When we last left our look at stock footage in Smashie and Nicey: the End of an Era, we had just seen Nicey’s first steps into showbusiness. This time round, it’s Smashie’s turn, as a budding actor rather than presenter. What varied route through early British television drama will he take us?
Cop-tastic.
Some of you may think I’m a little too obsessed with studio recording dates for sitcoms. It is surely something deeply unhealthy, which makes me look less like a proper TV historian, and more like someone who enjoys wading through irrelevant trivia.
To which my answer is: if Harold Snoad is allowed to do it, then so am I. His book, It’s Bouquet – Not Bucket! (The Book Guild, 2009), is mainly known for his rather pointed remarks about Roy Clarke every other paragraph. But he also has this to say about the fifth series of Keeping Up Appearances in 1995:
“Because of Patricia’s involvement with the series Hetty Wainthropp Investigates, the start date for the making of this series of Keeping Up Appearances had been moved on by six weeks but, in spite of this, the powers-that-be still wanted to begin transmitting the series on the original agreed date, which created quite a few problems. In the past I had always been able to record the episodes (studio-wise) in the order that was the most economical. This was particularly the case when an episode involved additional artistes who would be needed both on location and in the studio, which meant they had to be paid a retainer fee for the period between the two elements – unless they happened to have other work (which, quite often, wasn’t the case).
In the past, to reduce this period – and the relevant payment – as much as possible, I had always planned things so that the studio recordings of these episodes were the first ones that we did when we returned from location filming. This meant that there was as small a gap as possible between the two elements, which saved the BBC a lot of money in retainer fees. Also, in the past, by having quite a few of the episodes fully completed by the date when the series started to transmit, I was able to arrange for them to go out in an order that reduced the chances of the public realising that elements of some of the storylines were shall we say, rather similar… well, all right, repetitive! I was now being forced into a corner where I was only ever going to be one episode ahead of transmission, which made life extremely difficult.”
You will, of course, note that Snoad can’t even get into a discussion about this topic without slagging off Roy Clarke.1
The question then: is what Snoad says above correct? Was the fifth series of the show really made only one week ahead of transmission? Let’s consult some interesting paperwork and find out. And for extra fun, let’s also go back right to the beginning of the show in 1990, and see exactly how far in advance each series of the programme was recorded.2
I’m making fun, but I think what Snoad says about Clarke throughout the book has the ring of truth. Your mileage may, as they say, vary. ↩
A word about episode titles. There are precisely no episode titles given in either the original broadcast versions of each episode, or the Radio Times. Even the official paperwork simply states “Episode 1”, “Episode 2”, and so on. All the episode titles I use in this article were bestowed upon the show much later on, although most of them are currently used on bbc.co.uk, aside for Series 5, for some reason. I don’t really like using titles which weren’t applied to the episodes originally, but for the sake of clarity I’ve grit my teeth and included them. ↩
Saturday the 12th April, 2014. I’m sitting in NC1, BBC One’s transmission suite. I’m not yet fully running things by myself; I’m still training. And one thing I’m still learning is how to safely and effectively transmit a live show on the channel.
Such as: The National Lottery. Specifically, the first episode of a new series of In It to Win It.
In It to Win It is a perfect example of why the idea of a “live” show can be more complicated than many might think. All the quiz section of the programme with Dale Winton was pre-recorded, but the lottery draw itself hosted by Kate Garraway is live. And yet in NC1, I wasn’t involved in cutting between the live and pre-recorded sections; as far as I was concerned, it was packaged up to me by production as a complete live show, coming in down the line like any other live programme.1
And as it was a live programme, that meant: talking to the programme’s PA, to go through all the details about that evening’s broadcast. Nothing is left to chance with these things. Of course we talk about some of the obvious things: crucial information like exactly what time they’re on air, and the duration of the show. We also do a clock check to make sure we both agree what the actual time is. (Yes, sometimes that is wrong.)
But we also need to know some less-obvious things, such as how the programme starts. This is crucial for a number of reasons. Firstly, it helps presentation choose the correct visual transition into the programme: “Oooh, that title sequence would probably look nice with a 10 frame mix.” It means you can check that what the continuity announcer is going to say makes sense into the start of the show. It also means you can make sure the production is cued up on the right thing a couple of minutes before air.
So, about half an hour before the live transmission, I buzz through to the The National Lottery PA over talkback. I’m a little nervous; I still haven’t done loads of live shows on the BBC yet. Not to worry – tonight the PA is very friendly, as they always were on the lottery shows. She says she doesn’t recognise my voice; I reply that I’m a new channel director, and I’m training today. We do most of our checks, and say goodbye for now.
A while later, she asks me if I’d like to see their rehearsal of the start of the show. This is common practice; I’ll often watch the rehearsals down the line to make sure all is OK with sound and vision. I agree, and turn the volume up on the incoming line.
In It to Win It‘s opening is a little complicated anyway; all the Dale Winton stuff at the top is pre-recorded, but Alan Dedicoat’s voiceover at the top is actually live. After all, he’s got to voice the lottery numbers later on, so why not do it live?
Below is the entire show on that particular day, as transmitted. “Now please welcome your host – it’s Dale Winton!”
But that’s not what Alan said at the top of the show during rehearsal. Because that production wanted to do something special for me, as I was new. Instead, he uttered the immortal words:
“Now please welcome your host – it’s John from Presentation!”
In my ten years of directing the BBC channels, it remains one of the nicest, kindest things anybody has ever done for me. Going out of their way to do something like that, just because they knew I’d get a kick out of it.
It made me feel part of something special. And I’ve never forgotten it.
This leads to a dichotomy between how some people at home consider things, and how you think of it in presentation. For the educated viewer, they may feel very pleased with themselves that they’ve figured out that part of any given show is live, and part isn’t. But in NC1, for practical purposes, all of that programme is probably considered to be live. What matters most to the channel director is how the programme gets into NC1, not whether all the action is literally happening at that moment or not. ↩
NICEY: Freddie was my most glorious introduction to pop. I remember the morn after the show, I got up and looked at myself in the mirror and said: “Mate, you’re a great bloke. You really are a great bloke. Open your gorgeous eyes and look. Pop’s here. Look, I pondered to myself, look, you great big beautiful blue-eyed lovely man. You were put ‘pon this earth to be one of the world’s great philosophers. To teach people about the meaning-of-life-type stuff. To show ’em how to make a curious sense of this crazy-world-in-which-we-live-in-type scenario. With pop as your vehicle1, you can speak to the nation. For that is your purpose.”
Nicey belches.
What is the most memorable part of Smashie and Nicey: the End of an Era?
I would argue the show sets out its stall early on. Firstly, there’s the glimpse of Dave Nice seamlessly dancing with Freddie Garrity on Blue Peter. This is followed shortly afterwards by Nicey blatantly hitting on Paul McCartney during an interview. If End of an Era had provided nothing of interest but those two scenes, it would still have earned its place in comedy history. A perfect blend of archive footage, and brand new material, fused together to form comedy nirvana.
But where does the archive footage in these scenes originally come from? Surely we can do better than “a 60s episode of Blue Peter” and “footage of a Beatles concert”? Yes. Yes, we can. Much better.
All timings given are from the broadcast version of End of an Era, although I’ve tried hard to give enough video reference here that you shouldn’t need to find whatever dodgy copy you have of it.
Mere text cannot quite convey how Harry Enfield pronounces this word. ↩
Last month, I wrote about the 1993 Red Dwarf script book Primordial Soup, and how it gave us a little insight into the production of “Psirens”.
But there’s plenty else of interest in that book. I always rather liked the introduction Grant Naylor wrote for it; an introduction which is sadly missing from the version uploaded to the Internet Archive. My copy is currently lost in a house move, so many thanks to Dan Cooper for sending me a few snaps. It’s just as much fun to read as it was all those years ago.
INSPECTOR FOWLER: We have all seen the musical Oliver, and are familiar with the images of jolly, apple-cheeked urchins in big hats. Well, dispel this cozy impression. The Artful Dodger was a thief, and I don’t think he’d have considered himself quite so “at home” in a juvenile detention centre, which is where I’d have put him. Thieving is thieving. And no amount of “oom-pah-pah” or “boom-titty-titty” will change that. An Englishman’s pockets are his castle.
CONSTABLE KRAY: More like his pocket billiard room.
INSPECTOR FOWLER: Detective Constable Kray, there is a place for fatuous, flippant, would-be humorous inanities, and that place is on Noel’s House Party.
– The Thin Blue Line, “The Queen’s Birthday Present”
TX: 13th November 1995
Here’s a question. How many overt parodies of Noel’s House Party can you name? Ones that go beyond the very amusing Thin Blue Line joke above1, and actually start tearing the show apart properly?
It is notable how much the studio audience in The Thin Blue Line enjoys the gag. ↩
What exactly is Smashie and Nicey – the End of an Era?
One of the endless joys of the show is that it’s many things. A parody of a certain kind of DJ, of course. Also a pastiche of a certain kind of documentary. But it’s also a trawl through decades of British light entertainment: a macrocosm of a particular strand of British culture.
With that in mind, it’s no surprise that the show is absolutely stuffed to the gills with music, of all different kinds. Some of them obvious, others obscure. Wouldn’t it be nice if somebody sat and worked out exactly where everything came from?
What, you want me to do it? Fine.
All times given are for the broadcast version of the show, although I’ve also noted any significant music changes made for the extended VHS edit. For any music which is taken from archive footage, I’ve provided very minimal details here; a companion article detailing all the stock footage used in the show is in the works.
MAROON: Look, Valiant. His wife’s poison, but he thinks she’s Betty Crocker. I want you to follow her. Get me a couple of nice juicy pictures I can wise the rabbit up with.
VALIANT: Forget it. I don’t work Toontown.
MAROON: What’s wrong with Toontown? Every Joe loves Toontown.
VALIANT: Then get Joe to do the job, ’cause I ain’t going.
MAROON: Whoa, feller. You don’t wanna go to Toontown, you don’t have to go to Toontown. Nobody said you had to go to Toontown anyway.– Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)
It’s odd how some deleted scenes seem to take on a life of their own. Some are happily released on DVD and/or Blu-ray, but never end up being discussed much, no matter how interesting. The really obscure ones never even made the leap from LaserDisc. And yet other examples become… is “well-known” an exaggeration? Maybe. But if you’re the kind of person who does more than scrape the surface of a film, you’ll learn about them fairly quickly.
I fancy that Who Framed Roger Rabbit‘s “Pig Head” sequence is more well-known than the average deleted scene. Here’s the short version. After Valiant has hidden Roger at the Terminal Bar, the deleted section has him going back to the Ink and Paint Club to go snooping for Marvin Acme’s will. Here, he’s knocked out by Bongo the Gorilla (in a return appearance), and menaced by Judge Doom and the Weasels. They eventually dump him in Toontown, he gets a pig’s head tooned onto his own in a nasty bit of gang violence, and he ends up washing it off in the shower.1
Here we rejoin the theatrical cut, with Eddie back at his office, and Jessica’s famous “I’m not bad, I’m just drawn that way” scene. Originally, Eddie was meant to be stepping out the shower having just washed his toon head off; instead, the filmmakers dub the sound of a flushing toilet to hide the cut scene. It mostly works, although if you stop and think about it for a moment, you might wonder why Eddie takes his shirt off to go for a dump.
This, at least, is what was shot. As scripted, there was even more missing at this point, including the funeral of Marvin Acme, and a deleted scene with Eddie wearing the pig’s head on the Red Car. This stuff is interesting and well worthy of discussion, but outside the scope of this post. ↩
Having spent an entire year writing about flash frames in The Young Ones, you really would think I was done with the whole damn thing now. And I nearly am, I promise.
However, I have one last thing to talk about. Let’s watch the first couple of minutes of “Boring”, broadcast on the 23rd November 1982.
Here’s a fun fact which I don’t think has ever been mentioned before: the entire house sequence above, up to and including “Morning has broken”, was originally supposed to be placed before the opening titles, according to the camera script. It’s probably a good idea this was changed; Neil’s line is funny as a stupid throwaway, but placing it just before the titles would give it a weight it simply couldn’t support.
Right, enough fun, back to the flash frames. At 1:25 in the above video, something rather odd happens. We get this image, of a flying carpet, for a single frame:1
What’s going on? Despite this being from Series 1, is this related to the whole Series 2 flash frames business?
Tech note: it’s a single frame in that video, deinterlacing the original material to 50fps. In fact, it was a single field in the original interlaced material. ↩
1. Model Shot
Starfield. We pan to reveal enormous sun. After a pause, Starbug beetles across the disc of the sun.2. Int. Obs. Deck
Dark. Various consoles click into life as we pan round the room, and come to rest on two deep sleep units. Suddenly, one of them flares with blue light from inside, and its hood hisses back, revealing a slowly-waking LISTER, wearing soiled long johns. He sits up. His mouth tastes vile. He notices his fingernails and toenails are six inches long. LISTER pads across the room, and starts to cut his nails in a desk-mounted pencil sharpener. He catches his reflection in a blank TV screen.LISTER: (To his reflection) Who the hell are you?
Red Dwarf, “Psirens”, Primordial Soup
The Red Dwarf episode “Psirens” was first broadcast on BBC2 on the 7th October 1993. But that’s not how a lot of Red Dwarf fans first experienced the episode. Or specifically, how they first read it.
Because in March 1993, the first Red Dwarf script book, Primordial Soup was published. This contained the scripts for the episodes “Polymorph”, “Marooned”, “Dimension Jump”, “Justice”, “Back to Reality”, and… erm, “Psirens”. Seven months before it was broadcast. Not exactly how you’d choose to reveal the first episode of a brand new series, especially one with an intriguing format change: the crew left adrift on Starbug.