THE TYRANT KING — The Complete Series / DVD Review
‘So as the Yogi said to the Yeti…’ Mike Hodges, Trevor Preston, prog-rock and children’s television drama.
Mike Hodges, who will be forever remembered for the bleak and gritty British crime thriller Get Carter (1971) and the atypical camp frolics of Flash Gordon (1980), began his career in television. It was, however, not his first choice. In the mid-1950s, he worked on minesweepers as part of fishing protection duties whilst doing his national service in the Navy. It was the poverty and deprivation he experienced, both in the UK fishing ports and their working class communities, that convinced him to give up his planned career in accountancy and his conservative politics for radical work in film and television.
After working as a teleprompter for two years, experiencing the entire gamut of making live television in studios, he met Canadian television executive Lloyd Shirley. One of the advantages of Hodges’ job as a teleprompter “was that it allowed me time to start writing” and Shirley, working at ABC Television, was encouraged enough by his first script to offer him irregular work. This eventually resulted in Hodges’ stint as the editor of ABC’s religious programme, Sunday Break (1958–62) and into which he infiltrated his atheist, socialist views (1).
A failed attempt to set up a documentary about Stephen Ward with director James Hill eventually led them both to Granada Television to pitch a shared if “perverse interest in funeral directors” to the renowned documentary series World in Action (1963–89). The resulting ‘The British Way of Death’ secured Hodges work as producer/director on the series. With a number of well-regarded segments under his belt, his documentary about the Freemasons was banned after Granada’s founder Cecil Bernstein and several other Granada board members, all of them Masons, “didn’t take kindly to the idea of their weird rituals being aired on television.” Through World in Action, Hodges not only became well-versed in the technical aspects of making films but also developed his political and cultural views. Yet, after two years working on the programme, he wanted to move on out of a feeling that “you become hard and cynical because that’s the world you’re having to face.” (2)
Lloyd Shirley invited him to produce Tempo (1961–68), ABC’s arts programme that had originally been edited by Kenneth Tynan for broadcast on Sunday afternoons. “Inspired by his experience working with the Maysles brothers in the US”, Hodges took Tempo out of the studio and onto 16mm film and, with a willingness to experiment, brought together a group of talented directors and writers, including researcher Trevor Preston and director James Goddard. (3) A number of Tempo profiles, “of people who interested us”, included Orson Welles, Harold Pinter, Duke Ellington and Jacques Tati. While “World in Action was based on researching a subject” Hodges felt “Tempo was important in a different way. Being an ‘art’ programme, we could be very experimental in our film making techniques.” (4)
a “sense of improvisation and ability to shoot well on location”…
Hodges’ strategy for moving television out of the studio and onto film reflected a number of economic changes affecting the commercial television industry in the late 1960s. The Pilkington committee of 1960 had imposed a high 11% levy on advertising placed with ITV. The committee also had great influence over the creation of the Television Act of 1964 from which the Independent Television Authority gained more regulatory powers over scheduling and programme making (something that the creation of Tempo also reflected), and levies on advertising revenues were increased.
Britain’s economic downturn of the late 1960s impacted on the advertising industry just as the advent of colour in 1969 also forced the ITV franchises to spend more money, certainly on upgrading technical facilities. Advertising rates for the new colour services had not yet been negotiated and in a highly competitive market that was in recession this meant that a company like Thames, which had inherited the regional franchises from ABC and Associated Rediffusion in July 1968, had to start making colour programmes for the same amount of money as the black and white productions it was currently making. With falling revenues and rising production costs, Thames considered a number of options to make and deliver their programmes.
One of these was to implement an idea that had its roots in the mid-1960s — namely to create a subsidiary that would make television all on film rather than videotape. Influenced by the all-film action dramas being made by ITC and ATV, ABC’s directors James Goddard and Terry Green and writer Trevor Preston had already suggested the creation of ABC Nucleus, a small experimental group who would produce work on 16mm film, originally used to film inserts on location for video taped drama but which had never been considered as the format for an entire drama’s production.
Hodges had also encouraged Lloyd Shirley to make drama on film rather than video and it was Hodges that Shirley turned to when George Taylor, Head of Film Facilities at Thames, “identified a spare capacity in his department” and suggested likewise. Shirley invited Hodges, whom he thought had a “sense of improvisation and ability to shoot well on location”, to direct and produce six episodes of Trevor Preston’s children’s series, The Tyrant King (1968).(5) Its success and Hodges’ subsequent films ‘Suspect’ and ‘Rumour’ made for ITV Playhouse in 1969 and 1970, inspired the use of 16mm film as the mainstay of drama productions overseen by Euston Films, the subsidiary formed by Thames Television in March 1971.
Hodges weaves an altogether more sinister, surrealistic atmosphere from Preston’s adaptation
The Tyrant King was adapted by Preston from Aylmer Hall’s book, The Tyrant King — A London Adventure. Preston was no stranger to writing for children, having completed a ten-part adaptation of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe (1967) for ABC, produced by Pamela Lonsdale and with whom Preston would later co-create Ace of Wands (1970–72). He’d also contributed a four part story, ‘The Big Freeze’ to Southern Television’s first season of Freewheelers in 1968. Hall, the pen name of Norah Eleanor Lyle Cummins, was the writer of several adventure stories for children in the 1950s and 1960s and The Tyrant King — A London Adventure was published by London Transport in 1967 with illustrations by Peter Roberson. It was commissioned to encourage the use of the bus and rail services across London and essentially consists of a detective story where the clues are possibly located in notable landmarks and places in and around the capital city. After a significant career, particularly with Euston where he wrote for The Sweeney (1975–8) and Minder(1979–94), created and wrote Out (1978) and Fox (1980), Preston worked with Hodges again in 2003, writing the screenplay for I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead.
The Tyrant King is on the surface a traditional adventure story in which three children overhear a sinister conversation and then follow the clues to a mystery involving the London tourist spots that were willing to give Hodges permission to film. However, this is a far from conventional children’s television serial and, beyond the well-worn trappings of middle class kids (something of a trope in Aylmer Hall’s oeuvre) meddling in criminal machinations of adults, Mike Hodges weaves an altogether more sinister, surrealistic atmosphere from Preston’s adaptation in his stylish use of colour location filming, cinematic editing and composition. He overturns expectations by marrying these visuals to an eclectic prog-rock soundtrack.
The first episode ‘Scarface’ establishes both the central mystery and this house style, mixing vibrant location work with domestic scenes in which the three children drive the plot. Shooting in the good summer weather shows off the city of London and its familiar landmarks, as Hall’s book always intended to, accompanied by red London buses, bobbies, pigeons and tourists in Trafalgar Square and a parade of the Household cavalry (there’s lots and lots of imagery of bearskin-wearing Grenadiers clogging up the episodes later too). Hodges’ energetic opening sequence features ‘As You Said’ from Cream’s 1968 Wheels of Fire album and it eventually takes us to a hotel room which is being searched by a strange, and rather camp, black gloved figure. He steals a wallet and a stack of papers hidden inside a radio still calmly announcing ‘what’s on’ in London.
This is Uncle Gerry, played by Murray Melvin, who’d made his mark as Geoffrey in Joan Littlewood’s Theatre Workshop 1957–58 staging of Shelagh Delaney’s groundbreaking A Taste of Honey, a role he reprised for Tony Richardson’s celebrated film version of 1961. He continued performing for Littlewood’s Workshop in such renowned plays as Sparrows Can’t Sing (1960) and the musical Oh, What a Lovely War (1963) while cultivating a film and television career. As well as roles in HMS Defiant (1962) and Alfie (1966), he also became involved in Ken Russell’s rep company of actors and appeared in his BBC television productions of Diary of a Nobody (1964) and Isadora Duncan, The Biggest Dancer in the World (1966). Russell would memorably use him in The Devils and The Boyfriend (both 1971). In 1967, Melvin was reunited with his A Taste of Honey co-stars, Rita Tushingham and Paul Danquah, in the film Smashing Time, Desmond Davis’ and George Melly’s witty defenestration of the, by then, worn out idea of ‘Swinging London’. At the same time, perhaps Aylmer Hall and London Transport were also seeking to capitalise on this idea of ‘Swinging London’ as a tourist destination with their own book, The Tyrant King.
“It’s all discotheques and clothes with you two”
The Nice’s ‘The Thoughts of Emerlist Davjack’, from the eponymous album, accompanies the opening titles of each episode (emphasised by the Sixties convention of a zoom into a billboard with the series’ title and credits pasted up on it), and this music is repeated quite often throughout the six episodes and does tend to wear out its welcome. After further travelogues of London streets, we are finally introduced to the three main characters Bill Hallen (Eddie McMurray) and his sister Charlotte (credited here to Candy Glendenning) and their friend Peter Thorne (Kim Fortune). Of this troupe of young actors fresh from the Italia Conti Stage School and RADA, only McMurray had a number of previous television credits, including the role of Edmund in Preston’s 1967 adaptation of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. His post-Tyrant King appearances only seem to continue until 1971. He told the TV Times prior to broadcast that, because the acting profession was so precarious, he was “saving up to buy an antiques shop” and wanted “to collect rare porcelain.”(6) One wonders if he did.
Glendenning would appear (uncredited) in the film adaptation of The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie (1969) and had completed several commercials prior to The Tyrant King. Billed as Candace Glendenning she made her mark in Franklin J Schaffner’s 1971 Romanov epic Nicholas and Alexandria and in the horror films Tower of Evil and The Flesh and Blood Show (both 1972). While her film appearances didn’t propel her into bigger and better roles, she did develop a more successful television CV, including parts in The Strauss Family (1972), The Main Chance (1969–75), two editions of Play of the Month (1972–73), Ripping Yarns (1976–79) and Blake’s 7 (1978–81). Kim Fortune, a little older than his co-stars, had ambitions to be a stage actor after a stint at RADA and celebrated his 15th birthday on location for The Tyrant King. He then enjoyed a television career, with early roles in episodes of The Lotus Eaters (1972–73), Dixon of Dock Green (1955–76), The Glittering Prizes (1976) and Crossroads (1964–2003), and then graduated to parts in several films, including The Spy Who Loved Me (1977) and Moonraker (1979). He had a stint between 2007 — 9 as a presenter/reporter on Channel Report, the daily news show for the Channel Islands.
Bill’s allegedly the hip one, whose wardrobe often defies description, and appears to have been modeled on several members of The Monkees at once. Charlotte sports some fabulous mini-skirt and leather boot combinations but she tends to be reduced to the victim being chased by a threatening looking Philip Madoc. “It’s all discotheques and clothes with you two” as the sensible one, Peter, describes them. He’s the one into photography and when Peter’s trying out his new telephoto lens (which gives director Hodges an excuse to do some zooms and pulling of focus to demonstrate the versatility of 16mm) they all decide that the deserted looking house across the way, “full of paintings and weird gear” and allegedly haunted, might be perfect for an afternoon’s sleuthing.
Hodges makes great use of the house as a beautifully atmospheric location and the three amateur sleuths overhear Uncle Gerry arranging a rendezvous with an unseen person over the telephone. Much of the telephone conversation about “London’s public places are so stiff with tourists and screaming kids that no one will ever notice us” and “I’ve studied the old beast of the tyrant king” is later manipulated and layered into the soundtrack, ramping up the dream-like, psychedelic edge to the visuals. Hodges homes in on a bizarre ornament of a Buddha whose hands and tongue move of their own accord, using close ups of the figure, its tongue darting in and out, to nightmarish effect. There’s also a fantastic tracking shot as he follows the three children crossing Richmond Lock Footbridge after leaving the house to puzzle out where Uncle Gerry’s rendezvous will be and his connection to their recovery of a wallet found at the house.
“murders in launderettes”
A six-episode tour of London and its suburbs begins as they try to find the ‘tyrant king’, at first taking in a riverboat ride down the Thames, a visit to the Tower of London and an encounter, at St. Paul’s Cathedral, with the glowering presence of Welsh actor Philip Madoc as Scarface. He was already carving a niche for himself as a villain in television and film and would become a very familiar face on screens in the 1970s. The Whispering Gallery at St. Paul’s sequence evidences how Hodges took the original remit of Aylmer Hall’s exploration of London and made it far more interesting by using intercutting, slow motion, layering of internal monologues from the characters, snatches of Uncle Gerry’s dialogue and masses of prog-rock.
Scarface, perhaps in league with Uncle Gerry, engages them in a game of cat and mouse across London in the second episode ‘Don’t Walk — Run!’ What might be seen as a standard escape from a villain’s clutches is skewed with Pink Floyd’s ‘Astronomy Domine’ and more cut up and processed dialogue. A brief respite at Bill and Charlotte’s rather luxurious house, the epitome of a late 1960s colour supplement that tells you a great deal about the class of the characters, sees Bill rejecting a police enquiry because he reckons they deal with people claiming they’ve had “tea with Martians” or seen “murders in launderettes” everyday. Their bus ride round 1960s London streets and landmarks is laced with nostalgia (spot the 2001: A Space Odyssey poster on the corner of Piccadilly Circus) and scored in a rather tongue-in-cheek manner to The Moody Blues’ ‘Dr. Livingstone, I Presume.’
Hodges also drops in a section of the Floyd’s ‘Corporal Clegg’ over hand held images of parading Grenadiers, providing a counterpoint entirely in keeping with the 1960s vogue for period and military clothing. Underlined by Bill’s cry of “wot fantastic gear!” the fashion for such militaria, particularly of the Victorian era, was more than sartorial, signalling something about the end of Empire and the multiculturalism that came to dominate the 1970s. This works hand-in-hand with the use of progressive rock, a creative avant-garde response to what came before it, musically speaking, that preempts the counterculture’s slow disintegration into a series of alternate subcultures. Perhaps the musical virtuosity of prog-rock was what Hodges was emulating in his manipulation of the location filming too. (7)
The suitably attired detectives (Bill in a fetching pink and yellow ensemble, Charlotte in hot pants and Peter in denim and tight trousers) turn up at Buckingham Palace for a rather prolonged scene mingling with the tourists, afterwards pop over to Westminster Abbey and then, prefaced by a sequence of eerie slow motion shots intercut with archive footage of World War 1 (emphasising the breaking of the post-war, post-Victorian straitjacket in the 1960s), they briefly bump into Scarface at the Imperial War Museum. Peter’s dad (Edward Evans) then takes them to the South Bank (with the merits of the Hayward Gallery and the NFT described as “a cross between a monster egg box and a concrete gun turret” as the Floyd’s ‘Jugband Blues’ bounces and crashes on the soundtrack) and then the top of the Shell Building. This travelogue constantly presses the nostalgia buttons and marks out The Tyrant King as a time capsule of a London that has since changed or disappeared, even kindling a fondness for the then modernist demeanor of the South Bank.
At a skating rink Peter discovers a map hidden inside the wallet and the illustrations on it yield further summery escapades at Hampton Court and Kew Gardens. Hodges’ flair is demonstrated with some choice editing and hand held camera work on the chase at the end of ‘Don’t Walk — Run’ wherein Scarface corners Charlotte (now in a cerise mini) in the glasshouses at Kew. The Kew sequences offer a summer idyll, given appropriate atmosphere by The Moody Blues ‘Legends of a Mind’, turned into nightmare as Hodges slowly builds the tension through a montage of shots of Scarface, the two boys and Charlotte and more tracks from Pink Floyd and Cream where ‘Let There Be Light’ and ‘Sunshine Of Your Love’ and ‘Pow R. Toc H.’ create a feverish intensity to the final chase. It’s a great scene.
“… but you know what sailors are!”
Episode three, aptly called ‘Nightmare’, has Scarface following the three children back to Bill and Charlotte’s house. It is a bus ride rendered threatening in tone by ‘Dawn’ from The Nice and Hodges enhances this mood with a dream sequence full of overdubbed whisperings, crash zooms onto Charlotte’s toys and Madoc doing a rather evil laugh into camera and intoning, “Aren’t you a friend of Gerald Gould?” as Charlotte relives her experiences of the day at Kew and St. Paul’s. Cue more Pink Floyd too and that creepy tongue pulling Buddha.
After the three tear off to the British Museum, Scarface turns up on Mrs. Hallen’s doorstep claiming to be doing a survey for the SAGRIS (Society for Autonomous Group Research and Independent Surveys). Ironically, this reflects the boom in market research as the 1960s ushered in new ways of thinking and new ideas about the consumer society so Mrs. Hallen was probably used to strange men ringing her bell and asking her personal questions. Scarface eventually finds out where the children have gone and sets off in pursuit. More lashings of Cream (‘Passing the Time’, ‘White Room’ and ‘As You Said’) accompany the various bus journeys around the capital as the kids trail after Scarface to the Commonwealth Institute to gradually put together the clues from the map in the wallet.
Bill’s rather wonderful turn of phrase, “So as the Yogi said to the Yeti ‘don’t play marbles with yer Dad’s glass eye, we need it to look for Scarface’”, opens the fourth episode ‘The Turnover’ after Peter’s failed attempt to snap Scarface with his telephoto lens at the Commonwealth Institute. As Peter’s Dad drags them all off to Greenwich, Scarface gets a chance to do a bit of breaking and entering. Look out for Mrs Thorne, a warm and witty little performance from Shirley Cooklin (well known in Doctor Who fandom as Kaftan from ‘Tomb of the Cybermen’). Hodges captures some lovely footage of Greenwich and the Cutty Sark and Bill offers us another of his bon mots as Mr. Thorne suggests that he “could do a lot worse” than a career in the Navy to which he replies, “I would Mr. T but you know what sailors are!” Crash zoom onto Mr. Thorne’s reaction.
After the Thornes discover the break-in, Bill suggests that Peter and Charlotte distract Scarface in London while he searches the old house again for further clues. Peter and Charlotte lead Scarface to the V&A accompanied by The Stones’ ‘She’s A Rainbow’ as they divert him around the museum but Bill is prevented from exploring the house by the arrival of Monsieur le Coq (Vernon Dobtcheff) for extra French lessons. As Bill struggles to conjugate his French verbs, Peter and Charlotte keep Scarface on the run around Hyde Park to the crashing vibes of The Nice’s ‘Tantalising Maggie’ and some great visual symmetry from Hodges. Bill is reprimanded by his mum when he attempts to abandon his French lessons. Taking the dog for a walk as penance, he explores the old house and has a nasty encounter with Uncle Gerry. Murray Melvin is once again in fine scenery chewing mode.
“It’s time we had a chat.”
The fifth episode ‘Some Doll!’ sees Gerry incarcerate Bill in the cellar of the deserted house. There’s a rather pointed moment when Gerry removes a handkerchief from Bill’s pocket and looks it rather disdainfully, in only the way that Murray Melvin could, and declares, “revolting!” Meanwhile, Peter (coming out as a member of the BBC West of England Light Orchestra Fan Club) and Charlotte look for the missing Bill. Fortunately, Bill’s dog leads them to the scene of the crime and they all return home to inflate some plastic cushions (I told you this was odd, didn’t I?) while contemplating their next move after decoding more of the strange map they have been following.
It gets odder. After a bus journey to the Horniman Museum and Gallery to fathom a doll’s head illustration on the map, accompanied by some rather lovely shots of Westminster and a selection from The Nice’s ‘Diamond Hard Blue Apples of the Moon’ the three children pop down the Chislehurst Caves (a location with another Doctor Who reference attached — it’s where they filmed ‘The Mutants’ in 1972). They join a tour of the caves overseen by a young guide (Rick Moulton) believing that they may find the final clue there.
Peter’s claustrophobia in the caves allows Hodges to indulge again in some trippy visuals and sounds, including the Floyd’s ‘Interstellar Overdrive’. Recovering in the cafe, Peter and his friends are then confronted by Scarface who demands, “It’s time we had a chat.” He accuses them of stealing his wallet and there is a showdown with a school master (Angus Mackay) and the cafe owner (Eunice Black). Managing to give him the slip again, the three children contemplate the meaning of the baffling final clue on the map. Any excuse for some more bus hopping across London would be your correct assumption at this point.
Preston and Hodges wrap up the story in the final episode ‘Meet the King’ and which opens with an atmospheric two minute montage of London locations (with further extracts from ‘Dawn’ by The Nice adding a sinister and mystical tone) before introducing someone we haven’t seen yet, a mysterious blonde haired woman. And if you thought Murray Melvin couldn’t get any camper as the villain then check out the opening scenes as he hails a cab and sets off for the much mooted rendezvous he arranged on the telephone right at the start of the series. The rendezvous is with the blonde woman who has now taken to cycling through the London streets (oh, look there’s the Albert Hall) to meet Uncle Gerry at the Natural History Museum for a drugs exchange, a rather bold piece of plotting for a children’s serial of the time it has to be said. There’s a great mood created as the tracking shots of the woman on the bicycle are cross cut with the three children on the bus, Scarface on foot and the cab journey that Uncle Gerry takes, enhanced by The Moody Blues’ ‘House of Four Doors’ on the soundtrack as Hodges’ camera weaves around the streets of London. Who the woman is, who Scarface is and what the ‘tyrant king’ is for you to discover but you’ll have fun watching the connections fall into place to the accompaniment of more prog-rock.
Hodges believed he had “proved you could make drama quickly on film, that you had much more flexibility and could be more inventive using locations than with video in the studio.” (8) As a result, he was quickly commissioned to write, produce and direct ‘Suspect’ and ‘Rumour’, two plays filmed for ITV Playhouse. There’s no doubting that Hodges impressed Thames with his work on The Tyrant King. As a piece of children’s drama it is, however, something of a curate’s egg. Beholden to its origins as a promotional vehicle for London Transport, the story is simplistic and the characters often stereotypical but Hodges fashions the material in very innovative ways, with cinematic visuals, use of sound and editing techniques.
It can therefore be seen as an interesting curio that sits at the crossover of two periods in children’s television drama. The 1960s saw a proliferation of adventure serials made for television, beginning as variations of the Blyton or ‘Boys’ Own’ adventure formulas but which eventually developed into action-adventure series that were the equivalent of those being made for adults. Freewheelers (1968–73) and Orlando (1965–68) were the first of these and certainly The Tyrant King, while more formulaic, anticipates the new-age fantasy orientated series that came later in the 1970s, as in Ace of Wands and Catweazle (1970–71 and shot on film for London Weekend Television) for example. There are even glimmers in Trevor Preston’s scripts of some of the strengths of children’s drama in the 1970s where makers “carefully explore violence, race, parents, love and criminality.” (9)
Sources:
(1) Mark Adams, Mike Hodges: The Pocket Essential Guide (Summersdale, 2001).
(2) Ibid.
(3) Justin Johnson / Mike Hodges, Tempo: BFI Programme Notes (Return of the Outsider — Mike Hodges season, May 2022).
(4) Tony Williams, Mike Hodges, Senses of Cinema, July 2006.
(5) Manuel Alvarado and John Stewart, Made for Television: Euston Films Limited (Methuen Publishing Ltd, 1985).
(6) TV Times coverage: ‘Destination 1974’, ‘Week in View’ and ‘Hop on a bus to adventure’, September to October 1968.
(7) Paul Hegarty and Martin Halliwell, Beyond and Before: Progressive Rock Since the 1960s, (Bloomsbury, 2011).
(8) Mark Adams, Mike Hodges: The Pocket Essential Guide (Summersdale, 2001).
(9) Mark J. Docherty and Alistair D. McGown, The Hill and Beyond: Children’s Television Drama — An Encyclopedia, (BFI, 2003)
In 2011, Network marked the release of the series and its prominent use of prog-rock by presenting it in jewel case rather than a standard DVD case and with the DVD artwork resembling a vinyl LP. The episodes were newly transfered from the original 16mm source so colour on this release was vibrant and matched the sunny location shoot. It added to the glow of 1960s nostalgia for viewers who will only ever have seen this in black and white if they were around at the time. Network then re-released the series as a 50th anniversary standard DVD in 2018.
The only special feature is an image gallery which apart from the standard publicity shots also contains several images of Grenadiers in bearskin hats.
The Tyrant King
Thames Television 1968
Transmitted 3 October — 7 November 1968
Network web exclusive DVD released 14 November 2011 / 7953519
Network 50th Anniversary DVD released 23 July 2018 / 7954946
Cert: U / 1.33:1 / Colour / Sound: Mono / English / Subtitles: None / Region: 2 / PAL / 150 mins approx
Originally published at www.cathoderaytube.co.uk in November 2011. Revised 2022. All written material by Frank Collins (the author) is © 2007–2023 and is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Please seek permission from the author if you would like to credit, quote or re-use any of the author’s own written material.
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