Friday 10 May 1963

Today it's my pleasure to welcome a new show to the TV Minus 50 fold...

Rather than one of the ITV companies, Richard the Lionheart was produced by the infamous Danzigers, a pair of American brothers quite happy to be regarded with horror by more prestigious outfits as long as they turned a profit.  "Nobody makes 'em cheaper," was their proud boast, and in the 50s and early 60s  they churned out a mind-boggling number of B-movies, as well as various crime-centric TV series including Mark Saber, which was a hit in both the UK and the US.  Lionheart was their first attempt at diversifying in genre, a late-in-the-day attempt at reproducing the phenomenal success of ITC's The Adventures of Robin Hood, with similar vaguely historical tales of derring-do.

The year is 1193.  The place is Austria, and Dickie I of England (Irish B-movie specialist Dermot Walsh) is making his way home after the Crusades.  Here he is (with his suspiciously Brylcreemed-looking hair), accompanied by his friend Hugo (Glyn Owen, of Howard's Way fame) and Hugo's wife Marta (Anne Lawson).

The best word to describe Walsh's performance is "hearty": he does a lot of HA-HA-HA-ing, and though he doesn't actually slap his thigh at any point, it feels like he could very easily do so at any moment.  In fact, there's an endearing atmosphere of panto about the whole enterprise (not least in the rather tatty medieval outfits).

Richard and chums find out from a generic peasant that the local Baron's no fan of the English king, so his swaps his royal garb with Hugo's more modest clothes, and pretends to be his squire.  Meanwhile, Baron Frederick (Ernest Clark), who as well as being a dastardly baron is a bigwig in the Knights Templar, is setting a trap for Richard.  He's made a horse up to look like it's a prize Arabian steed, but he's convinced only Richard, who has "a good love of horseflesh" would even recognise an Arabian horse in the first place.  Therefore, anyone who bids for the horse at the auction he's organised must be the English king (I think that's how it works, anyway.  It's a bit confusing).

Richard chances upon the auction, but is cleverer than Baron Frederick thinks, and soon realises the supposed Arabian steed is a normal horse covered in kohl (goodness knows how many eyeliner pencils that took).

Baron Frederick makes a scapegoat of his steward, Manfred (Richard Shaw - a ubiquitous TV actor of the 60s) and has him hauled off to the dungeons.  Later he'll face trial by the temple lion.  "No, my lord, not the lion - no!" Manfred ridiculously cries as a pair of soldiers carry him off ("Oh yes, the lion!" the audience at home may feel inclined to shout, panto-fashion).

In the dungeons, Manfred is consoled by a friendly priest, played by theatrical luminary Trader Faulkner, who regularly pops up in various parts in Richard the Lionheart - including Richard's brother Prince John.

Out of the goodness of his (lion)heart, Richard sneaks his way into the dungeon in the guise of a hooded monk and slips Manfred some oil reputed to repel lions.  As the monk, he adopts an extravagant French accent, which only causes us to wonder why exactly everyone in Austria sounds English.

Meanwhile, Baron Frederick ruminates over his hatred for Richard the Lionheart.  It all stems from Richard happily allowing many Templars to die at the hands of Saladin's men.  "I will take bloody revenge on the English king!" he announces in enormous close-up (BOO! HISS!).

It's the day of Manfred's trial (which, by the way, just involves him being shoved in the lion's cage), and the Danzigers impress by having laid on a genuine lion.  It's obviously thoroughly tame, and possibly mangy, but it's real nonetheless.  Before Manfred's thrust in with the beast, Frederick works the audience up into a froth of hatred toward the supposed horse-painter.  There's one (sadly uncredited) female bit-parter (on the left) who's especially entertaining in her refusal to join in with the crowd's joint exclamations, waiting till they've finished so she can get the spotlight all to herself.

Richard's special oil manages to put the lion off eating Manfred, and the priest declares it must mean he's innocent.  If that wasn't embarrassing enough for the Baron, Richard announces in front of all the villagers that he and the other templars are idolators, devil worshippers and practitioners of witchcraft.  Take that! Maybe you'll think twice before being nasty about Richard the Lionheart again.

Rather charmingly, the epiodes of Richard the Lionheart I've got hold of feature this insert in the middle:

And don't forget, it's...

Radio Minus 50: The Navy Lark - The Ghost Ship

The last show in the present series begins with announcer Robin Boyle bantering with the Navy Lark cast and sending a message to his wife.  He's one of the show's most engaging characters.  The others are Tenniel Evans's blustering, hearing-impaired Admiral and his sidekick Rear-Admiral Ironbridge (Michael Bates) - the highlight of this week's episode is their bizarre speculations over the state of Mother Brown's knees.  They're visiting the put-upon Captain Povey to demand he gets HMS Troutbridge and its crew out of the way so they can't jeopardise the launch of a new Destroyer.

Povey sends Pertwee, Phillips, Murray and their crew on a pointless mission, Phillips predictably losing the way - this time he's navigating using the map of the world in his pocket diary.  The ship runs aground on a coral reef, but Phillips isn't bothered: "There's bound to be an AA chap or somebody from the RAC about."  The crew having disembarked, Troutbridge mysteriously sails off without them ("I left the handbrake on," says a baffled Phillips.  After 20 minutes or so of dashing about it anticlimactically turns out that Able Seaman Fatso Johnson was still aboard and sailed off by accident.

The series ends with the vital news that Leslie Phillips is currently appearing in Boeing Boeing at the Apollo Theatre, London.

Radio Minus 50: Friday 3 May 1963

The Navy Lark: Troutbridge Gets a Rocket

I've thought for a while that The Navy Lark needs a rocket up it, and this week that's exactly what happens.

The episode begins with announcer Robin Ray sharing some interesting thoughts on the telephone: "When the phone rings you never know who's going to be on the other end.  It could be a beautiful blonde who's feeling lonely, or the income tax inspector, who's feeling awkward."  We don't get long to ponder over how frequently a BBC announcer is called by lonely blondes before the plot gets going.  There's a naval intelligence scheme underway to shoot a man into space from a frigate: and HMS Troutbridge has been chosen for the job, being the most expendable.  Captain Povey tries to keep what's going on quiet as long as possible, but CPO Pertwee has his suspicions: "There's a dirty great dollop of dodgy doo-dah about to descend on us."  However, Povey's promise of a round-the-world trip for one lucky crew member makes the Troutbridge chaps more amenable.

Obviously the scheme turns out to be a disaster, with Leslie Phillips being accidentally shot into space while giving the rocket the once-over.  The highlights of the episode are a conversation between Mr Murray and Welsh Nationalist fanatic Taffy Goldstein about the celebration of Bonfire Night in Wales: "If he'd got away with it Guy Fawkes would have been a Welsh national hero.  What better way to get us home rule than blowing that parliamentary den of iniquity sky high?", and an exchange between ironically thick Intelligence man Ronnie Barker and Captain Povey's equally slow-witted secretary Vera that's so corny it's endearing:

"Here, how about you and I having a date?"
"Well you can have one if you like, but I prefer nuts."
"Ooh, in that case we should get on very well together."

Radio Minus 50: Friday 26 April 1963

The Navy Lark: Whittlesea Regatta

The more I hear of The Navy Lark, the stranger it seems that the format was (briefly) changed because it was considered to be repetitive.  That's not to say it isn't repetitive: in fact it's probably the most repetitive comedy programme I've ever experienced (sorry to repeat the word repetitive so often).  But that seems to be the whole point of it: the mayhem-laden middle third of each episode, with the crew of HMS Troutbridge getting into a series of scrapes, could be transposed to any other episode, with very little difference being made.  On either side, there's the set-up for that week's adventure (this week, Troutbridge is due to tow the Admiral's barge to Whittlesea bay for the Northern seaside town's regatta), and the eventual conclusion, usually involving an angry Captain Povey blowing off steam at the .  It's like a cartoon, or a Beano strip - the audience know exactly what they're going to get, and that's the way they like it.

Most of the fun's to be had from each episode's incidental details: Whittlesea Regatta's stolen by its guest characters:  Tenniel Evans as the stone-deaf admiral, Ronnie Barker as Whittlesea's gloomy mayor and Janet Brown as his domineering wife.  And then there's the very peculiar innuendo: when First Officer Murray suggests Sub-Lt Phillips does his "left hand down a bit" automatically, a shocked Pertwee replies "Does he?" to much audience merriment.  I've no idea what it means.

Radio Minus 50: Friday 19 April 1963

The Navy Lark: A Deliberate Bashing

A Deliberate Bashing is one of the more entertaining Larks, because it adds a twist to the show's usual format.  As the title implies, this week the crew of HMS Troutbridge are actually trying to cause the damage that usually comes to them so naturally.  And as you might expect, they prove as inept at intentionally bashing another ship as they are at everything else - even Phillips' in depth reading of Sinbad the Sailor hasn't improved his navigation skills.

In a reversal of the usual procedure, Captain Povey puts Murray, Phillips and Pertwee up to (lightly) ramming Troutbridge into its sister ship, Makepeace.  The reason for this about face? Well, Povey's wife's away for the weekend, and she's left her mother to look after him.  Her method of looking after involves viciously bossing Povey around and generally treating him like a slave, so he's desperate for an excuse to come back into work - which an "accident" would amply provide.

"Be a chap's chap," Phillips says to Povey, sniggering at the fearsome Captain finding himself in such a clichéd comedy position as being dominated by his mother-in-law.  Povey explains that his father-in-law disappeared after a works outing and the only thing heard from him since has been a rude postcard from Africa: "Obviously a chap's chap, Sir" Pertwee intriguingly observes.

Yes, the fearsome mother-in-law's one of comedy's most ancient stereotypes, but Janet Brown plays it marvellously: the best parts of the episode are the strangely sadomasochistic domestic scenes, with the terrifying Mrs Crump forcing Povey to do the most undignified domestic tasks while referring to him as "Hitler".

Writer Lawrie Wyman works in another Hanna-Barbera reference this week, Pertwee explaining to Phillips that 1800 is "6 o'clock, sir.  Between your Huckleberry Hound programme and the news on the telly."  Wyman even makes an appearance in the show this week, as phlegmatic Waterguard Bert Tiddy, baffled by why Troutbridge has nearly managed to hit the Makepeace 42 times.

Radio Minus 50: Friday 12 April 1963

The Navy Lark: The New Barmaid

"We're proud to present the 100th Lark," Robin Boyle excitedly announces - presumably including both Navy and TV under that heading.  The episode's plot isn't anything especially celebratory: there's a new barmaid at dockside pub The Fireman's Bucket and Bell - pulchritudinous Scotswoman Jeannie (Janet Brown, of course), and obviously Phillips has his eye on her.  But so does Mr Murray.  Pertwee doesn't have his head turned - he's too busy throwing crisps at other patrons (his pronunciation of the word "crisps" is really something to hear), and being foiled in his schemes to get Able Seaman Taffy Goldstein to pay for a round.  The pair quarrel over Jeannie until Phillips' plan to escort her home is ruined by a call-up from Captain Povey to a NATO training exercise.  The rest of the episode sees Murray and Phillips at each other's throats, causing this week's maritime mishaps (I could have written the Radio Times billings back then).  The episode's punchline: the uncle Jeannie's staying with is none other than grumpy old Captain Povey himself.

Radio Minus 50: Friday 5 April 1963

The Navy Lark - First Day Out of Dock

"We present the return of The Navy Lark", says announcer Robin Boyle - perhaps I just imagined the relief in his voice.  As I predicted last week, the gang's adventures in broadcasting have been forgotten about - Boyle glosses over the past 10 weeks worth of shows by saying our cast of characters have been "rescued from Civvy Street".  CPO Pertwee's theft of the majority of HMS Troutbridge, which we last week discovered was the reason for this venture into Civvy Street, has also been wiped from everyone's memories.  Pertwee's main concern this week is what's happened to his collection of pin-ups: "Every last dollop of feminine pulchritude has been whipped off me walls!"

The task for this week is to get the Troutbridge out of dry dock and back to sea.  Distraught foreman Michael Bates, convinced this will mean the destruction of the dockyard, begs for a more competent team to accomplish this.  "Come on old chap, blow for daddy," Leslie Phillips alarmingly tells him (it turns out he's offering him a handkerchief).  Initially Phillips forgets to let the water in before trying to get the ship out of dock, causing the ship to nearly take off (one man in the audience seems especially tickled by the notion it could have been "the first flying frigate").

There's also a new Commanding Officer to contend with - Ronnie Barker's nervous Commander Bell, a former aircraft carrier captain assigned to the Troutbridge as punishment for some unspecified crime.  Meanwhile, Captain Povey's driven to the edge of a nervous breakdown by his secretary Vera's intense stupidity: "I want you to take down everything I say" "Ooh, you are awful!"

The TV jokes haven't quite been dispensed with.  As predicted, when the Troutbridge finally gets going it takes half the dockyard with it.  "If we pick up much more on our bows," remarks Pertwee, "we'll be known as HMS Steptoe and Son."