Showing posts with label bob cryer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bob cryer. Show all posts

There's So Much More In TV Times Part 14: Parky's Perfect Dinner Party


Imagine, if you will, a time when Peter Davison was a widely-loved television star who, in spite of the occasional bit of wishy-washy fence sitting that even in its full context hardly adopts an actual tangible position, was generally seen as being on the right side of right-on and an overall likeable and decent person.

Well, that was approximately four days ago. Cast your mind back, though, to a time before people who don't even sodding watch Doctor Who decided to take a tabloid's word over his, and him out of The Terror Of The Vervoids tried to score a few cheap points and somehow still managed to come off worse. Yes, it's time to travel forwards to the late eighties, a time of huge change for TV Times. There was now an extra commercial channel, outraging the tabloids with Keith Allen swearing at a polish cartoon or something. Home video was luring viewers away from good clean World In Action and The Fear, except for when it wasn't and something about Video Nasties. And throughout it all, Brucie kept on putting on that comedy oversized chef's hat and making something out of 'leftovers', only on slightly better quality paper.


Something that had most definitely not improved with the passage of time was the quality of readers' letters. Here we can see a thoroughly pointless missive from someone who felt sufficiently impressed by a character from The Bill behaving like a character from The Bill to write in to TV Times to congratulate the programme makers on this bold artistic decision. And that's not the last we'll be hearing from Sun Hill's finest, but moving on...


Full-paged posed photos doubling up as putative 'posters' for the terminally barking mad with no discernible sense of design aesthetic were all the rage around TV Times Towers in the eighties, it seems. In the ludicrously small boxout bit that nobody ever read, Gary Wilmot - who, it's staggering to recall, was all over ITV at the time - reveals that he took time out from impersonating whoever it was he did impersonations of to indulge in a spot of proto-green Save The Trees rabble-rousing; something that, much like Timmy Mallett's denunciation of Apartheid for the benefit of Wide Awake Club viewers, suspiciously never seems to get mentioned whenever the ha ha you big rubbish what were we thinking sneering boots up again. He also seems to be wary of the imminent arrival of Ben Kingsley, Clown Union. This is followed by Matthew Kelly making with the ha ha ha hee hee hee's and 'Gnome - For A Laugh!' puns as he introduces us to his good friend Grimble Grumble. There's probably a perfectly sane and rational explanation. If there is, though, it isn't in the boxout.


TV-am's top 'Girls Who Get Britain Up In The Morning' as the tabloids always had it Ulrika Jonsson and Lorraine Kelly kick off the 1990 FIFA World Cup with a bit of posed punch-up hilarity - hardly the most appropriate of analogies at a time when football was desperately trying to restore its yob-tarnished image - in honour of their home nations' imminent Group C clash, in an issue of TV Times that mysteriously 'disappeared' into a million teenage boys' bedrooms the second that that week's Friday Night viewing was over.


Big smash blockbuster miniseries came and went in the eighties, but every Sunday evening on ITV you could find Harry Secombe strolling religiously from region to region and singing about how God made the clouds while standing in the grassy bit in the middle of a dual carriageway. Yes, bizarrely compelling surrealist masterpiece Highway was putting together an album, and they needed your inexplicably typewritten help! Just write to Harry telling him which hymns you would like to see and indeed hear on there, and when he's finished sending his Christmas Cards he'll draw up a tracklisting. Sadly, how many wags voted for He Made This Lovely Anorak is not on record.


Sometimes, on the almost unthinkably rare occasions on which Brucie was not available (or, more likely, they'd simply run out of 'leftovers'), you just had to get someone else in the kitchen to do 'wacky' poses at the top of a recipe you can't help but suspect they'd never actually been within fifteen feet of. Here for example we can see Kenny Everett refuting all accusations of 'wackiness' whilst throwing a zany look at an industrial-strength quantity of spaghetti, followed by Hale And Pace in character as 'Ron' and 'Ron', offering up a Cloret-inviting menu of basic food procedures kitted out with good honest thumping-skewed pun variants on their names, which was presumably food wot you would like otherwise 'Ron' will arrange for you to have some food wot you would not like even more if you get our meaning ur hur hur 'Ron'.


Hang on a minute... Parky? What's he doing here?! Telling us who his ideal dinner party guests would be, that's what. And it will surprise precisely nobody to learn that Billy Connolly is top of the VIP RSVP list, followed only slightly less predictably by the 'anecdote' barrage of Michael Caine, Jonathan Miller, Alistair Cooke, Anthony Burgess, Peter Ustinov, and token 'there are no women allowed on the dock of the bay' exception Shirley Maclaine. Apart from displaying a strange obsession with getting them all to gather round the piano for a sing song, he also pretty much maps out who will talk on what topic and when, and states his intention to treat them all to caviar, Dover sole and fancy ice cream washed down with coffee, cognac, port and a premier cru Chablis, all of which will take place in the Gilbert And Sullivan rooms at the Savoy. "Beat that!", boasts Parky. OK mate, fix me up with Karen Gillan and her off The Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt at a Pizza Express and I fucking well will.


One regular feature of TV Times in the eighties was the confusingly titled 'My Top Ten Top Tens', in which stars of the network were asked to list their favourite examples of several 'quirky' genres, resulting in enough text to pad out to a three page spread being crammed into a single page. In this example we see Kevin Kennedy, TV 'Curly' (Coronation Street), expressing his enthusiasm for decidedly unadventurous music, movies, cuisine and lust icons, though he does sneak the somewhat less than predictable Tutti Frutti and Hank Wangford's A-Z Of Country Music into his list of 'TV Gems', which at least wins him some points. Note also how he crowbars a couple of his Corrie mates in where he can, notably Bill Tarmey above John Wayne in 'Greatest Actors'. No mention of Don't Forget The Old Folks At Christmas by Bill Waddington, though.


What I Watch was a regular feature in TV Times throughout the eighties, in which a procession of second-tier celebrites - or in some cases just anyone who actually answered the phone - namechecked a couple of currently popular television shows, primarily with a hefty ITV slant, and revealed absolutely nothing about anything whatsoever. Here, for example, is Kevin Lloyd, street-hardened DC Tosh Lines from The Bill, pretty much listing all of the then-operational ITV detective shows, followed by a plug for the now entirely forgotten massive-in-their-day sitcoms About Face and Surgical Spirit, and a suspiciously sizeable thumbs-up for ITN. It doesn't take Ted Roach to figure out what his 'snouts' had tipped him. This is followed by Brookside head honcho Phil Redmond taking time out from appearing on the front page of the Liverpool Echo holding his fringe back with a 'defeated' look and asking why the 1957 Venezuelan National Games can't be in Liverpool to bore everyone senseless about 'realism' and 'value' before going on about films and some programmes he created himself. And finally, Ian and 'Wee Jimmy' essentially run through an entire day's schedule on ITV from Chain Letters to Taggart, pausing only to admonish sitcoms for being too middle class and not reflecting real life - presumably they needed more 'naughty' schoolboys in outmoded school uniforms getting up to all manner of Forties DC Thompson-style hi-jinks (and, of course, chalking rude words on next door's garden gate) - and, worryingly, confirm that "we liked the Shoot To Kill programme". You'd never have expected that of The Krankies and their strict adherence to wholesome family fun.


Oh for fuck's sake. Still, this will only be a rare lapse on the part of good clean ITV. After, all, it was the boo hiss BBC that 'all knew', and ITV never employed any of that shower at any point ever.


Moving rapidly on...


Time to dance your cares away with Timmy Mallett and Michaela Strachan, and their tried and tested formula of just copying something in the public eye and putting 'Wac' in front of it so nobody would ever suspect a thing, as they teach us how to do the purported 'dance sensation of the summer', The 'Wacbada'. Sadly the issue in which they explained how to bust a move to Pump Up The Jam by Wacnotronic Feat. Jelly was not available. Nor was the Halloween/Bonfire Night issue of Family Circle with Timmy Mallett on the cover. Slightly less sadly.


Grr grr, remember when Ryan Paris and those Eurocrats in Brussells made us change the name of all of our best chocolate and chew bars and there was that hilarious comedy advert with a 'French' woman refusing to buy a Marathon, except it was actually a change enacted to allow more seamless integration with American branding, advertising and manufacture so don't go losing your temper and ramming some chlorinated chicken down Liam Fox's throat or anything etc etc? Well, it wasn't the only thing changing around then, and in 1991 - signposted with a bizarre full-page advert saying 'What's Bob Cryer Doing On The BBC?' - TV Times and Radio Times were finally allowed to run each other's schedules and, well, a little bit of character went out of each. So it's at this point that we leave our collective bafflement at TV Times' eccentricities for now, but there's still the seventies to get through. And more eighties. And there might even be the odd thing or two in Radio Times worth looking at. In fact, you could almost say there was so much more still in it. Sorry.



If you've enjoyed this article, you can find lots more slightly more serious writing about fifties and sixties television in Not On Your Telly, which is available in paperback here or from the Kindle Store here.

ITV 59 - All Your ITV Favourites (And Under The Same Sky) Part Three: More Idents


Following some technical difficulties - i.e. the picture sort of ground up in the middle of Hardcastle & McCormick and there was some music over a continuity slide for about forty seconds - our celebration of almost but not quite sixty years of ITV inter-programme hoo-hah continues with the second part of a look at some of the network's regional idents (ASFDFGHDGF!). Last time, you may remember, we concentrated on what were once familiar sights for viewers in Scotland, Wales and Northern Ireland; this time, we're going to be heading off in our regional tax-funded Thames TV's 'Magpie' Van to take a 'bias'-free look around some of the more English-centric regions. And if that leads to any Farage-type characters looking in blabbering something about 'national pride', then do please keep reading. You won't end up being insulted or threatened with a hairbrush in the face at all, honest.


We'll be skirting around the West Country, as they technically had more or less the same idents (NO YOU MUSUT NOT ALLOWED) as HTV, only with the odd extra word slapped on to designate the geographic diversion, so instead it's straight on to London and the cut price washing powder-tastic imagery of their original frequency incumbent Associated Rediffusion. There's not much to say about this early loser-out in the notoriously fickle world of ITV regional franchise reshuffles, other than that they made some fascinating-sounding programmes that are now almost entirely wiped and a load of old dross that now almost entirely survives in full, and that the rights to the name were later bought up by media terrorism wheel-inventer Victor Lewis-Smith, who still uses it at the end of all his Discovery Channel documentaries about Isambard Kingdom Brunel's Ten Best Harmoniums or whatever it is. Bibbly bome?


The hapless AR-TV's regional usurper, for weekdays at least, was Thames, regarded by some as the most successful, prolific and consistently high quality ITV broadcaster of all time, which of course made it the prime candidate for being replaced by Carlton in suspiciously political circumstances and for belief-beggaringly spurious 'reasons' in a move that pretty much resulted in the long-term collapsing in on itself of the whole of ITV. The iconic buildings-rising-out-of-the-water sequence and London-Bridge-is-falling-down-gone-copyright-averting jingle were there from the outset, and they of course proved to be eminently parodyable by the station's more anarchic stars; witness the numerous intrusions by Dick Emery, Kenny Everett et al, the never-amusing "Here they are now/Morecambe And Wise" gambit, and the one we've chosen to illustrate the point here, taken from one of Pauline Quirke's innumerable 'kids go crazy!!' unbroadcastably unfunny sketch shows. Plus they never did a Bob Cryer Rising Out Of The Water one for The Bill, so we really don't care, frankly. Possibly more of interest is the 'Thames Goes Midnight' variant originally used to bookend legendarily younger viewer-freaking anthology series of Faceless Nun/Shadow Sitting In Chair Opening Titles infamy Armchair Thriller, and subsequently adapted with genre-denoting splurges of blocky text for movie presentations such as Tough Guys, Murder Mystery & Suspense, the League Of Gentlemen-championed Appointment With Fear and the brilliantly tin-say-doer The Hollywood Movie. Sadly the projected seasons of A Bit Like A Carry On Film But Really Badly Directed, Zombies Cannibal Psycho Lesbians And Things Ripped Off From Alien But Not Closely Enough So Laywers Would Notice and Them Films Like Hollywood Shuffle And Nice Girls Don't Explode That Everyone Got Out On Video In The Late Eighties But Nobody Can Remember Anything About Now never made it past the drawing board.


Meanwhile, from 7pm on Fridays it was Party Time, as London Weekend Television took over the reins for forty eight and a bit hours of fun (AND Blind Date!). The inaugural 'supermarket own brand fizzy orange' design soon gave way to the familiar toothpaste doodle and accompanying accelerated bingbong fanfare,which presented the logical paradox of clearly signposting to the viewer that a couple of ad breaks' worth of energetic zaniness was in the offing, albeit to such an extent that most of said purveyors of energetic zaniness didn't consider it neccessary to indulge in any additional Thames-style tampering. One rare and notable exception to this was the late seventies take on Just William, seen here being 'anarchic'.


Anglia's programming was of course introduced by this notorious revolving flag-waving pewter knight on horseback, interminably rotating to the strains of the 12" Extended Megamix of Handel's Water Music, which may well have lasted for longer than the actual editions of Sale Of The Century and Tales Of The Unexpected that it prefaced, but unfortunately nobody has ever been able to check as viewers have invariably gone off to allieviate the effects of time appearing to stand still by enjoying a seven course meal interspersed with showings of the original rough cut of Dune by the time it finishes. And yes, if you chisel away all of those appended hallucinogenic deviations, this is indeed a joke that has been made dozens of times before; that's the problem with the 'big hitter' ITV idents (NO THEI PROBELM IS A DIFRDENT PROBLEM PRLBLEM), as they're so overexposed and widely comically riffed upon that it's hard to come up with anything new or original to say about them. What we need, really, is something totally obscure, forgotten, and logistically bewildering, and it's not like one of those is about to come sailing in on a great big boat or anything.


The aptly-named Westward manned the ruralist-pluralist transmitters during ITV's earlier days, maintaining a shadowy off-radar presence that rarely made itself known to the wider world outside of those listings at the back of Look-In, and indeed is still fondly spoken of in hushed tones to this day by mouth-frothing planks who blame the BBC and 'mosques' for the accidental editing of three seconds from an ad break still on the DVD of The Complete Incomplete Two In Clover. Their logo was a Those Biscuits Posh Relatives Always Have-evoking sailing ship design in no way influenced by Tony Hart's Blue Peter logo honest, later bolstered by the addition of what appears to be Captain Halley's Galleon from Star Fleet.


Westward's successor, TSW, made an immediate splash with a celebratedly disastrous and oft-clipped opening night spectacular, and then went on to do absolutely nothing of note at any point whatsoever, with the notable exception of a couple of Saturday morning shows which, if we're being honest about it, only served to paradoxically prove the 'absolutely nothing of note' maxim. Whether this was in any way reflected by their humdrum eucalyptus leaf-themed insignia (IT IS STILML AN IDNEFT) is something that decency prevents us from speculating on.


Meanwhile Channel, who were pretty much the dictionary definition of 'get the transmitters working then go home' (not that there would be much competition for that definition, mind), produced so little in the way of original programming that their idents (THFS IS HAS GONE ON LONG ENIUFG ENOUGH) remain a mystery to the mainland people and their mainland ways. With that in mind, we are proud to reveal here that they deployed, in chronological order, what appears to be a leopard playing Blockbusters, and subsequently a bisected Blue Riband rearranged into letter-resembling shapes. A side of Channel Island life that was not really captured in Appointment With Venus.


Southern, in contrast, straddled the entire spectrum of excitement levels, from plucky mod-attired sub-James Bond teen spy antics with Bill, Terri and The One With The Hair in Freewheelers, to the mind-numbing tedium of sluggish clipclopping horse and dreary clipclopping acoustic guitar-heralded Jack Hargreaves-fronted arts and crafts interminablism Out Of Town. Somewhere between came Jon Pertwee banging on about a fishwasher or something. And, for no readily obvious reason, they chose to introduce all of their output with the above quasi-religious imagery in a sequence that appears to have provided the entire inspiration for Look Around You.


Southern's short-stay replacement TVS went for this 'WH Smith for all your printer needs'-style iconography that cleverly evoked both the 'T' and the 'V', but not, erm, the 'S'. For a while they were the number one go-to provider of bewildering weekend afternoon programming that you probably thought you'd just imagined, from The Boy Who Won The Pools, The Witches & Grinnygog, On Safari and Knights Of God to Mr Majeika, A Beetle Called Derek, The Selling Of Noddy and, but of course, Ultra Quiz. Then they lost the franchise and their archive changed hands several times until it wound up with Disney, who promptly trashed all of the paperwork preventing anybody from obtaining clearance to repeat or release any of it, and have reportedly more recently started trashing the tapes. If they've been anywhere near Henry's Leg with a big magnet rest assured I will personally break that bastard mouse's legs and use his face to scrape the rust off the carefully hidden prints of Uncle Walt's less than racially-enlightened animations. How's about that for 'facts'?


Hang on a minute... Parky? What's he doing here?! Don't start adjusting your set just yet - unfortunately, despite extensive research, it's proved impossible to find any motivation to do anything other than break this particular massive long post in two, so Mr. Parkinson has generously agreed to appear as an illustration in its place. Anyway, that's the last we'll be seeing of him.

NO WE HAVE ALUEADFY SAID

ALREAYD

TEREH WILL BE NO MORE ABOUT IDNETAGSF

BILLY CONMIOLU

CONNOLLY

STOP



If you've enjoyed this article, you can find lots more about stuff you just don't see on television any more in Not On Your Telly, which is available in paperback here or from the Kindle Store here.