Village Hall (1974-75)

[Mel O'Drama]

This anthology series has been on my viewing bucket list for some years. Somehow - presumably due to an offer on Network - I ended up with Series Two on DVD, but not Series One. And then Network went under so I had to hang on until I could source a copy of the first DVD set.

Before buying that initial DVD on Network, I'd done a little reading up on the series to get an idea of the premise, who appeared, and the like. Even so, these first few episodes have proved a delightful surprise.

For whatever reason I haven't clocked the writer of each episode as I've watched, but of the three watched so far I felt that the two strongest scripts were Mr Ellis versus The People and There'll Almost Always Be An England. It's not surprising to see that they're both written by Jack Rosenthal whose natural wit, wry dialogue and observational humour shines through here as strongly as it did in Corrie or The Lovers. His scripts are so beautifully crafted, and little lines frequently hit home quite unexpectedly.

In Mr Ellis, for example, Ron Moody's titular character says to his sulking wife: "You've come for a row, 'aven't you? I can tell by your handbag". It's almost surreal, and yet completely naturalistic. The context of the situation (him trying to maintain his authority and dignity as the person overseeing the polling station) and the fact that it's delivered completely straight really sell it.

Meanwhile, in There'll Almost Always Be An England, Dilys Laye and Stella Moray play neighbours who can't appear to stand one another, among those forced to share the night in the communal confines of the hall after a gas leak in their street. Dilys's Olive Lund views Stella's Pamela Stringer as a pretentious snob with more money than sense, and the dislike is mutual, with Mrs Stringer resenting Mrs Lund's desperate attempts to keep up. They eventually bond when a treasured piece of porcelain brought along by Mrs Stringer is smashed by the fussing intrusion of self-designated organiser Mr Joyce. "Not the capodimonte", gasps Mrs Lund quietly, and it turns out to be a bonding moment, though still with little attempts to impress one another:

I expect you're delighted, Mrs Lund. I expect you'll be treating yourself to a bottle of Babycham from your cocktail cabinet when you get home, in celebration.

It was beautiful. A work of art, really. All your things are beautiful. Well... such a palace, your home... I've always admired this one. You had it in the front window for a while, didn't ya? On a lace doily.

Cyprus lace. From Cyprus... I hear you've had your living room done.

Finished this morning, apart from the inset picture light. Biscuit wallpaper and a very unusual turquoise paintwork.

Ooh, sounds lovely... Our dining room floor's being done in simulated Italian marble.

Yes, I believe so. Must be out of this world.

Yes. You must come and see it.

Yes.

But it's short-lived when the next morning, someone looks at the base and realises the priceless item is made in Hong Kong, exposing Mrs Stringer for being as fake as her Italian marble:

There's nothing wrong with Hong Kong. They're British!

I would hardly think it's worth stealing a tube of Bostik for. I mean, she can get another gross of these at Woolworths.

I don't actually know where Woolworths is, actually, but I'm sure Mrs Lund can vouch for them.

Hmmmph! Capodimonte!

Incidentally, biscuit walls and turquoise paint was the in-thing last year, wasn't it?

Thanks to the combination of writing and performances, these scenes are not only amusing but there's an undercurrent of sadness. It's easy to feel they could be friends and they want to be friends, but they can't let go of their one-upmanship.

In the same episode, Bernard Hepton's Mr Joyce is one of the most effectively frustrating characters to watch, thanks to his relentless, determination to reassure and rally and fix and keep everyone's spirits up, at the expense of their sleep and privacy. His skin seems thick to objections, and it's Norman Rossington's Mr Shankly who eventually dresses him down:

You're in your bloody element, aren't ya? The dark days of nineteen forty were in nineteen forty, Mr Joyce. Oppo. TTFN. Grin and bear it. Stiff upper lip. Island sodding race. Careless talk costs lives. Is your journey really necessary? Yours was, wasn't it, eh? You wouldn't have missed this for anything. You're loving it. It's the greatest night of your life. Better than a George Formby picture at The Regal and a spam sandwich when you got 'ome. You got to stand on a stage all night shouting "are we downhearted? No". You don't want the bloody light out.

Once again, there's a sadness beneath it all. Joyce is a lonely creature really, and someone who struggles to connect with others or understand the world as it has changed around him. I can relate.


The second episode, The Magic Sponge, was written by Kenneth Cope, and also had its moments.


The series is a sea of familiar character actors. In addition to those mentioned, these three episodes have included Second Doctor Patrick Troughton; Corrie's Renee Bradshaw and Vera Duckworth; Enders' Eddie Royle; Are You Being Served's Mr Rumbold; Liz Smith; Richard Griffiths; Michael Angelis; and Cheggers.


Each episode having a self-contained cast and theme is a brilliant idea for a series. It's effectively a series of different one-hour plays that just happen to have a setting in common. At this point, it feels like it could have run and run, but I'll take quality over quantity, and I still have over 75% of episodes ahead of me to enjoy.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

This is going to be a really short thread, I think. I'm now into Series Two, with 9 of the 14 episodes under my belt.

The diversity of cast and premise is working as well as I'd hoped it would. Only the setting - and a couple of recurring cameos from Mr Whalley the caretaker - can be relied upon. Besides that, all bets are off.

It's actually a little surreal at times seeing certain locations being used by an entirely different set of characters. Not so much the main hall itself, but the little adjuncts we see less frequently, such as the kitchen. It's almost a surprise to be reminded that the layout is still the same, because I get so absorbed in the story it's easy to forget.

There have been a few little signs that this ostensibly family-friendly little series might have aired post-watershed.

Most heavy on the innuendo front was Dancing In The Dark, with its abundance of bitchy ballet queens whose every line dripped with theatrical sarcasm (when the pianist complained that the "F" key wasn't properly tuned, one of them snapped back that "We've all missed out on eff at some time or other, love"). Innuendo aside, though, it was also almost surprisingly upfront with its sexuality, with numerous lines about sex and admiration of one of the black dancers' "chocolate body". There are even several casually dropped lines about sexual assault (says one male dancer, staring another intensely in the eye whilst asking him to share digs "You need a little pad you can flee to, where you can be relaxed; resigned; and raped if need be"). There's also something about the juxtaposition of the grey, unglamorous surroundings; the hard work, tensions and competitiveness; the aspirations and failed dreams of the various ballet dancers and the general grittiness that reminds me in the best possible way of film-recipe Fame.

Friendly Encounter - the footie team episode - threw a little brief male rear nudity into the mix, but was more notable for George Cole playing a Northerner and Lewis Collins in an early TV role.

Meanwhile, Mark Massy Is Dead - the writers' club episode - threw in an utterance of "bullshit" (I think it was this episode anyway). Gwen Taylor looks exactly the same age in this one as she did in Duty Free a decade later. And I'm sure I saw her in something in the Nineties, still looking the same. I've decided she must have simply been born this way. Here her character was at the centre of a love triangle, which was the first of two in Series One.

The other "triangle" was in the first series' final episode, Distant Islands, which took things a step further by having two old lovers shagging one another during a slideshow/lecture whilst their respective spouses were the other side of a thin partition door. The woman's husband was actually giving the lecture, whilst the man's wife was in the audience, strongly suspecting what was taking place but unable to move to verify it. The slightly unresolved conclusion (both cheats left with a spring in their step, having reignited old memories for what they understood would be just one time, never to be spoken of again) feels quite typical of many of these plays. There isn't always a neat, strong denouement. Many of the endings are open-ended and almost forgettable. And this only adds to the strength. Think Abigail's Party, and you're on the right lines. I'm only surprised that - to the best of my knowledge - none of these little plays have become classics in the way AP did. These are the kind of "under the radar" projects that I could easily envisage some theatrical director finding and putting on new versions with their own ensemble for a whole new audience to discover.

Two episodes into Series Two, and both of them have been very strong. First came the beauty contest episode in which Audrey Potter and Marion Yeats were usurped by Zoë Wanamaker, with Elizabeth Spriggs presiding (curiously, Elizabeth Spriggs here strongly resembled what I think you'd get if you created a chimera made up of Janet Brown's Margaret Thatcher and Brookie's Doreen Corkhill).

Meanwhile, the flower and vegetable competition is the one that - perhaps even more than There'll Almost Always Be An England - encapsulates the dynamics of village life with all its cliques and hierarchies. John Le Mesurier is his usual vague self (whether he was really at a point where he was struggling to remember lines, or giving a brilliant performance of someone who struggled to remember the end of his sentences I couldn't say. It certainly held my attention, though). He and Joan Hickson made a somewhat unexpected spousal pairing (though probably no less than John and Hattie Jacques). And Anton Rodgers is the lothario, wooing and engaged to half the women in the village, and eventually choosing the gorgeous, pot-smoking free spirited new arrival from Chelsea who the other villagers have done their best to exclude. The competition over the best pie is furious, so much so that it doesn't really matter who wins... because there's going to be hell to pay. I'm fairly sure this is the first episode to feature the ladies' loos, and we spend a fair amount of time in there, trashing the winners and judges and drinking damson gin.


Just five episodes left. Looking at the titles, the only theme which seems obvious is that of Lot 23. The others could be about absolutely anything. And that's just as exciting as some of the familiar names still to come.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

While timing has been important in many Village Hall episodes, and has yielded some impressive momentsThe Rough And The Smooth is perhaps the most intricate episode so far when it comes to technical performance.

Firstly, the actors have to play badminton and appear to do this well because their characters are competitive regular players. Then they have to keep this up for a good part of the episode, presumably hitting certain marks at the right points to accommodate the writing which references the game's progress (the alternative is they're ad libbing the dialogue to compensate for the way the actors play when filming, which would be even more impressive). And all the while they have to do the more "regular" acting requirements of transmitting their characters' feelings and the changing dynamics within the group.

In these regards it's rather like the ballet dancing episode which had a similar juggling act of different performing techniques. Still, it feels that the badminton episode has taken this to another level due to the lack of predictability usually found in sport. I suppose performance of a sport , like that of a dance, can be choreographed so that the strokes are exactly the same with each delivery. Still, though... very impressive.

The cast for this one is mostly of the younger, attractive variety, but still note-perfect all. Jan Francis, Jane Carr and Kenneth Cranham are among the familiar faces.

As expected, Lot 23 was centred around an auction taking place in the hall. There was a fair amount of story to this one, including a rich backstory of an old romance. I found it surprisingly touching and this was one of those unresolved endings that set my mind racing.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

While I haven't had much to say about it, I've watched Village Hall in its entirety and enjoyed it to the end.

Not that it was all greatness. Silver Threads, for example, suffered greatly from appalling sound design, with clattering dishes and the general hubbub of the crowd "rhubarbing" away frequently drowning out dialogue. But it's all part of the charm, and the professionalism of the actors softens the blow.

Still, it's a good sign that I was surprised when the final disc ended as Series Two went by so quickly I'd convinced myself there were a further two or three episodes still to watch. It's left me wanting more (kind of).