Saturday 30 November
BBC TV, 5.15pm
Due in large part to the lack of consideration shown by the US president in being murdered the day before, last week's premiere episode of the BBC's new teatime adventure series didn't get the viewing figures that might have been hoped for. So the corporation decided to show it again the week after, before the second instalment. Watching the two episodes back-to-back enhances the feeling of disorientation, as we move from a school to a jukyard to the inside of a bizarre space-time craft and then, in part two, to the world of prehistoric politics.
It turns out that the shadow looming over the police box-shaped timeship at the end of last week's episode belongs to an understandably perplexed caveman played by Jeremy Young. And there's more like him nearby, sheltering in a cave from the approach of winter as their nominal leader, Za (Derek Newark) tries to make fire, egged on by his consort, the rather brusquely named Hur (Alethea Charlton). Who's Hur, the sabre-toothed cat's mother? These grunty cavefolk may not seem the most promising of roles but they're more loquacious than you might expect, and Derek Newark in particular certainly gives his all to the part of the bitterly frustrated Za.
Some of the tribespeople think Za should cede his place as leader to a new addition to the tribe, Kal (the chap we saw earlier). The rivalry between the wannabe chieftains gets a bit confusing as they look so alike: both are beaky and beardy, and both sport what could be misshapes from the Beatle wig factory. Kal's just about the beakier, beardier, and wiggier of the two, and this alone stands him in good stead for becoming the leader.
In a corner of the cave, dear old Eileen Way crones it up a treat as a discontented character identified in the credits as "Old Mother". This, and her none-too-fond recollections of Za's father the great firemaker, seem to imply that the would-be leader's her son. If that's the case she's not the most supportive of parents, grumbling perpetually about how everything was better before fire was invented. We all know the type. Perhaps you've got someone similar in a corner of your own cave.
Eventually (and it does feel like a very long time), we get back to the TARDIS. Having been knocked unconscious when the ship unexpectedly took flight into the fourth dimension, Ian and Barbara come round to be told by its cantankerous owner that they've travelled back in time - though as his yearometer's on the blink he can't be any more specific (he doesn't say anything about space - could their location be the Totter's Lane of a hundred centuries ago?). Ian takes some convincing that they've gone anywhere at all, even when the ship's scanner screen shows the desolate landscape outside: "Sand and rock?!" he cries, understandably underwhelmed after the old man's spiel about the ship's wonders last week. We learn that whoever Susan's grandfather is, he's not called Dr Foreman. "Eh? Doctor Who? What's he talking about?" the old man mutters on being addressed by that name. Ian repeats the question to Barbara later on, just in case we hadn't got the reason for the show's title (though we're not given an explanation for why it doesn't have a question mark).
Exasperated by Ian's doubts, the Doctor still manages a touch of poetry: "If you could touch the alien sand and hear the cries of alien birds, and watch them wheel in another sky, would that satisfy you?"
Susan gets a wonderful little moment of triumph as the doors open on the wasteland outside and she cries "That's not on the screen!"
The Doctor has special kit for examining alien environments which he marches off with, stopping only to note that all is not well with his ship: it's meant to change shape to match its environment , but it still looks like a police box. "Dear, dear, how disturbing," he mutters, though considering last week's episode kicked off with the mystery of what a police box was doing in a junkyard it's safe to assume this mechanism's been on its way out for a while.
There's a very sweet little moment between Ian and Barbara as the blustery science teacher finally accepts that the peculiar pair in the police box were telling the truth all along. "I was, wrong, wasn't I?" he sighs to a sympathetic Barbara.
This isn't the time or place for quiet reflection, though, as the Doctor discovers when he stops to light a big, ornate pipe prior to making notes on his surroundings. No sooner has he taken a puff than out leaps Kal.
We don't see the attack in any detail, but we do hear an absolutely splendid cry of "Oooooaaaargh!" issuing from William Hartnell. The Doctor's companions come running, but there's no sign of him, and all his paraphernalia'sbeen left behind. Ian and Barbara suggest that perhaps he just dropped everything to go and look at something he found especially interesting, leaving the viewer to wonder if they're in the habit of exclaiming "Oooooaaaargh!" when their interest is piqued. Susan's distraught at her grandfather's disappearance, and it's here we start to wonder if Carole Ann Ford's been short-changed a bit with this role. Last week she got to be all strange and otherworldly; this week she's flying into hysterics at the slightest provocation and falling over every few steps. It's not the most edifying of spectacles.
Director Waris Hussein manages to jolt awake any viewers who might have drifted off by this point by filling the camera with this startling image, accompanied by an ear-splitting screech.
Turns out it's a skin one of the tribeschildren's crawling about in to the delight of its friends, who are trying to stab it to death with spears (they had to make their own entertainment in those days). This is a prelude to Kal arriving with the Doctor slung over his shoulder, telling fantastic tales of how this creature made fire appear from its fingers.
Za, unimpressed, points out that Kal's trophy is just an old man wearing strange skins. When said strange-skinned old man come round, he agrees to make fire for the tribe if they'll let him go... then realises he dropped his matches. His subsequent refusal to help doesn't go down well with Kal. Za finds his rival's embarrassment a right old chuckle though.
Enter Susan, making things considerably worse by leaping on Kal's back and pummeling him to within an inch of his life. Ian and Barbara sidle in with "We've never seen her before in our lives, honest" written all over their faces. A fracas ensues, with the time travellers eventually finding themselves the captives of the grumpy cavepeople.
Kal seems rather taken with Barbara, though the sunnily dispositioned Old Mother cries out for her blood.
It's decided that for the time being the interlopers should be removed to the ominously-named Cave of Skulls. With them out of the way, Hur's father Horg (Howard Lang), clearly an expert shit-stirrer, intimates that unless Za hurries up and starts a fire he'll let Kal have his way with his daughter. Hur manages to keep him sweet for a bit with a promise that Za'll provide him with lots of meat - a gambit I'm sure works even today.
Meanwhile, in the titular cave, as the Doctor shows the better side of his nature for the first time by apologising profusely for the predicament he's led everyone into, Ian notices the reason for the cave's name, and that the skulls piled up everywhere all seem to have been split open...
The extra Doctor Who tonight means there's no room in the schedule for The Telegoons. Doctor Who's followed by the news and then Juke Box Jury: tonight's panellists are Jimmy Young, actress June Ritchie, and celebrity lesbian Nancy Spain. Now, over on the other side...
ATV, 7.30pm
The level of inspiration in Peter and Betty Lambda's script can be gauged by the episode's title. It's not even set in a school where people are "finished off" as in killed, it's just got a finishing school in it. We open with a pupil, Betsy-Anne Van Doren, daughter of American millionires, apparently being kidnapped from the school, her roommate Caroline (future Crossroads star Sonia Fox) discovered bound and gagged by highly-strung Miss Woodfall (Josephine Woodford).
What, the viewer may be wondering, has all this to do with an import-export business? The answer is, absolutely nothing. It's just that Mercury International boss Carlos Varela is a governor of the school and so close to its principal, Lady Graffham (Helen Cherry) that she feels she can call him for help at any time of day or night. The reason for both of these things is left unexplained, which is perhaps for the best.
We don't actually get to see Carlos Varela this week. Carlos Thompson left the show before it finished its run, so he was replaced by John Turner's tedious Bill Randall (the episodes were juggled in broadcast order to conceal Thompson's departure). And this week we're stuck with Bill, who, for no very good reason, heads to the school to help track down the kidnappers along with an unenthused Chin (Burt Kwouk's character, that is. Bill's prominent chin always looks enthused).
There's been a ransom demand for a suspiciously low amount, which Bill takes to the local churchyard, lying in wait for the kidnappers to collect it. A helmeted figure in racing gear nabs the cash and makes a getaway in a souped-up Hillman Imp (the fantastic chase music on the soundtrack as Bill follows is by a long way the best thing about the episode). A young Andrew Ray plays the driver, and the fact that the passenger's face is scrupulously concealed makes it obvious to all but the dimmest observer that this is Betsy-Anne herself.
And so, after far too long a time, including a diversion to a race track where we meet Chin's cousin Ling (Robert Lee), it proves. She's played by Annette Andre (yet another 60s face The Sentimental Agent introduced to TV), sporting a li'l ole southern US accent. Andrew Ray's character is a gormless young racing driver with the unlikely name of Chips Kirby whom she's shacked up with in a caravan. Unsurprisingly, she's rapidly becoming discontented with this lifestyle.
Just as Bill and Chin turn up at the caravan, Betsy-Anne makes off in the Imp, which she has a bit of trouble with.
Betsy-Anne survives the crash, and, after being ministered to by a doctor played by a briefly-seen Ballard Berkeley, she goes back to school, having learned her lesson. And that's about it, really. Though somehow the episode manages to lumber on for another 15 minutes or so with a subplot involving Lady Graffham trying to keep the whole business from the slow-witted local policeman. It's woeful: the obvious death throes of a show that's got no idea what to do with itself now its charismatic star's gone.
Fortunately, there's no lack of charismatic stars in tonight's next show.
ATV, 8.25pm
Tonight we focus on Ada Larkins' home help, Mrs Gannett. Well, maybe help's not quite the word: her continual hymn singing, sniffing and preternatural ability to be where she's not wanted are driving the Larkins household to distraction. Hetty in particular, is disgusted by the old woman's disdain for hygiene.
Something she herself could never be accused of.
As well as getting under everyone's feet, Mrs Gannett's taken to stirring up trouble among the Larkins by suggesting to Ada that the local biscuit factory's resident maneater Bella Trumbull (Hazel Sutton) has got her sights set on Alf. This in spite of the cayfe patrons queueing up to romance Bella - Scouser Lofty even promises her an in with the Beatles (and gives her a tantalising taste of the Liverpool sound).
Mrs Gannett's even managed to rile Osbert, by discovering his secret stash of booze. Hugh Paddick's sardonic delivery of the line "your transport" as he hands the furtive char her broom is the highlight of the episode.
Yet despite the fact Mrs Gannett's peeved everyone else off royally, Ada seems strangely unwilling to think any ill of her (perhaps considering that anyone who's able to annoy that shower must have something going for her). Until, that is, she finds that the old woman's been stuffing her capacious handbag with the cayfe's prized tins of fruit: "She's got enough here to start a supermarket!"
Confronted by her employers Mrs G feigns illness, helped along by an explosive device hidden by young Georgie Larkins in the drinks cabinet (he's convinced she's in the pay of a foreign power).
Alf and Ada are now forced to look after the "cantankerous old faggot", as Ada charmingly describes her. The doctor prescribes that they do whatever Mrs G wants. Ada's bringing her hot roes on toast and Russian tea (lemony, spiced black tea if my research is accurate) at all hours of the day, and she's provided with a constant stream of sensational magazines (plus the local Church Times, of course) read to her by an unenthusiastic Osbert.
The only hope of getting rid of this unwanted guest seems to lie with her son Sidney. Hetty's sent out to get him (he could be in any one of 24 pubs). When he arrives he's played by Norman Chappell, in a role very different from the supercilious butler we last saw him playing in The Avengers a few weeks back.
Sid's plied with sausage rolls and beer to convince him to shift his mother. Instead, he decides he'll need to stay over with her. This lasts until he heads home with Bella Trumbull in tow, causing his mother to make a Lazarus-like recovery as she heads off in pursuit. Ada swears she'll never get another home help in again, and sets the menfolk to doing all the housework as she and Hetty enjoy a well-earned rest. Help Unwanted's an especially endearing episode of The Larkins, made all the more compelling by some truly bizarre laughs emanating from its studio audience.
ATV, 9.10pm
Written by John Gay (the Oscar-nominated Hollywood screenwriter rather than the 18th century dramatist), The Light of a Friendly Star is a charming story of a neglected little girl who finds an unusual playmate.
In East Germany, an intruder (Carl Schell) is found hanging around the grounds of the British ambassador's home. Brought inside by security men he's given a glass of brandy (after all, we're not savages), and questioned by the ambassador himself (Ronald Howard). Unknown to the participants, the interview is watched by the ambassador's precocious young daughter Kit (Loretta Parry).
Having mollified the ambassador with his excuses for being there (he's being hunted by the secret police), the intruder is allowed to stay the night. Bookworm Kit's instantly developed a crush on him, imagining him as a Heathcliff-like misunderstood romantic here. "If it really meant your life," she earnestly says to her father, "If you really had to guess, would you say he's more Richard Burton or Peter O'Toole?"
Kit's being sent back to England, where she lives with her auntie, and with more than £2 in pocket money!
With everything packed for her late night trip to the airport, Kit curls up with a book, only to be disturbed by the ambassador's unexpected guest, who, it turns out, is a spy!
Only one course of action's open to the young man once he realises he's been seen: he kidnaps Kit and makes off with her in the car that's come to take her to the airport.
Kit's not particularly upset by any of this. In fact, it's the most exciting thing that's ever happened to her. When they stop for a rendezvous with a fellow agent (Patricia Jessel), who's supplied a change of car for Leo (that's the spy's name), Kit absolutely refuses to be left behind (what's more she's growing increasingly fond of her captor and is jealous of any rivals for his attentions: "She has an awful lot of rouge on, doesn't she?" she asks of Jessel with guileless bitchiness).
As is always the way in these tough-guy-lumbered-with-cute-kid things, the initially hard as nails Leo gradually softens through his grudging companionship with the little girl.
But lovely as it is for the viewer to see unhappy Leo, embittered by his parents' death in the war, gradually come back to life under the "light of a friendly star", his employer (George Pravda) isn't too chuffed about it, and the poor spy ends up being shot as men sent by Kit's father converge on Pravda's HQ.
"Your light is dazzling," Leo tells Kit as he breathes his last. Or rather, what he thinks will be his last. Turns out he lives, and the ambassador decides not to press any charges. It's all very lovely stuff, and the loveliest thing of all is Malcolm Arnold's truly gorgeous score.
ATV, 10.05pm
Now for a very strange episode of The Avengers, combining an early instance of the eccentric supervillain that would become the show's stock in trade with a heavygoing script by a writer (Rex Edwards) who seems very keen to let the world know he's read Rachel Carson's Silent Spring.
The diabolical mastermind in question is millionaire industrialist and Roman Empire obsessive Sir Bruno Luca (Hugh Burden, his toupee brushed forward, Caesar-style), who plans to rebuild society in the image of the ancient world via biological warfare. His chief lieutenants in this aim are Marcus (John Flint), in reality Gordon Dodds, leader of a party of aggressive fascists; and the fragrant Octavia (Colette Wilde), who Bruno plans to make empress of the world (unfortunately for him, Marcus and Octavia are having it off behind his back).
This week Cathy Gale's pretending to be from the Universal Health and Famine Relief Organisation. She's investigating the soil dressings made by United Foods and Dressings, a company owned by Sir Bruno (Steed, becomingly bespectacled, plays her boss). They seem to have been causing a great deal of soil erosion in Asia. Interestingly, Cathy seems to be the owner of a microscope that displays drawings of what's being looked at.
Kenneth Keeling, as grumpy United Foods executive Appleton, has a bit of a stumble over a provocative speech about the pressure to provide cheap food: "They want jam on both sides. The housewife demands cheap food as a, er, er, er, um, necessity. And if the farmer is compelled to supply that cheap food then he's got to use techniques that are going to keep his costs up." Ian Shand, as PR officer Eastow, looks on in sympathy.
Things take a turn for the apocalyptic as Sir Bruno's soil diseases take hold in the UK and Marcus's thugs beat up all and sundry in the streets. Steed manages to get an audience with Sir Bruno, and is clearly fascinated with the millionaire's collection of objets d'art ("What are they doing?" he boggles at the image on one particular vase). "Such outrageous orgies!" he muses happily. "Yes, they certainly knew how to relax," Sir Bruno agrees.
Bruno brushes off Steed's questions about his politics, claiming it's an arena he's no longer involved in. Unfortunately Marcus shows up at this very point, making Bruno's politics all too clear.
At a gathering of the influential chaps Bruno styles his senators, the emperor in waiting makes a toast: "One empire, one government and one Caesar!" (really he should just've said "To evil!").
Not all of Bruno's gang are entirely on board with his plans, though: Marcus especially has designs on the empire as well as the empress, and plans to drop the whole Roman charade once he's got Bruno out of the way (the fact that Bruno's being cuckolded and conspired against gets in the way of him being a proper supervillain, and almost makes us feel sorry for him. I suspect that those with a greater knowledge of the classics than mine will notice parallels with Roman history that have gone right over my head). Raymond Adamson, who plays Senator Lucius, was the leader of the British Nazi Party in this week's episode of The Saint. That's some unenviable typecasting.
By this time the baddies have managed to capture Mrs Gale: "An admirable specimen," drools Bruno. "A typical example of healthy English womanhood." When Marcus touches her, he gets a kick to the stomach. Hurrrah!
Having persuaded a security guard to tell him where Cathy is, Steed comes to the rescue. With Bruno's associates all dressed up for his coronation as emperor, Steed gets into the party spirit. He wears a toga as to the manner born, of course. There's a particularly splendid bit where he hides in a sarcophagus as he waits to ambush Lucius.
Cathy, of course, is not waiting around to be saved.
"Is this what you call a Bacchanalia?" asks a disappointed Steed when he bursts in on Bruno and chums. The baddies are rounded up, with Bruno, of course, perishing at the end of Marcus's knife.
The episode ends with Steed and Cathy talking to each other in Latin -there's no translation for those unfortunate enough not to have learned the language. Who do you think this show's for - plebs?
Sunday 1 December
ATV, 8.25pm
Now, I wonder where Simon Templar's travels have taken him this week...
Thanks for that. Yes, the Saint's loafing about outside a café in the eternal city, holding forth about the terrible inequality between rich and poor in the city, when here comes a blind beggar to prove his point. And there goes the blind beggar being hit by a car.
Having seen that the man's killing was intentional, Simon decides to track down the men responsible. To do this he enlists the help of an old chum, taxi driver Marco di Cesare (Warren Mitchell, doing the funny foreigner bit that most of his pre-Till Death us Do Part screen appearances consisted of).
It's not long before they spot one of the drivers of the car, now hassling a beggarwoman into joing something called the Beggars' Protection Association. This young hoodlum's played by Oliver Reed, who's highly menacing as well as broodingly beautiful - but the part's not really much of a stretch for him.
The thug gets away, but Marco manages to waylay the beggar, who in reality turns out to be beautiful actress Teresa Mantania (Yvonne Romain, who, trivia fans, played Oliver Reed's mother in Hammer's The Curse of the Werewolf - which Warren Mitchell also appeared in).
Simon recognised the beggarwoman as Teresa as it's a costume she wears in her current play. She'd taken to walking the streets in it as research, and became so intrigued by tales of the Beggars' Protection Society and its mysterious leader, known as the King of the Beggars, that she took it upon herself to seek out and expose the villain. She bears a personal grudge, as well: the beggar killed at the beginning of the episode was a friend and former co-star who fell on hard times after losing his sight.
Simon insists he'll take over Teresa's mission, and dons a beggarly disguise of his own. The first people he approaches in his new persona are American millionaire Stephen Elliot (John McLaren) and his lady friend, the glamorous Contessa Dolores Marcello (Maxine Audley).
A philanthropist who gives away millions a year to help the poor, Elliot's stricken with guilt about both his own luxurious lifestyle and the fact that the money he contributes doesn't seem to make much difference. The Contessa tries not to think about the poor if she can help it.
It's not long before Simon's approached by Reed and his crony Charles Houston. Forced to agree to joining the association, he's driven (blindfolded in case his lack of sight's just an act) to meet the King of the Beggars.
No revelation's forthcoming though: Simon's destination is just a deserted warehouse where he's greeted by a recorded message from the king instructing his latest "associate" where to deposit half of every day's takings. The voice has an American accent, which is clearly meant to nudge us into thinking Elliot's the villain - as is the fact that the location given is a hostel Elliot owns.
The following day, Marco's able to work out where the warehouse is, and he goes back with Simon to give the heavies a taste of their own medicine...
But before they can find out any useful information, Houston ends up dead from a bullet shot at Simon by Reed, who escapes once more. Later that evening, he spots a theatre poster that gives him an idea.
Simon visits the hostel, where he's subject to the frightening attentions of Maria Calvetti (gargantuan Jessie Robins, seen last week as an obstreporous air passenger in The Sentimental Agent). As he lies comatose from a drug she's slipped him, Teresa is kidnapped from the theatre, and in turn she, too, becomes Maria's prisoner.
Simon manages to both incapacitate and humiliate Oliver Reed by giving a demonstration of his judo skills in front of an appreciative crowd of beggars, paving the way to the final unmasking of the King of the Beggars...
Why it's only the bleedin' Contessa!
In truth, this doesn't come as a massive surprise, partly because most of her dialogue has consisted of mocking Elliot for his plans to help the needy, and partly because she was really the only other possible suspect. However, it's good to see a strong female baddie, and Maxine Audley makes for a perfect slinky villainess. Anyone familiar with her only from her best-known role as Anna Massey's blind, bitter, chunky-cardigan-clad mother in Michael Powell's Peeping Tom may be surprised to see just how sultry she was capable of being.
One thing about The King of the Beggars that does come as quite a surprise is Ronnie Corbett's small part. Or rather, Ronald Corbett, as he's credited here. He plays an employee of the theatre listed somewhat disconcertingly in the credits as "Call Boy".
One thing about The King of the Beggars that does come as quite a surprise is Ronnie Corbett's small part. Or rather, Ronald Corbett, as he's credited here. He plays an employee of the theatre listed somewhat disconcertingly in the credits as "Call Boy".
Monday 2 December
Highlights of tonight's programmes on the BBC include an Adventure documentary on the origins of the Sikh religion (narrated by Princess Indira of Kapurthata), and Come Dancing, this week pitting North (at the Locarno, Liverpool) against South (at the Savoy, Southsea).
Tuesday 3 December
Associated-Rediffusion, 8pm
Wilder has a new objective in mind: a knighthood. To this end he's schmoozing with government ministers for all he's worth. As he prepares to greet one of them diligent secretary Kay Lingard makes sure he's presentable.
Various hints are dropped throughout the episode that after her sabotage of her husband's chairmanship bid, Mrs Wilder's no longer around to perform duties like these - the most vivid being Wilder's fury when PR man Steve Miller (Donald Morley) asks if she might be available for an interview for a woman's magazine.
The minister visiting Scott-Furlong's played by George Woodbridge, best known for his character turns in early Hammer horror films. Perhaps it's the legacy of all those rubicund innkeepers he played, but Woodbridge just seems too much of a yokel to be convincing in the role -especially as he's meant to be a Tory.
Meanwhile, Tony Maccabee (Malcolm Webster), another of Scott-Furlong's PR chaps, is in Westminster trying to sweet talk another MP, Keith Saville (Richard Vernon), an influential backbencher with his finger in a lot of pies.
One of the pies Saville's fingering is a South American business run by a man named Vega, who's in the market for jets, and who Scott-Furlong have been trying to woo. Saville's no fan of Wilder's, so it's a bit of a surprise when he agrees to accompany Maccabee straightaway to Paris, to nab Vega from under the noses of Scott-Furlong's French rivals.
Unfortunately, Act One of Strings in Whitehall is The Plane Makers as the kind of stiflingly dull business soap it usually manages to rise above, but a couple of developments in Act Two help to perk things up a bit. The first of these is the arrival of the colourful (metaphorically speaking) Vega, as well as the extensive family he never travels anywhere without. Vega's played by Bruce Boa, for a long time British TV's go-to American, though I've never before seen him play the Latin kind.
There's also some terrific verbal sparring between Patrick Wymark and Richard Vernon as they take Vega out on a test flight, Vernon's loucheness a splendid foil for Wymark's steely cunning.
And what's more, we get to marvel at an extremely unfortunate visual effect that perhaps explains why we've never seen the Scott-Furlong Sovereign in flight before. Maybe best to stick to stock footage in future.
Wilder casually drops in to conversation the scandalously huge amount of commission Scott-Furlong's agents around the world get for securing sales of their aircraft - then asks Vega if he'd like to become their agent in South America. He readily agrees, and his purchase of a pair of Sovereigns looks set to go ahead - as long as the government can help the company reach a repayment plan that will keep everyone happy.
That evening Wilder's set to be interviewed on TV, and dramatically alters his prepared script so it becomes an attack on the government's reluctance to help out business, giving his minister friend a sneak preview before he goes on air...
As Scott-Furlong's sales manager Don Henderson prepares to watch the interview, he's terrified that it could have awful consequences for the company...
...But Wilder only has glowing praise for the government. It looks like he's got what he wanted.
BBC TV, 9.05pm
Associated-Rediffusion, 10.05pm
A week after the assassination of President Kennedy, it's "What the Americans call Thanksgiving: but in Dallas, where the people probably have more riches to give thanks for than any other city on Earth, there is no thankfulness."
The documentary shows us that first post-JFK Thanksgiving in Dallas, focusing in particular on:
The obscene wealth of its richest citizens. As various local notables appear on screen, the prim voiceover invariably reminds us that this person is, of course, a millionaire. Why these people even buy clothes for their dogs!
The gap between rich and poor. While a millionaire geologist and his family are shown enjoying a lavish turkey dinner in their luxurious home, the black people of the town have to make do with tinned food.
Right-wing nutcases. These are most vividly represented by the deceptively sweet-looking Mrs Beth Anderson Rochelle, a publicist for the John Birch society, the city's most powerful right-wing activist group. Like the scariest Joan Crawford character ever, Mrs Rochelle's calm explanation of her belief in the American people to look after themselves without help from the government is belied by the maniacal glint in her eye.
I've no idea how accurate a picture of Dallas in 1963 this documentary gives, but what makes it fascinating Time Television fodder is what it says about the British view of the US at the time. The programme makers' attitude seems to lie somewhere between condescension, bafflement and stark terror. One moment in particular illustrates how much more closely our culture's become entwined with that across the pond since 1963. As we're shown a group of Dallas children greeting a special visitor, the voiceover explains to us that while to us this is clearly Father Christmas, in America he's known as Santa Claus.
Wednesday 4 December
BBC TV, 8.10pm
Tuesday Afternoon, as the title suggests, shows us a normal Tuesday afternoon in Newtown, with, as Jock Weir and Fancy Smith discover on their beat, far more going on than the placid surface might suggest. The script's an early one from Alan Plater, who'd go on to be one of British TV's most feted writers. Even at this stage it's easy to see why: the characters, both guest and regular, are all superbly drawn, and although the episode hinges on the most unlikely coincidences it always seems totally real.
Jock and Fancy are called out to a corner shop run by Mrs Marshall (Irene Richmond). She's got terrible doings to report, namely the theft of gobstoppers from the machine outside her shop. Fancy is not particularly whelmed by this case, and steals a couple himself on the way out. As he's taking his leave he collides with a plummy, youngish feller (David Crane), who's wearing the most marvellous jumper.
As he waits in the car outside for his partner, Jock gets to musing on the men you see milling about the streets on a weekday: what they're doing, why they're not at work, and whether they're up to no good. Fancy tries to take his mind off it by shoving a gobstopper down his neck, As he drives. Please don't try this at home. Or, more to the point, in the car.
Sergeant Blackitt's about to send another case their way, as a local builder Mr Farmer (Kenneth Keeling, managing a little better with his lines than he did in Saturday's Avengers) reports the theft of 5000 bricks.
But before the boys can start tracking them down, they pull a chap over for speeding. And who should it be but Jumper Man? He's not especially bothered about being caught - in fact, much to Jock and Fancy's exasperation, he sees it as a feather in his cap.
Then there's the sorry tale of unemployed sheet metal worker Mr Pawson (a beautifully forlorn performance from Eric Barker as a shabby, Scouse-accented figure a long way from the stuffy authority figures he's best known for). Sent out shopping by his wife (Judy Child), he's sadly informed that they can't afford to buy even a little gift for their baby grandson.
On his visit to the local supermarket (itself fascinating for anyone interested in daily life in the 60s), temptation proves too much for Mr Pawson, and he helps himself to a toy car.
Mr Pawson's caught and taken to store manager Mr Smethurst (Frank Pettitt). He used to own the shop himself back in the old days and might have been able to exercise discretion. But of course nowadays everything's controlled in London, and they've got a policy. So here's yet another petty Tuesday afternoon case for Jock and Fancy. There's the requisite bit of 1960s social awareness as Jock expounds to Fancy on the unfortunate economic circumstances which have led Mr Pawson to where he is, though the worthiness is cut through by Fancy's muttered "Vote for Weir."
Lastly, there's the case of Mr Finch (Jimmy Gardner), knocked off his bike by a boy racer (the same jumper-wearing chap who was pulled over earlier), and determined to get revenge.
Mr Finch contacts the police ("I've got a few bruises, but nowhere I could show you"), but seems strangely reluctant to go to the station. When he finally is prevailed upon to give a statement, he's not much use, driving poor PC Sweet to distraction with his useless recollections of the car that hit him: "It was a pale colour." "Well that's a great help!" "Well, tell me some pale colours!" Sweet reels off what colours he can think of ("It's a very popular colour, is cream") eventually scoring success, of a sort: "Lemon?" "Aye, lemon... white!"
And now, these disparate threads are drawn together: Finch, it emerges, is an estate agent who's sold a house in a new development to Pawson's daughter. It's the same development where Farmer's building, and when the builder returns to the station with the embarrassing admission that the bricks weren't stolen after all (just not taken where they should've been), he reveals he's the only person building there, and knows nothing about Finch. Who is, in fact, a conman who's defrauded many young couples. So maybe it wasn't such a boring Tuesday after all. Certainly not for Mr Pawson, though happily he ends the day with a conditional discharge.
There are many things to love about Tuesday Afternoon, but the most lovable of all is Brian Blessed and Joseph Brady's double act as Fancy and Jock. They're simply adorable.
Thursday 5 December
Associated-Rediffusion, 5.25pm
While Space Patrol remains as endearingly potty as ever, the episode titles have started to get a bit boring in recent weeks. Where once we had such poetic flights of fancy as The Miracle Tree of Saturn or The Glowing Eggs of Titan the last couple of weeks' have been prosaically descriptive. Last week we had Time Stands Still and this week it's the equally functional
Now you know what happens, allow me to fill you in on how. Eccentric Martian scientist Professor Zephyr has invented a machine to measure the distance between stars. Whether it's any good at this we never learn, as an inadvertent second function proves more interesting: when it's switched on, anything inside its little glass booth becomes invisible.
The excited Professor rushes to inform Colonel Raeburn, but the head of Space Patrol's got other things on his mind. He's dealing with a mass outbreak of a deadly illness known by the inappropriately comical name of the Floats. This affects people living in low gravity environments. And it looks like it could spell the end of colonising satellites. As usual, Professor Haggerty knows what to do: the key to defeating the menace lies inside the square egg of the Martian Aber bird (eggs are always very significant in Space Patrol for some reason).
The Aber lays three eggs a year: two square and one round. The round one hatches out into a baby Aber, and it eats the square ones. Haggerty needs to get hold of some more of the square eggs in order to synthesise a cure for the Floats, but they could prove tricky to obtain as only 20 Abers are known to exist (perhaps they've been eating the wrong egg). Abers are extremely fierce creatures, and the Martian president suggests the best way of getting hold of the vital eggs might just be to kill one of them (this attitude could be another reason there aren't many left). But ecologically-minded Raeburn vetoes this idea and dispatches Larry Dart and his crew to get some eggs in the most humane way possible.
As Dart and Husky wait for the Martian game warden to take them into the Dictum forest to find an Aber, they're shown around Professor Zephyr's lab, where he proudly shows off his new invention - to which poor Husky falls victim. And when the machine's switched off, he's not revisibleised!
The Professor explains this state of affairs to Dart with the use of some rather Op Art molecules.
Husky's not too bothered about his newly transparent state until he discovers his best friend, Gabbler the Martian parrot, is now utterly terrified of him. What can be done to bring him back?
That's by the by for the moment - there are square eggs to be stolen. Being invisible has clearly brought out Husky's naturist side, as he flings off his clothes and follows Dart into the forest without his captain's knowledge. I'm not sure whether the game warden is a disguised Husky puppet: he looks a bit more wall-eyed.
It's time now for the Aber bird to make its entrance. And what an entrance: shambling into view on its big, wobbly legs. It's saying a lot, but this may be the most bizarre creature yet to appear in Space Patrol. I'm not going to attempt to describe it, you can see it for yourself. But it certainly looks nothing like any bird we Earth folk are familiar with.
The show enters the realm of pure slapstick as Dart makes two attempts to snatch the eggs, only to be savagely butted by the horned beast on both occasions.
Realising this isn't going to get anybody anywhere, Husky steps in and removes the eggs himself.
The Aber's wrath is incurred, but as it prepares to make its kill it collapses in a chortling heap. Husky's only tickling it!
So that's the Floats sorted. But what about Husky? Will we ever see him again?
Once more, Professor Haggerty has the answer, realising he can get Husky back to normal by sticking him in a portable freezer then putting him back in Professor Zephyr's machine. As Haggerty himself modestly reminds us, he's not just a genius but an Irish genius.
Friday 6 December
Programmes on the BBC tonight include a celebration of 100 years of the London Underground, and a visit to Sir Compton Mackenzie's home in the south of France.
And to play us out...
It's the Beatles, topping the singles chart this week with "She Loves You"
Programmes on the BBC tonight include a celebration of 100 years of the London Underground, and a visit to Sir Compton Mackenzie's home in the south of France.
And to play us out...
It's the Beatles, topping the singles chart this week with "She Loves You"
