SOAP OPERATICS

OK, I can see the curl already forming on your intellectual and sophisticated lip, but I confess I have always enjoyed radio or TV soap operas, and if not an inveterate fan, share much of the popular enthusiasm for this undemanding yet fascinating form of entertainment.

At the tender age of about 5, I can recall huddling round the radio at 6.45 every evening and, thrilled by the signature tune “Devil’s Galop” (no, not Gallop), listening avidly to 15 minutes of the BBC’s Dick Barton, Special Agent, relating Dick’s, with his sidekick Snowy White, cliff-hanging adventures battling villains of every kind and always triumphing. It was broadcast between 1946 and 1951 and at its peak had a huge audience of over 15m. 

The BBC worried about Dick’s sensationalism and commissioned a gentler rural serial The Archers to take over the Dick Barton slot. Astonishingly, 62 years later, The Archers is still going strong and is the longest-running soap in the world, charming an audience of 5m. My dear father was a fan and I knew not to disturb him when the romping signature tune, the Maypole dance “Barwick Green”, rang out. I tended to catch the Sunday omnibus edition introduced in the deep rustic tones of the gamekeeper Tom Forrest. Over 60 years the story-lines have evolved starting with Dan and Doris Archer at Brookfield Farm, succeeded by son Phil, wise sophisticate John Tregorran with the various adventures of the yokels Ned Larkin and Walter Gabriel (catch-phrase “Me old Pal, me old Beauty” often addressed to a cow). The events described were not alarming, competitive marmalade-making, the church fete, the sowing of winter wheat and such-like. The great drama was in 1955 with the death in a fire of Grace Archer, wife of Phil, trying to rescue her horse Midnight. It was no coincidence that this episode, a classic “spoiler”, was broadcast on the opening night of BBC’s rival TV channel ITV!

Cast of The Archers

Nowadays we are on second and even third generations. Rich Jack Wooley is beset by Alzheimer’s, Phil has passed away (the same actor played him 1951-2009) Jethro Larkin and ne’er-do-well Nelson Gabriel have come and gone, the rustic proles the Grundys struggle, and there are dozens of sub-plots involving marriage break-ups, bovine TB (Ambridge preferring to vaccinate badgers rather than cull them), eccentric vicars and even (shock-horror!) a gay civil partnership. It is still somewhat middle-class but it brings innocent joy to many.

Before moving away from radio soaps, I must mention Mrs Dale’s Diary which ran from 1948 to 1969. It chronicled the twee middle-class life of Mrs Dale, wife of Dr Jim Dale, at Virginia Lodge, Packwood Hill (they moved later) with her sister Sally (always pronounced “Selly”) and mother in law Mrs Freeman with her cat Captain (always pronounced “Ceptain”). Mrs Dale’s cut-glass tones emanated from the actress Ellis Powell, who became difficult and bibulous before being sacked in 1963. She partly inspired Frank Marcus’ comedy-drama The Killing of Sister George. Her successor, erstwhile musical star Jessie Matthews, could not save this irredeemably bourgeois show with its introductory tinkling harp music and Mrs Dale’s anguished “I’m rather worried about Jim”, but it did command an audience of 7m in its prime.

The advent of colour TV ushered in classic soaps from the US. All the world watched Dallas (1978-91) centred around the back-stabbing lives of the oil-millionaire Ewing family, the offspring of Jock and Miss Ellie with arch-villain, sneering JR (Larry Hagman) and his innocent brother Bobby with JR’s wife Sue Ellen (Linda Gray) viewing life through the bottom of a well-filled glass of dry Martini. There was a rich cast of characters and the plot-lines strayed into the sensational typified by the cliff-hanging question “Who shot JR?” after one episode.

The dysfunctional Ewing family from Dallas

The other US blockbuster was Dynasty (1981-89) revolving around the life and loves of Blake Carrington (John Forsythe), an oil millionaire in Denver, married to Krystle (Linda Evans) and plagued by his ex-wife Alexis Carrington Colby (Joan Collins). Dynasty was only fun when Alexis was on screen intriguing mercilessly and humiliating Krystle. Joan Collins scintillated in her enormous shoulder-pads, but the story-line plumbed depths of absurdity with “The Moldavian Massacre” in 1985 (60m viewers) when Alexis’ daughter’s wedding to Prince Michael was interrupted by a terrorist attack.

Blake and his Dynasty ladies

Dynasty had plenty of glamour with Joan Collins and Linda Evans but I carried a torch for wanton Sammy Jo (Heather Locklear), just my kind of fantasy girl!

In Britain the soaps prospered and Coronation Street (1960-), set in grim Salford, keeps a huge following (10m viewers) and years ago made Ena Sharples (Violet Carson), with her hairnet and milk stout and Hilda Ogden (Jean Alexander) in her curlers, national institutions. Yet I neither follow it nor cockney EastEnders – their grittiness does not appeal. More recently British soaps have been curiously regressive, being set in past times and harping on class distinctions long disappeared in contemporary society. Highly popular was Upstairs, Downstairs in the early 1970s, a chronicle of the London household of Sir Richard Bellamy MP (David Langton), with the toffs lording it upstairs and the plebs slumming it downstairs. The action stretched between 1903 and 1930 with the first Ladyship going down with the Titanic, the second expiring in the 1918 Spanish flu epidemic. The loyal Scots butler Hudson (Gordon Jackson) ran the household and had a respectful relationship with splendid cook Mrs Bridges (Angela Baddeley) and coped with the casualties of the Great War and all manner of turmoil above stairs and in the servants’ hall. Jean Marsh, an originator of the series, also played a maid (Rose) and the acting standards were high.

Ena Sharples (Violet Carson)

Aristocratic Downton Abbey

    

The current British favourite is Downton Abbey written by Julian Fellowes, an acute observer of the mores of the former upper classes. I have only seen a few episodes and it covers similar ground to Upstairs, Downstairs, the production values are high and the acting is polished as one melodrama after another unfolds.

Here in Greece, there is a long tradition of importing soaps and serials (they were even bamboozled by Coronation Street) and we have had a succession of Turkish soaps, upon which I have already written. Recently we have been regaled with Latin American soaps from Venezuela, Mexico and now from Brazil. The current favourite is Avenida Brasil launched in 2012; Brazil came to a stop when the final episode was run (80m viewers!). It tells the story of the quest for revenge by Nina, abandoned as a child by her gold-digger step-mother Carminha, to eke out a living on a landfill site. She is helped to escape by a boy Jorginho who in turn is adopted by Carminha and her rich husband ex-footballer Tufao (she has a long-term affair with ruthless brother-in-law Max). Nina insinuates herself into Tufao’s household as a maid. I have no idea how it will all end but the picture of Brazilian middle-class society is appalling. The often drunk men are covered in bling and tattoos, the women are loud and quarrelsome, table manners are wholly unknown. It is a scenario of the utmost vulgarity: the Greeks love it.

Heroine Nina from Avenida Brasil

Lady villain Carminha

Soaps are melodramas laced with humour, not unlike Life itself. They are not great examples of the playwright’s art, but they are mightily entertaining. I say to their producers – “keep ‘em coming!”

SMD

27.09.13

Text copyright © Sidney Donald 2013