BLAKE’S 7: THE SYNDETON EXPERIMENT
BBC RADIO COLLECTION
Before Neighbours or Playstation, kids loved Blake’s 7. It outdid Sesame Street in the field of numerically-sourced conundrums. Who were the seven? Where were they? Where was Blake? They were glued goggle-eyed to the show, from its dark and dingy origins courtesy of the moody Terry Nation (Survivors) to the “Triangle in Space” of series four. It’s during the last ditch season that The Syndeton Experiment is set – a brave move from Barry Letts.
The seven in this instance are Avon, Vila and Tarrant, played by old hands Paul Darrow, Michael Keating and Steven Pacey; Dayna and Soolin, played by newcomers Angela Bruce and Paula Wilcox; plus robot stooges Orac and Slave, both voiced by Peter Tuddenham.
One of the joys of listening to this yarn is the attempt by the cast to play other parts. Darrow and Keating’s voices are synonymous with their parts, and it’s difficult to imagine them playing other space-faring types. The actors’ performances have percolated since the TV show aired in the late 70s and early 80s. Jaqueline Pearce’s Servalan struts around the story like a demented Lady Penelope. Steven Pacey sounds a little middle-aged, but Darrow’s voice has improved – it’s deeper and darker. Avon was the main reason for the show’s original success, and he doesn’t disappoint here. A psychopathic anti-hero may not be such a rare thing in the radio and television fare of the nasty 90s, with their herd of Schwarzenegger-lites. But Darrow adds grace and sophistication to his bad lad portrayal; in one scene you can hear his leather gloves creaking. In another he admits to enjoying doing bad things to people.
The plot is as slight as a space security guard’s lifespan – some heard-it-before hokum about mind control and a mad scientist’s attempts to find artificial immortality. In the real world, there are far too many life insurance salesmen to allow this to happen. In the shocking future of the Blake’s 7 crew, Avon stands between universal harmony and the dreaded Servalan.
Veteran sci-fi writer Barry Letts sticks to what he knows best – mixing olde worlde phrases (‘fine words butter no parsnips’) and values with alien terminology. He manages to capture the flavour of the original episodes with uncanny gusto.
Terry Nation set some kind of record when he wrote the first 26 episodes of Blakes 7; I hope that the production team behind The Syndeton Experiment get the chance to match it. By expanding the characters and adding a post modern twist to their naïve adventures, the series has plenty of life left in it. Not bad for seven dead heroes.
VOYAGE
BBC RADIO COLLECTION
‘Special effects – by God.’
They’re by Dirk Maggs actually. As the planet earth recedes into the distance and a trio of astronauts set off on a journey to Mars, he achieves a fair estimation of some great natural noises.
Voyage is an adaptation of Stephen Baxter’s book, relating the tale of an alternate space race. In Baxter’s world, NASA continued its manned missions into space and manages to reach Mars by 1986.
Thanks to Dirk, listeners are saved from wading through 600 pages of deathless technical jargon. Space disasters, high-tech verbiage and in-depth research are no match for human problems, something that we can all relate to. Fortunately, the audio version hits its stride in its third quarter as relationships begin to fray.
The vocals might suit Batman or Judge Dredd (past Maggs masterpieces), but here they come across as over-the-top and lacking much-needed emotion. This is human drama without the tone and cadence upon which radio dialogue relies so heavily. The programme evokes Fireball XL5 rather than the Apollo missions.
Even the Hollywood blockbusters that Voyage attempts to reflect – Armageddon, Deep Impact – allow their characters the odd hushed whisper or inflection. Here the heroes shout all the way, more Aliens than human beings.
When those booster rockets ignite, you could be up there in the heavens. A pity your trip is shared with a crew of ciphers.
THE GUIDE TO THE HITCH-HIKER’S GUIDE TO THE GALAXY
BBC RADIO COLLECTION
The history of guides to ‘The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide To The Galaxy’ is almost as convoluted as the original story. Neil Gaiman started the ball rolling with a comprehensive book called ‘Don’t Panic;’ a video followed, using lovingly reconstructed elements from the TV drama ‘Guide’ to illustrate production techniques. Now comes a radio version, which has found its way onto tape some 21 years after the resilient comedy saga first reared its head.
Like the ‘Don’t Panic’ video, BBC Radio’s ‘Guide to the Guide’ is lovingly scripted in the style of the series. Debbie Barham’s writing is as affectionate as it is amusing. However, without Peter Jones’ narration the script would lose its lustre. Jones played the Guide itself, and returns to his silliest role with glee.
A scattered helping of interviews give us just enough information to admire the original production team. Pressurised by the BBC and Douglas Adams’ bizarre writing schedule, it is a wonder that the programmes were ever transmitted. Here is proof that out of dread chaos can come creative comedy.
The only downfall is the lack of comment from creator Adams himself. An Interview with the author on a second tape goes some way to redress the balance.
At first, Adams is not as entertaining as his work might promise. As he rambles on about his Cambridge days, the interviewer fidgets, sniggers and at one point mumbles an incoherent question. The origins of Adams’ fantastic ideas are often mundane.
Adams would be the first to admit that he’s done his bit for the recycling brigade. ‘The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide’ has been rehashed in every conceivable manner, and he continues to develop the idea on the internet. The Americans would call it a franchise and applaud him for his enterprise; in this country we expect our artists to be steadfastly original. Adams has probably got the right idea.
In the second half of the interview, Adams gives us intelligent insight into the meaning of life: religion, the world behind a light switch, a child growing up. Through these insights we begin to discover why the writer’s been so successful – he’s managed to retain his sense of wonder.
As we begin to comprehend how Adams’ mind works, he’s gone. Although there seem to be a lot of facets that are left unexplored, we are left with the impression that he is gracious, human, and mostly harmless.
DICK BARTON – SPECIAL AGENT!
BBC RADIO COLLECTION
This daft, facile and utterly compelling serial was first recorded in 1946. In the bleak days of post-war rationing, radio listeners sought escapist entertainment and that’s exactly what they got. Despite the protestations of stuffy critics, the adventures of Dick Barton – essentially children’s fare – rapidly became popular with the whole family.
This release treats us with Barton’s first adventure, and delivers the danger and excitement promised by its famous frenzied theme tune. Although the Beeb failed to retain the 1946 version or the 1972 rerecording, some kindly soul made a clear off-air copy for our delectation.
The original stars reunited for the ‘70s version. Noel Johnson sounds great, with a commanding presence that anyone would heed. Snowey White (John Mann)’s a little croaky – that makes him all the more endearing as he backs up the hero.
The most surprising thing about Barton and his boss, products of innocent ‘40s adventure series, are their fascist tactics. In one scene spy chief Colonel Gardiner (William Fox) tortures a prisoner with a giant mutant spider; in a later escapade, Barton shoots an unarmed hostage! These antics are a far cry from later episodes, where the action was toned down for fear of distressing the kiddies. Any references to alcohol or girlfriends were excised.
Character development consists of turncoat scientists and Dick Barton’s chauvinism. Romantic interest Jean Hunter (Margaret Robertson) is quite a heroine: she can handle herself in a scrape, and put up with Dick’s sexist remarks to boot. BBC stalwarts Richard Hurndall, resident kindly old scientist, and Michael Kilgarriff, large vocally and physically, are as dependable as ever.
Despite battling spiders, rats and evil henchmen, Barton always has a simple way out of a fix. The villains are so busy being fiendish that they make foolish mistakes and get caught out. This lessens the threat that they pose, but audiences still enjoy similar delights today – from the Saturday teatime nonsense of ‘Bugs’ to the adventures of a more sophisticated special agent called James Bond.
PAUL TEMPLE AND THE CONRAD CASE
BBC RADIO COLLECTION
For over thirty years, radio listeners thrilled to the tales of Francis Durbridge. His serials featured husband and wife team Paul and Steve Temple, played in this instance by the exemplary Peter Coke and Marjorie Westbury. As the novelist detective, Coke has a voice a character actor would kill for. Westbury is a strong enough actress to lend intelligent insight when the script calls for it.
It is easy to see why Hitchcock’s films were so well-loved in the ‘50s. Compared to the adventures of Paul and Steve, his thrillers are more atmospheric, engaging and intelligent. Durbridge is famous for having a golden rule: trust no one, nothing is what it seems. In the copyright-conscious ‘90s, these kind of watchwords would be trademarked a la ‘The X-Files.’ The ‘50s were a more innocent decade, and this is reflected in the case of Betty Conrad.
The story revolves around the disappearance of a couple of girls from a finishing school – hardly Agatha Christie. There are a couple of deaths, but we don’t get to know the victims well enough to care about them. So we’re left to enjoy the interaction of the main characters.
Steve Temple informs us that the heroes will survive the adventure unscathed, so we’re not too worried about them. The people they meet lie and cheat, and there’s some fine use of dialogue – one character impersonates others to perfection. There’s enough intrigue to keep you listening until the denouement, which is pleasurable but ultimately disappoints – the case promises more than it delivers.
Nevertheless, this release is a great example of the different value systems that existed forty years ago. The best things about Paul Temple are undoubtedly the famous theme tune, Coronation Scot, and the hero himself. Although if someone went round exclaiming “Timothy!” these days, he’d be taken for a queer old cove. In the post-war days, Paul was a cool customer.
VILLETTE
‘It does not always do to be a mere looker on at life,’ Lucy carefully states. But sometimes it suffices to listen.
Ethereal, engaging and unusual, Charlotte Bronte’s tale of isolation and requited love makes a fine three hour audio production. While this version may not attract the rave reviews of the original book’s fans – George Eliot says: ‘Villette! Villette! Have you read it?’; Virginia Woolf describes it as Bronte’s ‘Finest novel.’ – it pulls the stops out in an attempt to spice up the classic yarn.
It’s Bronte’s third and final novel, published two years before her death – inspired by her language studies at the Pensionnat Heger in Brussels.
Villette is the most intense of Bronte’s tales, with psychosexual and existential undercurrents. Adapter James Friel handles this well, with whispered soliloquies reflecting the heroine’s mindset, developing a strong philosophy and motivation for her. Some of the theatrics don’t work – the narrative is atmospheric enough without hokey effects. As one character says (about Lucy,) ‘-the emotion is all the more powerful for being contained.’ Villette is still a worthy attempt to update a well-loved antique roadshow.
The star of this meaningful morsel is so-quiet Lucy ‘Crusty’ Snowe (Catherine McCormack). A simple and decent Protestant, she’s the first to admit that she’s ‘not demure or neat by nature… steady, good and sensible.’ Supporting characters include Lucy’s husband-to-be Paul (James Laurenson), an autocratic schoolmaster. Further love interest Graham (Joseph Fiennes) is a fickle man, always ‘sun or rain.’ The insidious Ginevra (Nancy Caroll) is described by her friends as a mighty doll and a featherbrained girl; she promises to be more interesting than the heroine. Lucy’s English pupils giggle feign illness so that they can meet the local doctor, like extras in an ad for Italian sauce. There’s also a mysterious nun (‘…from beyond the grave, or child of my sad malady?’)
There’s a slow start to wade through, detailing Lucy’s childhood and setting up the characters. Friel despatches the sequence as quickly as decency will allow.
As the story speeds up and Lucy finds work as a schoolmistress, the number of coincidences also increases. The synchronicities may cause a belief hazard for some listeners; Lucy has a habit of bumping into characters who will become important later in the story.
Fortunately Lucy is interesting enough to hold our attention over the course of two cassettes. There’s no fairy tale ending here: she’ll have to work for a living and struggle to make ends meet. Her dreams and inner voice make her life well worth a listen. Her insecurities are believable and her brushes with insanity are frightening. She’s ‘well used to being invisible,’ but not always passive. She refuses to be anybody’s shadow – not even that of a ‘bright lady’ like her love rival Paulina (Elisabeth Dermot-Walsh.)
Although we find out what happens to many of the characters, we are still left with some coyly unanswered questions. Not least of which: why is the story named after the town of Villette? Perhaps the heroine’s name wasn’t regarded as snappy enough.
All reviews copyright Nick Smith 1999
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