ that I have ever read.

Haskell argues that 1920s-40s films had a varied and evolving repertoire where women more than held their own, shifting more into the workplace with the onset of the Second World War and adapting to the reduction in sexual material due to the Hays Production Code from 1934. The Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy film, Adam’s Rib (1949) is highlighted as the apotheosis of genuinely adult Hollywood cinema, a rare instance whereby the complex negotiations of marriage, love and work are explored in an entertaining and pleasurable way.

Haskell goes onto detail a sad decline through the 1950s-70s, tracing women’s gradual erasure in films of this time – or at least their simplistic reduction. There are tantalising reflections on the impact of East Coast theatre and television’s sociological realism which could have been drawn out more, especially as she praises Cagney and Lacey and Katie and Allie late on. However, it is a convincing argument that women and cinema itself were diminished in the masculine rush to escape Classical Hollywood’s studios and make films with violence first, sex second and love relegated.

The final chapter documents an impressive 1980s resurgence of women creators behind the camera, and most especially performers in front, with 1970s Second Wave feminism belatedly influencing a staggering variety of performances which formed a counter-attack to Reaganite social conservatism.

Such an impressive book, this; Haskell’s style is laconic and sophisticated and unafraid to depart from conventional wisdoms of the past and indeed it will give people today much pause for thought and feeling.

Exploring The Wednesday Play’s Legacy At 60 – 01.04: ‘The Big Breaker’ (BBC1, 18 November 1964)

The Wednesday Play (1964-70, or 1965-70) was a landmark BBC drama series, following ITV’s lead with Armchair Theatre (ABC & Thames, 1956-74) in amplifying working-class voices. Canadian migrant Sydney Newman, from a working-class background, spearheaded both initiatives. After completing a Ph.D. on The Wednesday Play’s successor, Play for Today (BBC1, 1970-84), I feel it’s time to grapple with the legacy of its predecessor in greater depth.

This series of posts commemorates the sixtieth anniversary of The Wednesday Play while exploring its diverse output beyond justly celebrated works like Up the Junction (1965) and Cathy Come Home (1966). I plan to watch and reflect on all existing plays up to Cathy, supported by research. Missing plays will still be covered, but without full textual analysis.

01.04: The Big Breaker (BBC One, Wednesday 18 November 1964) 9:25 – 10:55pm

Directed by Charles Jarrott; Written by Alun Richards (adapted from radio play – 1963); Produced by Peter Luke; Designed by Eileen Diss

We must make our private nightmares public.

Well, there are too many lies. Too many jokes. Too much cosiness. Too many cowards wanting to forget and fools to encourage them in high places.

Elvet (Nigel Stock)

This play concerns corrupt Councillor Wally Cross (Rupert Davies) in a South Wales valleys town, who is the self-styled character that gives the play its title. He makes romantic advances on his nephew Elvet’s (Nigel Stock) wife, Sybil (Daphne Slater). These older generations of the family are juxtaposed with young couple Josie (Meg Wynn Owen) and Nigel (Leonard Cracknell).

The play’s opening is textbook British New Wave. Industry indicated through a pit wheel. A young couple looking out over an entrenched townscape full of largely uniform housing stock. Chapel, steam trains… A sense of possibility and hope in the future, which may involve social mobility through moving out of places like this. “Unlike the Southern counties, we’ve got very long memories down here” concisely summarises the non-metropolitan attachment to history and traditions.

Mrs Cross (Daphne Slater) is a crisp RP combatant. She’s on the ball with noting how marshalling statistics was the new form of UK politics – clearly, referring to the ascendant Harold Wilson here. Dreams and ideals going to routine day to day administration. Changing the social order and making a new world and new people – he regrets that this was not achieved. Or it became too bureaucratic and utilitarian? “We’d got we wanted, but I was nowhere…” is a tellingly individualistic slice of dialogue.

Selfishness, he was never a peasant, but a rough background, easily becomes the capitalist, to paraphrase Lenin’s dictum about peasants becoming capitalists when given land.
Wally as the grabbing grasping man who has come up from the “rough” interacting with a refined woman Sybil who can get on her “high horse”. It is clearly Lawrentian but also resembles a less histrionic antecedent of Bernard Hill and Frances de la Tour’s characters in Roy Kendall’s PfT Housewives’ Choice (1976). This feels less contrived than the confrontation in that play and does not involve its violence against property. Kendall’s more agitational approach fits the post-1973 oil crisis times, like John Osborne’s play for the National Theatre, Watch It Come Down (1975-76).

The vast, complex and clear two-handed scenes are deftly, unobtrusively directed by Charles Jarrott so that the words and performances are central. You feel like you know Wally and Sybil deeply after an extraordinarily well written and played near-15-minute scene (15:04-29:53).

Jarrott directed 34 plays for Armchair Theatre (1959-69) and then moved into feature-films, and eventually to US TV movies by the 1990s.
It’s telling how Elvet, whose knowing cruelty is dissected by Sybil, suggests she takes a sedative. He had just suggested that they get married to help his political ambitions.

This is a great example of a play where you cannot compartmentalise the personal and political, or the private and public. Elvet sees his personal advancement in the public world as more important than domestic routines, love and security. That he’s played by Nigel Stock brings to mind the volatile masculine refusal at the heart of The Prisoner, but this is a Number Six still besotted with power systems, and manoeuvring for advancement within them, yet to challenge them.

Elvet outlines how corrupt the local Councillor Wally is, having taken a bribe for a building contract, so very much anticipating the Poulson Scandal. Elvet has “got him on toast!” due to possessing Wally’s fraudulent gains, leading to Sybil insightfully identifying how Elvet is only happy when he is hurting somebody.

We hear a Edith Piaf English recording of her 1956 song ‘Non, je ne regrette rien’, which Wally puts on the record player in a somewhat self-satisfied and calculated manner. We hear the Searchers’ ‘Don’t Throw Your Love Away’ twice, near the start and end.

Cuckolded Elvet is riled by his uncle’s claim that he is adrift from life, which elicits his monologue to Willie Willis (Edward Evans) about how he throttled a bald-headed Japanese soldier during his Second World War service, which has haunted him ever since. He gives the aforementioned private nightmares public speech.

The final act is ‘One Year On’, with Wally having died three months after he’d gone off with Sybil, and perhaps given her some happiness, but this phase seems to figure as more of an interlude in her marriage to Elvet. At the end, the felled Breaker’s nephew is oddly revitalised by joining a discussion group and taking up carpentry, so that he potentially has lethal tools nearby at all times!

We end with the graver half of the young couple Nigel bemoaning the unusual turn of events, but Josie urges him simply to find humour in everything and not be too hard on the elders. Nigel has switched on a Mantovani orchestral light music tune on the vinyl record player. Pointedly, Josie replaces this with the Hollies’ version of Berry Gordy’s Motown song, ‘Do You Love Me’ (1964). In a fine, upbeat ending, Nige is wise enough to be won over and the couple start an impromptu dancefloor in their suburban home.

The play’s writer Alun Richards, born in Caerphilly in 1929 and raised in Pontypridd, was a naval officer turned probation officer, before becoming a Cardiff schoolteacher. Richards was known for depicting what he saw as unattractive masculine worlds; according to obituarist Dai Smith, ‘In Richards’ work, women are the pre-eminent truthtellers’ (Guardian, 2004). He stands as the first of many Wednesday Play and Play for Today dramatists to have been a teacher, and, like Raymond Williams, an adult education tutor at university.

In an interview, Richards outlined his approach with The Big Breaker. A writer must acquire ‘street empathy’ and be localised and accessible:

I hate most of what I see in the London theatre. I’m against the public being taken in. I’m against cruelty and obscurity. What cruelty there is in my play is placed in a pattern. […] I’m for writing plays on a contemporary theme in a conventional manner.’ (Observer, 25 July 1965, p. 18)

Dai Smith notes how Richards was far from a parochial writer, his focus on Wales containing universal insights. He could

see upwards into a social elite, as well as down. This duality, and its then uncovered existence in the literature of Wales, enormously excited Richards, and was the key to the power with which he flailed the social drift, the cultural illusions and the career hypocrisies of postwar Wales in his two finest pieces of work, the short-story collections Dai Country (1973) and The Former Miss Merthyr Tydfil (1979). (Guardian, 2004 op cit.)

In his excellent biographical entry for Richards, Daryl Leeworthy refers to his novel Home to an Empty House (1973) as a ‘chorus-like masterpiece’.

The Big Breaker was, originally, a radio play broadcast on BBC Home Service on Saturday 30 September 1963 at 8:30pm, lasting 90 minutes, pretty much the same as the later TV version.

The TV play was recorded in May 1964, and mainly appears to have been multi camera studio, but does have a fair few bookending filmed inserts. Like most other plays I’ve discussed so far, there are is a central star figure who may have drawn the average viewer: following Williams, Fraser and Pinter here is Rupert Davies, part of Davies’s conscious desire to avoid typecasting as Maigret (Daily Mail, 6 January 1965, p.5). He had even appeared on Harry Worth’s comedy programme on 17 November.

Interviewed in the Daily Mirror, Davies extols the qualities of his Wednesday Play part as Wally Cross:

This is a potent play and Wally is very much a character of which Maigret would disapprove. Yet some people, like me, will admire the man’s honesty and frankness, even though they hate what he does.

(18 November 1964, p. 18)

There was a subsequent stage version at the Belgrade Theatre in Coventry which opened on 27 July 1965. Benedict Anderson largely liked it. Joseph O’Conor was Wally, Gwen Cherrell was Sybil and Clive Swift ‘makes a good deal of the nephew [Elvet]. He has a way of pronouncing consonants as if he was plucking suction pads off the wall, and the sound adds to the general picture of tortured fanaticism.’ (Guardian, 28 July 1965, p. 7)

Rating: *** 1/2 / ****

I really enjoyed this. It bursts with the recognisable sort of life people would expect of the Wednesday Play-PfT banner, and represents South Wales in a more complex, full manner than any PfT I can think of, barring perhaps Dennis Potter’s Joe’s Ark (1974). The Big Breaker inaugurates this strand’s preoccupation with raw life, vigour, vitality: life as lived in contemporary Britain.

On first viewing early in my PhD, I picked up on its fatalistic view of society and politics, with Josie’s scorn for political parties and call to laugh at everything very much chiming with the New Left CND ethos (whose more serious side Nigel seems to embody). On this second viewing on Sunday 17 November, I discerned more its skilful, solid dramatic structure, vivid dialogue and wonderful acting.

I appreciated how Elvet is deepened as the play goes on, and the deft realism of the final act, a year on. It’s ultimately about Britain’s long-term emotional unbuttoning: opening up and loosening up. It also takes a mature, nuanced view of Wally, making me think of how T. Dan Smith wasn’t simply corrupt, but also significantly improved housing conditions, modernised Newcastle-upon-Tyne – with the majestic Civic Centre the beacon of this – and improved its Arts sector.

Back to the craft: well, this play reminds me in certain respects of Colin Welland’s Kisses At Fifty (1973) and Arthur Hopcraft’s Wednesday Love (1975) in focusing on characters feeling the ageing process who want to break from their routines, or unfulfilling marriages.

Daphne Slater is so good here

Watching this fascinating, assured mainstream-occupying play from sixty years ago, you feel the ways in which life was clearly far worse than it is now, but also certain ways in which it was better. A sense of life getting better for each generation is palpably present in the deftly drawn Nigel and Josie characters, who, for me, resemble the young couple in Julia Jones’s sublimely understated Still Waters (1972).

We’ve already got the sense of the Wednesday Play’s capacious ethos. This play’s worldly intelligence in a contemporary setting is precisely what Play for Today would reliably provide – in a large variety of gradations.

I’d say this play is quite often beautifully written, and it is always played for all its worth, and it makes me want to seek out more of Alun Richards’s writing, prose and TV alike.

Best Performance: Meg Wynn Owen

Now, this was a tough call.

Daphne Slater is tremendously brittle and steely, reminding me of Celia Johnson. Rupert Davies is a formidable windbag, who does some great barefoot dance moves to an exotic, overseas holiday-signifying piece of music, a sequence rightly extolled by Television Today‘s reviewer. Nigel Stock is layered as Elvet. He appears a contemptible schemer initially but then fully conveys how he is “damaged by the world”, and he isn’t exactly… wrong in exposing Wally’s corruption, even if his own motives aren’t unimpeachable.

However, Meg Wynn Owen just about wins out for me; as Josie, hers is a fiery common sense which comprehensibly demolishes the veneration of ideas above all else. I recalled her playing a largely antithetical role in Upstairs, Downstairs as one of the poshest of the upstairs lot. A character brilliantly written about by Helen Wheatley in Catherine Johnson and Rob Turnock’s edited book, ITV Cultures (2005). Here Owen plays Josie, young adult in a solidly middle-class household, in an upwardly mobile home, but her vivacious Welsh tones bring out Josie’s essential youthfulness.

Best line: “But the gap between what you know and what you don’t do… Amounts to a terrifying amount of cruelty.” (Sybil to Elvet)

Audience size: 7.35 million

Share of overall TV viewing audience: 48.4%

The opposition: BBC2 (Hollywood: The Fabulous Era/Curtain of Fear serial – part 4/Newsroom & Weather), ITV (News/The Grafters/Professional Wrestling)

Audience Reaction Index: 68%

Reviewed in London press publications consulted: 43%

No reviews in The Times or The Spectator of any TV at all directly following this broadcast.

Reception: Fairly meagre, edging towards positive reaction from the critics. Audiences liked it more!

Lyn Lockwood found it ‘meaty stuff’, with strong plot and counterplot (Daily Telegraph, 19 November 1964, p. 19) Marjorie Norris is more reserved about the play, quite liking it but feeling too much is spelled out, and there are too many changes of emphases, but she loves the performances of Slater and Stock (Television Today, 26 November 1964, p. 12). Norris admires designer Eileen Diss giving the house a ‘weighty ugliness’ (ibid.). John Russell Taylor notably saw it as the most interesting play of November, highlighting Jarrott’s skill as director and Nigel Stock, but also felt its final act unnecessary and not entirely successful (The Listener, 3 December 1964, p. 915).

Outside London, Leicester Mercury reviewer A.B. interestingly notes a Goronwy Rees introduction to the play, emphasising the play’s avoidance of Stage Welshness, but found it ‘hard to believe’ characters and dialogue (19 November 1964, p. 9). In the Scotsman, Peggie Phillips was rather more positive, liking the acting and a ‘robust’ play, though saw it as ‘a far cry from the exotic standard set by Sartre and the Russian’ (23 November 1964, p. 4)

I don’t have time to fully dissect details from the audience research report yet, but it gained a high RI of 68% Exceeding any for The Wednesday Play so far. A testament to Alun Richards’s conventional and astute craft here, which has a kinship with Alun Owen’s work for Armchair Theatre.

If you worked on or remember watching this play on TV, please email me at thomas.w.may@northumbria.ac.uk as I’m gathering oral history memories and would love to hear from you. 🙂