The
idea for That Was the Week That Was (which familiarly became
known as TW3) came partly from the then director general of the
BBC, Hugh Greene, who wanted to "prick the pomposity of public figures"--but
it was the team of Ned Sherrin, Alasdair Milne and Donald Baverstock
that was responsible for developing its successful format. The trio
had previously worked on the BBC's daily early-evening news magazine
show Tonight (1957-65--revived and revamped version 1975-79)
and the light-hearted style and wide-ranging brief of that show
often allowed certain items to be covered in a toungue-in-cheek,
irreverent or even satirical way. TW3, in its late-night
Saturday slot, moved those elements a stage further and, taking
a lead from the increased liberalism of theatre and cinema in Britain,
was able to discuss and disect the week's news and newsmakers using
startlingly direct language and illustration. Whereas Tonight
was gentle, TW3 was savage, unflinching in its devotion to
highlight cant and hypocrisy and seemingly fearless in its near
libellous accusations and inuendos. Complaints poured in, but so
did congratulations and despite enormous political pressure, Hugh
Greene--determined in his quest to see a modern, harder BBC through
the 1960s--stood by his brainchild.
Stylistically
the show broke many rules: although it was commonplace on "live"
shows of the fifties (like the rock 'n' roll show 6-5 Special)
to see the cumbersome cameras being pushed from one set to the next,
TW3 went beyond that. A camera mounted high up in the studio
would offer a bird's-eye view of the entire proceedings, showing
the complete studio set-up with the flimsy sketch sets, the musicians,
backroom personnel, the audience, other cameras, etc. It seemed
to indicate that the viewing audience was to be treated as equals--that
both creator and viewer knew it was a studio, knew the sketches
weren't really set in a doctor's waiting-rooms but in a three walled
mock-up, knew that make-up girls would wait in the wings with powder
and paint--so why hide it? The format of the show was simple, rigid
enough to keep it all together, flexible enough to let items lengthen
or shorten or disappear altogether, depending on time. Millicent
Martin (the only permanent female member of the team) would sing
the title song (music by Ron Grainer with Caryl Brahms providing
a new set of lyrics each week relating to the news of the past few
days) then David Frost, as host, would introduce the proceedings
and act as link man between the items and often appearing throughout
in sketches or giving monologues. (Originally John Bird was to be
host but declined; Sherrin saw Frost at a club, doing an act where
he gave a press conference as Prime Minister Harold MacMillan, and
offered him the role of co-host with Brian Redhead who dropped out
after doing the untransmitted pilot.) Bernard Levin interviewed
people in the news or with strongly held views and his acid wit
added an edge which occasionally produced flare-ups both verbal
and physical. (A member of the studio audience once punched him,
rather inefectually, following a scathing review he had written).
Lance Percival acted in sketches and sang topical calypsos (a device
used on Tonight) many of which were ad libbed. David Kernan
was a resident singer whose strength was his ability to parody other
singers and styles, Timothy Birdsall drew cartoons, Al Mancini pulled
faces and the engine room was provided by Willie Rushton, Kenneth
Cope and Roy Kinnear who fleshed out the sketches and comic chatter.
The show occassionally featured guest artistes, most famously comedian
Frankie Howerd whose popularity had waned somewhat. His one appearance
on TW3 managed to dramatically resurrect his career, as his
humour seemed to work for both traditionalists and this new, younger,
harder generation.
The
writing credits for the show read like a Who's Who of the sharp
young talent of the time: John Albery, John Antrobus, Christopher
Booker, Malcolm Bradbury, John Braine, Quentin Crewe, Brian Glanville,
Gerald Kaufman, Herbert Kretzmer, David Nathan & Dennis Potter,
David Nobbs, Peter Shaffer, Kenneth Tynan, Stephen Vinaver, Keith
Waterhouse and Willis Hall--plus contributions from the show's creative
staff: Sherrin, Frost, and Levin.
Memorable
moments from the series include Gerald Kaufman's list of silent
MPs which highlighted politicians who hadn't spoken in the House
of Commons in ten or fifteen years. The sketch caused a furore when
it was read out by the team, despite the fact that the information
was readily available. Kenneth Cope's "confession" monologue (written
by John Braine) featured a figure, hidden in shadows, who confesses
to being heterosexual and relates the misery it can cause. Frost's
scathing profile of Home Secretary Henry Brooke insinuated, amongst
other things, that his intractability in an immigration case had
led to the murder of the subject. Millicent Martin, sang with black
faced minstrels about racism in the Southern States. And most memorable
of all was the truly serious edition immediately following President
Kennedy's assasination. The whole show was given over to the subject,
tackling the shock felt and the implications of the shooting with
rare solemnity and dignity. (That episode was lodged at the Smithsonian
Institute)
A U.S. version of the series (also featuring Frost) debuted 10 January
1964 on NBC and ran until May 1965. Singer Nancy Ames took the Millicent
Martin role and Buck Henry, Pat Englund and Alan Alda were among
the regulars. The show proved equally groundbreaking in the United
States and, like the British version, was no stranger to controversy.
-Dick
Fiddy
Campey,
George, J.T. Archer, and Ian Coates. The BBC Book of That
Was the Week That Was. London: British Broadcasting Corporation,
1963.
Frost,
David. That Was the Week That Was. London: W.H. Allen, 1963.
