*****

British television in the 1970s was something of a haven for cop shows, a place where men were men, slags were slags and Guv was seemingly the preferred title for any officer above the level of Constable.

Viewers more used to the gentle methods of PC George Dixon would soon be choking on their TV dinners as a decade of The Sweeney, The Professionals and a whole new lexicon comprised of shooters, blags and shouts was introduced to the national conscience, not to mention a host of imitators and rivals to Regan and co.

It was in 1976 that ITV brought author Kenneth Royce’s novel XYY Man to the small screen, the story of cat burglar William ‘Spider’ Scott (Stephen Yardley), his extra Y chromosome and the resultant criminal tendencies.

Co-starring in XYY was gruff actor Don Henderson, a man with a face for playing villains, who went against type to portray DS George Bulman, a no-nonsense copper with a violent edge.

XYY would only last 13 episodes, after which Bulman should have been relegated to TV history along with colleague DC Derek Willis (Dennis Blanch) – that is until Granada TV decided they wanted their own version of The Sweeney and lured Bulman away from the safety of the Met to the frozen North West of England circa 1978.

Thanks to Bulman and Willis’ anonymity in the north (they are the Strangers of the title), and after being joined by WDC Linda Doran (Frances Tomelty) and DI David Singer (John Ronane), the pair could go undercover in various operations which would have proved impossible for the local police.

Series One was clearly a something of a baptism of fire for all involved, the desire to create a fast-paced crime show somewhat neutered by the decision to shoot the series on video and give it a Light Entertainment-style theme tune which wouldn’t have seemed out-of-place on a Bruce Forsyth game show of the era.

Still, over seven episodes something resembling a formula becomes apparent, with small time crooks coming into contact with Bulman, Willis and Doran as their unconventional methods lead to arrests and the impotent rage of their superior, DCI Rainbow (David Hargreaves).

Just as each week’s new case brings new crimes to the fore – dodgy post men and horse racing scams are at the centre of some plots with the team going undercover as reporters and coroners when needed – the other element of the show which seems to shift on a regular basis is its tone.

The Complete Strangers

Endowed with peculiarities such as always wearing woollen gloves, carrying a plastic bag and having a tendency to quote poetry at inopportune moments, Bulman isn’t your typical action series lead.

Though the programme never devolves into pure farce, the comedy elements do sometimes collide head-on with the drama, the abilities of Henderson and Blanch to play both frequently saving an episode.

The series begins to show a nice line in continuity in these early episodes, with episode five, Briscoe, introducing a maverick copper played by Michael Byrne who returns a few episodes later after earning Bulman’s grudging respect.

A high calibre of guest cast also helps maintain the quality of the series, Hywel Bennett, William Russell and David Daker all popping up to lend a hand.

The same format would be used for Series Two, though Willis is given a makeover which befits his role as the most physical character in the series.

Things get far more interesting with the arrival of Series Three as the team, now minus Doran and returned to their original patch of London, are recruited to the shady Inter-City division of the Metropolitan Police.

Led by tough-talking DCI Jack Lambie (Mark McManus), joined by new member WDC Vanessa Bennett (Fiona Mollisson) and given a revamped theme tune and title sequence along with added swagger, this is Strangers as it always should have been.

Thanks also to now being shot entirely on film, Strangers looks the part of a grittier police drama and the storylines often try to reflect this change.

With the introduction of shady Home Office liaison William Dugdale (Thorley Walters) the series also found itself gaining some more espionage-tinged stories, the character shoe-horned in more regularly to emphasis these were not just common-or-garden thrillers.

Though the leads’ personal lives were never delved into too deeply, a relationship between Willis and Bennett is alluded to while Lambie’s ex-wife is also mentioned more than once. Thankfully this was still an era of non-soap opera drama, when the main story was based on a clever plot rather than the painful behind-the-scenes shenanigans we’re so used to today.

As the final few series roll on the rapport between the cast becomes stronger, the joy of seeing what new scenario the team will end up in this week paired with wondering which authority figure Bulman will wind-up or who Willis will have a punch-up with.

One aspect of the series which does become obvious when watched in rapid succession is the amount of times the Inter-City squad end up back in the north of the country. Presumably many interior scenes were still filmed up in Granada studios while a few more exteriors than usual took place in London, one even moving up to Edinburgh.

It’s also clear that the series makers had something of a rep company which they would repeatedly return to, a number of actors – step forward Shirley Stelfox, Malcolm Tierney and Daragh O’Malley to name just a few – popping up in different roles throughout the series. This can be both ingratiating and distracting, especially when a character is killed off in one episode only to return as a vaguely similar one a few episodes later.

Held together by the glue that is Don Henderson and Dennis Blanch, working mainly with perfectly paced scripts from lead writer Murray Smith that still sparkle thirty years on, Strangers can lay claim to being one of the quirkier entries into the British crime canon as well as one of the most  entertaining British series full stop.

Mostly forgotten in favour of those other cop shows which get repackaged and re-released on DVD every few years, Strangers deserves the attention of TV aficionados who might want to spend some time solving the crimes the bigger boys wouldn’t touch with a bargepole, let alone a pair of grey woollen gloves.

Extras: Tucked away across these ten discs are various episodes of other British series starring Don Henderson. These include the little-remembered New Scotland Yard, three episodes of daytime favourite Crown Court and a segment of Crossroads in which Henderson plays a very Bulman-like detective.

The Complete Strangers is out now from Network DVD

*****

“Get yer trousers on, you’re nicked!” Perhaps as well known in modern culture as anything  from the Bard or Dickens, those words are spoken (make that shouted) by John Thaw in the TV movie Regan, presented here as part of Armchair Cinema,  a set which presents some of the most sought after output from one of the UK’s most important production companies, Euston Films.

Best known for such long-running series The Sweeney (of which Regan is the pilot episode) and Minder, Thames TV subsidiary Euston were known for shooting on film and taking their cameras onto the streets of London, realistic dialogue and locations replacing studio-bound settings.

Five discs and ten plays are on offer here, brief summaries doing little justice to the quality and range on offer.

This new package opens with two pre-Euston films from Thames, Suspect (1969) and Rumour (1970), both written and directed by Get Carter director Mike Hodges. Suspect, starring Rachel Kempson and the first Thames drama filmed in colour, is the tale of a murdered girl and the effects on her family of the disappearance starring , while Rumour features Michael Coles as newspaper columnist who stumbles upon a conspiracy involving the UK Government.

The success of these two one-offs led to the creation of Euston Films and a series of plays with different casts and stories that would span the next five years, providing a consistently high standard of television drama to the ITV network.

As well as Regan, a suitably bleak start to what would soon become Armchair Cinema’s only spin-off series, The Sweeney, we’re offered Paris-set The Prison (1974), an odd story about a man (James Laurenson) whose wife kills her sister, The Sea Song (1974) in which Tom Bell’s character takes the helm of a one-man yacht only to discover he’s not alone and When Day is Done (1975), a fascinating character study starring Edward Woodward as a would-be musician with a dream which puts those around him in danger.

There’s also Patrick Mower in In Sickness and Health (1975) and Anthony Valentine in Tully (1975), in which he stars as an insurance investigator who travels to Australia to investigate and take part in dodgy dealings which never seem to tax him or the viewer.

Finally there’s the return of Tom Bell in The Sailor’s Return (1978), a message-heavy story about a sailor who returns to England with a new black wife and David Hemmings as the not-quite-Bond Charlie Muffin (1979), a spy who takes the bus rather than an Aston Martin  and gets involved in international intrigue as his superiors try to hamper his every move.

Moving between genres and never outstaying their welcome – though Prison seems an unusual choice for production in the first place – Armchair Cinema was a brave attempt to bring viewers something different each time.

Pinpointing the best performance is difficult, though Edward Woodward’s turn in When Day is Done is worth mentioning, equalled by that of his screen wife Rosemary Leach. David Hemmings’ Charlie Muffin is a neat alternative to the usual screen secret agent, his world of expense forms and receipts a far cry from anything we’re used to – it’s a shame the character didn’t get his own series like Regan.

Yet another above par release from Network, who at this rate will have emptied the ITV archives in the next few years, this purchase should reinvigorate any aficionado’s love of great British television: here’s hoping some up-and-coming TV executives learn something from the past.

Armchair Theatre is out now from Network

*****

Bowler hats, kinky boots, scheming scientists and preposterous plots are probably the first things that spring to mind when The Avengers is mentioned to anyone of a certain age.

Images of the dapper John Steed and the leather-clad Emma Peel driving around the English countryside thwarting bonkers baddies may be most familiar to audiences today, but rewind a few years to the series early days and you’ll find a much different series.

Designed as a new starring vehicle for actor Ian Hendry, familiar to British audiences as Doctor Brent in TV series Police Surgeon, The Avengers premiered in 1961 with a new theme tune and a new premise.

In the pilot episode, of which only the first 15 minutes still exist, Dr Keel’s (Ian Hendry) girlfriend is killed before he then comes into contact with the mysterious Steed (Patrick Macnee) who is investigating the crime.

Determined to “avenge” the murder, the pair would go on to solve various crimes and misdemeanours for another 23 episodes, before a strike cut the season short and the creators retooled it to promote Macnee to series lead.

The return of the show for a second season, complete with new co-star Cathy Gale (Honor Blackman), would see it become appointment television, if not for the strong scripts then certainly for its treatment of woman as equal – if not superior – to their male counterparts.

This newly minted set comprising the whole of season two and what remains of season one, has instantly become one of the must-have’s of the year.

While it’s true to say that early episodes are somewhat creaky and that there’s little of the pizazz associated with the show in its later incarnations, this is a chance to watch the evolution of an iconic series.

Patrick Macnee holds the viewer’s attention whenever he’s on screen, the programme becoming a mere procedural drama when he’s not around. The shadowy nature of Steed in this period will come as something of a shock to those more used to his clearly well-intentioned deeds of the Peel years and it’s often not clear who he’s working for or if his intentions are entirely honourable.

Though others help Steed in these Avengers, most notably Jon Rollason as Dr Martin King and Julie Stephens as nightclub singer Venus Williams, it’s Gale who would capture the viewers’ attention.

Of the 26 season two episodes, flashes of the series’ future penchant for turning the seemingly ordinary into something sinister do crop up, with deadly nuns (Dead on Course) and killer clowns (Conspiracy of Silence) part of the odd goings on.

Duller adventures do crop up, but it’s important to remember that the longer scenes and different pacing are reflective of TV production methods of the time.

Extras on the box set are too numerous to list, but include commentaries, episode introductions, surviving footage from Police Surgeon, DVD-Rom material and extensive photo galleries.

Working both as a rattling good adventure series and as a part of TV history, The Avengers should be on every TV fans Christmas wish list – roll on Season 3!

The Avengers is out now from Optimum

*****

Back for a second series of embarrassment and strange situations, Dan Clark’s How Not to Live Your Life continues to be one of the more unique comedies on British TV while still hidden away on BBC3.

Heartbroken after the departure of his housemate and not-so-secret crush, Abby, Don Danbury (Clark) still shares his home with friend and (almost) carer Eddie (David Armand) while trying to navigate the pitfalls of modern life.

When a beautiful new lodger arrives in the shape of student Sam (Laura Haddock), Don starts to realise that perhaps Abby wasn’t the most important thing in his life, while events continue to move into odder and odder territory.

As the season goes on it’s clear there’s more progression than in the first series, Don’s relationship with Sam frequently allowing for moments of emotion in among the jokes.

Though it’s never quite clear what the point of the series is – Don never seems too bothered about a career or much else – the interaction between the regulars is always a joy, particularly David Armand’s put-upon Eddie and neighbour Mrs Treacher (Leila Hoffman).

Also a highlight are the frequent cutaways to lists of what you shouldn’t do in certain situations, most of them surprisingly worse than the choices Don does actually make. While these do add to the fun of the programme, they do sometimes clash with the more serious elements, jarring with the fantasy elements.

Still, this isn’t a series that wants to be taken seriously and overall this is a refreshingly brash little show that deserves at least one more series so we can find out just what happens to Don, Sam and Abby next.

As well as a handful of commentaries from Dan Clark the extras on this two disc set include a making-of documentary and out-takes.

How Not to Live Your Life is out now from 2entertain

Gabriel Byrne as Dr Paul Weston

It stars some of Hollywood’s finest actors, including a star turn from the always watchable Gabriel Byrne as therapist Paul Weston, has won a raft of awards in America and comes from the TV powerhouse that is HBO – and now In Treatment has arrived in the UK.

Based on the Israel “telenovela” series Be’Tipul, HBO’s In Treatment is a novelty in a world of reality TV and dumbed down soaps: stripped over five nights of the week, each half-hour episode follows a different patient as they meet with Dr Paul Weston (Gabriel Byrne) for their therapy session, while Friday’s episode sees Weston attend a meeting with his own therapist.

According to series creator Hagai Levi, psychology is a way of life for many Israeli’s, him included.

“I was very religious when I was a child and grew up in an Orthodox Jewish family. I started therapy at a very early age, growing up in a Kibbutz in Israel which pioneered it, and I’ve found it very helpful throughout my life, very natural,” says the softly spoken Levi. “It can be odd and a problem in itself because you’re used to sharing everything with a stranger, but  basically it’s my language.”

To Levi, it seemed natural to develop a TV series focusing on therapy.

“I’ve directed a lot of television and feature films and I found the thing I enjoy most is two people talking, listening and getting involved with them,” notes Levi. “I worked for a few years in the telenovela/soap industry in Israel and hated it but I realised the power of a daily series.”

“I wondered why there couldn’t be a good daily drama rather than a bad one, one that combined my love of conversation and therapy. Everything came together about six years ago when I came up with the concept of Be’Tipul.”

Rather than introduce the viewer to a group of kooks and crazies to be laughed at or ridiculed, In Treatment offers up a cast of characters feeling mental pain or anguish, each one with their own foibles and strengths.

“It was important to show a couple of things about therapy.” agrees Levi. “Firstly, I wanted to show that you don’t have to be crazy to attend and to try to remove the stigma. Secondly I wanted to show that the therapist is a person with desire, anger and a family life, to show that when he’s in front of the patient he’s not a blank wall, but that there’s a relationship there between them.”

Weston is also seen to make mistakes with his patients, misjudging one situation in the first week, resulting in him needing to attend sessions of his own.

“When I realised during planning for the original series that he would go to his therapist on a Friday I knew I had something. By having that session we get to know Paul and basically the show is about him rather than the patients, the hero is the therapist.”

With TV companies looking to sell their shows to as wide an audience as possible, was it difficult to convince broadcaster that such a static show would work?

“It was. It took me about two years to sell it in Israel, though HBO bought the American remake rights immediately. It’s also cheap, which helps. I t was originally meant to be a small, late night show, but then it became huge and everyone watched it in Israel. It actually affected the popularity of therapy there with more people going to it.”

How did the profession react to the series?

Melissa George as Laura

“Psychologists thought it was the first time their work has been presented in the proper way,” says Levi. “Think about the way psychology is presented in films, such as Woody Allen pictures, it’s ridiculous.

“One psychologist told me “Finally my family can see what I’m doing and what I have to cope with!” Now they’re using it in Israel and America in universities to demonstrate therapy to students. They’ve also raised their prices!”

Although HBO used American actors and made changes for the international market, this version still has echoes of the Israeli original, something Levi openly acknowledges.

“The first season is very close to the original, almost word for word in the first few weeks. As the season continues there are more changes and some brand new episodes.

“The second season is much deeper and more adapted to the Western culture. Consider the character of the pilot, Alex (played by Blair Underwood). In Israel being a pilot is second only to God and later on you’ll find out he’s the son of a Holocaust survivor so he’s very much an Israeli character.”

Known for taking chances with their series, HBO seems the natural home for such a unique series -  was there ever any pressure from them to change things?

“When I first came to America everyone told me they wouldn’t let me leave it like it is, that we’d have to open it up and that it couldn’t stay in the room. That wasn’t the case as they let me leave it as it was, very intimate. There was no pressure at all from HBO, perhaps helped by the fact they needed it on the air very quickly.

“There was some more pressure in the second season because we all felt that we wanted to do a better job by making it more American, but I wouldn’t imagine myself working for a network like CBS or NBC, making it more commercial and telling you what to do.”

As well as absorbing storylines, In Treatment boasts a cast list that includes the Oscar-winning Dianne Wiest as Weston’s therapist, ex-Home and Away star Melissa George as sexually obsessed Laura and Bridget Jones’ own Embeth Davidtz as Amy, one half of a married couple in trouble.

“Gabriel and Dianne are well known, the others are perhaps lesser known,” says Levi. “When I came to HBO I told them my Israeli cast were all huge stars and that it was important to bring US stars to the show.

“To hold the viewers’ attention for half an hour you need to have that star quality, be able to look at a close-up and be fascinated all the time. HBO had their arguments that they want to see new faces so you believe it, which is their style, as in The Wire.”

Blair Underwood as Alex

Another element of the series which Levi is proud of is the way it has changed how a TV series can be watched by its audience.

Just as the DVD box set has revolutionised the consumption of a programme, allowing entire seasons to be devoured in a weekend, In Treatment allows further fine tuning to the experience.

“You can watch it every night, watch five episodes at the weekend, watch it online [in America, episodes were added to iTunes by HBO each week, five episodes at a time] or wait for the DVDs,” enthuses Levi.

“You can also pick one character and just follow them. Luckily I was came along at a time when it was important your show was available across many platforms.”

While we’re only just getting the series in the UK, a second has already been screened in America, with Levi hinting that a third, “a kind of spin-off, following one patient through his life”, may enter production soon.

Given the programme’s success in such a crowded TV marketplace, what makes its creator proudest when he looks at back at the first year?

Levi smiles and thinks for a moment: “The fact that, even with all this noise all around them on television, people will listen to two people sitting in a room and talking makes me very happy.”

In Treatment is on Sky Arts 1, Monday to Friday at 10pm, with an Omnibus edition of all five episodes every Sunday at 10pm. Week 2 begins 12 October.

Watch a trailer for In Treatment:

The final part of Walter Dunlop’s mammoth review of 1960’s drama Manhunt comes to an end with more shocks, surprises and double dealings from wartorn France.

Please note that this is not a review in the normal sense, much space given over to understanding a series mostly forgotten by today’s viewers. As such there are spoilers within the text, so please be careful if you don’t want to know what happens in the series.

Parts one, two and three of this review are also recommended if you haven’t yet read them.

Back again for the final stretch. It’s been a little while since the last report, and it’s simply because there’s a lot in these four episodes to process. So much happens, and I really couldn’t come to grips with it at first. I needed time to gather my thoughts.

As we rejoin the gang, there’s another escape plan in progress. Alfred Shaugnessy’s The Train May Be Late sees several of the cast regulars making their way to the coast by rail. Vincent and Adelaide are attempting to get the piece of metal they nicked during Intend To Steal out and across the English Channel.

With typical audacity, they’re doing it by travelling on a train packed with Germans. Adelaide’s the one with the responsibility for carrying the metal, and she’s doing it with characteristic elan – even accepting help from one of the soldiery as he offers to place her basket in the luggage rack for her.

Adelaide eyes the other occupants of the carriage with amused detachment, and a touch of the predator. Every time the train went through a tunnel, I kept expecting the camera to cut back and reveal one less occupant, and Adelaide sitting back with a happy burp.

Further up the carriage, Vincent is stalking the corridors. Presumably there as lookout and general aide to Adelaide in case anything goes wrong, he’s unfortunately reckoned without Manhunt’s resident chaos magnet.

Yes, several carriages up, Nina is on board. Rather sensibly Jimmy’s sitting this one out, said to be working back at the factory. A factory which, lest we forget, was bombed to oblivion last week. Presumably there’s a lot of sweeping up to do.

It’s interesting the way this episode is framed, switching between carriages. Nina and Adelaide are more or less in the same position, each having acquired a high-ranking German officer who won’t leave them alone. In Adelaide’s case, she handles it effortlessly, carrying out polite conversation (and dropping Lutzig’s name into the conversation occasionally when things get too fresh).

Predictably, Nina handles things with considerably less skill, unravelling at the seams so fast that it’s a surprise the carriage isn’t full of wool by the end of the episode. She’s got a younger officer draped over her – one who gets violently drunk as the episode wears on (presumably to stave off the boredom, or maybe it’s the only way he can stand to be anywhere near Nina. I know how he feels).

Of course, this being Manhunt, Nina’s pulchritudinous charms bring him under her spell almost immediately and he’s trying it on before the first advert break. Meanwhile, across the carriage is Spiegel, Geoffrey Whitehead making a welcome return to the series after Degrade and Rule. He’s watching with an eagle eye – in fact, he doesn’t take his eyes off Nina. But it’s all a feint on the part of the writer – he’s actually after the officer, who turns out to be a Polish escapee, making a break for it in disguise.

All of which is a hindrance to poor old Vincent, who continues to have the worst luck of anyone in television drama – as the train is boarded by Special Intelligence Officers, his slight resemblance to the description of the Pole is enough to cause him to be arrested and taken for interrogation. Poor sod.

Of course, he’s acting suspiciously because he’s been thrown into a tizz by encountering Nina again – there’s a veddy veddy British encounter in a not-veddy veddy British location, as the two reacquaint themselves in the train’s lavatory. It’s all cheek to cheek embraces and extremes of quivering, restrained emotion on Vincent’s part. Poor man – no good can come of this.

As is now traditional with Manhunt, the tension ratchets tighter and tighter, until Spiegel finally twigs that there’s something going on here. With Nina constantly flaking out and “feeling unwell” and Vincent stalking the corridors looking worried, he’d have to be a fool not to. Before too long, all of our protagonists are held at gunpoint in a single carriage by Spiegel, and it looks like the series may come to a premature end.

Thankfully, the British choose this moment to mount an air raid. In the darkness and confusion there’s another close-quarters scuffle, ended decisively by Adelaide shooting Spiegel.

Adelaide’s proven to be a total revelation as this series has progressed. Initially seeming to be a one-shot interruption to the main plotline, her Mae West-esque persona is merely the start of it – by turns flippant, steely, matronly, playful… Adelaide really does seem to be the one character who has her head screwed on. When anyone needs something done, you can be sure if she’s involved there’s a chance it might actually happen.

Here, she takes control when no-one else will, and proves to be the only thing that stops Nina and Vincent coming to a bad end. Admittedly, it’s self defence, since Spiegel’s got his sights on her as well – but even so, her level-headedness, common sense and general refusal to play the submissive downtrodden female have made her one Manhunt’s trump cards. A wonderful character.

The RAF’s timely intervention may have saved Adelaide, Vincent and Nina’s skins, but it has meant that the trainline is bombed to oblivion, and everyone has to turn back to Bordeaux. In a series of wasted efforts and futile gestures, this is merely the latest setback, and our heroes set their shoulders grimly as they head back to square one.

While we’re waiting for them to get there, the spotlight swings onto our resident scene-stealers as Gratz and Lutzig finally get an episode to themselves.

Little Man, What Next? (Part 1) sees Vincent Tilsley return for another of his forensic locked room examinations of the human psyche and it initially seems somewhat jarring – with only three episodes to go, why is the focus suddenly switched from the three leads for an entire episode?

On reflection though, this episode is absolutely necessary, as events have to be set in motion to bring about the conclusion of the series. Gratz needs to be maneuvered into a position where he is able to interact with the fugitives and Lutzig needs to show some degree of progress to keep him onside with his superiors.

As it is, he comfortably sees out another higher ranking officer this week (I think that’s his third, over the series run – there’s something to be said for keeping your head down), and ends this episode in the strongest position possible.

Barkworth, Lynch and Hayman are totally absent this week, meaning the spotlight shines firmly on the ancient and venerable firm of Hardy and Madoc. Can they shoulder the burden? What do you think? Of course they can.

We’re greeted to the remarkable sight of a trouserless Robert Hardy as the episode opens, as Gratz has been picked up for suspicious behaviour, wandering the streets with a fistful of money he can’t account for, and travel plans he can’t justify.

Lutzig – seizing the opportunity to lord it over the man who’s spent several months outthinking and outmanoeuvring him, decides to extract as much information out of Gratz while he has the chance – finally, we might find out just how much Gratz has managed to extract from Nina’s noggin.

And so begins a most elegantly choreographed dance, as each man flip-flops from interrogator to victim and back again over an engrossing fifty minutes. Apart from Madoc and Hardy, the only other named characters are Gratz’s wife Sarah and Lutzig’s superior, Zander.

Unfortunately, both show up a unique weakness in the way Manhunt is presented – when you’ve got a topline supporting cast, if any of the performers who come in for one or two episodes are anything less than perfect it really shows.

There are scenes here where Gratz is confronted by a brutally anti-semitic wife on the warpath. Having discovered exactly who her husband is sleeping with – it’s never clearly revealed whether she found out by other means, or whether Lutzig took great pleasure in telling her – Jane Jordan Rogers portrays her disgust with her husband by shouting. A lot.

What she’s shouting is horrendous, vile, nasty sentiments all the more disgusting for coming from a normal human being. Sarah isn’t some twisted evil character, she’s an ordinary woman, and these attitudes are what she’s been brought up to believe. It’s horrible, and it would be even more so were the performance a little more accomplished. As it is, it’s powerful,  just not as much as it could be.

Meanwhile, Lutzig’s confrontations with his boss are perfunctory at best, because Jack Watson’s style of acting is to alternately rattle-through-his-lines-at-breakneck-speed – his answering-the-telephone acting is a masterclass in how not to do it – or to bellow so loudly I swear you can see Madoc’s facial muscles ripple backwards under the onslaught.

After weeks of everyone underplaying, it’s a real shocker to see these two in full flight, and it’s a shame, as Hardy and Madoc…well, you can’t get better than these two, you really can’t.

Lutzig’s smugness is almost his undoing, as Zander loses patience with his methods (having threatened to force Lutzig to torture Gratz as a means of speeding him up, Zander ends up doing the job himself).

While Lutzig soliloquises to himself over a fag break – patting himself on the back before the job’s done, Gratz is taken away and has his fingers broken – all of them. While on the rack, he manages to damn all of German High Command as traitors – even under extreme duress, Gratz just can’t keep his mouth shut.

What follows next is another high point a series that’s composed almost completely of high points. Taken back to his cell, Gratz confronts Lutzig – and the sanity appears to leave Robert Hardy’s eyes completely. He switches characters, seemingly thinking that Lutzig is himself, and he is the interrogator.

Seeing an opportunity, Lutzig takes on the persona of Gratz and waits to see what happens. All of Gratz’s insecurities and thoughts about himself, about Nina, about his conduct and place in the war come tumbling out, as Gratz lays it his soul completely bare – all the while attempting to take repeated swipes at Lutzig’s head with his mutilated hands.

It’s electrifying, as Lutzig gently takes Gratz through this “confession”, admitting in character to anything Gratz wants him to, leading him through the labyrinth until everything’s out in the open and Gratz kneels at his side, a shattered husk.

Seemingly satisfied, Lutzig sits back… at which point, the spark appears to reignite in Gratz’s eyes and he switches personal pronouns and becomes himself again – revealing himself to be far more in control of events than you might think.

Even now, I’m still unsure as to whether Gratz’s sanity does actually desert him here – my initial reading was that this is the only way his mind can achieve a kind of stability after what he’s been through.

By detaching itself completely and allowing Gratz to completely humiliate himself and lay his innermost self open, it’s as if he brings himself back from the edge of insanity. Now, I’m not altogether sure that Gratz hasn’t been in there all along – still the master game player, even at this point. Whichever it is, the end result is the same – Lutzig and Gratz seal one final bargain and are now propelled into one last final search for Vincent, Jimmy and Nina.

The second part of Little Man, What Next? brings everyone together. The plotlines which have been working away for the previous twenty four weeks converge, and everyone gets the chance to shine.

With one exception.

It became obvious some weeks back the writers have run out of things for Jimmy to do, and poor old Alfred Lynch’s main plotline is more or less forgotten about as things begin to shudder to an ending. He will remain very much involved from this point on, but we never find out about his remaining time in the factory with Tony Beckley.

All of a sudden, he’s just there, as if he’s never been away. He remains sitting in the background dispensing quips and doing any legwork that’s necessary to keep the main focus of the episode on the big confrontation that’s been building up for weeks.

This is the episode where Gratz and Vincent finally come face to face, and it doesn’t disappoint. The man with bandaged hands meets the man with bandaged hands and it’s obvious that these two are closer than they’d like to admit – both determined to follow their own course, both mutilated by the SS… and both in love with the same woman.

Shame that woman is Nina, really. It’s a shame that in a series which is blessed with two very strong, very likeable female characters (Adelaide and Francine) and many other powerful supporting turns, that Nina’s the dominant one.

I wish, I really wish, that I could find a spark of sympathy for her. Unfortunately, her character is almost totally without redeeming features. Selfish, devious, manipulative, a ruthless streak a mile wide and a total indifference to anything that doesn’t directly involve Nina, there have been moments in this series where I’ve wondered if Vincent wasn’t right on the money with his initial analysis of the situation.

Maybe they’d all have been better off shooting her in episode one, especially given the swathe of destruction she leaves behind. I’d feel a lot better about her if she showed any sign of remorse – but there’s nothing. Not one jot. Which makes what happens all the harder to take.

Gratz appears to be back to his old tricks, playing both ends against the middle and somehow ends up in the lion’s den. Having endured a remarkable first confrontation that ends up with Vincent hammering his broken fingers and triggering off a hallucination that ends with Nina breaking his fingers all over again (fingers, yes – but it’s the lower part of the anatomy that she removes completely and throws away), Gratz comes to and finds himself surrounded by Vincent, Jimmy and Typhoid Mary.

Even from a position of powerless, he radiates confidence, and is soon back on top, negotiating a route back to England for the terrible trio – and leaving a possible escape route out of the war for himself (I’ve never, ever been able to understand Gratz’s motivation, and I feel it’s hampered my understanding of Manhunt somewhat – even at this late stage, I can’t read him. Not one bit. I can only assume that many of his actions are coloured by some lingering sense of affection for Nina, even long after she’s made it plain that its not reciprocated).

In the course of setting this up, he attempts to lead Lutzig away from the trail – and instead, leads him straight to Nina and Jimmy, who have gone to Adelaide for help. This leads to a hold-your-breath moment – with Lutzig talking to Adelaide in the living room, Gratz goes prowling, and stumbles on Nina and Jimmy, hiding in the bathroom.

Will he give them away? It’s touch and go for a moment, but all roads eventually lead back to the safehouse that’s acting as temporary HQ, and a touching reunion for Nina and Vincent.

Jimmy’s been sent off to play marbles for a few moments, which gives our male and female leads the chance to finally declare their feelings properly. The scales fall from Nina’s eyes at last. They greet each other as if it’s the first time they’ve ever met (“Hello, Nina”. “Hello, Vincent”).

Everything seems set for a happy ending, but all is not as it seems, for Vincent’s seen his future, and there isn’t much of it. He sends Nina out to join Jimmy, and the stage is set for one final confrontation.

I truly believe that if Gratz hadn’t overheard Nina and Vincent’s final declaration of devotion, there’d have been a chance for Vincent to survive. I also believe that Vincent knew that, from the moment the words left his mouth.

Unfortunately, Gratz is the sort of man who can’t stand the idea that the other man wouldn’t be as miserable as he was (believe me, he would have been. Give it a few weeks, and Vincent would be clawing at the walls to get out).

In the end, only one person can walk out of that room, and Gratz shoots Vincent in the midst of yet another dirty, vicious scuffle. I’d love to tell you what happens immediately after that, but there was something in my eye that was obscuring my vision.

Vincent became a character I absolutely fell for. Confused, yes. Inclined to rash action, certainly. But possessed of a nobility, a strong moral centre and a vulnerability that couldn’t help but get you on his side. He – and at this point I’ll repeat the spoiler warning at the start of this piece if you don’t want to know what happens next, you have been warned – dies in the end, for a love that was never meant to be in the first place, and he never even knows if it was worth it.

As a result, Jimmy gets the single finest line in the entire 26 episodes, as outside in the car a gunshot is heard. Nina immediately flies off the handle, despite not knowing who’s been shot and who’s survived. She struggles to get out of the car and go back in, and with the elan that Jimmy has displayed throughout the series, he smacks her one and knocks her out. “Whichever one it was, you were the one who pulled the trigger”, he mutters as he drives off with an unconscious Nina beside him. Amen to that, Jimmy boy. Amen to that.

And so, we reach the series conclusion. The episode title should give a few pointers to the content. Exactly six months after we first met them, The Losers finds Nina and Jimmy making for the coast one last time. Lutzig’s hot on their tail, and it really does seem to be the end. Or is it?

There’s one last roll of the dice. The head of the Paris Resistance turns up again – Raoul, which means that we are able to welcome back John Savident and his own peculiar brand of gravitas to Manhunt. Also back for a final lap of honour is Stefan, the serving boy in the restaurant used by the resistance. He’s provided memorable support for everyone else over 26 episodes, so it seems only right to credit Christian Rodska for his sterling work.

With these two on their side, surely things will finally start to go right?

Don’t you believe it. The final episode builds into a convoluted chase involving the gang masquerading as a wedding party (Jimmy looking fearfully uncomfortable in a penguin suit, Nina looking altogether too happy to be in a wedding dress), several roadblocks and an eventual rendezvous at the Coast.

Yes, they finally make it. No, it doesn’t end well.

Their boat awaits, and all seems to be running smoothly – in one final terrible twist of the knife, it’s an ambush. Nina and Jimmy get away. Raoul and Stefan are gunned down, running interference. Adelaide makes a run for the getaway boat, and almost makes it, but is shot in the back and collapses onto the beach. And we fade to black.

The next morning, Lutzig can be seen turning over corpses on the beach, including Adelaide. His lover, lest we forget. It’s an awful way for someone so full of life to breath her last, but that’s Manhunt.

Back in the early part of the Season, Nina tells Vincent the story of the Frog and The Scorpion, which at the time seems a clear warning from her to Vincent about her own nature. It can just as easily be applied to these two – he may have been fond of her, but in the final analysis Lutzig’s a killer and Adelaide… is just another body.

Later, back in England. Nina finally finishes her debriefing. After six months of death and horror, she’s finally made it, and is free to deliver her vital information. But in six months, the war has moved on. People die, faces change. And she’s been carrying round a head full of useless information. It’s all been for nothing. She steps out into the street, ready for her new life.

Meanwhile, Jimmy’s in the pub. At long last free to grow his moustache again, he’s holding forth. Promoted upwards to a cushy deskjob which he doesn’t actually want, he’s not happy. Neither are any of the chaps he’s with, all of whom appear bored rigid by him and desperate to get away.

At least one of them should listen more closely. Jimmy’s friend Eddie is played by a certain Mr Paul Darrow. As a man who will shortly become famous playing a character intimately familiar with the phrase “pointless sacrifice”, old Avon could have gained some valuable pointers.

Nina walks in, and there’s a final twist of the knife. Despite all that they’ve gone through together, she snubs Jimmy, striking up conversation with a handsome American airman. The only reason they know each other at all is because of a chance encounter in France and for Nina, that’s not enough. They part coldly, strangers once more.

And then, with a final flourish of Beethoven on the credits, it’s all over. Vincent, Adelaide, Raoul, Stefan, Anton, Allard and a cast of hundreds of extras are all dead. Lutzig continues in the SS, Gratz is free to start a new life (may he rejoin Sarah again, that couple deserve each other, if only to protect anyone else from getting emotionally entangled). It’s all been for nothing.

But it’s not as simple as that. If nothing else, Manhunt shows you the nobility of the poor sods who struggled against overwhelming odds in World War II. It shows you the little victories. It confronts you with difficult dilemmas, and then doesn’t provide you with a pat answer or a quick resolution.

Most of all though, it shows you just what can be achieved with a dedicated production team, and a cast of quite brilliant actors, giving their all in the name of a series that they quite obviously care about.

Is this the finest show that ITV have ever produced? I think it might very well be. Right now, it stands as a massive tribute to the talents of all concerned. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Go buy. Watch. Fall in love.

But prepare to have your heart broken.

Walter Dunlop

Thanks to Walter for taking the time to both watch and write about this brilliant series.

Manhunt is available now from Network DVD.

]]> http://adventuresinprimetime.wordpress.com/2009/09/01/dvd-review-manhunt-part-four/feed/ 3 Jonathan Melville http://adventuresinprimetime.wordpress.com/2009/08/26/dvd-review-pardon-the-expression/ http://adventuresinprimetime.wordpress.com/2009/08/26/dvd-review-pardon-the-expression/#comments Wed, 26 Aug 2009 22:32:54 +0000 Jonathan Melville http://adventuresinprimetime.wordpress.com/?p=227 ]]>

Taking a break from his mammoth review of Manhunt, Walter Dunlop returns with a look at 1960’s sitcom Pardon the Expression.

Series One -

*****

Series Two -

*****

You wouldn’t expect your average British soap opera to be fertile ground for a sitcom. Indeed, I’m hard pushed to remember many spinoffs at all, if you discount all those tedious direct-to-video hour long specials that EastEnders, Brookside et al keep pushing out.

Coronation Street’s always had a wide vein of whimsy running through it though – certainly any time I’ve ever tuned in there’s been some sort of bizarre subplot happening, or banter between characters which leaven the dark goings on elsewhere.

It has, rather astonishingly, managed not one but two spin-off series in its time. The first, The Brothers MacGregor, careered out of a brief cameo at Eddie Yates’s engagement party in 1982, with the original actors Tony Osoba and Carl Chase replaced for the series main run by Paul Barber and Philip Whitchurch.

It managed to entertain the nation for 26 episodes before being quietly cancelled. Many watching, I imagine, were unaware of the series origins. This isn’t the first time a character from the Street walked out of his cosy little niche and ended up a long way from where he started. Some seventeen years earlier there was Pardon the Expression.

From 1960 to 1965, dedicated worker at Gamma Garments and sometime lay-preacher Leonard Swindley was one of Coronation Street’s most loved characters. No wonder, given that he was played by one of Britain’s most loved actors, Arthur Lowe.

In his time on the street, Swindley nearly walked Emily Nugent up the aisle (she was the one who called it off) and was eventually promoted upwards in Gamma Garments before leaving the Street. Two days later, he walked into a new post as Assistant Manager at Dobson and Hawks clothing stores.

Which brings us to Pardon The Expression, or the further adventures of an innocent abroad. For those of us who can’t get enough of Arthur Lowe, these two series give us ample opportunity to luxuriate further in his company, as well as providing the missing link in his sixties television work – five years on the Street, two years on Pardon, and then in 1967, the call of the BBC and a certain World War II-based sitcom.

I’ve long had this theory about a certain type of British comedy character, that we seem to produce never-ending variants of the little-man-with-aspirations type. You can see it in the work of Galton and Simpson all the time, from Hancock to Steptoe, to the various grotesques in their Comedy Playhouse work and beyond.

They’re all over the work of other writers in this country as well: Rigsby to Reggie, Rene Artois to Captain Peacock. Usually, these characters are accompanied by someone who not only allows them a sounding board, someone to bounce off, but who also deflates their pomposity, showing the vulnerability underneath which can be all that stops them from becoming monstrously unlikeable.

For me that’s why Hancock on his own never works as well without Sid James or Bill Kerr in tow. Charming self-centredness becomes arrogance if there’s not someone there to haul him back.

I’ll take the Hancock of The Missing Page over the monster who stalks the final BBC series, or indeed the maniac who rampages through Hancock’s ITV work in the sixties. Perry and Croft obviously recognised this when they gave Mainwaring a whole platoon to keep him under control.

Tea and Sympathy?

It’s in the way that he deals with other people that we see the little man with a fundamentally good heart, always striving to do the right thing but not necessarily equipped with the greatest of social skills. To see how badly things can go wrong even with a great actor like Lowe, I’d direct you to Car Along The Pass from The Galton and Simpson Playhouse in 1977.

Saddled with an ineffectual wife (or at least, one who sheathes her claws until the dying seconds of the episode), Lowe’s character runs rampant in an enclosed space and leaves this viewer wanting to throttle him. It’s all bluster, no soul.

Thankfully, Pardon The Expression suffers no such problems.

Series One

In Pardon, the writers give Swindley a virtual family of supporting characters – almost all of them working for him, looking after him and ready to pick him up when he falls. It’s really rather sweet: everyone below him in the pecking order adores him (several of the girls on the shop floor admit to finding him rather sexy), and senior management recognise a scapegoat and whipping boy when they see one.

It gives Arthur Lowe a fine assortment of types to bounce off, and he makes full use of them. Not for nothing was he one of Lindsay Anderson’s favourite actors: along with Rossiter, Lowe’s one of the finest reactive actors this country ever produced. Just watch the way he responds to what everyone else is doing in any given scene, whatever he’s working in. Magnificent.

Things start off relatively normally, in traditional ITV sitcom-land. The girls on the shop floor discuss the arrival of their new assistant manager, with dark mutterings as to just how long he’ll last, given the remarkable turnaround the post has previously seen.

"I'll give 'im two days..."

Store head Mr Parbold is something of a martinet, it seems – a martyr to his stomach trouble, given to arbitrary decisions and even more arbitrary firings.

Following a disastrous first day which he somehow manages to survive, Swindley’s fundamental good nature and kindness wins him devoted admirers virtually from the get-go (his first act is to kindly clock in for a persistently late girl, which gets her and all her companions on his side straight away).

He even manages to make an ally of the fearsome floor manager Miss Sinclair – disdained by her underlings, and a fawner to anyone further up the chain, Swindley somehow brings out the best in her and she becomes a staunch if sarcastic ally.

Played with a Miss Brodie-esque starchiness by Joy Stewart, Miss Sinclair frequently walks off with entire scenes thanks to her ability to pocket them with one well placed insult in the right place.

"It was never like this on Sauchiehall Street..."

Miss Sinclair’s natural enemy is the formidable Canteen Manager, Mrs Edgeley, played by Betty Driver, shortly to leap to soap immortality as Betty Turpin in Coronation Street. Here, she and Miss Sinclair conspire to keep Swindley as near to a state of on-the-rails as possible.

He gives off such a vulnerable, helpless quality that you can’t help but root for them as they attempt to keep him from the eye of the venomous Mr Parbold.

Paul Dawkins gives an interesting, if uncertain performance here – initially seemingly wielding the axe with an iron will and a hair-trigger whim, he eventually settles down into “bumbling” – easily enough outwitted, given time.

Dawkins would doubtless have continued this into the second season but a serious car accident ruled him out and following a first series cameo Robert Dorning stepped in as Mr Hunt, forming a nice little double act with Lowe. The two of them spar wonderfully, vying with each other to see who can deliver the most deliriously pompous lines, much to the distress of those around them.

The first series is harmless enough – lots of standard sitcom plottery abounds, from Swindley losing the key to the security bag in the first episode, to having to wine-and-dine the Headmistress of a neighbouring girl’s school in order to secure a prestigious clothing contract.

Swindley is put in charge of the store for a day, deals with a troublesome pensioner and has to run the gamut between lecherous middle management and their disapproving wives in an attempt to mount a pageant for the local Chamber of Commerce.

An attempt to get rid of the dead wood on the staff provokes an all-out strike, the conclusion to which not only satisfies everyone on the staff but made this viewer go “aw, bless him” as the end credits rolled.

"I'll get 'im another cuppa. I'm not happy about his face…"

Even at its most formulaic, Pardon is always watchable – with the number of top flight actors in front of the camera and a writing staff that includes Jack Rosenthal, Vince Powell and Harry Driver, that’s pretty much a given.

There are a surprising number of fluffs and missed cues, and a running theme of the first series is scene endings that go on just that little too long as characters are left to mug helplessly until the camera leaves them to move on to the next set.

But all that’s forgiven, as there’s bags of charm. It rattles along nicely, and there’s a feeling of the studio audience rooting for the characters too – just listen to them cheer when Swindley makes his appearance in the first episode, or the “ooooh!” that goes up when a carefully planted line pays off in the second show.

Guest-star spotters will be well served. Dig through these episodes and you’ll find appearances by Julie Goodyear, John Le Mesurier, John Laurie, Amanda Barrie, Warren Mitchell and even “Sir” Ben Kingsley. It’s always a little pleasure to spot a familiar face, and these episodes will keep you busy for hours.

It’s not the greatest sitcom ever written, rarely rising to the heights, but it’s by no means the worst. I’ve recently watched some episodes of Tripper’s Day – Leonard Rossiter’s last sitcom work and a sort-of variation on the seam being worked here – and the difference in quality is remarkable. Even someone of the calibre of Rossiter can sink like a stone when nobody else on the production team seems interested.

Series Two

Things get odder as the remarkably extended second series goes on. Whereas the first luxuriated in a twelve-episode running length (unusual in Britain, even then – most sitcoms averaged between six and eight shows per season, although Hancock’s Half Hour’s fourth season made it to a production – busting thirteen episodes), the second runs for 24 weeks.

Not all of the regions made it through to the end, with some giving up halfway through and coming back for the final episodes.

A look at the schedules for 13 May 1966 reveals that while London sticks doggedly with the series run, more or less everyone else had bailed in favour of The Man in Room 17. And even London’s got it stuck in a not terribly favourable 9:40 PM slot.

At least in the first series Pardon benefited from leading in to “Coronation Street” itself, airing at 7pm in most regions. It makes sense to place it there – a post watershed sitcom, it is not. At least by the final episode to be broadcast (27 June 1966), things seem to have settled down a bit – although in most regions you’d have been entertained by either Love Story starring Patrick MacNee or an episode of The Dean Martin Show while you waited.

If you lived in the Scottish Television region, you wouldn’t have seen the final episode at all. Plus ça change…

Several episodes were never shown at all – 39 shows were apparently made, but only 36 ever aired. Network have managed to unearth one of these shows, the original opener to Season Two.

It’s included as a bonus feature on the second box set, so you too can scratch your head and wonder at the internal politicking of television companies. It’s not significantly better or worse than any of the other episodes on the set, so why was this and its two fellows never shown? It’s very strange.

This extended season running time appears to go to the heads of the writers as some very strange plots begin to surface, with strange shenanigans in the bedding department (Who’s Been Sleeping In Our Beds), a trip to the corporation rubbish dump to retrieve the results of the annual stocktaking (The Annual Stocktaking, funnily enough) and some decidedly dodgy Middle-Eastern drag going on in the annual cabaret (A Sheikh in the Night – surely contender for rudest joke ever to be slipped past an unwary censor, that title…).

It all culminates in the magnificently strange two parter Thunderfinger as Lowe and Dorning go undercover to attempt to discover who’s been stealing industrial secrets, but are thwarted at every turn by the mysterious Mr Neptune and “Miss Solare”.

There’s much joy to be had here as Lowe and special guest The Blessed John LeMesurier display that chemistry that would serve them so well for years to come.

Blofeld has a cat on his lap before the inevitable reveal. Mr Neptune has the largest, fattest rabbit you’ve ever seen. Must have put an intolerable strain on the thigh muscles.

Who is Mr Neptune? Your guess is as good as mine...

Each of these two episodes ends with a go-go-girl frugging in the best sixties groovy style to a note-perfect rendition of the 007 theme.

Not exactly "You Have Been Watching", is it?

The strangeness is even reflected in the series two opening titles, with the series title rendered in a typeface that can only have emerged in 1966. And nowhere else.

Network’s presentation of both series is impeccable as ever. Aside from the bonus episode mentioned above, there’s nothing by way of extras. I don’t necessarily see this as a problem. They’re lovely to have, but if the series is good enough – which this is, even at when it coasts – then you’ve spent your money well.

The menus are simple and straightforward to operate – still picture of Arthur, tinted in a manner most pleasing with a simple menu enabling you to jump to the episode of your choice. No bells or whistles, cheap and cheerful – which reflects the work-a-day nature of the series, if nothing else.

"Dashed clever, these DVD people. If you'll Pardon The Expression."

The film prints suffer badly from time to time with scratches and the occasional splice, the picture quality can occasionally be said to be less-than-optimum. You are however, now able to buy a complete run of an obscure sitcom, unseen for forty years for a perfectly reasonable price.

To complain that the episodes don’t look like they’re made yesterday seems churlish.

In conclusion, then? As a showcase for just how good Arthur Lowe can be, this is unbeatable. As a piece of television history it sits squarely in the box labelled “entertaining diversion”, and if nothing else, the flights of fantasy and strangeness that creep in as series two ticks on make it worth digging into.

I recommend it unreservedly to sitcom students, fans of Arthur Lowe and those of you who might hanker after a little piece of innocence, where kindness prevails and even the bad ‘uns aren’t that bad really. Well worth your time.

Walter Dunlop

Pardon the Expression Series One and Two are available now from Network DVD.

I’m not going to say much about this film as it really needs to be seen to be believed – even then you probably won’t.

It’s co-written by Minder creator Leon Griffiths and co-stars Last of the Summer Wine’s Bill Owen and, as the burb puts it, features a deposed aristocrat, Satanists and Peter Cushing.

Part three of Walter Dunlop’s marathon viewing of ITV drama Manhunt (you might want to check out part one or two if you haven’t already) continues, episodes 15 – 22 coming under the spotlight as things get even more serious for Vincent, Nina and Jimmy in World War Two France…

Warning – spoilers ahoy! It’s going to prove impossible to discuss these episodes without letting things slip, so…you have been warned!

Into the second half of the series we go, and things aren’t exactly looking positive for our jolly band of regulars.

With Nina sleeping with the enemy, Jimmy having alienated his one ally in the resistance by refusing to leave France when he’s told to and Vincent in the hands of the SS – it’s difficult to see how any of this is going to end well.

By this point the weekly grind of the production schedule must have been exhausting. Splitting things off into different plot threads makes sense. It also enables the writers to make good use of their magnificent range of guest actors.

Although Lynch, Barkworth and Hayman are more than capable of carrying things on their own, adding Robert Hardy, Philip Madoc, George Sewell and many others makes this series an actor-spotters treasure house.

If you’re reading this, I suspect you’re more than familiar with the pleasure of seeing a familiar actor pop up when you weren’t expecting them. This series is full of such moments, even down to the spit-and-a-cough parts.

Case in point – episodes 15 and 16, Little Man, Big Gun. Manhunt’s first official two parter, although earlier on Only The Dead Survive and What Did You Do In The War, Daddy? formed a self-contained storyline within the overall narrative.

The experiment worked then – god, how it worked – and it obviously gave them the confidence to try another longer story because here the plot really has room to breathe.

This is a Nina showcase, pretty much. The Forties answer to Amy Winehouse (similar looks, similar mode of behaviour) continues to be consistently inconsistent.

One week she’s a mewling ball of tears, the next, icy cold reserve. The next week again she’ll be taking the difficult decisions and showing steel beneath the exterior, after that she’s making herself the centre of attention and usurping plotlines in a manner which makes you wish she’d just get the hell out of the series and let everybody else get on with it.

It’s a shame because none of this is Cyd Hayman’s fault – she’s never less than rock solid in every episode but it’s obvious that the writers don’t know what to do with the character.

I wonder if it’s the result of the series getting unexpectedly extended? A victim of its own success, suddenly having to stretch to 26 episodes at short notice must have set everyone on the back foot.

This two parter is written by Vincent Tilsley – previously responsible for With A Sort of Love. Tilsley wrote the wonderfully strange version of Sweeney Todd from Mystery and Imagination (out shortly on DVD, and worth it for this episode alone, believe me).

Tilsley also turned in two episodes of The Prisoner (The Chimes of Big Ben and Do Not Forsake Me Oh My Darling) amongst many other gems and he obviously has a flair for getting under the skin of his characters – he loves to put ‘em in an enclosed space, turn them loose on each other and see what happens.

So it proves here as with the exception of a couple of stock heavy soldier types, Gratz’s boss and a blisteringly insane SS Officer character, the only people in this are Cyd Hayman, Robert Hardy and… drum roll please… Ian McCulloch.

I last saw Mac poking someone’s eye out in a series stealing cameo on Colditz, a couple of years before, he was in this, as daring British Communications Officer Captain David Mainwaring, fresh from a swim in the English Channel. If only they’d given him a different surname.

Although, having that said, Arthur Lowe might have made a better fist of the situation than Mac’s character does. Before the first part’s music has even faded, Gratz has nabbed his prey and it looks like we’re in for another reprise of his famed interrogation technique, only with Mainwaring instead of Nina.

Incidentally, at this point Gratz makes reference to Mainwaring “spending a night under the English Channel” – followers of Ian McCulloch’s work will know this is not a situation he’s unfamiliar with.

Events soon shift to a charming domestic scene between Nina and Gratz which demonstrates Nina’s unique ability to turn the simple act of making of a cup of tea into a full-scale cinemascope shouting match, then turn on a sixpence into Little Miss Compliant. Woman’s a suitable case for treatment, I’m telling you.

Then again, so is Mainwaring. Somehow Gratz manages to break him down within minutes and turn him into a willing conspirator in a plot so twisted, so arcane that I couldn’t even tell you the details.

Nina’s involved though, as are her uniquely Rose Tyler abilities to make evewy man she meets faw in wuv wiv her has him as putty in her paws. Within an hour of meeting, they’re in bed together. All part of Gratz’s plan, but what that plan actually is… I have no idea. Not one clue.

Before too much longer, Mac has promised to take Nina back to England with him (wherein she’ll presumably be put on show in a cage somewhere). Shortly after that, the loony SS officer attempts to persuade Gratz to join an exciting new cult of genetically perfect supermen – sorry, but I’m not buying it – Robert Hardy’s wearing specs for a start so there’s an obvious genetic weakness right there.

Like Peter Jeffrey as the leader of a flotilla of gorgeous specimens in Adam Adamant Lives! – Beauty is an Ugly Word – there’s a significant discrepancy between what’s being said and what’s on screen. But then, our loony is way off the chart anyway, to the point where even Gratz has to admit to being in the presence of a brain more twisted than his.

Before you know it, Gratz – while actually under house arrest – manages to twist things around so that Mac has to shoot Nina. An altruistic act, which he actually tries to do. Only he’s using an empty gun, thanks to Gratz being several steps ahead as usual.

In an ugly, nasty scuffle, it falls to Nina to make her choice between her two potential “saviours”, and it’s Mac who falls, with a knife in his back. Nina has made her choice, but it comes with a price – thanks to some adroit maneuvering from Gratz, she now can’t even leave the house without being watched and is more of a prisoner than ever.

I expected the animated prison bars to come crashing in on a zoom of her face at the end of the episode.

“But what of Jimmy?” I hear you cry. Glad you asked. He has problems of his own as he ends up (as seemingly, everyone does) back in the orbit of Planet Adelaide. Having resolved on Vincent’s behalf to try and rescue Nina (and boy, does that girl need rescuing – they tried to make her go to England, but she said no, no, no), he’s back with her little band of strolling vagabonds. But not for long, as here comes another heavy-hitter to join the cast. Can it be Tony Beckley?

Yes, it can. Looking like death warmed up as usual (shame Mac wasn’t still in the cast, he’s good with Zombies), his character of Hochler is a tough nut to crack. Within seconds of meeting him Jimmy’s been arrested for a lack of identification papers (despite a bravura attempt by Adelaide to pass him off as her cousin).

Set to work in a local factory Jimmy soon realises that there’s research afoot and with an unerring eye for the safe route and the safety of those around him soon manages to get several of his colleagues massacred. Hochler’s way of dealing with a disturbance is to gun ‘em down – not something Jimmy had counted on, and something which immediately makes him target no.1 for the resistance.

I can’t honestly blame them, especially when Hochler appears to take a shine to Jimmy and takes him on board as ship’s cook and porcupine. Not something guaranteed to make our boy popular with his colleagues, so he’s dispatched to accommodation off-site.

Thankfully, Jimmy manages to make good on his suspicions, as he discovers that there’s a brand new type of jet engine being created from a special type of metal – something which could win the war for Germany.

It’s this news that keeps him alive as it’s far too important for the allies not to be told. As man on the spot, presumably it’s only his super-specialist RAF knowledge that’s keeping him alive – reluctantly the resistance bend their efforts to helping him get the knowledge out – and more importantly for what’s to come, a sample of the metal as well.

As is the way of Manhunt, more innocents are destroyed in Jimmy’s wake as his housemate – a Polish chap with but one ambition, to get back home on his bike no matter how long it takes – suddenly finds himself reaching Poland by rather more direct means.

Hochler is the nearest thing to an all-out villain that Manhunt has, and what happens to this simple, innocent little man – while understated – is horrible. All the information you need to work out his eventual fate is given to you. It’s only when you connect the dots that you realise how nasty a character Hochler is.

Meanwhile, back in Ninaworld (it’s a horrible place to visit, and you certainly don’t want to live there), an attempt is made to put Nina in touch with Jimmy via Adelaide.

Unfortunately it all goes horribly, spectacularly wrong – more deaths including an atrocity in a church, and the girls end up in the hands of an interrogation squad in another one of Manhunt’s tight little closed-room episodes, “Confessional”.  Or do they?

This is Maggie Fitzgibbon’s finest hour to date. Even under interrogation she refuses to crack, defiant to the bitter end as the shadowy menacing figure of Anton – Brian Cox, here we go again – attempts to break her by more direct means than those employed by Gratz. She’s superb.

There’s a moment midway through the episode where you can see on her face that she realises just where her over-confident playing both ends against the middle has got her. You also see that she’s not going to let that stop her. She’s going to get out of this, one way or another. And she’s not going to change her ways either.

Unsurprisingly, when Nina’s put in the chair she instantly betrays Adelaide (to be fair, there’s a blowtorch being waved in her face, and given that her hair is a lacquer sculpture that should have a fire brigade standing by at all times it’s no wonder she freaks instantly).

Astonishingly though, this does not immediately provoke a kicking for Nina – instead she brings out the mother hen in Adelaide. What is it with this girl? And can we bottle it? We’d make a fortune.

It’s somewhere around about this point that Herr Cox reveals himself to be Msieur Cox – he’s working for the resistance and this has been one of leader Allard’s little set pieces to test the strength of his subjects.

Previous set pieces have involved little Nerys Hughes being beaten to within an inch of her life – it’s a dangerous job, working for George Sewell. Since we already know that Nina will buckle like a belt at the merest provocation, we’re left wondering just what the point of the episode is, but it does introduce Cox and adds depth to Adelaide that reveals just how strong she is behind the Lili Von Schtup-isms.

It’s shortly after this that Nina decides it’s time to take several leaves out of Gratz’s book.

Degrade and Conquer shows that while she’s learnt at the feet of the master, she’s got a long way to go. There are scenes in this where Nina places an innocent young German soldier in compromising circumstances and I’m in no way convinced.

Once again her character switches from gibbering maniac to ice-cold manipulator and it jars far too much. I don’t for one minute think that Nina’s capable of carrying out her plan. Sure enough, she isn’t. Before the episode’s out, it all collapses around her and there she goes – on the run again, only this time there’s no-one to pick her up when she falls.

Gratz meanwhile, suffers the ultimate indignity for a man of his temperament, as one of his twisted schemes goes seriously awry.

Attempting to make a young woman crack by denying her even the most basic of dignities – no washing facilities, no bathroom, forced to live in her own filth for weeks on end while within sight of someone who enjoys every possible luxury – he’s stunned when the tables are turned, the young woman emerges the victor and comprehensively trounces him at his own game. The experience seems to prove too much for him, and he’s left close to snapping.

Someone’s missing. Where has Vincent gone? Ah, here he is. After a four episode break Peter Barkworth returns – and Philip Madoc’s got him.

It’s a joy to have Barkworth back – without him, the series has seemed a little unbalanced, losing focus slightly as it sets up the three parallel storylines. Focus is definitely regained here as the plot shifts to accommodate him and eventually brings him back into contact with the others. But first, he has to undergo everything the SS can throw at him. Which is an awful lot.

When we first see him, he’s in tatters, blood streaming from his hands and about to be executed, but it’s all a bluff to break him. Needless to say, it’s merely the first stage in an ongoing cat and mouse game between a remarkably Welsh sounding German and a very English sounding Frenchman.

Another one of Vincent’s old mates turns up too. A lot of this one is devoted to a two-hander between Vincent and his friend, Egon.

Unfortunately, while Barkworth is his usual scintillating self, James Maxwell’s performance lacks an essential spark. These scenes should fly. They merely saunter along, taking in occasional points of interest along the way, and that’s a shame. Maxwell seems terribly under rehearsed somehow. Another few takes could have saved it, but it’s not to be.

James Maxwell’s spirit haunts the Manchester’s Royal Exchange Theatre, y’know. Yes, it does. “Most Haunted” says so. Are you going to argue with Yvette Fielding?

Vincent has previously confessed to being terrified of the prospect of torture – this episode reveals that he is far, far stronger than he thinks he is. He not only endures everything, he emerges the other side somehow tempered.

The old, nervous, twitchy Vincent disappears from here on in, to be replaced by a quiet, dignified, almost stately figure in a very very natty suit. From this point in he even wields a machine gun with elan, something the old man would never do.

He also takes an active part in planning events, in driving things forward. No longer the victim, he’s won more of a victory than I think he realises. He manages to outsmart The Madoc for a start. At least, he seems to. I still think there’s more to this particular plot. I don’t think Lutzig’s done with Vincent yet but for now, Vincent heads back for a reunion with Jimmy.

Which brings me to Intent To Steal. Up until the series’ release on DVD, this was the only episode I’d seen and it left me horribly confused. I now realise that it’s massively uncharacteristic of the series as a whole. It’s effectively one huge experiment, for reasons unknown.

I can’t work out if it’s a budgetary thing, an artistic thing or merely the practicalities of getting the whole episode down in a normal production schedule, but the whole episode… is silent. Not one word of dialogue uttered from first credit to final caption.

Given that one of Manhunt’s most obvious characteristics is a refusal on the part of almost everyone involved to shut up, this is remarkable. What’s even more remarkable is that the production values on this are huge. Money’s been hurled at this like nobody’s business.

Reams of location footage. Acres of extras. Massive explosions, rounds of ammunition being discharged in all directions. No wonder I thought it was an action adventure series in the ITC mould. It’s totally misleading. It’s also quite superb.

The culmination of the Jimmy-and-the-Jet-Engine subplot, it’s a fifty minute heist caper, as Barkworth, Lynch, Fitzgibbon, Cox and Sewell plus several dozen resistance fighters combine to attempt to steal a sample of secret metal from the factory.

Not everyone’s going to walk away from this one and so it proves. George Sewell’s Allard is maimed by a guard dog (well, I say maimed – it’s traditional in British drama for savage dogs to be loveable old wuffers with a few growling noises dubbed on and Manhunt doesn’t buck the trend), before buying it in the big end-of-episode explosion.

The same explosion also does for Brian Cox’s character – Anton’s back broken on a pile of rubble, it’s an undignified way for one of the series’ strongest characters to go out – but perfectly in keeping with the scuffling, unglamorous way this particular war is being conducted.

By the time the credits roll everyone on the resistance side is dead, apart from Jimmy and Vincent. I may be reading far too much into this, but there’s a very strong sense of the ho-yay in this one as well as there are several moments when the boys appear to be about to steal a kiss with each other in the midst of the mayhem.

At the end of the episode, there they sit – crouched in the rubble and corpses. They’ve achieved their aim of stealing a sample of the metal. But is the cost too high?

Indeed, the strain is telling on all of our series regulars by this point. Jimmy and Vincent sit hand in hand in no man’s land. Gratz shows dangerous signs of insanity.

Nina’s out there, live without a safety net. Allard and Anton are dead. Only Adelaide looks like getting out of this alive, and she’s a wild card anyway. Goodness knows who she’s going to side with.

Lutzig? Well, he’s not finished yet, not by a long way, but he’s in better shape than any of the rest of them.

As someone once said, who will survive, and what will be left of them?

The final four episodes await.

Walter Dunlop

Read Part One of the complete Manhunt DVD review

Read Part Two of the complete Manhunt DVD review

Following his in-depth analysis of the first seven episodes of 1960’s drama Manhunt, Walter Dunlop continues his mission behind enemy lines to bring us his thoughts on the further adventures of Vincent, Jimmy and Nina. Let the examination commence…and beware of spoilers.

Right, here we go again! I seem to be watching this series in batches of seven episodes, which makes for neatness if nothing else.

Doing so makes plain some alarming leaps about in continuity, with one major cliffhanger glossed over the next week, and some chopping and changes in characters. Rather wonderfully, the opening titles change to reflect this, so you can play a little guessing game as to which character is going to turn up this week.

Dealing with the age old problem of who-gets-top-billing? Lynch and Barkworth’s credits swap over each week more or less from this point, with each being credited first on every-other episode. Cunning, although I’d hate to think there was any backstage rivalry between those two – the chemistry onscreen is just so strong.

Following his introduction in episode nine, Robert Hardy gets two credits – initially a title card reading “As Gratz”, followed by his name emblazoned in white-on-red glory on a second card. Presumably this is to reflect the absolutely bloody seismic effect his appearance has on the series.

The initial chase, evade capture, chase a bit more format of the earliest episodes gives way to something altogether darker, more disturbing and even more intriguing than the show’s already been.

Before all that though, at least one of our intrepid heroes has some difficult questions to face as we career into episode eight – A Different Kind of War. This – unbelievably enough – is what passes for a Christmas episode in Manhunt, as Jimmy, Nina and Vincent pitch up at the house of one of Vincent’s oldest friends on Christmas Eve.

Greeted with suspicion at first by the female occupant of the house, Vincent’s name produces a surprising warmth and affection, before the introduction of Vincent’s old friend following a delayed build-up.

And no wonder, because no British drama series is complete without an appearance by good old Julian Glover, as “Paul”. Bristling with Bonhomie, hospitable to a fault, and guaranteeing a safe haven for our fugitives, Paul seems the perfect host, but before Christmas Eve is out, we’ll discover a very different man behind the facade.

This one’s a tension-builder, as first Nina, then Jimmy discover darker sides to the perfect couple they’ve landed up with. Before too long, Vincent is forced to confront his younger self and the political ideals he once held dear, and to ask himself – how far will I go to protect that for which I now stand?

Jimmy shines in this one – although events are initially set in motion by Nina, it’s Jimmy who’s the motor and Alfred Lynch… well, he walks off with the episode in his pocket. There’s a lengthy “seduction” scene – quote marks wholly appropriate, believe me – where I honestly didn’t know how Jimmy was going to react. His character, while seeming to be all gloss and gung-ho, might well be the darkest of the three.

Certainly this episode reveals a ruthless quality to him that he hasn’t really shown before. While Vincent sometimes appears to be driven entirely by his reaction to what’s happening around him, and while Nina at this point is almost totally passive, being buffeted from scene to scene with no real control over her fate (the credits even refer to her as “a parcel”), it’s Jimmy who directs things totally here.

Vincent is brought face-to-face with some dark and unpleasant truths about his old friend, himself, and eventually the cause he’s fighting for.

And then… nope, not telling you. Watch it and find out for yourself, because it’s a key event that flavours everything to come. The final scene is simple, underplayed, and totally affecting.

Episode nine brings the return of an SS uniformed Philip Madoc as Lutzig. This time, however, he has a thorn in his side. A Robert Hardy shaped thorn in his side, as Abwehr Sergeant Gratz  – self-educated, self-important – saunters in and within ten minutes achieves the impossible, making The Madoc look discomfited.

Every scene he’s in is a constant flow of erudition, verbosity, and charm which leaves the viewer feeling like a snake staring at a Mongoose. Even before he gives you proof, you can tell this man is dangerous. Following some antics in a factory being used as one end of an escape route, Gratz eventually corners Nina. Not before a rare mis-step on the part of the production team, however.

In an attempt to smuggle themselves into this potential means of escape, Nina is supposed to be part of the male workforce, and has been told to dress like a young boy. The series suddenly lurches towards ‘Allo ‘Allo territory when Nina turns up wearing overalls, no make up and a Balaclava. But still obviously, distinctively female.

My suspension of disbelief needed a considerable helping hand here, especially in the – gasp! – final moments, when Gratz removes her disguise. Honestly couldn’t tell the difference. By this point, the boys have seemingly escaped, leaving Nina in the hands of the enemy – leading to another extraordinary episode (does this series ever have an off-day? Nina’s ridiculous disguise aside, the quality bar is set astonishingly high).

With a Sort of Love is the sort of TV that I live for.  One of those television episodes where you occasionally forget to breathe. Where you find yourself wondering what the hell is going to happen, and loving the fact that you have no idea.

Set predominantly in an interrogation room, a camp-bed and table pretty much the only furniture, Cyd Hayman and Robert Hardy its only occupants, this would make a terribly effective stage play.

It’s certainly one of the bravest episodes of a mainstream drama I’ve seen, taking as its starting point the effect of Stockholm Syndrome on even the bravest of prisoners and applying it to Nina – a character who up to this point (one particular moment aside, as hinted at earlier) – has given us no evidence to suggest that she is capable of withstanding a sustained interrogation.

Robert Hardy’s performance in this is a masterclass, and Cyd’s not far behind him.

Beginning on a very quiet, very restrained pitch (virtually the first scene has Gratz ordering Nina to strip naked in front of him – which she does), Hardy becomes a dervish as he puts Nina through the most concentrated form of mental torture, prying at every opening in her defences, causing her to question her identity, her sense of self-worth, her belief in herself as a human being… extraordinary.

At one point, he commences a grotesque mime of a Hitlerian Ventriloquist’s dummy that’s so inappropriate to the surroundings that you find yourself laughing. So does Nina, almost involuntarily – and he’s on her – smashing her repeatedly across the face, throwing her across the table, screaming at her.

It’s terrifying.

Somehow, she manages to withstand this long enough for Gratz to be seriously compromised by the episode’s B-story involving a plot to assassinate the Fuhrer.

The episode then screeches sharply round an unexpected plot twist, which again I’m not going to reveal, but about which I will say – Nina reveals an astonishing strength of character in going down a route which might just provide her with the only possible glimmer of safety she can possibly know.

But it’s a harsh decision, a pragmatic one – and it’s one which left this viewer with a feeling of almost total distaste and contempt for her. And that’s despite her heartbreaking vulnerability in the scenes immediately preceding it.

Unfortunately, these final scenes (which, incidentally, feature the only appearance of  Jimmy and Vincent in the episode – that’s two out of the three leads absent for an entire show, which gives Cyd Hayman room to show what she’s really capable of) lead into a cliffhanger  which is so vigorously unresolved in the next episode that I found myself checking to make sure I hadn’t skipped one or two in the running order.

But no – the shattering events are merely alluded to in passing, which is disappointing and makes me suspect that there may have been a midnight-hour scripting crisis.

Which leads us into the next phase of the series.

Jimmy and Vincent find themselves in the employ of a touring chanteuse – a blowsy, middle-aged diva of a woman called Adelaide. Suspected by the resistance of passing secrets to the SS, Adelaide is in fact in it for whatever she can get. She’ll sell in either direction if there’s a profit in it for her.

Vincent ends up as the piano player, earning a grudging respect from Adelaide,  Jimmy (getting the fuzzy end of the lollipop yet again) ends up having to push a bucket around and pretend to be the World War II equivalent of Benny from Crossroads. And being referred to as “Halfwit” by Adelaide.

Nina? The results of her experiences in previous episodes still reverberate, and following brief employment as a serving girl in the same nightclub the boys are working in (and let it be known that both Lutzig and Gratz patronise this place and never realise – at least at this point – that Jimmy and Vincent are The Droids They’re Looking For), she ends up heading off for an appointment with Gratz. Her jailor, her torturer, her nemesis.

It’s at this point that poor old Vincent confesses his love for Nina – and matters complicate even further…

Meanwhile, Adelaide continues to bewilder and confuse, while dragging all within her orbit into her strange, slightly quizzical world. Played by The Newcomers’ Maggie Fitzgibbon with her Australian accent in full flight, Adelaide resembles a galleon in full sail in some episodes. No wonder Lutzig – who she’s supposed to be dating – looks faintly haunted everytime they’re on screen together.

Jimmy acquires an ally in young Francine, an extremely capable young blonde French waitress. An extremely capable young blonde waitress… played by the extremely capable young brunette Welsh Nerys Hughes. Not that you’d know it. A spot on accent and an ability to submerge herself in the role mean that two episodes went by before I even spotted her name on the credits. Impressive.

Beaten to within an inch of her life for suspected “collaboration” with the enemy, stuck with one of Petain’s breed of obnoxious brats in short trousers and even smaller brains for a brother and forced into a life of unbelievable danger as she attempts to act as go-between for the resistance (the representative of this branch being George Sewell. Christ, I’m surprised Germany didn’t lie down and surrender immediately), Francine looks at the currents swirling around her, and dives straight in, saving Jimmy from a situation which almost claims both him and Vincent.

Caught in a siege situation with the enemy closing in, Vincent pulls rank on Jimmy, ordering to shoot him that he not be captured and tortured.

Showing the combination of raw nerve, common sense and competence that marks him out as a prime asset of the RAF, Jimmy botches it, delivering a badly injured Vincent into the hands of the SS.

With Nina already in a situation that could have fatal consequences for more than just her, Vincent in the stronghold of the enemy (with none but The Madoc for company) and Jimmy adrift, attempting to save “The Girl” – it looks bleak for our heroes at the halfway mark.

What’s next? See me in seven episodes time…

Walter Dunlop