Weird watching it again (a) how familiar it seems (b) how familiar are so many of the faces.
It's still scary stuff - the yobboes on the roof of the school still very disturbing. But when Michael (keep wanting to say Myers) Murray starts falling apart, punched by schoolteacher Jim Nelson, assaulted by his own brother (Philip Whitchurch), trapped by Barbara (Lindsay Duncan) - that's when we really start to enjoy it. (And R. Lindsay's little dance in the hotel corridor shows how gifted he is in that respect also.)
Murray: Here's your chance to forget the past and come back and play the game on our side.
He winks. Jim Nelson punches him in the face.
Flashback. Young Michael being beaten by the headmaster.
Michael slides down the blackboard.
Murray's thug approaches Nelson. He holds up the bunsen burner to him.
Nelson: Come any closer and you'll need the fire brigade to put you out.
Murray struggles up.
Murray: You.. you...
Nelson: Me... me...
Murray: You...
Nelson: Your needle's stuck, Murray. It's a condition known as Fitzgerald's revenge (holding up Ella LP)
Murray: You... you're dead.
Nelson: Sh. Tomorrow.
Murray: This is one sudden death that ends... One fucking sudden...One death..
Nelson: This is one fucking game that ends in sudden death?
Murray: That's it, yeah. You are dead!
Exits.
Nelson: I thought that was it.
It's not like anything now - both deeply personal and political. The straight line it draws from corrupt politics to violent thugs and public disorder is not one that many writers would dare. It also twists, so that the supposedly left wing extremists are actually posh right wingers trying to discredit the Labour party. It's also quite a tough watch in places, particularly as you don't really like any of the characters apart from the Nelson family, though it has to be said that the characters are interesting, well rounded, messy, unpredictable. For example, there's a great scene in episode 5 when Murray argues back against the blacks who are threatening violence by reminding them how much he's done for them and gaining their respect.
"I use things that have happened to me, things graphic and horrific in my mind, but I try to dress them up in a manner that is not biographical and have interest to other people... In all honesty the longer I lived with the two main protagonists the more I cared for Michael Murray and the more I questioned Jim Nelson's goodness." Bleasdale in 'Talk of Drama' Sean Day-Lewis, 1998. It's true that despite his corruption, you can't help feeling increasingly sorry for Murray as it goes on.
Episode 4 - where Michael starts ticking badly and Hitler saluting (hilarious) - reminded me of a friendship that sprung up at Westpac between me and Steve someone of Consumer Lending and he would Hitler salute me from one end of corridor and I'd salute back. Such is the power of television.
Six has some mad stuff, with Massey falling around in the rain, and Schofield and Georgeson (do they have a thing?) bursting out into song. You feel for Murray's brother - all he wants to do is stay with the fishing boat. It was at that point that I realised I had only recorded six of the seven episodes. Luckily it was on All4.
A striking piece of acting from both Michael Palin and Robert Lindsay - can't believe Palin was originally cast in the Murray role - bet it still would have worked, just unimaginable. Everyone else also note perfect: Dearbhla Malloy, Alan Igbon (Murray's sidekick), Andrew Schofield (the evil little shit who becomes a posh southerner!), Julie Walters (who's fabulous as Murray's mother older and younger.) With Tom Georgeson, Paul Daneman (Howe-like politician), Peter Hugo-Daly (journalist), Michael Angelis (Jim's poet friend), Anna Friel, David Ross (headmaster), Daniel Massey, Jean Anderson (psychiatrist).
Fine music too by Richard Harvey and Elvis Costello, filmed by Peter Jessop, with Bleasdale acting as producer and - at the request of Price - on the set every day.
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