Barbed WireIt’s often been suggested that the game-changing impact of the original ‘Star Wars’ film ushered in a more juvenile strain of cinema that we’re still living with to this very day – and what it inadvertently swept away was quite a loss. Aided by the end of the Hays Code and influenced by European film-makers of the era (as well as a necessary injection of fresh counter-cultural blood), Hollywood had grown up a bit in the decade immediately preceding the 1977 release of George Lucas’ first take on the franchise, and in the process enjoyed something of a second Golden Age. A fun comic strip of a film like ‘Star Wars’ shouldn’t have really threatened that, yet the success that caught Hollywood by surprise was quickly picked up by studios already in the hands of accountants; why go to the trouble of making another ‘Taxi Driver’ and limiting the bums-on-seats due to an X certificate when you can make another ‘Star Wars’ for all the family and make far more money than you ever would with the further trials and tribulations of Travis Bickle?

40-odd years later, dumb and dumber blockbusters with a lineage that can be traced all the way back to the phenomenal success of ‘Star Wars’ utterly dominate the movie industry – and terrestrial TV seems to have suffered a similar fate in terms of lowering the intelligence quota. I don’t believe television had an equivalent game-changer in terms of the pop cultural impact that ‘Star Wars’ had on cinema – though perhaps, at least in the UK, the unprecedented response to the question ‘Who Shot J.R.?’ affected the way in which dramatic output was marketed to media and public alike so that a sensationalist plotline guaranteed to attract hysterical headlines and in turn big audiences became the way forward. The Ken/Deirdre/Mike love triangle on ‘Coronation Street’ in 1983 was one of the first such examples to learn the lesson of the ‘Dallas’ cliff-hanger, with the news that the Barlows decided to stay together being flashed on the Old Trafford scoreboard in the middle of a match. The launch of ‘Eastenders’ a couple of years later saw these tactics hyped-up to the max – and it paid off for the Beeb with the kind of viewing figures unimaginable today.

The first few years of Channel 4’s ‘Brookside’ had offered an alternative to the increasingly melodramatic nature of its mainstream rivals, yet by the early 90s that too had taken a similar detour as storylines began to drift away from at least heightened reality and more towards the headline-grabbing. Phil Redmond’s Scouse soap had initially been rooted in the grittier ‘Play for Today’ tradition, perhaps the last refuge for that strain of television writing following the gradual disappearance of the single play from the schedules as the 80s progressed. The single play had once been the writers’ university for so many of British television’s seminal scribes, yet within a generation the soap opera had superseded it; and with the soap having taken on such fantastical and unbelievable qualities, it was unsurprising that once TV writers graduated from the genre and moved on to developing projects of their own they’d carry the sensationalist sensibility into the post-watershed mini-series.

I’ve seen a lot of these 9pm dramas on BBC1 and ITV over the past 10-15 years; some of them are quite enjoyable (if utterly humourless), but very much in a fast-food fashion; the sensation is momentary and the majority I’ve already forgotten by the time the credits roll. Wasn’t there one with Christopher Ecclestone in it – or was it John Simm – or Suranne Jones – or…oh, I can’t remember now; forgettable storylines, forgettable characters, forgettable dialogue, and forgettable resolutions so over-the-top they’d be rejected at an ‘Emmerdale’ script meeting. They’re the TV equivalent of a quick one off the wrist. For me, the best way to discern an undeniable dumbing down in the dramatic output of terrestrial TV is always to take time out and invest in a vintage series, generally from the 70s, and make the comparisons. The juvenile nature of the melodrama that passes for ‘adult’ television today is so apparent when one revisits a series such as ‘Bouquet of Barbed Wire’ (1976), for example, which I have been during the last couple of weeks. It’s so ‘grown-up’ and intelligent in the way it presents characters and storyline to the audience it makes you realise just how condescending and lowest-common-denominator most of today’s equivalent offerings truly are. That was what really struck me when I got sucked into the show, which I hadn’t properly seen in full before.

Andrea Newman’s steamy drama based on her own novel caused quite a stir at the time of its original transmission, even if the fuss was swiftly eclipsed by the controversy generated by another (even more dysfunctional) family saga a few months later in the shape of ‘I, Claudius’. The story of an unhealthily obsessive father, Peter Manson (played by the ever-watchable Frank Finlay), manipulated by his spoilt, narcissistic daughter, Prue (the irresistibly pouty Susan Penhaligon) was complicated by the seething jealousy of Frank Finlay’s character towards the usurper of his daughter’s affections in the shape of his American son-in-law, Gavin, not to mention the eventual affair between said son-in-law and Finlay’s wife, Cassie – oh, and Finlay’s affair with his young-enough-to-be-his-daughter secretary, Sarah (an affair symbolically carried out in the vacated bed of his actual daughter’s apartment in her absence). It’s an almightily sultry stew of repressed incestuous longing and taboo-breaking assignations. And it was a runaway critical (and commercial) success for London Weekend Television.

Maybe one of the toughest aspects of the series for a contemporary audience would be the way in which it fails to take sides and paints the family portrait in myriad shades. Prue’s husband Gavin at times responds to his wife’s petulant appetite for stirring it by giving her a slap, something that is dealt with in a manner that neither overtly condones nor condemns his violent streak. The action is portrayed as a sad symptom of an emotionally draining relationship with Prue, the weaver of a self-destructive web who is said to have a touch of the masochist about her; and Gavin is seen as a victim as much as his wife is. There is nuance a plenty in this acknowledgement of flawed human beings capable of simultaneous good and evil; in this world, all are saints and all are sinners – just like our own; it takes place in a complex moral maze TV drama now shies away from. Any character exhibiting the domestic abuse traits of Gavin in a TV drama today would have all that nuance ejected from the profile and would be reincarnated as a pantomime villain bordering on fully paid-up member of the Nazi Party. The character would not be allowed to be presented with the prospect of redemption and forgiveness – he would simply have to be an incurable bastard.

But, again, it is simply the ‘grown-up’ – and there’s no more apt phrase – attitude of the series when approaching these ambiguous emotions within the family dynamic that strikes the modern viewer accustomed to relentlessly black-and-white, childish impressions of the way people behave towards each other and the stupidly simplistic explanations for their behaviour. The style of Scandi Noir and some of the epic US series of recent years are on display in contemporary terrestrial TV drama, yet substance is conspicuous by its absence. Some scenes in ‘Bouquet of Barbed Wire’ unfold at the pace of a well-written novel, in a delicately sedate and intensely subtle manner that contrasts with the cartoonish characterisations and OTT treatment that have become the retarded hallmarks of post-watershed dramas today. That a 45-year-old example of how it could be done seems more recognisably real than a present day idea – one which appears to have been scripted by a 13-year-old boy with no notion of how adults actually speak or deal with crises – is telling, but – alas – not surprising.

© The Editor




  1. Those of us fortunate enough to have lived through those earlier decades of patient, well-scripted and developed broadcast drama almost certainly didn’t realise how lucky we were at the time, that’s only evident now when you catch some of the current feather-weight offerings.

    There seems to be three elements in play now: attention-span, as the current audience is not considered capable of concentrating on any topic for more than a few minutes at most. Then there’s sensationalism: in order to reach any height of attention or publicity, the drama must achieve a level of sensationalism which massively separates it from any credible real-life scenario. Finally it’s about box-ticking: if your programme hasn’t yet featured a disabled trans-gender asylum-seeker (with optional mental health issues), then it’s high-time your scriptwriters introduced one, making sure, of course, that this character has absolutely no negative personality traits whatsoever, yet will suffer persistent and unwarranted discrimination and disadvantage at every stage.

    But it’s not only TV, look no further than ‘The Archers’, that historic repository of traditional agricultural solidity, to confirm how ridiculous this direction has become and why anyone with more than two functioning brain-cells will no longer waste time on any current broadcast entertainment drama. Maybe that’s why we’re reading and writing here instead?

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  2. There is something very satisfying about old telly, The volume level is consistent. Longer scenes, possibly due to having to physically edit film. Budgets were smaller, this meant more chances could be taken. It is such a shame the play is no longer a source for production. In addition less concern with tokenism, foreign markets and franchise creation made the TV landscape very different indeed.

    I am about 5 series into The Brothers (1972-1976) and finding the series fascinating. The plot sounds very unpromising ‘Robert Hammond has died while “doing the deed” with his secretary and mistress Jennifer, and now his three sons–Edward, Brian, and David–have inherited the family trucking company, and each one will try to run the business in his own way.’ Written by NJ Crisp and Gerald Glaister (Secret Army) I thought it would be worth a look and was not disappointed. It does the same for road haulage in the C20th that The Onedin Line did for shipping in the C19th, all be it without the adventure, romance, memorable characters or wit. That said, it shares a wealth of information on the business practices, mores and curtain fashions of the time. Just don’t watch it if you are abstaining from alcohol or fags, because you would not believe how much booze they tuck away.

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    1. I remember ‘The Brothers’, having some friends in the trucking trade at the time made for much jocular ribbing as we played out some of the plot-lines with our friends as the characters.

      It made a change from hospital and police based drama and at least gave some limited insight into how an otherwise unknown industry works – I wouldn’t, of course, extend that educational purpose to ‘Dallas’, which was so little about the oil industry and so much about events, relationships, outfits and Victoria Principal’s tits, but I don’t remember much about the first three.

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      1. Dallas to the UK mind would have been an escapist fantasy from the industrial demise of the late 70s and Monetarism of the early 80s. Dallas was very successful and paved the way for many more of that ilk, such as Dynasty and the lamentable Falcon Crest. These programmes would have been a welcome relief from the Boys from the Black Stuff type of material at the time and when we attempted contemporary glamour as opposed to period drama it resulted in Triangle.

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    2. I seem to recall seeing an episode of ‘The Brothers’ on some BBC4 ‘theme night’ a few years back, but other than knowing it provided an early break for Colin Baker and also featured the delectable Kate O’Mara, it’s one vintage series I’ve yet to fully explore. I recognise the name NJ Crisp from ‘Dixon of Dock Green’ writing credits (and possibly ‘Z Cars’), but the consumption of Scotch and fags in series of that era always evokes the two OTT businessmen characters of Fry & Laurie. Mind you, when it comes to testing the willpower of an ex-smoker, few series can better ‘The Sandbaggers’!


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