Home and Away “Welcome to Summer Bay”: Rewatching the early years.

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 281-285 (...continued)

What gives you the right to decide what’s best for everyone else? …You did it to Alan. An’ then you did it to me when you wouldn’t let me go to his funeral. I just wanted to say goodbye, Dad. But you wouldn’t see that, would you? …Why are you always trying to wrap me up in cotton wool? It doesn’t achieve a thing. Not a thing.

I try to do it because I believe you’ve got talent. Quite a substantial talent. I feel the same way with you as I did with Bobby when I wanted to get her through the HSC. I hate waste.

The relationship between Rebecca and her father continues to be one that challenges them both. As well as the people around them. No time has been wasted in getting things as complex as possible. Rebecca’s friendship with Bobby and her relationship with Steven have helped muddy the waters between father and daughter.

Donald, naturally, has gone into full-on controlling parent mode. Forbidding her to see Steven and feeling betrayed when she sneaks off to see him anyway. Finally she runs away causing him further stress.

With Rebecca missing, Donald has a rare visit to Alf and Ailsa’s to get some matriarchal wisdom:

Try and see it from her point of view, Donald. Why did she lie?

Because she thought I was being unfair not to allow her to spend more time with young Steven.

And was that unfair? Seeing as she was putting in time on the music practice?

Yes. Yes, I suppose it was in a way. I just don’t want her to fritter her life away.

Well, she’s gotta have time to do a bit of livin’ too, Don.

From what you’ve told us she’s a talented kid. No doubt about that. But did you ever think that she might need something to express through her music? …Her own life. Her own feelings. Sentiments. Otherwise all she’ll be doing will be making pretty sounds. Not real music.

Something I really appreciate about this scene is how open Donald is. How quickly he admits to being wrong. It seems almost out of character, but on reflection makes complete sense. He’d come to Ailsa and Alf for them to reinforce what he already knew. If he hadn’t realised he was wrong already he probably wouldn’t be there in the first place. When she inevitably returns he permits her to see Steven with the proviso that she doesn’t neglect her study.

The ghost of Alan Fisher is no doubt a factor in Donald’s change of heart. It certainly continues to loom over the series. I couldn’t help noticing, for instance, that some of the imagery leading up the Rebecca’s disappearance harked back to Donald and Barbara arriving home, full of regret in the aftermath of Alan’s death and Donald more unreachable than ever. Was this on his mind too, perhaps?

As a character, the most powerful aspect of Rebecca is her connection to Alan. Her very presence is a catalyst for events that could begin to lay his ghost to rest.

Rebecca’s absence from Alan’s funeral bothered me at the time because it felt lazy and untruthful that she wouldn’t attend. It happens in soap all the time, where most funerals have conspicuous absences. Most of them are down to logistics or practicalities. Characters who have departed don’t return to say goodbye to their sibling or parents. Characters who exist on paper only are low down on the list at these events because the audience can’t miss what it never had. Rebecca falls into the latter category. At the time of Alan’s funeral she was simply a faceless name.

Now, over a hundred episodes - and eight months of screen time - later, her absence from her brother’s funeral is finally being addressed and utilised to move the story forward. She’s spoken to Donald of her resentment about being excluded. And finally having the luxury of time with Steven, Rebecca finds it doesn’t put the grief cycle on hold:

I told you Alan and I used to come here all the time when we were kids… Well, Alan used to grab that rope over there, just like you did, and yell “Hey Rebecca. Look at me.” For a moment there, you looked just like him. And for a minute I thought, you know, that he wasn’t dead.

When Mum and Dad died it took me ages to accept they weren’t coming back. I used to go places with strong memories and expect to turn round and see them.

It’s more than that. Alan and I always had fights, you know? …I didn’t know how bad the aneurism was. Mum didn’t tell me. I knew he had it, but I didn’t think he could just die anytime. He came to visit me at school… teasing me about being a goody-goody and always practicing and that. Well, I got really angry and I turned around to him and said “Drop dead, Alan. You make me sick”. And that was the last time I ever saw him. I never got the chance to say I was sorry. Never even had a chance to say goodbye.

Steven talks to Bobby about his concerns. How Rebecca is angry at her father, and jealous that Bobby got to spend time with Alan in his final days. This prompts Bobby into action, and yet again we get the same imagery of Donald in the driving seat of his Nissan Bluebird:

We’ve got some unfinished business.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 281-285 (...continued)


Naturally, the ritual of Rebecca saying goodbye to Alan takes place on the beach. The staging of it has a pleasingly cinematic edge to it by beginning with the characters simply walking while we hear their voiceovers.

I felt so left out. As if everyone else said goodbye to Alan, but not me.

I came down here to say goodbye to him.

Yes I came down here too.

It’s apparent these voiceovers are different to those we are used to. This isn’t dialogue replacement, nor are we hearing the characters’ thoughts. Instead we are watching them walking up to the conversation that’s already taking place. Rather like the layered dialogue over Morag’s vicious housewarming speech, the screen time is being used efficiently and creatively to give us two scenes in one. To speed things up without feeling hurried.

Appropriately, the intimate “service” attended by Rebecca, Donald and Bobby has a further reading from Alan’s book, read by Donald

I grew up by the sea, so it’s always been part of my memory. My sister, Rebecca, and I used to run down the sandhills at first light in the morning. The water was smooth and calm. Deep grey. Mysterious. By nightfall when we left, the surf would be pounding. Proving its power crashing on the shore in a froth of white foam. Rebecca used to say the ocean lived a whole lifetime every day. So will I, when I’m part of it.

All these snippets of the book we’ve heard or seen over the past months have been most tantalising. This is one book I wish had been published as a tie-in to the series.

Rebecca also gives an impromptu poetry reading of Shakespeare’s Sonnet 60, and when she freezes and forgets her line, Bobby steps in to help by finishing off the poem she remembered studying for their HSC. The final line which references “his cruel hand” immediately made me think of how Bobby, Alan and Rebecca have all viewed Donald at times. The brutal authority figure. I’m not sure if this is intentional (it actually refers to time itself, and the inevitability of death), but I found it quite powerful to think of the shared love/hate relationship that the three of them have had with their natural father and the healing that continues to happen.

In a nice touch, the camera moves past Rebecca quoting Shakespeare and towards a tiny figure above the sand dunes to find an observer watching with passive bitterness:

On returning home to Nigel, Morag's scathing synopsis of the scene made me laugh out loud not only for being devoid of reverence or sentiment but also for being an accurate account the scene from her viewpoint:

They stood contemplating the ocean like characters out of some dreary Swedish movie. And then they went into a touching, supportive little huddle, just as if they were in some group therapy session. God, it was embarrassing.

Just as Celia’s treatment of her tenants piqued Nigel’s curiosity, so does Morag’s antipathy towards Bobby. There’s even a lighthearted moment where he tells the thunderous Morag that she and Celia are similar in having the Stewart stubbornness (“You should see her face”, laughed Roo. “I can hear it”, quipped Nigel).

As with the Celia situation, Nigel does some low-key sleuthing about Morag by speaking to two of her siblings (I love how he is on such good terms with all three of them. Something only he and Roo have in common). Alf tells Nigel about Morag’s nickname of Bugsy and gives us a picture of a very different young woman:

She was a real tomboy. No tree she couldn’t climb. Kicked a mean football. She was a lot like Bobby when she was a kid. All heart. Spitting vinegar. Course, all that changed when she went to uni. All those airs and graces. We were never really close after that.

And these diaries. Did they mention whether Richard suspected anything?

Far as I know he didn’t know a thing.

Celia gives us more Bellingham background when asked what happened with her and Richard:

I blame Morag. Richard always wanted children. I know he did because he told me… Oh, they were very happy in the beginning. In fact they were very much in love. But after about a year or so things started to sour.

Thinking he’s put the pieces together, Nigel chooses to confront Morag. An electrical storm rages outside, and unknown to him she is already tearfully reflective from watching the ceremony on the beach earlier:

He finds her sitting in the dark and offers are some entertainment:

You fancy a hypothethetical? Well, there was this queen and she lived in a beautiful castle with her king. They ruled their country well, but she had failed to produce an heir. Then one day, when on a tour of the provinces of a far-flung land, she met a scholar. He told her romantic stories and she, fascinated by her intelligence, allowed him into her bed. That night she conceived a child. She didn’t tell the king, for it was not a true heir. Instead, she gave the child away. A tragic decision as it turned out, for she later discovered that she was not capable of bearing another child. Not capable of giving the king the heir that he wanted.

Is that what happened, Morag. Is that why you hate Bobby? Is that why you hate yourself? For not allowing Richard to have the happiness of allowing Richard to believe the child was his own and being able to bring her up?

No! No… it wasn’t anything like that. I told Richard I was pregnant. But he knew the baby couldn’t be his because he was infertile and he’d never admitted it to me. He wanted me to get rid of it. To kill it. I couldn’t. So I pretended to have an operation. And of course I didn’t. I just went away. Martha was the only one who knew. And I never told her about Richard… I just pretended he didn’t know. And that was the lie.

Richard never forgave me. He felt he wasn’t a man. He was my husband in name only… He never touched me again. Ever. And I loved him so much.

Now do you understand why that girl ruined my life?

Yes. Now I understand.

It's a cracking scene. Rich, dark and powerful. And it further fleshes Morag out as a tragic, misunderstood creature. Cornelia Frances gives a terrific performance. It's big and theatrical, but stays the right side of camp. Interesting that the word "abortion" still seems to be boycotted. A curious choice considering Morag explicitly saying moments earlier that Richard had wanted her to "kill" the baby.

With Morag’s complete breakdown, shouting and crying and confessing (shades of Patricia Hamilton and Matt Kennedy), she is at her most vulnerable. By morning she has recovered enough to make Nigel pay for his treachery. In a darkly twisted act, she stands silently watching as her blind companion comes downstairs to find almost every item the furniture strewn across the room. He bumps into things, trips and falls. And while he calls out, knowing she is there, she continues to observe with what looks like cold detachment. It’s arguably her lowest act yet. And I loved it.

...continued​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 281-285 (...continued)


When she’s not abusing blind assistants, Morag is still presenting herself as benefactor. And that role brings her into the orbit of two people she despises when she wanders into the diner (a spendidly incongruous vision, by the way). Both give her short shrift:

If you think you’re going to get a rise out of me forget it. Go easy on Ailsa, but, or I won’t be so tolerant.

I’m interested to rent your back rooms… This being Summer Bay I’m sure you already know that I want to establish a youth centre.

That’s very philanthropic of you. I don’t suppose it’d have anything to do with trying to win back a bit of favour after recent scandals, would it?

That is a very small town attitude, Ailsa… To be suspicious of the purest of motives… I think it’s something this town has an urgent need of. Don’t you agree?

Yes, I do, actually… It’s certainly something Bobby could have done with when she was a kid, instead of growing up on the streets… I’ll think about it. And let you know.

Meanwhile, Carly has grave doubts about everyone’s motives when she learns that Andrew is not only going to be working for Morag and with Roo, but he’s also going to be living under the same roof as them. Carly takes the bull by the horns and starts asking questions

What do you really feel about Andrew?

I wouldn’t dream of making a move on him if that’s what’s worrying you. As far as I’m concerned he’s your boyfriend and that’s that.

Next, she meets Nigel while she’s at the bus stop:

Um, I shouldn’t really be asking you this, but… why is Mrs Bellingham doing this. I mean, she doesn’t seem the kind of person who’d be bothered with kids. Why is she so keen for this youth centre thing? …Why Andrew? …She’s not planning anything, is she? I mean, she’s been pretty horrible to me. And now that Andrew’s gonna be living with her and working with her…

To begin with, Nigel sings Morag’s praises for having a generous side to her nature (this is before the furniture incident). But as Carly presses on with more questions, Nigel just plain ignores them and unsubtly changes the subject. So Carly is none the wiser and, if anything, probably more concerned than ever.


Pippa, likewise, has concerns about Tom’s job, though she is more concerned with his wellbeing than her own security. He’s under stress and not spending as much time as with the family as he used to. She makes babysitting arrangements (Sally is staying with the Stewarts, leading to one scene having an unusual screen combination of Alf, Nigel and Sally that showed how well any components of this series fit together). Then Pippa borrowed the car to make her own arrangements. While Tom sits in the diner, Ailsa leaves him to tend to a glamorous customer who makes enquiries about him:

Would you mind telling me who that handsome man is sitting over there.

Yes. That’s Tom Fletcher. He works for Macklin Developments.

Mmm. Nice. Very nice.

Uh, have we met somewhere before? I remember now. It was at a dance, wasn’t it? Something about your shoes.

They hurt. I could hardly stand.

Yeah. I had to carry you to the car.

Why don’t you do that now?

You know, five minutes ago I would have said that I was too old for all that.

You’re not too old for anything. I know of a very nice little guest house halfway between here and the city. It’s called The Poplars.

Oh, come on Pip. That place costs and arm and a leg.

But I have money of my own. And besides, my husband has just landed a very well-paid job.

I’ll respect you in the morning.

It’s a nice, warm scene. It’s good to see a married couple enjoying each other in this way. As with Celia in recent episodes, the references to the characters’ pre-series histories only makes it better.

Sadly, Pippa’s carefully-laid plans don’t work out as the car breaks down during that electrical storm.

The couple’s return home also ruined Carly and Andrew’s plans. She’d just “persuaded” creepy Andrew to have his way with her upstairs.


In other news, the opening titles have been completely revamped for the first time since the Pilot episode. I still think of this version as being “new”. It makes me a little sad to see the original titles go as they were so strongly associated with the rawness of those classic formative episodes, as well as departed characters like Floss and Nev. I associate these newer ones with a drop in quality. Time will tell if that’s accurate.

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 286-293

Nigel told me all about last night… You did face things. You did open up a bit. And it hurt. I suppose you felt humilitated… You got up this morning determined to let him know who was boss out here… You’ve done it to me all my life… You are an awful, horrible woman… You’ve lost your marriage. You’ve lost your career. And now you’ve lost the only genuine friend you’ve ever had. And the only person you can blame is yourself.

The War Of The Stewarts continues when Andrew stumbles into the road in panic and is almost hit by Celia on her bike. Celia is determined that Nigel should move in with her, no matter how much tongues wag, and there’s a fun greyness to her motives. She says it’s the Christian thing to do, but it’s plain that she is feeling more and more connection with him as time goes on.

It seems, though, she’s underestimated the pull between Nigel and Morag as Nigel feels compelled to return to the scene of the crime with an ultimatum:

Four years ago I thought I had the right to be angry whenever I pleased… You told me what a selfish, boring pain in the neck I was becoming…You helped me through, Morag. Last night, I was trying… to help you through… This morning’s episode went way, way too far. So, either I hear a sincere apology, in which case we will continue living together, being the pair of motley fools we are… Or I will move out, tonight.

Morag’s face registering first insouciance then panic as Nigel speaks tells a story. It’s clear that she, too, is attached to him. And his threat works, because Morag does meet his terms:

You made me face a lot of truths that I thought I’d forgotten, and that made me angry. Very angry… I hate apologising. It always seems vaguely sycophantic… Nigel, I’m very sorry. What I did was, um, vicious and cruel. I really am very sorry. And I just hope we can be friends.

Again, there is a satisfying degree of opaqueness. The apology seems heartfelt, and it probably is. But there’s no way of knowing for certain if it was motivated by genuine remorse; by the fear of losing a companion; or to prevent Celia from gaining Nigel’s companionship.

Morag’s motives are perhaps a little clearer to us when it comes to Andrew. And he’s made a discovery himself thanks to Roo handing him a letter Morag had asked her to post:

One of those letters Auntie Morag sent me was for you at some city address… She probably just wasn’t thinking and put down your old address.

Putting two and two together, it’s Andrew’s turn to challenge Morag:

You’ve got quite a reputation around here… The word conniving came up a few times… The general consensus seems to be that you’re a manipulative, self-centred ogre… Didn’t you represent my father in your old QC days?

No. I would’ve remembered. Especially if he has as much charm as you do.

So you’ve never met him?

Absolutely not.

Then how do you explain this letter? …He’s backing the youth centre, isn’t he?

When denial ceases to be useful to her, Morag changes tack:

What does it matter where the money comes from?…Just because of a one-sided feud you’re having with your father are you gonna put a hold on your social conscience?

If you don’t tell my father to butt out, I walk… They’re my terms and they’re not negotiable.

Creepy Andrew, meanwhile, uses the situation to bond with Carly:

My father wouldn’t put money into a project like this unless he was getting something out of it. He wants me on side. He can’t stand me not wanting to know him.

So he waits until the centre gets going an’ then says he’ll shut it down if you don’t do what he says? That’s what my father would do.

We’ve got a lot in common, you and me. Black moods. Nasty fathers.

Carly, in fact, is one area in which everyone is clear on Morag’s feelings. Rather than hide her disdain, she wraps it up in little put-downs and delivers them unerringly

Have you got over all your grotty dancing or whatever you call it? I’m sure Carly must’ve enjoyed herself. She’s such a creative girl… She must have been delighted to catch up with all her little school friends.

Carly is not an adolescent, Mrs Bellingham.

No of course not… But actually, don’t you find there’s a bit of an experience gap between you two? …Technically speaking, Ruth is the same age as Carly. But… given her experience and poise, well, she could be five years older. Don’t you agree?

I’ve invited Stacey and Philip over… Carly, you’re most welcome to join us. That’s if Pippa will let you. Well, I’d hate her to berate me for stopping you studying. You know, every minute counts in your repeating year, I’m sure.

And at the dinner party itself:

Carly, dear. What a sweet little outfit. Did you make it yourself?

Oh, Carly dear. I’m sorry. This must be so boring for you… I didn’t know much about the ins and outs of welfare provision at your age either.

They’re great fun, and Carly finally snapped back and walked out. Andrew, who failed to defend her from any of the attacks, decided she was behaving childishly. Rather than look for someone his own age, he started sniffing round Roo. Did I mention he was creepy?

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 286-293 (...continued)

Well, thanks a lot, sir. You know something? The kids at that school, they mouth off about you being a real downer an’ a wet blanket. I stood up for you. I always gave you the benefit of the doubt. But for some reason I just changed my mind. I reckon your attitude sucks. Sir.

About this morning.

It’s all right. Let’s just forget it, shall we?

If you want to go to this dance with Steven, you can… Well, you do still want to go, don’t you?

Thanks Dad. They’re doing some old-time dancing. Why don’t you come? You could maybe teach me a waltz or something.

Yes, I think I’d like that very much.

The highlight of the teens’ social season in Summer Bay comes in the form of a Dirty Dancing competition organised by Martin of all people. Now, I’ve never seen Dirty Dancing (although, bizarrely, I did watch the entire TV series based on the film), but even to me the approach taken here is transparent. And it’s more than a bit naff. It’s not enough that the characters are planning an activity based on a film. No, the series has to follow the plot of the film. So the Dirty Dancing contest is a secret known only to the chosen ones; the girl on holiday who has fallen for a local is forbidden from joining in by her strict father, who eventually relents. They do the dance routine they’ve been practicing and all’s well that ends well. Kind of.

Back in 1990, as a self-conscious teen I found this element a little cringeworthy to watch. There’s nothing older than yesterday’s news, and even when this was filmed in 1989 Dirty Dancing was a couple of years old. But the sight of Steven and Rebecca doing their routine - complete with lift - with looks of intense seriousness on their faces while everyone stands round and claps happily is enough to bring tears to the eyes. And not in a good way.

It’s an ignominious end to Jane Hall’s time on the series. A quick search tells me that Rebecca was played by four actresses over the space of a decade, which I’d hope would be in the territory of a record. She also evidently became far more physically different with the recasts. Entering Rebecca’s name in a search on Back To The Bay brings up a picture of a blonde Instagram Barbie type and the name Rebecca Nash. I’d assumed this was a completely separate character with the same forename, but turns out nope: this is meant to be the same girl. I’ve very much enjoyed Jane’s time as Rebecca and I’m sorry to see it end as, dancing aside, I found her endearing and watchable.


The competition wasn’t without its nice little moments. Like Celia and Nigel doing a little waltz:

Tom Fletcher’s Dad dancing was far lower down the cringe-o-meter than Steven and Rebecca’s act.

Discussing the younger couple also gave us this soapy observation:

If anything comes of it we could end up being related to Donald.

We already are, I suppose. Through Bobby.

Strewth. Hadn’t thought of that.

Then there was Roo getting chatted up by a guy with a Nicholas Pearce hairdo:

Once a flirt, always a flirt.

Morag is even less impressed on learning his employment status:

I introduce you to one of Australia’s wealthiest young men and here you are canoodling in some corner with a… dole bludger… Why can’t you try and forget all this emotional business? I mean, it’s just as easy to marry money.

Why? So I can end up like you? Middle aged and all alone?

After a couple of days, Bobby is seeing the situation through kinder eyes when he and Roo cover the Diner due to staff shortages. She even offers him a job:

I know you’re probably not going to want me when you hear this but it’s time I started out straight for a change. I’ve got a record.

Yeah? Any band I’d know? Look, if you want the job, how about cleaning some tables?

When he and Alf work a shift, things start out well, but quickly take a turn for the worse:

Been seein’ a bit of Ruthie, I believe.

You don’t mind?

None o’ my business. Unless you do something I don’t like. Then I’ll make it my business. I’ll knock yer block off.

Look, if I’m going to see Roo, I should tell you the truth. You’ll find out eventually anyway. You’re not going to like it. I’ve been in prison.

Oh. Well, uh, we all make mistakes. It was a long time ago, right?

Wrong. I got out a few weeks before I came to Summer Bay.

Oh. Uh, what were you in for?

Armed robbery.

I, uh, think you better get out of here right now, sport. An’ don’t go anywhere near my daughter again.

Pre-empting the audience once again, Roo is quick to point out how different Alf’s response was to Ailsa after her revelation:

Dad’s a real hypocrite. He married someone who was in jail for something much worse than anything you’ve ever done. She used to run away, too. When things got rough and people found out. It was Dad who made her stop running.

Ailsa herself is indisposed having had the mandatory seven months pregnant collapse:

Fortunately it just turned out to be through overwork. A sign to take things easy.


Meanwhile, the Dirty Dancing contest has a dramatic conclusion:

Something dreadful has happened. The proceeds of the school dance have gone missing. We’ve been robbed.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 286-293 (...continued)

We matched his prints up with a set on file in the city… He put two skinheads in hospital. They started it, so he was let off with a warning. But I reckon you’re lucky you didn’t end up in hospital too.

Dodge has arrived in Summer Bay. And there’s no mistaking he’s Bad News because he arrived accompanied by a wailing guitar soundtrack.

He has a great reveal. Sally waits opposite the empty bus stop. When the bus arrives she stands in the road and speaks to the driver to ask if he’s seen her missing friend, Lance. She then returns to her original spot. The bus pulls away to reveal Dodge standing there. He saunters menacingly across the road towards her and nods at her bag of sweets:

Gi’s a couple.

When she clutches the sweets to her, he snorts:

Bleedin’ ‘ell.

He empties the packet into his hand then returns the bag to Sally and saunters off to a phone box where he searches for change and thumps it.

It may be be immediately apparent what kind of person Dodge is, but there’s whole lot of mystery. In his first scene, it’s not even clear that he’s Australian. His first lines sound very Grant Mitchell (as in Sharongate, rather than the future H&A character of the same name).

Dodge then enters the store where he orders breakfast, then tries to sneak away while Celia is chatting to Donald:

Excuse me… Five dollars eighty.

It’s in me car.

In your car. Do I look like I came down in the last shower, young man? How much’ve you got? All right, but the next time you come in, bring some money with you.

Something about Celia simply asking Dodge to pay whatever he has on him with the rest going on a mental slate just screams “small town”. It speaks volumes about this community. A community which Dodge is going to shake up and downright abuse.


Dodge’s motif of Trouble With A Capital T informs all his interactions. Lance is particularly vulnerable, having disappeared to the city for a few days with nobody but Sally noticing or caring. On his return, Lance has news which he drops into conversation, but Martin is too concerned about the Dirty Dancing contest being alcohol-free:

I s’pose it’d be a good idea if it’s clean, eh? Don’t want Marilyn to think I hang out with a bunch of yobbos. Hey, ya wanna know who Marilyn is? She’s me new girlfriend. Don’t bother congratulatin’ me or somethin’, eh?

Not for the first time recently, the first mention of “still current in 2020” character Marilyn comes as part of overlapping dialogue in episode 288 that can easily be missed. While Lance is speaking about one thing, Martin is speaking about another. And the ear struggles to make sense of either without them getting mixed up. Which means needing to listen really carefully or miss it. Kind of like Madonna’s spoken dialogue in the Middle 8 of Rain.

Lance first meets Dodge trying to steal his car. It quickly becomes apparent to Dodge that Lance has money, and so he puts on a charm offensive/sob story combo while filling in his backstory:

Why do they call you Dodge?

Because I been dodgin’ cops all me life, I s’pose. My real name’s Brian, so you can hardly blame me for usin’ a nickname, can ya… I’m sixteen. I’ve never had a home. Not a real home. Me Dad used to beat me up. An’ me Mum died when I was just a kid. I really loved Mum. She was the only person who ever cared about me. So when I was twelve I ran away.

Where’ve you been livin’?

On the streets. I stayed in a refuge now an’ again. Don’t like refuges, but.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 286-293 (...continued)


Part of the fun with Dodge is trying to work out what’s truth and what’s not. He’s Dodge to most and apparently secretly Brian, but his story changes each time he’s asked:

What’s your name?

Sam Wilkins. I’m livin’ with me Auntie. Alma Peterson. She’s me Mum’s sister.

and then:

I want your real name. Now it’s not Sam Wilkins. An’ it certainly isn’t Dodge.

Bruce Hall.

After cutting out of the diner without paying, he’s scolded by Matt who spies him on the beach. Then he steals Bobby’s money while she’s in the surf with Rebecca and uses that money to go back and pay his bill (in a nice irony, he hands over the money to Bobby).

Then he has eyes for Phil’s medicine bag and breaks into his car to steal drugs:

With half the town after him, Dodge hides his stash at the Store, before he escapes after assaulting both Celia and Phil.

Returning to the store, he is intercepted by Celia who has found his stash, and is promptly arrested. He says nothing, but we just know that Celia has made herself an enemy.

There’s been some trouble at the flat behind the store. The friction between Bobby and Stacey led to a Knotsian “cut back and forth” conversation with Bobby telling Frank to evict their sub-tenants while Stacey is simultaneously telling Phil they have to leave. Frank and Phil reached an understanding, with Phil and Stacey going off on holiday.

Phil returned to town briefly, kept there by a Macguffin when Matt’s car hit a nameless extra on a bike (she’s fine, in case anyone cares). Phil heads off again, after dropping in to see Steven who supplies him with coffee:

Thanks for all that. I promise I won’t fall asleep at the wheel. Take good care of yourself, OK, Steve. And I’ll see you soon.

At the flat that same evening were further arguments between Frank and Bobby about never seeing each other due to their work commitments, with Bobby storming off to work leaving Frank alone in the flat where the aerial shot trend continues:

Later the same night, there’s a sinister visitor at the Store with revenge on their mind:

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 294-295

Everyone’s talking about it. It’s not every day there’s a fire in Summer Bay.

No, thank God. The last one was the church hall.

In-series continuity may have become more complex, but there’s a rich vein of history that runs through current episodes, adding meaning to events on-screen.

In the Pilot episode a caravan being set alight was used to reinforce the difference between the big city ways the Fletchers were (then) used to and the small town they had arrived in. Back then, the fire squad arrived too late, after the Fletchers and McPhees had put out the fire themselves. The squad’s one contribution to the evening was destroying the Fletchers’ newly erected pergola. Most memorably, one of the officers was none other than Alf, effectively showing that in a fairly remote community like this it’s all hands on deck, and the many jobs are handled by the few that step up to volunteer.

In 1989 terms, there are a few tweaks to the system, but many of the same points are hit. Tom and Pippa again are first on the scene, this time driving by and seeing the store in flames.

Alf is evidently not on duty this evening, but is still in attendance. Bobby - the prime suspect for being the arsonist in the Pilot - is at his side, having been visiting Ailsa when he got the call.

Stepping into Alf’s former role of “familiar face in uniform” is the Pilot’s villain: Donald Fisher.

After the caravan fire, we next saw Donald coming to Summer Bay House to encourage the Fletchers to tell “a few white lies” to ensure Bobby was punished for the fire, guilty or otherwise. The store fire is quite another matter. So concerned is he when Bobby fears that Frank may still be inside, he bravely dashes back into the burning building himself. He emerges having made a grim discovery:

There’s a body in there. But it’s beyond recognition.

What do we do, Pip. I mean, how do we tell the kid. He’s freaked out ‘cause his Mum and Dad died in a fire. An’ now we gotta tell him that… his foster brother…

In the Pilot, Pippa told Tarquin Pearce with great pride that “Steven can actually sleep a full night without waking up screaming” from the trauma of watching his parents die in a house fire. His past is utilised perfectly in these episodes. Adam Willits shows us a great deal of fragility in Steven. Simply hearing the sirens is enough to cause him anxiety, and when Tom brings home Bobby, who is in shock, Steven looks positively haunted.

By the time Tom and Pippa approach Steven to tell him the body was probably Frank, he’s in full on flight or fight mode. It’s an uncomfortable scene to watch. Tom and Pippa approach him together, as though they’re a single entity, jabbing at him with their words, their sentences almost overlapping and overloading him with bad news. It’s probably not the suggested parental approach. Most people in that situation would feel overwhelmed, never mind someone with Steven’s experiences.

Steven backs away from them, ending up almost in the larder like a cornered animal, and comes out fighting, where we get more aerial shots. The contrast between violence and stillness is striking. Steven’s outburst is made all the more powerful by seeing Bobby in the foreground, sitting placidly and barely registering what’s going on around her.

Steven’s response to Frank’s death further reinforces the forward moves made since the Pilot. Back then he was Einstein, the object of Frank’s ridicule. There’s been a lot of water under the bridge since then, and so Steven reflecting tearfully on Frank’s death feels perfectly natural:

It’s me, isn’t it? I’m a jinx. Everyone I’m related to dies in a fire… Who’s gonna be next? I loved him. Just like I loved Mum and Dad. Now they’re gone.

Celia, too, is most upset. She blames herself, feeling that if she hadn’t changed her mind about evicting Frank and Bobby from the flat he would still be alive. Not able to bear staying alone, she spends the night at Alf and Ailsa’s where she has a quiet word when left alone in a beautiful scene:

Dear Lord. Please bless the soul of dear young Frank, who you took from us tonight. Although we can’t understand why it had to happen, please give us the strength and the faith to accept his death. Look after him, and tell him that we loved him and we’ll always remember him. Tell him I’m sorry that I didn’t make him leave. And I hope he’ll forgive me. Because I can’t forgive myself. Please bless us all still here. Especially Bobby. And make her grief bearable. Amen.

The imagery is perfect. Note how the arms and headrest of Alf's furniture very subtly create the effect that Celia is bearing wings and a halo as she approaches her deity. Is it done with reverence or a mocking tongue-in-cheek by the director? Is it even delibrate? Or accidental? Who's to say. But the scene is a knockout, which is all that matters.

Celia has been given a number of these slow zoom scenes, where the camera begins at a distance and stays on her for a long time while moving into a tight close-up. On each occasion, Fiona Spence has filled the scene with intimacy, emotion and a sense of connection.

Efforts are being made here to make Frank's death mean something. It has resonated through the whole bay and seeing the characters so affected in turn affects us as witnesses to the event. Even watching it thirty years later, through a prism tainted by knowing the big picture, I find this a powerful and moving series of scenes thanks to the performances and writing.

Bobby, meanwhile, finally finds her voice, and what she says disturbs Tom and Pippa:

I’m all right. I’m waiting for Frank.

And then Bob Barnett knocks on the door with a surprise

Bobby’s wish is fulfilled. Celia’s prayer is answered in the most unexpected way.

And Steven’s relief is visible.

Frank. You’re alive!

Well, someone had to say it.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 294-295 (...continued)

Well, I knew I was alive all along, right? It isn’t any surprise to me.

The morning after Frank’s “resurrection” has one of those great kinetic scenes in Summer Bay House. It’s full of energy. Tom looks for a quote he’s lost; Pippa delivers cereal to the table and scolds Steven when he asks for more toast “you’ve got legs, it’s over here”. Sally frets because Christopher is crying (he’s offscreen, so the sounds are deliberately there for “ambience”); Bobby and Frank wear Tom and Pippa’s clothes. Everyone talks over one another.

There’s chaos. But it’s a happy chaos. The resumption of a degree of normality in a large family. It feels implicitly upbeat and hopeful. People are used to having Frank around again, and he’s explained why he wasn’t in the flat:

Well, I was starving. There was no food in the house, so I decided to go out and get a hamburger… An’ then I ran into Roo and Simon. They were going to the Yabbie Creek RSL… Well, I thought I’d teach my wife a lesson. Then… we went to a nightclub for a while. An’ then I went home, saw what’d happened.

Tom and Frank drive to work on a sunny day and chat. And then comes the introduction of a slightly ominous note:

Hey, slow down. Isn’t that Phil’s car?

The sight of Phil’s car, quietly parked, raised on a jack with its front wheel missing calls to mind the discovery of an empty pickup in Halloween. Or Ben Gardner’s empty boat in Jaws. There’s a story there. And it feels dark, despite the sunny visual.

Heading back home, Tom phones Stacey who tells him Phil had rung her the previous night to say both the tyre and the spare tyre were flat and he was going to stay over.

He’d phoned from the store.

It’s incredible, isn’t it? His uncle dies the same way as his Mum and Dad.

The second of the two episodes hits a number of the same notes as the first, and particularly in Steven’s case. Once again, Tom and Pippa fret over telling Steven the news. Once again, he starts to work out what’s happened when he sees the deceased’s visibly upset partner. Once again, Tom starts in on Steven with the “we’ve got some bad news, mate” bit. And once again Steven reacts violently. This time he runs off and, when Martin tries to stop him, Steven breaks Martin’s arm.

Incidentally, there’s a very impressive example of actors getting involved in stunts here when Steven runs in front of the speeding car that Lance is driving. The car does a handbrake 180° turn dangerously close to Adam Willits. Both Peter Vroom and Craig Thomson leap out of the car immediately and without any cuts. It’s only on pausing that I can see that the appropriately named Vroom (who was supposed to be driving) actually emerged from the back of the car, behind the driving seat. But hats off to all three for being anywhere near that car.

Adam Willits has a fairly limited range, but he’s done nice work here. I suspect the writers know how to write for his strengths and around his weaknesses at this point. Sandie Lillingston, too, has given a nice performance in Stacey’s grief and shock. Including a daring close up of her eyes as she spoke:

It’s just not possible… I spoke to him last night. He said he loved me. We’re getting married in six weeks.

In the aftermath of the fire, residents have got down to practicalities. Such as insurance:

What’s this here? Sum insured?

Well that’s the amount I’m insured for. The building. The fittings. The stock.

Five ‘undred thousand!? You’re kiddin’ aren’t you? It’s not worth that.

Of course it was. With allowances for inflation and appreciation of property values.

Celia, if the payout on this is five ‘undred thousand dollars that puts you at the top of the suspect list.

Or helping out those affected:

We’re gettin’ a few bucks together to help Frank an’ Bobby out.

Do you think they want to be pitied by the whole town? Treated like charity cases? Their family will rally round and help them through. And I’ll thank you two to mind your own business.

Particularly appreciated have been little touches that have reinforced how the loss of a shop affects a small community like this. Such as business study Martin saying the shop was the CBD (Central Business District) of Summer Bay.

My favourite implicit reference was a throwaway comment from Pippa when Steven was preparing bread:

You’ll have to toast it. It’s not fresh.

(With the benefit of hindsight, it’s perhaps also somewhat inappropriate. But this was in the glow of Frank’s resurrection, so it’s forgiveable).


Celia has decided to go and stay with Barbara for a few days. In the process she name-checked an unseen character who is directly related to a departed character:

Could you ring Tim Patterson and cancel my milk order…

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 296-312


There’s been a whole lot of change in Summer Bay over the course of these seventeen episodes. Several departures - including two funerals; some new arrivals; an abundance of backstory; a proposal; a new family member; house moves galore; bonding and blackmail.

Once upon a time, Summer Bay was a fairly harmonious place to live, barring a troublemaker or two. It doesn’t feel that way at the moment. Righteous anger is to be found almost everywhere you look. Embodying this more than most have been three of the male characters.

Take Frank, whose pride makes him balk at the idea of goodwill, whether it’s Lance and Martin’s whip round or Donald’s invitation to dine with him:

Summer Bay’s good deed for the week is to do something for Frank and Bobby… Well we don’t want anything… We don’t have to live on charity, OK? So stick your money, and stick your dinner.

Having been on the receiving end of such an RSVP, Donald was more than a little surprised when Bobby showed up for dinner anyway:

After Frank declined the invitation I decided to settle for whatever was in the freezer…

So what do I get?

There’s lasagne. Or there’s, um, lasagne.

The simple father/daughter dinner oozed with warmth. I liked the vision of their comfortably spending time together, and the simplicity of their meal - eating from plates on their laps in the lounge, without so much as a tray or a side salad - somehow reflected the no-frills simplicity that their relationship is moving towards.

I’m sorry, but when you’re a bachelor you become somewhat of an expert in no-hassle meals.

You used to have a go at us for saying that. Hassle. “American slang. Polluting the English language”.

Well, what is it they say? If you can’t beat them, join them.

Bobby and petulant Frank moved temporarily into Floss and Neville’s caravan (a feat achieved, so far as I noticed, without a single mention of either Floss or Nev), until Bobby could persuade him to move in with Donald - something she achieved by asking Alf and Ailsa to donate enough furniture and white goods to make the caravan even more claustrophobic.

Believe it or not, the pair aren’t the only ones to have made the transition from reasonably comfortable tenant to temporary lodgings in a caravan to staying with Donald. Andrew was shaken up when his dying father showed up and persuaded Carly to trick Andrew into seeing him. When Andrew gets all righteously angry, Andrew Sr. tells Carly that her boyfriend could still be a wealthy man:

The only condition I make is that he attend my funeral. I’d like you to persuade him.

When his father sends yet another cheque to support the youth centre, Andrew has had enough of Morag’s influence:

You can tell the “donor who wishes to remain anonymous” that I will not accept one cent from a man who has killed dozens of innocent people… Asbestosis, Morag. Young men who didn’t live to see their kids grow up because they had the misfortune to work for my father… I’m moving out of here as soon as I get the car packed.

Moving into a caravan, Andrew then takes the complete opposite tack to Frank by asking for handout after handout. He asks Ailsa if he can rent her room for next to nothing. Then he asks if she’d allow him to paint it. Then he asks if she could give him some paint. I swear, it wouldn’t surprise me if she ended up painting it for him, while paying him to use her room.

I can’t decide how I feel about Peter Bensley. At times I’ve found him interesting to watch because he does unexpected things with his delivery and I sense he ad libs a fair bit, which brings a naturalism of sorts. But the more screen time he has the more I’ve started to think he’s a bit of a ham. He’s certainly a very mannered actor. And high energy to the point of attention deficit. He’s always doing weird stuff like touching his face, smelling his fingers, having pauses in quirky places, waving his arms about or looking everywhere but at the person who is speaking. Now Andrew has joined Frank in righteous anger, his repertoire has grown to include contorting his face a lot and looking angrily into his screen father’s eyes while raising his voice:

You’ve always used people. I guess I should’ve expected you to try and use Carly… to get at me. You made her feel sorry for you. Made her think you were on your last legs. But you’ve got years to go yet, haven’t you? Leave her alone. Leave me alone… I don’t wanna know you. You’re a pathetic manipulator. As far as I’m concerned, this prodigal son’s never coming back. You got that? Never.

This has turned out to be the last conversation the two Andrews had. And Andrew Sr’s death pushed him into pure obnoxiousness as he’s pushed people away. I appreciate Bensley’s willingness to go even more ugly and unlikeable. But really, Andrew telling recently bereaved Steven to grow up was a bit much, wasn’t it?

It’s only after attending his father’s funeral - convinced not by Carly, but Stacey Macklin - that Andrew starts to understand his father’s true feelings. He reads a letter (while touching himself, of course):

My dearest Andrew,


I know by the fact you are reading this that our estrangement remains unresolved. The greatest regret of my life is that I was never able to express or communicate my feelings. Never able to say that simple word: “love”. I didn’t show my devastation at your mother’s death, for I’ve always been a proud man. Too proud, I realise now.


Andrew, it may be hard for you to believe, but I worshipped her. I promise you that. I wish with all my heart I could have died in her place. But I couldn’t - and didn’t - tell you that. I love you, Andrew. Funny, I can say in death what I found myself unable to say in life. I’m so proud of you.


I know that you will have the courage and humanity to use my money to correct the many errors of my life. I beg your forgiveness for my arrogance and my apparent cruelty. If there is a god, I thank him that you inherited your mother’s virtues and few of my vanities.


The final vanity was my demand that you attend the funeral. I lied. Your presence had no bearing on whether or not you would inherit. But I was frightened of facing eternity alone. Frightened, yes. Another tardy admission.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 296-312 (...continued)

There’s one little thing that I neglected to tell you, Carly. You see, we got more in common than you think. I’m an alcoholic too… I haven’t had a drink in five years. Then again… I never got a letter like that before either… At the bottom of that little bottle there lies blessed oblivion. You’d remember that feeling, wouldn’t you Carly? …I’m a drunk. This is what drunks do. You should know about that. Cheers.

Andrew’s response to his grief and guilt is to drown his sorrows. The groundwork for this devastation was laid some weeks ago when Morag dug round into his background and found he was a recovering alcoholic himself.

In a strange kind of way, this discovery has allowed Andrew’s character to become more sympathetic even as his on-screen character becomes more obnoxious. In the same way as Gary Ewing’s less attractive qualities made sense when looking back from the vantage point of Knots Landing’s Seventh season by which time it was established that he wasn’t simply an alcoholic and a gambler, but someone with an addictive personality who approached dangerous hobbies, sex and relationships with the same all-or-nothing obsessive mindset as he would a drink or a gamble.

Andrew’s relationship with Carly has always been a little questionable and in this run of episodes, he has a line that I found disturbing:

Ever since you walked into that classroom eighteen months ago… I wanted you more than anything.

It almost goes under the radar - Carly receives it with a winsome smile. But it really does go to show how unhealthy Andrew has been all along when one stops to think of those early episodes with him tenderly directing Carly - who had been raped just a short time ago before - in a kissing scene with Matt for The Mikado, watching her very closely. There’s a sickness to it. A saviour complex - with all the ego and possessiveness that suggests - combined with an obsessive lust.

Andrew’s relationship with Carly has always been one in which he holds a degree of power over her, even if not consciously. Whether as the teacher providing “guidance” to a teenage student twelve years his junior, or the counsellor asking her probing intimate questions. His admission that he’s objectified her all along takes Andrew to a very ugly place indeed.

The timing is far from ideal, as he’d proposed to Carly just hours earlier. Indeed, the timing was questionable all round, since the proposal came immediately on getting back from his father’s funeral. He was still in his suit, for crying out loud. But it's par for the course when bearing in mind Andrew’s previously hidden self-destructive addictive streak.

Even more curiously, he proposed in front of Pippa and Sally. Pippa had this to say about it:

It’s supposed to be private.

Ostensibly, Pippa says the line to hush Sally who is interjecting, but I’m fascinated by how Tom and Pippa are with Andrew. They’re civil and pleasant, but are also implicitly slightly uncomfortable with this man who is closer to their age group than he is Carly’s but who spends much of his time hanging round the diner with schoolchildren. He’s also one of the few characters to refer to Pippa as “Pip”. From Tom or Alf it’s endearing. But from the thirty-something man deflowering their teenage foster daughter it’s a liberty.

Andrew is now ensconced with Donald, Bobby and Frank, where he spends half his time acting offended because Donald has locked up the booze and the other half trying to break into said locked cabinet.


With him on and off the wagon and Tom away, Pippa is increasingly concerned about the situation. Andrew decides to lay on the smarm to butter her up, only to find it doesn’t work with grown-ups:

Look Pippa, I know you’ve got doubts about me as husband material but I do love Carly and… I’m going to do my utmost to make her very happy.

Pippa glares at him:

We’ll talk about this when Tom gets back.

Pippa is right to be concerned, because Andrew is growing more needy by the day and determined to hold onto Carly by any means. Whether it’s harmful to her or not:

I can’t live without you, Carly. ‘Cause without you, there’s nothin’.

It’s a situation with which another man in Carly’s life can identify all too well:

It all sounds a bit familiar. Remember you an’ me. You said I couldn’t cope if I wasn’t around. An’ if I left you’d be a drunk again, remember? It sounds like emotional blackmail to me. Only this time you’re the one who’s copped it.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 296-312 (...continued)


Teenage Carly’s impending marriage to the teacher who decided he wanted her from the moment she walked into his classroom is just one of the problems getting Pippa down at the moment. There’s also Frank and Bobby’s homelessness, Steven’s bereavement and the decision about taking on another foster child. These are things that Pippa would have taken in stride a while back, but also in the current mix is Tom’s stressful new job now that Stacey has stepped down from her role, meaning she is bearing the brunt of it while feeling unsupported.

During one of Tom’s stops at home, they discussed Miss Molloy’s phone call to say she had a potential foster kid for them, which harks back to the discussions they had at the end of Season One:

I know we thought about it pretty seriously a few months ago.. But I feel differently now.

Yeah, I know. You know this’d be the first time one of us hasn’t leapt at the idea.

Yes. But I feel so guilty about it… They’ve got a specific kid in mind. What if they can’t find another home?

With Tom unreachable, Pippa starts making decisions and the result is an even bigger fallout between the couple. In a nice visual extension of her anger, Pippa spends half the scene furiously salting and then taking a tenderiser to the meat:

How could you agree to take on a kid that we have never even seen without consulting me?

You’ve got a pretty short memory when it suits you.

I work damned hard to support this family. I can’t just put everything down the moment that you want to have a little chat.

It wasn’t a chat. It was an important family decision.

Exactly. And I should have been consulted, Pippa.

Tom, you’re behaving like a five year old. There was a decision to be made. You weren’t here. I made it. End of story.

And whatever happened to the family vote, eh?

We had one. It’s just you missed it.

I want you to call Miss Molloy and tell her that we’ve changed our minds.

It’s too late. And don’t be so patronising, Tom. You’re not in the office now.

Lacking support from Tom, Pippa gets her support from elsewhere. First Ailsa, who has something to say about it to Tom:

Tom, have you got any idea of what Pippa’s going through? You’ve left her high and dry without a moment to bless herself. That’s not like the Fletcher family I knew. What is going on?

They’re growing up. They’re moving out. And I am finally seeing some results for all the slog I’ve put in.

Well if success means your turning into a Macklin then you don’t deserve Pippa, Tom.

In another of those scenes that very quietly but very definitely highlights the growth in relationships on the series, Pippa finds herself offloading to someone whose antagonism had previously strengthened the Fletchers’ relationship: Donald Fisher. She rants about her ungrateful family; her foster kids’ problems; even her husband:

You know what Tom said when I told him I wasn’t coping. He said he couldn’t keep the Japanese investors waiting while we talk trivia. That really puts our relationship in perspective, doesn’t it?

I’m very much enjoying angry, wits end, edgy Pippa. Norman Coburn, as always, does a nice job of being supportive and uncomfortable at the same time. As he tries to make a graceful exit, Pippa apologises for him walking in to that, and he politely comments that she might have chosen the wrong person. Pippa then comments that he’s practically family. It echoes the conversation between she and Tom at the Dirty Dancing competition, but this time lacking bitchy irony (which had come almost exclusively from Tom in the previous conversation).
With the decision about a foster child taken, and no turning back, the family gather outside when Miss Molloy’s colleague, Howard West arrives in the car. Celia has used the flimsy excuse of returning a cake tin to have a snoop at the new arrival.

Brian Knight, meet the Fletchers. Your new foster family.

Oh my goodness. It’s him.

G’day.

What can possibly go wrong with this scenario?

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 296-312 (...continued)

Auntie Morag’s nothing but a scumface. She’s a dirtbag.

Oh Ruth, really. I don’t think I would have put it exactly that way. A vindictive, troublemaking megalomaniac, perhaps.

It never rains but it pours for Morag. After Andrew’s self-righteous exit from her property, Roo isn’t far behind.

I’m moving out… I’ve always stood by you. No-one else has. But it’s obvious that you don’t want me here. So I’m going.

The catalyst with Roo has been Morag’s disapproval of Simon and subsequent interference.

You’re quite happy to go skylarking about until all hours. With someone whose only talent is theft. And violence… Did he tell you about his debut performance at the age of eleven? With a rather dangerous game of matches? An arsonist, Ruth. Now you think about that.

And that’s not all. Nigel is overheard speaking to a friend in a city restaurant about Morag’s memoirs which he feels will never see the light of day. And shortly after this they are paid a visit:

My book. The discs have gone.

There are a lot of twists and turns with this one. It’s a bit like that tape of the confession on Sons and Daughters. Lance and Martin’s car collides with the burglars and he dumps the discs out of sight where they are found by Kim Patterson and Sally. Sally ends up passing the discs on to Bobby.

There’s even a bit of business with Morag ordering Lance, of all people, to find the discs, only for her to take a “comical” tumble. Which didn’t serve any purpose other than diluting Morag as a force to be reckoned with. This isn’t Alison Patterson we’re dealing with here.

Morag calls in Bob Barnett who, as the archetypal small town cop, she views with the same kind of contempt she does Lance:

A high court judge always has enemies, Sergeant. It goes with the territory.

Well, with all these enemies running around it might not be a bad idea to give some thought to updating your security systems, don’t you reckon?

Well, with two break-ins within one week it might be an idea to find out who’s responsible, "don’t you reckon?" …And just for the record, Sergeant: my enemies aren’t running around. They’re in jail. That’s why they are my enemies.

Bobby opts to return the discs to Morag as part of a game of one-upmanship, forcing her to say “please” and the like:

You know, I am grateful - very grateful - to you for returning these. There’s more at stake than you realise.

No worries, Mum. But just remember, this is one you owe me.

What Bobby has neglected to mention is that she, Frank and Roo have taken a printout of the memoirs.

But this doesn’t stay a secret for long:

Simon was the best thing that happened to me in years, Auntie Morag… An’ you spoilt it for me. The same as you tried to spoil it for Auntie Celia… You know what worries me more than anything else? The thought that one day I might turn out like you.

Don’t you cross me, Ruth. You don’t know what you’d be up against.

I’m sure I don’t. That’s why I took out insurance. You try and hurt me; or Simon; or Auntie Celia; or anyone. I’ve got a printout of your memoirs.

When she realises Roo isn’t bluffing, concern is writ large on Morag’s face:

There are people in the city. Powerful people… They didn’t appreciate being named in the book. And they made it very clear that some very unpleasant things would happen if I published it… They also made it clear what would happen to anyone else who cited it. You are a threat to these people. If they know there’s a second copy around and it’s in your hands…

I’ll be going for a swim with cement shoes on, right?

Please don’t breathe a word. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you. You know you are like…

Like a daughter to you. I know that. The last thing I’d ever want is a mother like you.

Cornelia Frances seemed to be battling a croaky throat for several episodes early three hundreds. Somehow it felt appropriate after all the heated words and a woman who’s running out of options.

Incidentally, there was a little namedropping when Roo told Bobby about the heavies who are taking such an interest in the book:

Oh yeah. And I’m Kylie Minogue.

It’s almost ironic that Kylie should get her first H&A mention at this particular point: four screen months away from the H&A debut of Kylie’s younger sister.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 296-312 (...continued)

I’m gonna get ‘em, Frank. I’m gonna find out who it was, and make ‘em pay.

Joining Frank and Andrew in broodsville is Steven. The aftermath of Philip’s death has shown us a Steven of almost bipolar extremes. Broken and fragile here; angry and threatening there. It’s a pattern that works for where Steven is.

We’ve delved into Steven’s psyche, seeing subjective dreams that mix up the past and the present. And we’ve seen Steven wake up screaming. And even sleepwalking with devastating effect.

Helping us see the broken, fragile Steven is Stacey - herself still very much lost in grief. Their bonding through shared tragedy has been quite lovely to watch. In particular, there was a beautiful, wordless scene in which Stacey came to Steven’s room, tentatively reached out and held his hand, then touched his face and finally hugged him. Both are really lovely in the scene.

There’s a similar scene later on, where Steven finds Stacey lost in thought as she watches the surfers on the waves.

It’s clear that these two get each other in a way that nobody else can at this moment in time. And I love that Steven is shown to be still practicing karate.

On the day of Philip’s funeral, Steven chooses to go out and practice karate and stay away from it. We’d earlier seen him start to look through Phil’s effects. Left alone in the house, he tries on Phil’s bobble hat and breaks down. Adam Willits can’t cry convincingly, and does his usual thing of crumpling his face then hiding it. And that works fine. The direction, the music, and the look on his face before he tried to cry really sold it.

Long story short he decides to attend the funeral. I really liked that there was atmospheric mist there, giving the funeral a slightly gothic tone.

Grieving Philip, and affected further by the death of Andrew’s father, Stacey also makes a phone call:

Hello, Dad? It’s Stacey… I’m fine. Bearing up, I s’pose you’d call it… I just rang to tell you that I love you. No, there’s no reason.

And with that, she exits the office, leaving her key on the desk.


Steven’s angry, threatening side is coming out more around the person he is certain started the fire at the store: Simon. In a nice touch, Dodge is exploiting this and fuelling Steven’s anger, leading to a fight on the beach which gives Dodge the opportunity to steal Simon’s necklace:

’E’s laughin’ at ya, mate. ‘E burnt your uncle now he’s laughin’ in ya face.

This brings Steven into conflict with Roo:

Telling tales to Tom behind my back?

You’re a great one to talk about going behind people’s backs.

Truth hurts, doesn’t it?

Shut your mouth, you creep.

The only mouth I’m gonna shut is Simon’s. By the time I’ve finished with him he’ll be locked up for so long he won’t even know what the real world looks like.

These two are interesting together. Aside from him doing Roo’s homework while Frank took credit for it, I can’t think of any other times their storylines have brought them into the same orbit. And their scenes feel exciting as a result.

We also get some of Simon’s backstory:

I was a good kid till I was about ten. After that I fell in with a bad bunch… Before I knew it we were breaking into cars. Then houses… First time I was packed off to the boys’ home, Mum was glad to get rid of me… I was in an’ out of ‘em so many times I felt like a yo-yo. An’ I ended up in prison. For robbing’ a bottle shop an’ beating up the owner… It was a flamin’ nightmare. People getting bashed every minute of the day… Mate I did the job with came out with brain damage. That’s when I woke up to meself. Ever since then I been hell bent on stayin’ straight.

As well as being a nice moment for the character and fleshing him out a little, it’s also a nice way of demonstrating Simon’s aversion to prison. And this is important. Because Steven and Dodge are plotting:

You know how you were talking about setting people up? …Well, how would you go about it? Just in theory, what would you do?

Like who? Just for the theory. Simon? Easy… That Morag upset him real bad digging about in his past. If somethin’ happened to her place he’d have a real good motive. If he happened to leave somethin’ behind. Somethin’ that everyone’d seen ‘im wear for months, cops’d throw away the key.

And in a hugely ironic touch, Steven provides Dodge’s alibi on the night he decides to set fire to another building. After the fuel is poured, Steven tries to talk him out of actually starting the fire and while Dodge wouldn’t have listened, they were disturbed anyway.

Morag is convinced the petrol is a warning from her enemies, but when the necklace is found she, too, buys that Simon set the fire and he is promptly arrested in a scene that shows off the side of Alf’s bait shop.

Alf posts bail and agrees to home a grateful Simon temporarily. But things are still awkward and Simon discusses the elephant in the room:

I know you don’t like me very much, Alf. I guess I can’t blame you for that. If I had a daughter like Ruth I don’t think I’d be too happy seeing her with somebody from my background. I wish I could go back and change a lot of the things from my past, but it doesn’t work like that, unfortunately. I really do care about her a lot. And I’ll try very hard not to upset her.

But with things looking bad for him, Simon opts to jump bail and leave Roo a letter. Something for which she blames Steven, bringing them into further enjoyable conflict:

How could you? It’s all your fault. You wanted someone to blame. Anyone… I know you’re upset and I can understand why you want to blame someone. But why Simon? Why? What did he ever do to you? He didn’t do it. Can’t you see that?

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 296-312 (...continued)


Before Simon disappeared, there was a beautiful scene in which he brought Roo home to Celia’s, where she is currently staying. It’s late in the evening, and Roo walks in to find Celia waiting for her. Instead of the expected lecture about morals, Celia insists that Roo ask Simon in for a coffee. She tells them she’s going to bed so won’t be in their way, and suggests they could put some music on, because she’ll be asleep by the time her head hits the pillow. “It’ll be nice” she says, evoking the whimsical fantasist that we saw when she was talking about looking after Martha with Roo.

Before she makes her exit, Celia turns to Roo:

Don’t be in such a hurry to say goodnight to each other. You might live to regret it later. And I do know about such things.

It’s building on another surprisingly liberal conversation they had when Roo initially moved in:

I think that we should drop the formality of “Auntie”, don’t you? From now on, Roo, I would like you to call me “Celia”.

Spending time with Nigel, in the hope it could turn into a romance has softened Celia in the best way possible. Nigel’s investment in the situation is pleasingly ambiguous. It’s clear he is enjoying her friendship but at the same time he is making plans to leave now that his work with Morag is coming to a natural end.

Not reading those signals, Celia is busy planning for the best. Initially she is worrying about what the town thinks:

I’m tired of being a laughing stock. The whole town sees me as some kind of desiccated spinster… Everyone treats me as if I’m incapable of… feeling fond of anyone.

You’re talking about Nigel.

Not entirely. But he’s the reason everyone’s sniggering behind my back at the moment.

You like him? Then to hell with all of ‘em. Just go for it… Look, uh, I’m not really big on religion but… if there’s someone up there watching you an’ Nigel I’m sure it’s meant to be.

Taking Alf and Nigel’s advice, Celia does go for it and allows herself to stop being concerned with what others think long enough to enjoy herself. Donald is one of those who expresses concern at her lack of discretion in being seen around with Nigel. And we get an in-depth mention of a character last seen almost a year and a half ago now:

The Doris Peters of this world need to have their cosy little cages rocked occasionally… I can practically visualise her: she’s about five foot three; dumpy; likes to wear dresses with large prints on them and has small, dark, beady little eyes… Grey hair that she tints and has permed once a week; a touch too much make-up; and she favours bright red lipstick.

How do you know all this?

Oh, small guesses. Impressions. No more.

What do you think I look like?

I’d say you were quite tall. Not as tall as Morag. You don’t look much like her either. But perhaps there’s a certain similarity about the width of the face. The cheekbones. I imagine that you’ve got a wide, generous face. Your hair is light in colour. Straight. Fairly thick. You don’t perm your hair and you don’t wear very much makeup. Mind you, you don’t have any need to… And your eyes are your best feature. They have a special intensity all of their own. They truly are a window on your soul.

Well... would you like to touch my face?

Yes, I would. There. I wasn’t far wrong, was I?

Celia is soon given reason to fret, however, when an insurance investigator comes to her having asked questions round town:

Your policy dated April the twelfth last year insured the Summer Bay General Store for five hundred thousand dollars… Only this afternoon, a local authority valued your premises at two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Apparently, that was a generous estimate… Miss Stewart: it is not uncommon for criminal proceedings to be undertaken in these matters.

Adding insult to injury, the person who caused the fire in the first place pays her a visit at Alf’s bait shop where she’s made herself at home - and driven Alf mad - by creating towering displays of baked beans:

No hard feelings about breakin’ into your shop, right?

Should I assume that’s some form of apology for invading my premises and terrorising me into the bargain?

You got broken into. I got busted. Makes us square, don’t it?

Celia turning the outside of Alf’s store into a cafe area with tables and parasols is giving us the opportunity to see more of the exterior. In fact we’ve had a number of location treats in seeing different angles of locations old and new. In addition to the front and side of the bait shop, we’ve also seen the exterior of the police station, a new-look exterior to Celia’s home - complete with her bike propped up against it, and the front aspect from Donald’s house, which is very green and pleasant indeed, with not another house to be seen.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episodes 296-312 (...continued)

What does a girl like Marilyn see in a bird-brain like Lance? Girl with a face and a body like that. It’s crazy.

After a bit of a build up, Lance’s new girlfriend has finally show up with him at the diner, stunning the regulars. Marilyn is one of those names that is probably familiar to viewers of the series from a number of different eras. After a number of exits and re-entrances, she still appears in the series in 2020, over three decades on from this debut.

Back in 1990 when Marilyn first appeared on UK screens, it seemed clear to me she was the new Leanne. Who herself was the new Narelle. And while I’ve got a soft spot for Narelle, I’m very certain that Marilyn is far preferable to annoying, pallid, squeaky Leanne.

I was curious what I’d think of early Marilyn this time round. My memory was that she took a while to hit her stride, but she’s fine here. A lot of the trademarks are here, right down to the funny walk.

Everything about her initial appearances is to introduce her as the loveable bubbly ditz. She opens her mouth and babbles about anything. And out come the Malapropisms and downright made up words:

I love being by the sea. Not like the city with all that pollution and carbon peroxide an’ all that. An’ the smell of the air. It’s so clean. It’s really good for you. It’s invigorskating, don’t you reckon? An’ the sea. Oh, the smell of the sea. It’s all that ozone. It’s in the seaweed or something.

She’s only appeared in two episodes, so the jury’s out. She could become wearing and tedious, but she has a certain charisma that feels hopeful that she could liven up the obligatory Lance and Martin scenes. So far, her key storyline saw Lance hiring a boat to impress her. Instead of the old wreck, they mistakenly took out the large cruiser hired by Martin and Tom to impress the wives of important Japanese Macklin investors. Then while Lance was throwing up below deck, Marilyn steered the boat into Alf’s little rowing boat, with his fishing gear ending up in Davey Jones’s locker. Lance and Marilyn were believed missing at sea for an episode or two, but Lance showed up entertaining the Japanese investors’ wives who had also gone AWOL. Meanwhile, Marilyn herself has legged it back to the city.

Dodge’s return has been full of potential. Steven unknowingly sharing a room with the man who killed his uncle, who is now messing with his own head, is a nicely ironic twist to the storyline. With this stint being longer term, I’m curious to see how wearing Dodge gets. Will he need to be watered down to be tolerable? Or can they push it? He’s attending school now and there’s a storyline about him threatening other kids for money which, while right in character, is far from scintillating.

Dodge, in many ways, is like revisiting early Bobby and seeing what could have been if she’d taken one or two more wrong turns. The similarities haven’t even gone unnoticed:

You’re a rebel, aren’t you? Just like Bobby. Bobby used to be the local rebel and whenever anything went wrong she automatically got the blame.

And while Pippa has Andrew’s number, the caring foster mother hasn’t allowed her to yet see Dodge for what he is. There have been great scenes where he’s bonded with Pippa and shared things, only to give a smug look when her back is turned, satisfied that he is fooling her.

Tom doesn’t hit it off with Dodge, but has made an effort here and there. Steven is bonding with him. Carly is too caught up in her current dramas for him to register.

But it’s Sally who has Dodge’s number more than anyone else in the family. She’s seen him as the bully and she’s finding having him around difficult. When Pippa tells Ailsa about it, Ailsa says that she shares Sally’s distrust.

Dodge and Pippa look over the family photos, which gives us an update of another departed character:

That’s Lynn. She came to us at the same time as Sal. She’s back with her own family now. We hear from her occasionally. She’s doing really well.

Every time someone new comes into the family we take another photo. They mark special days for us. When we can get everyone together we’ll take one with you in it, too.

And when Tom returns, that’s just what happens. For the first time since the Pilot, there is a new “official” Fletcher family lineup.

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episode 313-323


Nigel’s departure from the series has been quite an impactful one, with two Stewart sisters being most profoundly affected.

With Celia waiting for Nigel to pop the question, he wishes for a way to soften the blow of him leaving Summer Bay alone. It’s Ailsa who concocts a story about Nigel’s mythical old fiancée, Jill. Nigel arrives at Celia’s to find she’s pulled out all the stops for the evening and popped the champagne cork:

After the accident, I felt that all Jill felt for me was pity… I broke her heart… When I went up to town the other day to apply for the job I met her again… We’re going to give it another try… I’ve got you to thank for that, Celia… You’ve given me confidence again, Celia. And I realised that my lack of that was my real disability. You’ve made me feel like a real person again. I shall always be grateful to you.

[snapping]I don’t want your gratitude. [softer] Well, we’re friends. Isn’t that what friendship’s all about? …And I would like to wish you and Jill every happiness… When are you leaving?

Tomorrow morning. On the bus.

Oh… what a pity… I don’t think I’ll be able to get there and see you off.

Oh well. Not to worry. You take care.

Oh yes. I have my family and my work for the church. In fact I’ll be so busy I won’t even have time to miss you.

I shall miss you, Celia. You’ll always be a very special friend.

It’s one of those beautiful Fiona Spence moments where she breaks your heart with Celia’s quiet devastation. She takes the audience on that journey from excited ebullience to confusion to anger and deep sadness. Watching her try to recover her dignity and attempting to behave with insouciance is almost painful. Nigel's blindness allows this to play out on a different level. Celia says one thing but shows us quite something else at exactly the same time. Fiona Spence does a wonderful job with it.

Nigel can't leave without one last challenging confrontation with Morag, who scoffs at the story about Jill:

What a load of sentimental drivel.

I just wanted to leave her with a little self-respect.

Rubbish. You just wanted to avoid an awkward confrontation. You know, you really are an opportunist, Nigel. You use people and then when they’ve served their purpose you just toss them away.

If that were the case why didn’t I leave here months ago? The perks don’t make up for having to live with a twisted, poisonous schemer… I’ve tried to be your friend, Morag. Even when I felt you didn’t deserve it. But now the slate’s wiped clean. Once I walk out of that door you’re going to have to start earning my friendship… You should have a little more respect for your family. Otherwise you’re going to be left with no-one.

By first thing next morning, both Celia and Morag are on similar paths. Both have been in some way humbled by their conversations with Nigel (and how tragic that the Nigel/Morag talk was full of truths, while the Nigel/Celia conversation had much dishonesty on both their parts).

Nigel comes downstairs to find no sign of Morag. After calling for her fruitlessly, he picks up his case and exits. Morag then comes down the stairs and to the window, where she stands and cuts a solitary figure as she silently watches Nigel disappear.

Nigel is very much on Celia’s mind, too. After sleeping on it she has decided to see Nigel off and says a quiet little prayer in the car before she approaches him. I love that the running gag of Celia’s bad driving continues even here. As she pulls up at the bus stop she collides with a bin or drum of some kind, which topples over and lies in the background of the scene like a symbol of how Celia herself is feeling inside, despite the fine weather and her seemingly sunny exterior.

She offers to drive Nigel to the city and says she’d like to meet his fiancée. Even though we’re painfully aware that it’s all a farce on Nigel’s part, the fact that Celia was willing to do this speaks volumes about her. Nigel puts Celia off, saying Jill might become jealous. So the bus it is:

You will write?

Yes, of course I will. Goodbye, Celia.

Not goodbye, Nigel. Au revoir.

And that should be the end of that. But Morag is determined to get back at Nigel for abandoning her, and decides to get two birds with one stone:

Jill doesn’t exist. And everyone in this room knows it. Nigel invented her to keep you off his back.

You’re lying. She’s lying, isn’t she? There’s got to be some sort of misunderstanding. Nigel wouldn’t lie. Not to me.

Oh, he not only lied. He had Ailsa think up that sentimental claptrap he fed you. Because he was too spineless to tell you himself he didn’t want you… Or did you really think he was desperate enough to fall in love with someone like you.

If you ever set foot in this house again, Morag, I’ll turf you out meself. From now on you’re on your own.

Morag is all glares and flared nostrils as she storms out. But returning to her empty home, she begins to realise that Alf’s words were truer than even he knew.

It's not a great day to be a Stewart sister.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episode 313-323 (...continued)

I’m the mistress of the cutting remark. Only the irony is I’ve now turned the tables on myself. The mad woman on the hill… I am a social pariah. My brother has completely disowned me. My husband never wants to see me again. Oh, I have a lot to reproach myself for, believe you me.

As if Morag wasn’t unpopular enough, in the aftermath of her cruelty to Celia - and with no Nigel to confide in - Morag finds that Summer Bay can be a very cold place indeed.

First to make this clear is Morag’s niece, and Morag responds in kind:

I only came to tell you how horrible I think you are for what you did to Auntie Celia… I am sick to death of your scheming… I only wish it hadn’t taken me so long to realise how evil you are.

Well, if that’s your attitude I suggest you leave my house now. And don’t bother coming back.

It’s a tad funny when you consider that Roo has already had her dramatic exit from Morag’s home and cut ties with her. So she really just stormed back in so that she could storm out again. That’s not to say it’s out of place, though. It’s a very Roo thing to do, plus this time it was Morag who more explicitly told Roo to leave, reinforcing that she’s creating her own isolation.

But this is just the start of a series of knockbacks. And when Morag starts inviting people to dinner (Friday at 7:30pm, in case you’re wondering), they come thick and fast. Her first stop is the diner:

Sorry. I got somethin’ else on.

Like what?

I dunno yet. But I’ll have somethin’ on.

From there she goes to Summer Bay High:

Normally, of course, I’d love to Morag. It’s just that at the moment, with the work piling up, the lack of relief teachers and so on. Well, I just don’t see that I can take any night off.

And, with a whiff of desperation, she goes to Summer Bay House and shocks Pippa:

Oh, well… That depends on Tom. I’d have to consult him before we committed ourselves.

Ah, naturally. Well, I might just pop into his office and see what he says.

While we don’t see that visit, we hear enough about it to know that Tom was right on trend:

Well, he looked her straight in the eye and said “I don’t think it’d be very appropriate, Morag”.

Morag finally gives up after one last phone call:

No. Of course I don’t mind Stacey. Yes, I perfectly understand. Yes, well, some other time, then. [she hangs up] Ah well. Dinner for one please, James.

And her only visitor is unwelcome:

Frank and Roo wimped out. So you get your memoirs back. Nigel conned them into it.

Well, thank them for me, will you? And close the door on your way out.

You know… the bit where you talked about missing out on the joys of being a mother made me want to puke.

Well, the sentiments were genuine enough. I would have loved a little daughter. Like Ruth. As it was I did far more for you than you deserved… If I was as self-interested as you make out, you would never have been born… My husband never wanted you… He tried to make me get rid of you. But I defied him and I risked my marriage to give you life. So don’t you dare tell me I’ve done nothing for you.

Only you could stay married to a guy that wanted you to kill your own kid… And now it’s your turn to know what it feels like to get dumped. Only it’s worse for you. Because you actually love the guy. And he didn’t love you, did he? [Morag raises her hand to pimp slap Bobby] Oh yeah. I knew I was right.

Donald adds his own perspective to balance out Bobby’s views. His masculine living room feels like a very comfortable place to be, with an established richness to it. And even more so during the evening, by lamplight. It makes the dialogue-heavy scene feel grown-up and important:

It’s sad because she used to be so different. As a girl she was even quite generous. Smart. Fun-loving… And she loved Richard, too. Her arm was always round his waist. Or if they sat down she’d touch his knee. She was really quite an emotional person once.

Bobby is initially sceptical and is convinced he must be exaggerating:

Look at you. Eighteen months ago you were an abusive little rebel.

Yeah. And you were a stuck up old sourpuss.

I dare say I was to you. And to a point I still am I suppose. But Ailsa, Tom and Pippa helped you. And Alan, you and Barbara helped me. And while we haven’t changed as such we are different people as a result. And we’ve learned to become more caring and loving and generous towards one another. Wouldn’t you say so?

Bobby takes on what’s said enough to feel she owes Morag a chance, but Ailsa is quick with the concern:

You are the last person that Morag wants help from. Look, yesterday, when she was handing out dinner invites you were about the only person in town who didn’t get one… You go around there and offer the olive branch, Morag is only going to say “I am not lonely” and slam the door in your face. Why put yourself in a position of feeling rejected again?

I don’t know. I just think it’s something I have to do.

Bobby arrives arrives to find Morag collapsed on the floor, having been overwhelmed with it all.

While Bobby’s on the phone to Ailsa, there’s a scene which I found slightly unintentionally comical, because Morag suddenly pops into view from behind the sofa, sitting up and looking dazed. It looked for all the world like a satire of that scene in Halloween where Michael Myers sits up behind Jamie Lee Curtis. But she eventually makes it onto the sofa.

Take it easy. You fainted. The door was open so I came in an’ you were just lying there. So I called the ambulance, which is what you can hear now.

Get out. Get out of my house. How dare you come in here, barging in and…

I could have saved your life, you stupid cow.

Get out!

In my favourite scene of recent episodes, Morag gets an unexpected visitor:

Your concern is very touching, Ailsa, but I’m perfectly all right.

Look, Morag. I didn’t come here for a verbal jousting match. You’ve spent half the day in hospital. I just thought you might happen to want some company. There’s no catch. Ah, forget it.

Ailsa turns to walk away, but Morag immediately reaches out and touches Ailsa’s shoulder to stop her:

[shouting]No. [speaking more gently]No wait. Hey, come in. Thanks for popping by.

As with the Donald/Bobby scenes, this touching little moment is even more meaningful because of the mutually antagonistic history of these two characters. From the moment she says “Hey, come in”, Morag seems human, approachable and friendly. I like to think the chemistry of a real-life good friendship comes through to help this scene reach a satisfying conclusion.

In the next episode, Ailsa is staying over to keep Morag company, and the two women chat in front of the fireplace. It’s as close to a Barbara Hamilton/Irene Fisher buddy scene as we’ve been given from these two, though Morag still keeps her edge here, barking instinctively a couple of times.

After Morag sacks her comedy housekeeper, Ailsa decides what Morag needs is someone who doesn’t mind being pushed around. So she brings her another comedy housekeeper:

And when Marilyn promptly smashes an antique vase, Morag bellows at her that she will dock $50 per week from Marilyn’s salary And Marilyn must remain in Morag’s employment until the vase is paid for. Morag storms away, her clipped words resonating in the air. In the silence that follows, Marilyn sits down, breathes out and turns to Ailsa:

She’s such a lovely lady.

After enjoying Nigel and Morag’s banter and tempestuous friendship far more than I expected, I can’t say I relish the thought of Morag being reduced to a straight man, gurning in despair at Marilyn’s latest zany antics. It seems somehow beneath her. But I’ll keep an open mind.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episode 313-323 (...continued)


Some episodes after Andrew Foley Sr.’s departure, we had one final chance to hear his voice when Andrew read his apologetic farewell letter in the diner. That letter gave him the opportunity to speak the truths that he had been unable to say in person.

And so it is with Nigel. Thanks to Roo, word reaches him that his final deception has been discovered, and Celia (slightly inexplicably) chooses to read it in the diner, just a table across from where Andrew had read his:

My dear Celia,

You are no doubt as angry with me as I am ashamed of my behaviour towards you.

I admit the reasons I gave you for not wanting to become romantically involved were untrue. While I have no right to ask your forgiveness, at least let me try to explain my mistakes.

I did - and still do - value your friendship very highly. But, despite the fact that you are an undeniably lovely woman, I never felt anything would be gained by deepening our relationship. I said what I said in the hope of letting you down gently, and allowing you the self-esteem you deserve.

Please accept my deepest apologies for the hurt I’ve caused. I do not expect you will wish to continue our friendship, although I sincerely hope that one day you will feel differently.

With my love and profound apologies,

Nigel

Once again, Fiona Spence is just wonderful. She is so still (a world away from the nose rubbing, chin stroking, open mouthed self-consciousness of Peter Bensley reading Andrew’s letter). We simply see her sit there and absorb the words. And because of that it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Ailsa’s on hand with tea and sympathy:

I am a little upset… I love him and I… can’t have him. And that’s all there is to it.

Well, don’t give up hope completely. You never know, his feelings still might change.

They won’t. I just have to get on with things. It’s just that it hurts, Ailsa. It hurts, and there’s not a single thing I can do about it.

Celia’s response to Nigel leaving has meant change. Retrogression, really. The full hair is straight once again and the makeup is gone. She’s “gone back to dressing like a nun”, as Roo put it. I must confess, even though it’s a significant change, I didn’t even notice until Roo commented. I suppose the “old” Celia is so familiar that it feels right at the moment.

She’s also throwing herself into busybodying with gusto. Andrew is her first target:

I’ve been… thinking about Andrew Foley. It’s just quite a career change for him, isn’t it? One minute a schoolteacher and then suddenly a counsellor for alcoholics.

Well he knows about treating alcoholics too. He is one himself, after all.

Roo’s attempts to salvage the situation were appreciated. It was clear she’d slipped up accidentally and tried to limit the damage by begging Celia not to tell anyone else. But it’s too juicy for Celia to comply. After visiting the Fletchers to “warn” them, she goes next door to find the man himself:

A word of advice, young man. You put one foot wrong with that youth advice centre of yours and I’ll make it my business to have it closed immediately… I know about your drinking problem so there’s no point in denying it.

This pushes Andrew off the wagon again, and he crashes a soiree at the new Macklin office where he forcibly dances with Celia and ends up decking Tom for trying to stop him drinking. When Stacey brings him home, Donald (who had been pleasantly listening to a taped recording of Rebecca’s performance) realises Andrew has already done damage there, too:

Oh no. Not the decanter rack. Oh Foley. How could you destroy such a beautiful thing… This was given to me by my professor of English Literature on my first teaching appointment. It was… a reward for many years’ hard work. Nobody paid my way, Stacey. I had to do it all under my own steam. So this decanter rack was more than just an object… It was something I could always look at and say “Oh well, Donald. At least you’ve done a few worthwhile things in your life.” And now look at it. It’s ruined… It can’t be replaced.

Andrew realises he’s blacked out and there’s a catalogue of Bensley’s shacting as Andrew despairs and feels terrible about what he’s done. Fortunately,Tom and Pippa are having none of it and cut him down as he’s hamming it up in their dining room. Again, despite the gesticulating going on in the foreground, their stillness is the most powerful thing about the scene:

You wanna drink yourself to death I suppose that is your lookout. But I can tell you now that Pippa and I aren’t gonna let you drag Carly down with you.

We’ve been talking about it and we’ve decided you shouldn’t see her anymore.

No. You’re not going to see her until you can convince us that you’re the same bloke that she fell in love with. Now that bloke was sober and decent and reliable. And, well, right now you’re none of those things.

This propels Andrew to leave town after having what seemed like a definitive ending in which he took back his ring and said goodbye to Carly. Only for him to appear something like two episodes later, complaining to Stacey that Celia was taking over the youth centre.

continued...​

 

[Spells & Karma]

Episode 313-323 (...continued)


As was perhaps evident when Bobby returned the manuscript, she and Frank are in trouble. They’re not getting along and are arguing left, right and centre. It’s a pattern that’s been building for a while - continuing from the arguments they had about never seeing each other due to work. It’s perhaps a case of being careful what you wish for. Losing the flat has placed them into living situations where it would be very difficult to avoid each other.

Compounding it, Frank is still close to Roo and Bobby is insecure around this. Perhaps justifiably.

The conversation over the printout of the memoirs summed up where they were. Nigel’s last conversation with Roo and Bobby was to persuade them to return them. His argument was that holding onto them made them no better than Morag. Roo could see his point. Bobby couldn’t. Convinced, Frank would vote with his wife, she agreed to take it to him:

Nigel’s right. Bobby’s just too biased to see it.

Look, I’ve got work to do. Can we discuss this tomorrow?

There’s nothing to discuss. Just tell Roo she’s outvoted… Are you going to back me, or not?

Look, Bobby. You’re in the wrong. OK?

I should’ve known. Nothing I ever do is right for you anymore.

After Bobby leaves, Roo seems genuinely concerned:

Is everything OK with you two?

We don’t always see eye-to-eye on things. Not like you and me used to.

It’s perhaps the moment where any chance Bobby and Frank’s marriage had was killed. Either way, it’s certainly a dickish thing for Frank to do. And it’s the first in a series.

At the Macklin event, Roo brings Frank a drink. He looks at her and tells her she looks beautiful. Roo points out the phone is ringing and Frank goes to answer it. Following Frank’s earlier comment in the office, Roo had looked quite shaken to receive it. This time, she smiles to herself once Frank is out of sight. She may be fighting it, but she’s enjoying it.

When a “British” (read: New Zealand actor doing stock Home Counties accent) bigwig at Macklin comes to dinner, Frank is relying on Bobby to be the trophy wife. He is disappointed:

It’s only really secure and disciplined people who ever make the grade. For example, no-one from the working class ever makes it in the management… Never have and never will. It’s environmental, of course… What are your parents, Bobby?

One’s a retired judge and the other one’s a headmaster.

And it shows, too… Upbringing shows, you see. You can tell it a mile off… Nothing replaces good parenting. Without that stable home environment it’s impossible for children to get anywhere.

No. It’s difficult, but it’s not impossible.

You were privileged, Bobby. You had a judge as a father and a teacher as a mother… You are one of us. Well, you had a working mother, true. But I’m sure she was a caring and considerate woman.

No. My mother hated me… She deserted me from the time I was born… I grew up in a working class home. With a woman who I thought was my mother, who died of cancer. An’ a bloke who I thought was my father who’s in jail. An’ I’ve been a street kid since I was eight. An’ so has Frank if you want to know the truth… Last year I graduated in the top ten percent in the state. And did it all with a very upper class mother who hated my guts. So don’t come an’ tell me that family background is everything.

I really like the Bedfords. Peter is larger than life, while his wife Claire is like a polite Stepford Wife, complimenting Pippa on each course, asking her about sauces and clearly enjoying her food. She accepts second helpings and at one point is too absorbed in eating to follow what is being said. They’re great fun.

None of which stops the inevitable fallout and blazing row between Bobby and Frank when they get home. Bobby spends the night in Donald’s spare room. Frank, meanwhile, uses the evening’s events to continue laying the groundwork with Roo:

Maybe I should’ve got you to be my partner for the night.

There was a nice little nod to the past after Donald consoled Bobby. She could be seen hugging Benjamin, the bear she was left in Alan’s will:

Wish you could be round to hear him, Alan.

Another quiet nod to continuity came when Steven and Stacey had one of their heart-to-hearts:

What day was it yesterday?

I’m sorry. I should have remembered… It was the day you and Phil would have been married.

I thought if I went away it would help… If that’s what love does to you, who needs it?

Without being shackled to John Morris, Sandie Lillingston’s Stacey is emerging as a very watchable, likeable character. I do hope this is built on. Her friendship with Steven, too, is compelling. Which is more than I can say for Steven and Dodge.

Dodge has taken Steven to the city where they went to sex shows and Steven apparently lost his virginity (with shades of Dynasty’s “The Bordello” episode). Then they drove back home in a car Dodge had stolen. All of which sounds far more exciting than it actually was.