Just follow this easy template:
Sprinkle liberally with “however”, and serve for between 300 – 2500 hits.
When discussing the origins of Yes Minister, one story seems to loom above all: a nervous BBC delaying the series until after the 1979 election. The following version of this tale, told by writer Jonathan Lynn, seems a good a place to start as any. On that pilot recording:
“That Sunday, we recorded the show. I had asserted, with a confidence I did not wholly feel, that it would get laughs. Neither of us1 quite expected the gales of laughter which came from the studio audience that night. John Howard Davies lost little time in commissioning three more scripts, to make the first series of seven. Then we waited, and waited… and waited.
The Winter of Discontent approached and government all but broke down, and the BBC refused to transmit the first series until after the forthcoming election, which turned out to be not until 1979. They were scared that it would be seen as improperly influencing the election. Finally, three years after we had first proposed the show to the BBC, we went on the air in February 1980.”
Jonathan Lynn, “Comedy Rules”, p. 107
Perhaps Lynn can be accused of indulging of some spin of his own here. I’m willing to take him at his word that it was three years since he and Jay had proposed the series to the BBC, but that isn’t the real point when it comes to this particular delay. The heavy implication in the line about the election not being “until 1979” is surely that the pilot was made in 1978; otherwise, why not say “later that year”?
In fact, the pilot of Yes Minister was shot on… the 4th February 1979, a year before it was broadcast on the 25th February 1980. The election clearly caused a delay, but perhaps not for as long as Lynn indicates here.
Lynn is referring to his co-writer Anthony Jay here. ↩
Right now, I’m deep in the middle of researching the stock footage used in the opening and closing titles of Hi-de-Hi!. Which, I’m sure you will all agree, is the best possible thing I could be doing with my life.
So as a little taster: have you ever wondered exactly where the footage which opens the pilot comes from, which the caption proudly proclaims is “Cambridge 1959”?1
Tough, I’m going to tell you anyway. I can EXCLUSIVELY reveal that it was taken from this short 1957 Pathé travelogue, called Cambridge Backs.
Which starts with a mild admonishment of the audience, because of course it does.2
Wait, so that was shot in 1957, but Hi-de-H! claims they’re showing Cambridge in 1959? MORE OUTRAGEOUS BBC LIES, CANCEL THE LICENCE FEE.
Incidentally, the music used on Hi-de-Hi! for this sequence is a specially recorded organ version of “Gaudeamus Igitur”. ↩
It’s odd, the things which can become obscured so easily.
Take Wally Who?, an early Grant Naylor radio sitcom from 1982, which I’ve written a bit about recently. It is not, to be fair, a series which is currently part of the pop culture zeitgeist. I am not expecting to find huge screeds written about the show in Digital Spy, nor am I expecting BBC Sounds to commission Obsessed With… Wally Who? But there are certain things which you think would be easy enough to nail down.
For instance: the number of episodes of the programme broadcast. That’s fairly basic. In fact, it might be the single most basic fact you could expect to know about a series. And yet every source online seems to have a different answer.
The BBC website lists 5 episodes. My old hangout Ganymede & Titan says 10 episodes. radiohaha also says 10, although erroneously gives the network as Radio 4 rather than Radio 2. The British Comedy Guide gives 5 episodes. Rob Grant himself says 8 were commissioned. Somebody even sent me a copy of what is listed internally at the BBC; they have 5 episodes, although the last one is confusingly labelled Episode 6.
What the bloody hell is going on?
Today, I have another story for you. And like all the best stories, it starts with the DVD menu for At Last Smith & Jones: Vol. 1.
At Last Smith & Jones: Vol. 1 is a slightly odd but extremely watchable Best Of release for the duo, released in 2009. It comprises of material from all four series of the BBC2 incarnation of the show – two episodes per series, making a total of eight compilation episodes – along with the complete 1987 and 1988 Xmas specials.1 None of these compilation shows have end credits of their own, just a BBC logo and a copyright date – everyone who originally worked on the show is listed on the separate credits elsewhere on the DVD.
And as I was reading those DVD credits for Series 4, a certain part of my brain sparked into life.
A consequence of hanging around in Red Dwarf fandom for too long is a minor obsession with early Rob Grant and Doug Naylor material. I knew they had written stuff for The Grumbleweeds and Jasper Carrot, but I never knew they had written anything for Smith & Jones. And yet there were their names, large as life.
What the hell did they write?! I had to know. Time for some investigation.2
Here’s something touching, from the official Stanley Kubrick Twitter account1:
Despite Stanley regretfully declining the opportunity to direct his previous novel The Night Manager, in '96 #JohnleCarre sent Kubrick a signed advanced copy of The Tailor of Panama, with a charming & hopeful message inside. John le Carré, 19 October, 1931 – 12 December, 2020. pic.twitter.com/XdHfTL5ocW
— Stanley Kubrick (@StanleyKubrick) December 14, 2020
That message, from le Carré:
“Dear Stanley – Just maybe, this time?”
Kubrick, in his reply:
“Unhappily, the problem is still pretty much as I fumbled and bumbled it out to you on the phone yesterday. Essentially: how do you tell a story it took the author 165,000 (my guess) good and necessary words to tell, with 12,000 words (about the number of words you get to say in a two hour movie, based on 150wpm speaking rate, less 30% silence and action) without flattening everybody into gingerbread men?”
There is a very interesting debate to be had about this. Let’s check out what John Gruber, avowed fan of Kubrick, thinks:
“I am reminded of the fact that Alfred Hitchcock argued that short stories make for better source material for movies than novels. (Stephen King’s oeuvre seems to prove that rule.) But today’s world of prestige TV opens new door to long, deep, mature adaptations.
Le Carré’s The Night Manager, the novel Kubrick so obviously enjoyed but argued couldn’t be made into a good two-hour film, was in fact adapted for the screen in an excellent 2015 series2 - 6 one-hour episodes - directed by Susanne Bier, written by David Farr, starring Hugh Laurie, Tom Hiddleston, Elizabeth Debicki, and Olivia Colman.”
Hmmmm.
Recently, I watched Tinker Tailor Solider Spy. No, not the 2011 film – the extraordinarily well-regarded 1979 BBC serial. Seven episodes, 40-50 minutes each, running a total of a shade over five hours.3 And, if we really care about such things, it was shot entirely on film, and featured yer bona fide film star in the lead role.
Afterwards, I watched 1982’s Smiley’s People. Six episodes, an hour each. Both serials were recently re-released on Blu-ray, and neither serial is obscure in the slightest. And both serials also got an airing in the US.
None of this required us to wait for “today’s world of prestige TV”.
Gruber:
“Anyway, Kubrick’s Napoleon as a 10-hour drama. My god. What could have been.”
I prefer to look at what we’ve actually had. For decades.
I find “the official Stanley Kubrick Twitter account” an odd phrase to write. A bit like J. D. Salinger hosting Salinger Tonight or something. ↩
Actually, 2016. ↩
At least, the UK version does. The US version is re-edited to six episodes, runs a shade under five hours, and apparently reorders some scenes as well as trimming things a little. I’m sadly not aware of any article which discusses the differences between the two versions in detail; I’ll have a crack at writing about this one day if nobody else does. ↩
I have to admit, it’s been a slightly odd last few days. Having just written an article about The Young Ones which people really responded to on Twitter, I managed to follow it up with… erm, another article about The Young Ones which people really responded to on Twitter. Thank you, everyone. Although I have a nasty feeling that I’ve just published the most interesting stuff I’ll do all year in sodding January.
Still, for those of you who are vaguely interested in updates about this place, I realised recently that I never actually explained the current situation with my Twitter accounts. So if you wish to follow me on Twitter – and I do realise there is no guarantee this is the case – here are your two options:
You can also subscribe to the RSS feed if you’re of a mind, although I suspect if you care about that, you’ve already found it.
One thing you will note is that I don’t have is any kind of Facebook presence whatsoever. Partly because I want to claim the moral high ground, and partly because I only really have time for one social media platform at a time, and – for good or for ill – that’s Twitter right now. Though I wouldn’t object if anybody wants to help me out and post the odd link to my stuff on Facebook every now and again. My moral high ground isn’t that high. Or moral.
Anyway, thanks again for all your comments, likes, retweets, and so on. I really do appreciate it. Hopefully there’s some other fun stuff to come this year, both Young Ones-related and otherwise. Maybe I’ll even follow through with my threat, and find the VHS recording I made in the late 90s, tricking 10 minutes of free porn out of my analogue cable box.
What else would you rather watch, come on now?
Recently, I wrote this ridiculous article about The Young Ones episode “Cash”. So while we’re on the subject, here is something else about the episode which has bugged me for years.
To recap: in order to earn some bread, the gang decide to send Neil to the Army Careers Information Office. In no short order, he is flung right back out onto the pavement.
NEIL: I only said I was a pacifist.
And as the gang help Neil to his feet again, there is a very peculiar edit. The following are two consecutive frames from this moment in the episode:
Everyone has changed position; most obviously Planer, who suddenly has his hands in his pockets. Clearly, something was cut at this point. But what?
Unlike our previous investigation, the raw footage is of no help to us here; no location material is present on that tape. Nor does the paperwork I personally have access to shed any light. But the answer is out there, if you look hard enough.
And I honestly think the cut moment could have gone down in history as one of those TV moments a whole generation remembers.
“I alter people’s perception of reality.” – Dr. Hypnosis
One recurring theme in Red Dwarf has always been the rather tenuous grip on real life the crew have. Whether it’s the Total Immersion Videogame of “Better Than Life”, the hallucinations suffered in “Back to Reality”, those damn reality pockets in “Out of Time” – to name three of many – people’s perception of reality is something which Grant Naylor return to time and time again.
What’s interesting, however, is that Red Dwarf is far from the first time Grant Naylor have explored this idea. In fact, we can trace their fascination with it right back to their very first solo writing credit: the first episode of Radio 4 sketch show Cliché, broadcast on the 16th March 1981. Though unlike Red Dwarf, it isn’t framed in terms of science fiction.
I present to you the strange adventure of Dr. Hypnosis: his real name… Dr. Hypnosis.
Today, we’re going to answer a huge burning question about The Young Ones. No, nothing to do with flash frames, or hidden fifth housemates. This is the really important stuff.
Exactly what is the farty neighbour watching on her television in “Cash”, just before she switches over to Andy De La Tour doing a public information film?
Squinting at it, it seems impossible to tell. Some kind of drawing of a car? Unless it’s some well-known cartoon, or mentioned in the paperwork for rights reasons, or specified in the script, how could we ever figure it out?
Spoiler: it’s not a well-known cartoon, or mentioned on the paperwork for rights reasons, or specified in the script. We have only our wits to go on here.
Well… wits, and a certain video of Young Ones raw studio footage, sitting patiently on YouTube. I wrote recently about the section of this video containing material for the episode “Nasty”, but the second half of the video is entirely dedicated to “Cash”. And crucially, it includes the entire recording session for this scene.