Home and Away “Welcome to Summer Bay”: Rewatching the early years.

[Mel O'Drama]

The Pilot

This has always been an episode of two halves for me. The second half is familiar and nostalgic, while the first feels fresh and new. The reason for this curious disparity in the experience is simple: when Home And Away was launched in my ITV region, the second half of the Pilot was shown on Saturday 11th February, while the series proper began two days later. So my introduction to the entire series was Pippa arriving at the store to meet Ailsa, their conversation scrutinised by the eagle eyed Doris Peters.

Even when it originally aired, my teenage self could immediately tell there was some kind of censorship happening. We had the main title, and then the scene in which Pippa drives up to the store with what is clearly the tail end of some flutey segue music. Even more curious, this music is absent on the Amazon Prime version where the scene opens cold after a commercial break blackout (the inclusion of the break-bumpers as originally aired in Australia are very welcome, and I’ll probably find myself noting some instances where they differ from the ITV ones, since these are burnt into my brain having recorded and frequently re-watched the first couple of years on VHS).

I’ve no idea for the reasoning behind this peculiar choice. Perhaps the first half had aired the previous weekend. Or perhaps there just wasn’t time in the schedule for the full hour and a half and they thought nobody would care that much about seeing the beginning. Admittedly, the latter would be a very odd rationale, since H&A’s 1989 UK launch was very well publicised due to their (soon to be realised) hopes of this being ITV’s ticket to the Aussie soap phenomenon the BBC was enjoying with Neighbours.

Whatever the reason, I didn’t see the Pilot in full until some time later when it was released on VHS, by which time the truncated version was committed to memory as canon.

Plumb as Doris Peters was a delight. In a way it’s a shame she chose Richmond Hill over this. But then this way we got Fiona Spence’s Celia and a legendary Plumb performance as Mum Foote. And it was probably better for the incestuous nature of soap that the gossip is related to half the cast.

The cold opening feels if not contemporary then certainly refreshing for its time. 1978 would have been less than a decade earlier, but psychologically it feels like there is so much more than just ten years between the opening flashback and the (then) present day.

I found it interesting that the Fletchers’ first scene was set with an apparent (read SFX on a budget) storm outside. Though of course it nicely foreshadowed equally inclement weather the night they agreed to take on Bobby.

And most of the kids are first shown as cake toppers. Shades of Dynasty’s Pilot, though sadly no heads were bitten off here.

“Five is sufficient” is kind of the Aussie equivalent of “Eight Is Enough”.

As a childhood comic reader I’ve long been partial to a good origin story. And this is no exception. The perfect storm of Tom’s 40th/his redundancy/interference from social services all necessitating them to move away from the city so they could afford to live not only set up the premise perfectly, it also neatly showed us the level of commitment Tom and Pippa have towards their children.

Even before the storm clouds, I found Tom’s 40th birthday speech to his family rather moving in its simple earnestness:

We’ve had our ups and downs getting to know each other, haven’t we? We’ll probably have some more, too.

With hindsight, it becomes even more touching, particularly as he talked about looking forward to the next forty years and seeing his foster kids grow, have their own children and turn 40 themselves: the latter being something which even the youngest of them has now done.

There were so many sweet little details I’d forgotten (especially from the first half). Alf passing on his marital bed to the Fletchers is far less creepy than it sounds and became a beautiful moment.

All the adults are perfectly cast. Judy Nunn as the series’ Irene Fisher With A Criminal Past and Ray Meagher, of course. And the aforementioned Gwen Plumb.

Giving the series immediate quirk are retired carnies Floss and Neville with their painted caravan. With her maternal clucking, fortune telling and hiding refugees, Floss is pretty much Aunt Fiona. She did a completely hilarious multiple eyeball roll while giving a fraudulent reading, and then brought gravitas after a genuine tarot reading showed her that Bobby will be the death of one of the Fletchers. It’s to the series’ credit that I’ve never really given any thought to just how much this device requires one to suspend disbelief. And that’s down to the writing and to Sheila Kennelly, who brings so much warmth to the series. Floss and Neville may not be the most convincing couple, but I enjoy their energy too much to analyse it.

continued...​

 

[Mel O'Drama]

The Pilot (continued)

I’m fascinated by these little legends created when actors arrive with next to no notice in order to re-shoot scenes when the original actor needs to be replaced: whether it’s John Forsythe replacing George Peppard on Dynasty; Anita Dobson replacing Jean Fennell on EastEnders; Andrew Shue replacing Steven Fanning on Melrose Place. And Vanessa Downing replacing Carol Willesee on Home And Away.

Downing is better than I remembered. She’s coming across really well so far and had some winning moments in the Pilot. In particular, her monologue to Milko - Sally’s imaginary friend - showed off a great combination of Pippa’s heartfelt passion and wily bleeding heart manipulation of the children to get her own way by addressing an empty chair:

This means such a lot to me. Remember how we helped you and Sally when you came to us. Well, I want to help Bobby too. I know she can be mean, but she’s never had anyone to love her. Her Mummy’s dead and her Daddy’s gone away and no-one cares about her. Maybe you’d be like her if you hadn’t come to live with us. I’m so proud of you and the girls. Wouldn’t it be terrific if we could help you and Bobby and give her the chance you’ve all had?

Likewise, there was a duality to her scenes with Bobby as she worked out how to connect with her. We saw her alternate angry warnings and offers of support, often in the same scene.

While Ailsa is connected to Bobby through having similarly rough upbringings (“I’ve got a thing about underdogs”, Ailsa told Pippa with enticingly evasive vagueness), it occurs to me that it’s Pippa and Bobby who are flip sides of the same coin in their shared characteristics. Bobby’s tough exterior masks the scared little girl, while beneath Pippa’s gentle petite persona is a woman who, when cornered, will do what she has to - kick arse or emotionally blackmail - in order to protect her own.

Roger Oakley is one of the most natural actors (he and Judy Nunn are the most charismatic, watchable and spontaneous of actors in the Pilot). He has that checked-shirted everyman David Palmer quality in spades and has great chemistry with everyone - including bringing out the best in the kids. I get the sense he ad libs a fair bit. Either that or he performs the even more impressive feat of making scripted dialogue sound like he’s simply voicing thoughts as they pop into his head.

The dialogue in general sounds refreshingly natural and spontaneous, and peppered with language that while hardly shocking is gritty enough for a teatime series. My teenage self appreciated the casual use of “up yours” and “bloody”, which added to the edginess of the series compared with cosy Neighbours of the time.

Of the young actors, it’s perhaps no surprise that the three oldest - Sharyn Hodgson, Alex Papps and Nicolle Dickson - fare best in the Pilot (having watched Sons And Daughters recently I keep looking at them and seeing Samantha Morrell, Andy Green and Leanne Watson). I particularly enjoy that they’re happy to go ugly and have their moments of being spiteful, bullying or unlikeable in the Pilot. To their credit they play those moments for truth. I particularly enjoy Carly’s entitlement, stirring and sulking when things don’t go her way. My memory of Papps was as a good looking if underwhelming actor. But the latter isn’t my impression this time round. I find his Frank believable and watchable. Yes - their inexperience comes across, and they lack the subtlety of the older cast. But that only serves to make them more convincing as young people. And the energy all balances out so that the strength of the ensemble shines through.

Dickson has that great broken wing thing going on. It’s impossible not to root for her. She’s introduced as an immediate threat to the security and status quo, but by the time she made her impassioned speech to the Pilot’s key face of authority, Tarquin Pearce, I found myself touched because the tightly woven skein has led me to that point and I was completely invested:

It’s too late for me, but those kids back there are all right. Except Carly. And one dud out of five’s not bad… My folks were no good, and I hated ‘em… I used to dream about what sort of folks I’d like, an’ I reckon Tom an’ Pippa are just about what I dreamt of. You take those kids away and stick ‘em in some dump of a home, you need your head read. Doesn’t matter how broke they get, those two’ll never let the kids suffer. An’ you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t be there. I’ve stuffed up my own life enough. I’m not gonna stuff up theirs. I just hope you welfare blokes show a bit of sense for a change and leave them alone. That’s it.

Of the other Fletcher kids, Adam Willits isn’t a great actor by any chalk, but he gives great pained vulnerability. I really like Steven. Helena Bozich is also not great but so far likeable and - with a relatively small role in the Pilot working just fine as part of the family. Kate Richie - H&A’s very own Tonya Crowe - is precocious child actor at this stage, but also perfectly watchable.

continued...​

 

[Mel O'Drama]

The Pilot (...concluded)


The use of real locations added atmosphere and a degree of realism. Whether it’s the Fletchers' original home or Ailsa’s shop, it was great to look at the window and see real light and movement. Indeed, this leads me on to…

Previously unnoticed serendipitous act of nature: Towards the end of the episode there’s a scene outside Summer Bay House in which the Fletchers tell the children they’ve had a reprieve and are still a family. Watching in decent quality on a big screen, I noticed a rainbow can be seen on one camera angle for the entire scene. It’s either pointing directly down at Pippa… or radiating skywards out of her. How perfect.

Mike Perjanik’s music transports me instantly back to 1989.There’s the theme, of course, and the original Karen Boddington/Mark Williams version of the theme is just the best (naturally, in my head, Karen Boddington looks just like Vanessa Downing, and I think that was the case even before Pippa sang Living In Summer Bay at Variety Night). A shock to me was how pitched up the theme sounds compared with how I “hear” it in my mind. Is the fact that they sound like young chipmunks just a sign of me getting older?

Theme aside, Perjanik’s entire score for the Pilot is so evocative and perfectly pitched. The spacial bass sound on Bobby’s unseen introduction, for instance, is one of the hallmarks of early H&A for me. It still sounds great. Then there are the instrumental variations of the main theme heard throughout (along with cake figures and real locations, this is another similarity to Dynasty’s Pilot). But there’s also the most beautiful piece of music that I consider the key piece for the Pilot (and early H&A in general). It’s used several times throughout: when Alf leaves the bed to the Fletchers; when Pippa gets up in the middle of the night to arrange the family photos, and in the final scene where we pan to the new family photo which now includes Bobby.

There’s no doubting that the Fletchers are the heart and soul of the early series: Tom and Pippa most of all. The family got first billing, and rightly so. There’s a refreshingly unconventional edge to the series. It’s primarily about non-traditional families that feels forward thinking and almost a fingers up salute to standard soap setups.

This pretty much replaced Sons And Daughters as Channel 7's flagship half hour soap. Some of these themes had been explored there with the many young waifs taken under the wing of the Palmers or Fiona. In fact, H&A could easily have been the spinoff that never happened: imagine Mike and Heather O'Brien, after leaving Melbourne, being given their own series in which they're the central couple with new friends and neighbours and their own alternative family.

Thinking back to when I drifted away from the series after perhaps four years, having been a hardcore viewer for the first two or so years, cast changes were the key. I just wasn’t connected to newer characters in the same way, and there were too few originals to keep me interested. But re-watching the Pilot has reinforced that it was the changes to the Fletchers in particular that changed my viewing experience.

I’ve used the word “warmth” a few times, and I suppose that’s the overriding feeling that this series fosters (pun not entirely intended). Maybe it’s nostalgia speaking, but I found - all over again - that watching wasn’t just something I did with my eyes and ears. It’s an experience that at times I could feel in my gut, by the hairs on my arms standing on end, by my blood changing temperature. By my skin feeling as though it was trying to get away from me. By the time the necessary detentes were happening towards the end of the Pilot (most notably in the Bobby/Carly and Frank/Steven relationships), I found myself feeling unusually sentimental. The visual harmony of the new family photo being taken paired with Mike Perjanik’s gorgeous piano actually moved me to tears. I know this episode inside-out, and I’m quite a hard heart when it comes to manipulatively saccharine TV scenes, so I was taken completely by surprise.

Make no mistake, there is manipulation going on here, but in the best possible way. In the great scheme of things, very few series have been rich enough to have affected me so profoundly and repeatedly with a level of connection that would seem impossible to feel for fictional characters. Knots Landing springs to mind, of course. Despite the seaside location and the fact that they were my two TV obsessions during H&A’s first couple of years, I’ve always thought of these two series being very different animals and meeting different needs. Watching the Pilot in 2019 has suggested to me that they may have more in common than I’d thought. And it’s a secret that can’t be seen.

I couldn’t even begin to guess how an experience like that is created, other than all the ingredients working. Yes, there are weak links, but the whole is overwhelmingly greater than the sum of its parts. And in addition to those mentioned, not enough credit can be given to creator Alan Bateman and Pilot writer Alan Bateman who have created an incredible film with all the right ingredients to launch a successful series. After watching - and feeling - it yet again, it’s unthinkable that the Pilot wouldn’t have been picked up. But unlike the pilot for, say, Sons And Daughters, this even has an ending with some form of closure and no big cliffhanger. So the viewer has the choice to leave it there or continue with the ongoing series. Even for those with no interest in watching the series itself, the original film is but a very rewarding standalone viewing experience. For anyone with Prime, it’s there and it’s free. So why not?!

 

[Mel O'Drama]

By the way, belated special thanks to @JamesF who made this rewatch possible. If you hadn't pointed out that Season One was available to view I would be missing out. Badly.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

SEASON ONE




​

Episodes #1-5


This time round it’s more clear than ever the series has a different tone to the Pilot. It feels cleaner and simpler. Which is a little contradictory as the ties that bind the various characters are becoming more soapily involved, with tantalising little titbits about the ways people are connected. Fisher and Alf, for example, are (or were) brothers-in-law. And Fisher is thus Roo’s “Uncle Donald”. Was it mentioned in the Pilot that Fisher teaches at Summer Bay High? I don’t recall it, but here we are.

It’s difficult to pinpoint, but the voice of the series is different. Perhaps by necessity there’s more story and less message. There’s certainly a sense of absence. Even though Episode One of the series picks up the story where the Pilot left off with the same cast and even the same director, it lacks the sensory experience I had with the Pilot. I feel more objective as a viewer, and there have been no goose pimples or tears. Not from my side of the screen, anyway.

This is perhaps understandable since the Pilot had a clear journey to take with themes to explore and it did so confidently. Now the roots are planted we’re down to the business of being an ongoing series with branches waiting to shoot out in numerous directions.

That’s not to say the series isn’t confident. I’m guessing the powers that be had been working hard fleshing out the characters’ backstories. Including Tom and Pippa’s. When Frank was twitterpated after meeting Roo, he asked Tom if he knew he loved Pippa when they first met:

Hell no. I mean - she was a sixteen year old giggler with braces on her teeth. It was five years before I even kissed her… Well, I went away. I was in ‘Nam for part of that. The turning point was I got this invite to Pip’s twenty first. I remember having a quiet beer with her brother Danny… and in walks “little Pip” in this red hot mini-skirt. These knee-length white boots. I mean, fair go, that mini-skirt. You’d sell it off for a belt today… I couldn’t take my eyes off her. She had a boyfriend of course so it took a while to shove him out of the picture. But basically that was the moment. So I suppose it was love at first sight. It was just five years after we met.

Every once in a while, one of these little revelations will be casually dropped. For a character it might be a dirty little secret but to us it's an exciting bombshell. My favourite so far came during what had started out as a routine conversation in the store between Fisher and Ailsa:

Truth is you’ve had it in for young Bobby ever since I stopped our little affair.

These are all crucial little expositions that give us clues that Summer Bay might well be Peyton Place Down Under.

Fisher is proving interesting to watch. He’s so difficult to read. There was a great scene where he bawled Bobby out for consoling Sally during school time (she was being bullied by S&D’s very own Tick, if I’m not mistaken. And Haydon Samuels was uncredited, despite his soap pedigree). Then Fisher softened and held Sally’s hand as he walked her back to the little school across the road.

There was also a nice moment where Fisher picked on Steven to speak about Ptolemy and looked at him with what could have been quiet respect when Steven spoke authoritatively and accurately. In a nice touch, Lynn was behind Steven looking proud as punch.

The relationships between the young characters are very watchable for their mercuriality.

Steven and Frank have reached an understanding, building on that breakthrough at the end of the Pilot. I don’t think Series Frank has called Steven “Einstein” once.

Carly and Bobby’s relationship, too, has seen a thaw, which has felt satisfying. And knowing the big picture it’s also fun to see the support between Bobby and Roo. But then Ailsa is Roo’s enemy at the moment (with so much goodwill in Summer Bay House, the conflict has to come from somewhere). There’s something quite real about Roo manipulating her father into keeping Ailsa away from her territory, and I loved the scene where they had a guilty conversation full of white lies to cover up their respective rendezvous with Frank and Ailsa.

I like the irony that it was Bobby who sent Frank in Roo’s direction. Now, as thirty years ago, their first meeting felt special. One can tell immediately that Big Things lie ahead with it.

Incidentally, I noticed that Celia and Roo were credited in the end titles from the first regular episode, despite Roo not appearing until Episode Three and Celia still an episode or so away. I hadn’t really noticed before as I used to cut out the credits so I could fit nine episodes on a 3 hour videocassette. I’d always understood that the end credits - unlike the opening titles - were updated per episode and mentioned only those who appeared in the episode, so I’m curious about this choice.

The series’ first proper end-of-episode cliffhanger was a good one. Carly being caught in a riptide is purely situational on paper but I can forgive it, partly because it was utilised to tap into character (Carly’s vanity causing her to go for such a wild attempt to get Matt’s attention by pretending to drown; the fact that the idea was Bobby’s threatening the fragile detente with Bobby; Bobby’s guilt about it going awry actually being used to build their relationship rather than the obvious conflict). But also because as a Jaws fan I’ve always enjoyed the imagery around it. If only H&A’s nods to Jaws had ended there!!

Oh, and I’ve always loved the little snippets that come at the end of the end credits, meaning the viewer has to watch or miss out. Back in the day, I would gladly miss the beginning of Neighbours - which began on BBC1 a few minutes before H&A ended on ITV - in order to get the full picture. They really set this series apart. They were a little ahead of their time, perhaps. Marvel films do this all the time now.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes #6-13

The Eric storyline had its moments. Who couldn’t be moved by seeing a cute little dog being baited then put to sleep? But it was Lynn’s first big storyline. Helen Bozich is perfectly fine as a member of the Fletcher family, with the occasional shrewd comment about Carly’s shortcomings and a mention of Jesus every now and then. But when it comes to angry accusations, the less said the better.

Lynn's flight has led us into the Nico storyline. Poor Nicholas Papademetriou. He was last seen departing Woombai with Helena Matsoukis after trading shots with Andy Green. Now he’s straight into a Lynn-heavy storyline. All the same, Nico is a character I found endearing back in the day and it's pleasing that I still feel the same way.

The direction around Nico’s introduction, oddly, reminded me of the scene in Halloween II with the old woman cooking while hubby watches Wheel Of Fortune. We had about twenty seconds of watching his hands dishing up fried food and his feet padding around in daps, sans shoelaces. The scene showed a resourcefulness to Lynn as she knocked on the front door to divert Nico before sneaking round the back to steal his fryup. This was followed up with another Halloween-esque scene, this time reminiscent of the fifth instalment, where Nico stood over the sleeping Lynn wielding an axe (OK - he just happened to be holding it. But to the uninitiated it looked pretty threatening).

At risk of spoilerage, Nico is essentially here to become one of the key suspects in the Summer Bay Nutter storyline, which has unofficially begun with the poisoning of Eric. Watching in 2019 I've appreciated the Chekov’s Gun thing going on that’s creating a whole whirlpool of cause and effect: although we don’t know it yet, we’ve already seen the Nutter’s origin story; that was set in motion by the actions of two key characters; the Nutter has poisoned Eric, causing Lynn to run away; Lynn’s met Nico and convinced him to stop taking his medication causing his behaviour to become dangerously unpredictable (as we’ve learnt, he’s previously physically assaulted someone). This not only makes Nico a prime suspect, but also puts Lynn in jeopardy. Plots that seem unconnected are actually very tightly plotted as the consequence from one creates another. But it's presented in a way that feels accessibly uncomplicated.

Attitudes of the day add some colour to proceedings. We’re moving on from some of the sexism entrenched in Beryl Palmer’s kitchen. But only in some areas. Tom and Pippa are two of the series’ more progressive characters, what with their family meetings and chore wheels. But after Lynn goes missing, Tom vocalises his intent to tan her backside so she won’t be able to sit for a week. He won’t, of course, but one can only imagine what OK Boomer-ing Millennials would make of such platforming.

Some throwbacks to the Pilot from Ailsa: as mentioned in Episode Thirteen, Doris Peters is still reporting facts to her (ironically, Doris’s name was spoken over a shot of her spiritual on-screen successor, Celia, listening at the door). Ailsa also referred to the conversation she overheard between Fisher and Mr Balvidis in order to get Tom a fair hearing regarding a potential job.

Carly’s snobby response to Tom’s new job was very enjoyable:

Did Pippa tell you about Tom’s job? …It’s with the council on a road gang… He could’ve found something else… I don’t have to like it… You mightn’t care if people think you’re working class or not, but I do.

Naturally, this was overheard by Tom himself. Oops.

We’ve now met Carly’s twin sister who, funnily enough, is also played by Sharyn Hodgson. It’s very early in the game for soapy double-takes at lookalikes, but that hasn’t stopped Home And Away.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes #14-17

The dynamic between Ailsa and Celia is giving some winning moments in these episodes. And some great quotes from Ailsa:

If compassion’s a vice, thank God I’m a sinner.

And when Tom catches her leaving through Playgirl.

Been good enough for you fellas for years. Why shouldn’t us girls have a bit of a perv? …Actually I only stock them to drive Celia Stewart wild. I had some sent to me by mistake once and she made such a song and dance about it. I’ve been selling them ever since just to rile her… How come they never ask themselves why if the flesh is so indecent God didn’t create us with clothes on?

Celia, of course, is the go-to object of ridicule. Tom’s recently been doing the charm offensive to get her onside. But Pippa quickly kiboshed the idea of seducing Fisher:

I’m no Mata Hari. Just ‘cause you fancy yourself as James Bond.

And who’s Celia? Pussy Galore?!

It’s a cheap laugh, but Celia’s singing gets me every time. Her startlingly awful rendition of How Great Thou Art was my first awareness of the hymn, so I’ve never been able to hear any version without chortling.

Mixed messages, though, when it comes to characters singing. Everyone laughs at Celia’s off-key screeching, but then Roo and Frank’s teen dreamy love was cemented when Frank sang to her. It’s got to be tough when actors are asked to stretch to skills that aren’t strengths of theirs, but which their characters are supposed to have in spades. Alex Papps gamely singing over Frank and Roo’s beach montage gave it an almost satirical vibe. It’s played like Danny and Sandy, but one can’t help almost anticipating a Naked Gun type punchline. All the same, I’ll take this over auto-tuned perfection any day. And that’s the thing. He’s not a perfect singer, but neither is he bad. It’s just that we’re programmed to expect characters to be perfect at everything they turn their hands to. Instead we get what we might realistically expect from a teenager just putting together a garage band for a small town variety night. What we are given is far more truthful and sweet than if the scene was dubbed by a professional session singer. Even if it is slightly distracting.

Speaking of truthful imperfection, I’ve realised that the major problem with Helena Bozich is the intonation. The problems set in when Lynn becomes impassioned in some way. In other words, when Helena is very consciously acting. When she speaks with her eyes - as in the post paint spray scene where Pippa said how disappointed she was in Lynn - she’s quite a natural and incredibly effective actress. Likewise, when she says very little or delivers a line casually she’s an asset.

Don Fisher’s layers continue to be evident. I’m fascinated by the greyness of his morality. This is the man who asked the Fletchers to tell “a few white lies” to rid him of Bobby in the Pilot. And who went so far as an attempt to coerce Lynn into saying Nico molested her, despite there being not a single shred of evidence to suggest so. But then we’re privy to his side of a phone call as he rallies support against Nico:

I’d rather you didn’t make any racist remarks. The fact that Nico’s Greek’s got nothing to do with this and if you’re backing me because of that I’d really rather not have your support. Just because one of them’s a danger to the community doesn’t mean they all are.

Pippa's been feeling off-colour for a couple of episodes. Any soap viewer worth their salt knows what this means, but apparently nobody in Summer Bay watches soaps. And so Pippa's news has come as a complete shock to Tom. I loved the fact that her announcement was spat out in the middle of his rant about another storyline. It's nicely messy and non-compartmentalised.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Oh - my post has been censored.

There's an irony in Tom Fletcher being permitted to say the "P" word in a teatime slot while I'm not.

Still - at least this isn't a "Rewatching Are You Being Served? thread.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 18-24

In 2019, as in 1989, I’m watching this with Judy Nunn’s performance as Irene Fisher in mind (back then, her Sons and Daughters episodes were still airing for the first time in my ITV region as these H&A episodes ran). Now, as then, it’s incredibly gratifying to see her being given the more central role she thoroughly deserves. She’s captivating no matter what material she’s given. But Ailsa’s evasiveness hinting at something very dark and very big in her background means she’s got a role that makes best use of the gem they have in the cast.

On paper it seems very sudden: at the beginning of Episode Twenty, they’re still separated. But the end of the same episode, Alf has proposed. Twice. Thanks to great writing, the pacing of this relationship in particular (and the series in general) is perfect. There’s an unhurried, real-time atmosphere paired with enough events to titilate.

The first of the double proposals was the gruff “dammit woman. Marry me” blustery type one would expect from Alf. After it was rejected, he came to her late at night, with a heartfelt proposal in the doorway of the darkened store. I was as moved as Ailsa.

The celebrated with a very expensive bottle of Dom Perignon ‘53:

I bought four bottles years and years ago. I’ve been saving one for when I got engaged. One for when I had my first kid. And one for the mates at my wake.

With Ailsa, what’s not said is often more interesting than what is. So it’s that fourth bottle that grabs our attention. And Alf’s. When he asks about it, she mentions in that casual-but-mysterious way of hers, that it’s already been drunk “for the hell of it”. Alf swallows it. But we don’t. It’s enticing all right.

Discussion of the four bottles is even more poignant with hindsight. Those final two bottles presumably now having been popped and drunk.

The scene in which Alf awkwardly broke the news of the engagement to Roo turned out to be a winner. It went from sitcom to pathos in seconds. Ray Meagher did his nicest work on the series to date. With Roo’s stony silence, it was essentially a monologue. A series of Alf’s pleas to Roo, hoping she’d understand. His voice broke in all the right places.

Roo’s manipulative side is really coming to the surface now, establishing her as the series’ bad girl. We’ve already seen her work Alf while sneaking round with Frank. Building on this perfectly was the scene in which she left a photo album of pictures of Alf and her late mother lying round exactly where he’d find them.

The balance between manipulative bitch and spoilt kid is perfect. Thirty years ago I thought of Roo as the series’ youthful version of Pat The Rat. Fresh from a rewatch of Sons and Daughters, I’m not really feeling that. She’s getting there with the manipulation, but subtle she’s not. Neither, despite her bad girl vibe, is she quite Betty Anderson. She’s quite a different animal. In S&D terms, she’s part young Patricia Hamilton and part Leigh Palmer. And the situation with her hating her father’s new fiancé and finding allies in others is pure Jess Campbell. And yet she’s more watchable and even likeable than Leigh or Jess ever were. Even when she’s almost having sex with Frank simply to spite her father (the fact that she changed her mind on the first attempt is a detail I’d forgotten, and made Roo even more human).

Roo’s primary ally in her quest to bring down Ailsa has turned out to be a character who is unseen and who will remain that way for a little while. But one whose influence will quickly begin impacting on the series from a distance. She first gets a mention in Episode Twenty Three:

Why don’t we ring Auntie Morag?

Not that Roo’s entirely without her own resources. She’s fairly adept at breaking and entering, scouring Ailsa’s flat and uncovering Ailsa and Donald’s affair, accompanied by the first use of a favourite oft-used Mike Perjanik spacial bass pieces. And now Bobby’s found the card.

continued...​

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 18-24 (...cont'd.)

The series has made good use of the POV shot. The most recent was gorgeous Jessie being murdered. Poor cow. The scene of her lying on the ground looking up at Nico with her big brown eyes was rather heartbreaking. This series has certainly picked up Sons and Daughters’ bravery baton when it comes to brutally killing off animals.

Nico’s resulting nervous breakdown - he’s now locked in a psychiatric hospital, rocking back and forth and unresponsive to the people around him - has seen Nicholas Papademetriou giving a fine performance.

Naturally, the same can’t be said for Helena Bozich. There was an excruciating outburst in which she hurled fruit and cliches at Martin and Lance. But the writing for Lynn is at least bold in its choice of topics. A crisis of faith, for instance:

God’s like Milko. He doesn’t exist either.

The series’ attitude towards faith makes for an absorbing undercurrent. It’s mixed enough to almost be balanced. Holier than though Celia is an object of derision for both characters and writing. While Lynn is the more straight portrayal of someone with faith. Her abusive background is directly tied into the echo chamber of Catholicism in which she was raised, an unwanted child - one of many siblings - as the result of failed practice of the rhythm method. Her parents' hypocrisy is implicit in the fact that they argued constantly and her father used to physically beat her. It’s a weighty background for a fourteen year old and a great example of this series pulling no punches, despite some of this information being given to the audience piecemeal in a bid to add layers so that the viewing experience can be as simple or as complex as it’s interpreted to be.

Reflecting on her own abusive father, Carly comes round to Tom’s job. In typical Carly style, her change of heart is partly motivated by a desire for Matt to like her, since he finds her snobbery a turn off. Nonetheless, her apology is sincere and a nice moment for the character:

If I hurt you by the way I acted… I’m sorry. And… I just wish you were my real Dad. Maybe I wouldn’t have turned out such a snob.

Meanwhile, Pippa’s pregnancy is turning out to be anything but the miracle it first appeared. It seems it’s not that Tom and Pippa couldn’t have children, but that they couldn’t do so safely:

I wish I could be like a normal mother. I want to be able to whoop with joy about having your baby. Not feel sick with fear.

You’re right… It’d be great to be able to react like normal parents. Just for a minute, downstairs when you told me. My heart, it just sort of… Then reality. Started thinking about doctors’ warnings about having kids. Rheumatic fever. Weak heart. And the fact that I could lose you. I couldn’t risk that. Not for anything.

We also learn that Tom has had a vasectomy. So while this is a soapy chance-in-a-million thing, Tom and Pippa’s own incredulity at this happening pre-empts and dispenses with that of the audience before the question has even entered our minds.

Now Pippa’s decided to have the baby, without telling Tom there’s a 50% chance of her surviving the birth. She’s only confided in one person. Floss really is Aunt Fiona, but without the infuriating obsessive control issues and creepy handsy stuff.

Little details are helping ground this series in character. There was a lovely moment at the beginning of a scene in which Tom and Pippa were seated on the sofa, Tom flicking through a copy of Hollywood Wives and chortling loudly and derisively. There was no further dialogue about it - none was needed - but it added an authentic, light character moment. Some might even describe it as Knotsy.

By this point in the original run, Home And Away was vying with Knots Landing for the series that was closest to my heart. No mean feat, considering Knots was mid-Season Six as these episodes first aired. I'm not saying Knots ever got toppled, and I'm not saying that it didn't. I am saying it’s easy to see why Home And Away quickly became so important to me. There’s something incredibly special about these early days. There's a purity to it. Not an ethereal purity, but rather an undiluted headiness that comes from even breathing it in gently. Despite (or perhaps because of) some of the material being designed to appeal to a juvenile audience, almost every scene means something (excluding most of the tedious Lance and Martin stuff. But even their larking around has given us serious consequences). Every scene is written and played for complete truth. Without even realising it, the series has me invested. Weaker links are negated by the strength of the writing, or elevated by the energy of the series’ stronger performers. When I watch it, something happens. I feel a warmth for the people on screen in a way I rarely do.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Oh... chills!

 

[Willie Oleson]

Ailsa, Roo, Pippa, Morag...it's like Flamingo Road Down Under!

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 25-32

Girl, eighteen, goes berserk with knife. Attacks and kills father. Jailed for three years after showing no sign of any remorse whatsoever. Said she was glad she did it and she’d do it again if she had the chance. Now you know.

Any soap worth its salt has one of those episodes fairly early in the game. The one where several loose threads become a little tighter and intertwine. The one where shocked responses to a situation make the character building pay off. Where a revelation about backstory changes what they thought they knew… or what we thought we knew. If such a scenario plays out at a public gathering, so much the better.

In Home And Away terms, Episode 26 fits the bill. We begin with a recap of Roo getting shocking news from Auntie Morag, whom Celia has asked to investigate Ailsa’s background. But what she’s found is kept from us a little longer. At first we see only the characters’ reactions. First Roo during the one-sided phone call. Then Frank after Roo has told him offscreen.

We know it’s not good news, because Roo can’t wait to share it. Frank begs her not to say anything at Alf and Roo’s engagement party (an event that evening he is there to persuade her to attend):

I promise I won’t say anything… Not a word. Promise.

All the same, Roo is overcome with a sudden eagerness to attend the event she’d been planning to boycott.

Arriving at the party, Frank reminds Roo she’d promised to say nothing, and he receives a frozen, Patricia-esque smile in return. And no sooner has she asked Ailsa to put a couple of sausage rolls on her plate than she decides to casually ask…

Have you told Dad yet? …You know, that you’re a murderer?

Cue shocked partygoers watching as Ailsa makes her public confession.

Ailsa’s background is great because it fits perfectly into the framework of the series. Most of the Fletchers’ foster children have similarly abusive backgrounds, so the revelation about Ailsa not only expands her character, it also increases empathy and connection between her and the younger cast in a way that’s unspoken but absolutely vital to the role she plays in the series. Her telling line to Pippa about Bobby in the Pilot (“I’ve got a thing about underdogs”) is now more meaningful than ever.

The fact that the abuse and violence - Ailsa’s and the kids’ - is part of the series pre-history makes each of them a one-person spin-off. Each has a backstory that is rich, dark and volatile. It’s easy to understand why the first novelisations of the series weren’t translations of events onscreen, but instead took a character and explored their background in more depth.

It’s also a way for the series to have its cake and eat it. Horrifying events form the backstories. Events that would have been unthinkable to show in a teatime series. These are regaled to us in dialogue. Rather than a flashback to her potted history, the focus is entirely upon Ailsa as she speaks to Alf. The end result is uncomfortably intimate and raw:

It’s not easy explaining how you killed your father. When he was sober he was fine. Quiet, withdrawn sort of bloke. Give him a few drinks… Us kids used to hide, but Mum wouldn’t so he’d beat her up. It was terrible but she took it. We all took it…

Then, one night Mum made the mistake of trying to defend herself. She pushed him away. He went berserk. He picked up a bottle and smashed the end off it and then he came at her. My brother and sister were screaming but he wouldn’t stop. He said if they didn’t shut up he’d do it to them too. Someone had to stop him. There was a knife lying on the sink. I picked it up. Next thing I remember he was lying on the floor and I was screaming.

There’s a beautiful moment of direction in the scene where the camera shows Alf holding tightly onto Ailsa’s hand. Just an episode or so before, Alf had said to Ailsa:

I don’t think there’s anything you could tell me about yourself that would make any difference.

And he’s as good as his word.

Needless to say, Judy Nunn is an absolute gem in scenes that focus on the fallout. Ailsa vacillated between broken and ballsy. Whether sitting on the windswept beach looking lost; signing autographs for the school-kids frequenting her coffee shop; shaking with hurt and frustration after Roo shamed her in the shop; or pointedly over-ketchuping Martin and Lance’s pies when they wanted the juicy details.

But credit, too, to Ray Meagher who picks out the subtleties so much better than I’d remembered. There’s a lot of bluster and bellowing too, of course. But it’s Alf, so all’s well with that.

It’s clear that this has happened for Ailsa before:

Nothing’s changed. I settle down somewhere. Somebody does a bit of digging and next thing the proverbial hits the fan. I pack my bags and leave under cover of darkness.

Importantly, responses of the townspeople move things along. After the intial shock, the aim of the town has overwhelmingly has been to let Ailsa know they have her support. All of which successfully shows us that Summer Bay and its residents are special:

Look, if you knifed someone they deserved it.

I honestly feel very badly… about what’s happened. She’s a fine woman and she deserves much better from Summer Bay.

Bobby goes one further with her support for Ailsa by punching Roo clean across the hallway. Most enjoyable.

...continued​

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 25-32 (...continued)

Even Variety Night, an event which offered something a little broader and lighter, was used to build character. Yes, we have Alf and Tom dancing the can-can dressed as panto Dames. Floss and Neville doing their clown bit. But really, Variety Night facilitated two key moves on the board: Ailsa being supported by the community even as Roo is exiled from it, her gambit having failed and Alf sending her to boarding school.

Roo is every inch the spoilt brat as she stands at the back of the hall in semi-darkness, cynically watching events unfold. She’d already had a brief but satisfying run-in with Carly (“Good riddance”, the latter snorted), but the best was yet to come. While everyone else laughs, she is visibly horrified by the sight of her father parading on stage in full drag. Then comes the finest moment in the episode: Ailsa’s tap routine.

Ailsa looks incredibly vulnerable and nervous alone on stage as the town watches in disapproving judgement. In a nice visual, Alf is watching from the sidelines, hair mussed and a little makeup still visible on his face from his drag routine. You can almost feel him willing her to win people over. At the other end of the hall, Roo revels in Ailsa’s discomfort as she realises there are head shakes and whispers going on. At the end of the routine, Ailsa strikes her pose and… deadly silence as all the assembled extras give her their best “who does she think she is” look while Roo smirks. After several seconds, Bobby stands up, applauding and cheering. Almost immediately, Fisher rises behind her and does the same. Bobby is so shocked she stops clapping for a moment. And I had one of those visceral sensory “hair standing on end” experiences that I haven’t had since the Pilot episode. By the end of the scene, Ailsa is enjoying a full standing ovation, and Roo realises she’s lost the battle. And possibly the war.

There’s even a coup de grace for Roo. The final insult: the band she formed and is also now exiled from is a hit. With Pippa as their new lead, The Summer Bay City Rollers enjoy a long applause for their (admittedly cringeworthy) performance of Living In Summer Bay as Roo watches her ex-bandmates and ex-lover on stage with a look of complete defeat.

Previously unnoticed Sons And Daughters tie-in: Preparing for Variety Night, Ailsa comments she hadn’t realised Pippa could sing:

Part of my own dark history. (I) supported a band who supported Normie Rowe once.

(Laughs) The big time, eh?!

Ailsa’s backstory has proved to be gloriously, unapologetically soapy. It feels frivolous to say it entertains, but being gripped and fascinated, and feeling closer to characters as a result of sturm und drang qualifies. There’s no real message or pressing social issue. Ailsa’s a character from a dysfunctional background who responded to a situation in a dysfunctional way and paid the price. And she’s turned out pretty well all the same. It’s incredibly effective that the character who is one of the most rounded on the series should be the one who has taken a life. It plays against expectations (even more so because it’s a woman. A soap matriarch). It’s akin to two of the most supportive characters on Sons and Daughters having been prostitutes. There’s no “because of” or “despite”. It’s just a fact of her life.

Things are about to take a turn towards the socially responsible in other ways, though. Echoing Ailsa’s past will be the Barlows’ present. At the moment, they’re scattered pieces, operating apart from each other. Sam is the perpetually angry foreman who has it in for Tom. Sandy the gawky teen making goo-goo eyes at Steven. We haven’t even met Kerry yet. But I’m curious to see how I feel about their story this time round. On-screen domestic violence implies social commentary and all the responsibilities that entails. But with recent revelations informing reactions to it, I’m hopeful that the overall impact will be soapy.

In a similar vein - and perhaps more obviously issue-led - Carly paid no heed to warnings from sensible grown-ups, delivered over an episode and a half, regarding hitch-hiking. And now she’s been raped. Apparently. Like Ailsa’s past, the incident happened off-screen. But unlike that storyline, there’s no graphic filling in of the details. In fact, as I recall, the word “attack” becomes a euphemism for whatever happened. And so people react to… something… with some vaguely grey comments. Again, I'm interested to see what I make of this storyline in 2019.

So far, so good. Carly's absence; Lynn's growing concern; the kids wondering how long they should leave it before "dobbing her in" to Tom and Pippa created an ominous undercurrent, even during unrelated scenes. By the time Carly arrived, the warning signs were all there, but fairly subtle: the observant would notice that the scarf/bow thing that had been in Carly's hair was now gone; in close-up her already subtle makeup was further minimised and her eyes appeared slightly dewy; there was general dishevelment and Carly's gait suggested her trying to hold it together while covering a form of apparent pain.

In other news, sly Alison Patterson and winsome Alyce Harmon have shown up at school. And while we’re not quite there with Fisher’s family, we have had some of the blanks filled in:

He was once married [to Alf’s sister] Barbara… She wanted to be a musician… very badly actually. But marrying Donald put an end to that. …She couldn’t settle down. The marriage went bad, so she left, taking their daughter with her. And he’s been his loveable self ever since.

This backstory appears to set the scene for the series’ first major continuity error. No wonder poor Alan was so confused.

There are skeletons in the closet, too, for Floss. She’s now taken a job as nanny in order to see the Grandson she’s been kept from while her estranged son is overseas (she’s using the name Mrs Neville). This would be the year after Madame Doubtfire was published. Pre-empting the later film version, Floss uses a wildly OTT Scottish accent to disguise her voice when speaking to her son on the phone. The young actor playing her grandson gives good entitled brat, and there have been some beautiful moments for Sheila Kennelly, such as Floss begging Ailsa for a reference, or looking tearily through her grandson’s baby pictures.

And for no particular reason, a throwaway comment from Sally as she collected potato peelings for Lance’s home distillery made me smile:

We always have potatoes. They must be cheap or something.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 33-36

Another familiar face has arrived in the Bay. Father Rawlings is played, in point of actual fact, by 96’s Arnold Feather: Jeff Kevin. Naturally he’s most concerned about Lynn’s crisis of faith. Celia, though, is another matter, as he tells Tom:

Between you and me, I’m glad she’s on their side.

Meanwhile, the threads of Lynn’s agnosticism and the Fletcher kids’ decision to cover up Carly’s rape have come together.

At first it seemed like Frank was going to let the cat out of the bag. We saw the kids hold a covert family meeting without adults. This is the second such meeting - the first being to discuss making life easier for Tom and Pippa in light of the pregnancy. Each one has had a touch of Lord Of The Flies to it, and at the same time it’s interesting to see that, even in the absence of parental guidance, things continue to function in such a democratic way thanks to Tom and Pippa’s influence.

Carly was dead set against even mentioning the subject:

I’m really beginning to know how Ailsa felt now, with her father. That’s why I wanna forget it. Because if I see that guy again, the way I feel now, I’d kill him.

Frank tried to strong-arm Carly into telling Tom and Pippa, and then tried to outvote her, but the vote went to keep it under wraps. When Frank kept dropping hints, Bobby gave him a talking to:

I want to make sure they catch the creep who did it.

An’ what’ll happen to Carly then? A couple of days in court with some nice lawyers. A few harmless questions. Smiles all round. The bloke’s chucked in the slammer and bingo… it’s all over. You’re thicker than I thought.

But it was Carly’s most loyal ally, Lynn, who unwittingly betrayed her:

I know you’re the other… colour, for the moment. But.. I’m sure if you came along to one of our prayer meetings.

I don’t care about your stupid prayer meetings. And if there is a God I hate him… God let Eric get poisoned. And Nico’s cow get poisoned. And God let them take Nico away to the home. And now God’s let Carly get attacked by that man…

Now it’s all over town, thanks to Celia and Doris Peters. Doris is basically Summer Bay’s Bunty and Thel, isn’t she? Not seen beyond the opening episodes by the viewers, but still making her presence felt. As well as dishing the dirt on Carly, we’ve also learnt she’s donated her late husband’s golf shoes to charity. Doris gives. And Doris takes away.

Meanwhile, Pippa learnt about Carly from Lance’s Mum, Colleen, in her debut scene:

Lance says your Carly’s a decent girl. I reckon there’s only one answer to a fella that’d do something like that

Thanks to Lyn Collinwood’s delivery, I’ve always found it an amusing scene, particularly the just-in-frame accompanying scissor-snipping action she does with her fingers. Something that struck me on this viewing is the fantastic job Vanessa Downing does. The camera mostly stays on her, and while she barely moves her features there’s a frozen kind of horror in her eyes as the implication of the conversation registers and sinks in. The juxtaposition between this horror and Colleen’s hamming it up in exactly the same moment is a bold one. And also successful.

I’m impressed at how far reaching the consequences of Carly’s rape have been. Tom and Pippa hurt at being kept in the dark (“When did we stop being members of this family”, Tom angrily spewed), then Tom having a conversation with Carly explaining that his anger was misplaced. Martin and Lance, of all people, defending Carly when Sam made crude comments. Before Tom finally snapped and entered a full on fight with Barlow - their workmen's gear adding a bizarre sub cultural vibe.

Sam Barlow is, in fact, becoming an all-round villain. Snide comments about Carly aside, he’d earlier turned down an invitation to a barbie from Tom and even prodded Steven’s chest when warning him away from his daughter, leading to one of Steven’s scientific titbits:

That’s why it hurts so much. The smaller the surface area, the greater the pressure. Basic physics.

Another of his comments - about there being less calories in burnt toast - still pops into my head whenever my toaster misbehaves.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 37-44

A minor (but not insignificant) change to the presentation was rolled in with Episode 41: Nev and Floss, in response to their grandson’s request for them to foster him, were given the series’ first freeze-frame since the Pilot episode.

This permanent change brings with it a little polish. The opening bars of the theme tune now play out over the credits rather than the dialogue. So the series has lost its equivalent of the Doof-Doof, but gained perhaps a more appropriate tone for each freeze-frame. Making each episode ending fit the jaunty jingle of the theme’s intro could have become more of a challenge as things went along and there were even times in the first 40 episodes where, much as I liked the segue, it was borderline malapropos. What we’ve got is arguably more traditional and less individual, but easier to work long-term for a dramatic series.

On an even more subtle level, an increased level of branding has come along with the revised end credits. The Home and Away logo on the initial writers’ credit is now in the familiar stylised Reporter font rather than the basic sans type font used for the rest of the credits. The logo still appears at the end, as it did in the original credits, but because the end credits now play without a break the end shot (now fishermen on a rock rather than waves lapping onto the beach) has to use the same cutout vertical shape. So the final Home and Away logo is smaller in the newer version.

Which brings me to something that I strongly feel is a change for the worse with the revised theme: the post-credits scene is now gone. I’ve always had a lot of love for these. Generally they carried on from the final scene, with the final bit of dialogue or a reaction shot, but a few of them contained what felt like “hidden” moments that were shot especially to fit the format. There’s also an added resonance with these codas. With the title music stopping to show them, before picking up again to round the show off, the few seconds in the post-credits sequence feel more important and meaningful than they would in the revised version.

Even the visual following the sequence - the waves lapping on the sand as music gently resumes for its final ten seconds - helps the significance of the final scene almost literally wash over the viewer. Changing this for something more generic and less creative is a loss for the series. Incidentally, this creative baton would arguably be passed on to Knots Landing six months later when that series’ Eleventh Season introduced a similar break - this time in their opening titles - for their “Previously on…” segment, before the theme resumes for its final bars.

The final post-credits sequence - given to the Barlow family, amidst a tense conversation in their little kitchen - is a great example of how effectively this process works. Volatile Sam, seated at the table, faces camera with wife Kerry and daughter Sandy standing behind him as he questions them about a photo that Steven had covertly taken of him to help prove a theory that Sam was The Nutter. As they utter denials, he slams his fist onto the table and says he knows they’re lying before we go into the end titles. Then the credits come on, before cutting out towards the end for Sam’s final ominous line:

Now are you gonna tell me what’s goin’ on; who took that photo; who went to Barnett; or am I gonna have to beat it out of you?

Somehow, this fragment of the scene shown in isolation feels even more threatening than it would had we seen the whole scene followed by a freeze frame. Because of the way it was presented, that fragment of dialogue still resonates over scenes in the next episode when it becomes painfully apparent that Sam hadn't made an idle threat.

On the subject of the Barlows, Jeff Truman’s portrayal of Sam Barlow (Mad Dog, as Lance has just christened him) is a cracker. The arc as a whole does have an air of the Very Special Episode - the family’s raison d’être is to depict domestic violence and the effect it has on the home. What we’re presented with overall is perhaps unhelpfully cliched. Sam is shown to be permanently angry and almost all his scenes have that air of clenched fists and gritted teeth, as though he’s permanently on the verge of erupting. Wife Kerry is the archetypal battered wife: mousy, servile and constantly making excuses for his behaviour. In many ways it’s probably a truthful portrayal, but at the moment it is not subtle by any means. Nor does it feel any of the family are being explored as individuals beyond a characteristic or two which defines them. We don’t really know who they are, other than a situation that’s frustrating to watch.

Perhaps this is deliberate. We’re joining them at a specific point in their relationship and things have reached a point where this is just how they live. It raises questions about how this situation came to be, why it’s permitted to continue and who they were before. Maybe they’ll be answered. Maybe not. Unlike, say, Ailsa’s revelation, the Barlows’ story feels as though it’s built around the issue, rather than the situation coming from character. As someone cynical about this method, it’s a challenge to invest. More so considering the inevitable temporary state of their existence.

But that hasn’t stopped Jeff Truman making Sam thoroughly entertaining to watch. He’s not there to be liked and so has permission to go dark. And he has.

There was a fantastic scene in Episode 44, where paid a visit to Pippa to intimidate her. What made this scene fly was showing Sam as a manipulative bully. It’s that old chestnut: it’s not what he says… it’s how he says it. Jennifer Mellet’s writing, too, gets credit. It was clear she knew what Truman would do with it. Taken out of context, every line of dialogue is innocuous. But every aspect of his demeanour says otherwise. The way he walks, the squeak of his leather shoes, the way he taps on the table top, or slurps his tea and “aaah”s. Every aspect of it is there to make a point to Pippa (and in turn to Tom). When he “accidentally” smashes a mug with Tom’s name on, he says:

How clumsy of me. I am sorry.

When it’s painfully evident it wasn’t and he isn’t.

Vanessa Downing is great in the scene, although I can’t help reflecting that feisty Pippa from the Pilot would not have cowed quite so easily to an unwanted guest in the family home.

Sam’s wife, Kerry, as I’ve said, has hit many of the usual fettered woman notes. And little besides. In the Home and Away: Behind The Scenes book (which I should perhaps pull off the shelf in my study), I recall the creative team noted how lucky they felt to have Liddy Clark on the series. And she is perfectly fine. But she feels as stifled as her character in what she’s permitted to show us. Again, perhaps this is deliberate. Incidentally, I’ve just discovered Liddy’s gone on to have a fairly high profile political career, so that will add a different layer to watching her from now on.

There is a little hint of their past in fragments of dialogue heard offscreen as Sandra listens to Sam beating Kerry while saying how glad he is that her father has died and wondering if he's laughing at him from hell. This psychological abuse is more brutally cruel and resonant than the beating itself.

Catherine McColl-Jones as daughter Sandra Barlow is getting perhaps the most screen time, though is the least watchable. She whines a lot and asks for help a lot, but there’s usually some device that means she doesn’t get it. One good thing her presence has done is to trigger Ailsa’s memories of being in Sandra’s position, and it was interesting to see that even when Sandy asked her directly for help, Ailsa ushered the girl out of the store and told her to go to the police. It’s just too close for comfort.

Alf, meanwhile, has Sam’s number and isn’t shy about telling him:

Just so there’s no misunderstanding: I’d like you to know that I think you’re a wife-bashing derro, with a chip on your shoulder about the size of a tree. And I think life’s just a little bit too short for me to be doin’ business with blokes like you. Now… you got a problem with that?

Meanwhile, the series other “issue” has seen Carly address the entire school in the hope that what happened to her doesn’t happen to any of them. It sounds very much like an after school special, but actually the performances sell it. Sharyn Hodgson in particular has been great. She has that magic older teenager asset of being able to be on the verge of tears for episodes at a time and making it endearing rather than wearing.

Balancing out the heavy stuff has been some comic relief. The usual Lance and Martin stuff, of course. God, these two are a tedious waste of screen time (excluding Lance’s sweet friendship with Sally). But also with Celia who got tiddly at dinner when Alf and Ailsa tried to matchmake her with Bob Barnett. Fiona Spence did a great backwards fall into Rob Baxter’s arms when Celia over-gestured while losing her balance, and the smiles on the faces of Ray Meagher and Judy Nunn looked completely genuine.

She’s still the object of ridicule for her faith and gossip, with Ailsa giving her gum in order to give up her gossiping habits and Alf getting some nicely blunt dialogue:

Now Celia, you get home and give your lips the afternoon off.

But we’ve also got the beginnings of Celia becoming more three dimensional when Ailsa revealed a key element of Celia’s tragic backstory to Bob:

She was engaged to marry a bloke once… Son of the Anglican minister over at Blakes Inlet… He was killed at Long Tân… He was twenty. The only way Celia could get over it was to immerse herself in religion. Without that she probably would have cracked… Not the kind of background that makes a person want to laugh a lot.

Meanwhile, the story with Floss, Neville and grandson Ben is proving far more poignant and endearing than I remember it. It’s great to see these two get a meatier storyline, and the kid playing Ben works really well with the other characters. Some of the music in their sentimental scenes could just break your heart. In the best way possible.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Gosh. Little Ben McPhee has certainly grown...

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 45-50

I’m pleasantly surprised by how dialogue is driving the series forward, deepening our relationships with the characters by having them reflect on scenes we haven’t witnessed first hand. Like Steven explaining to Sandra how he was orphaned:

We lived in a two storey house. It was like Fort Knox. ‘Cause after we’d been burgled once Dad had fitted security grills all round. Top floor as well. That night my friend Danny invited me over to stay. He lived a couple of doors down, across the road. It was nothing special. It was just, his parents were going out to dinner and weren’t getting back till late. So, we stayed up watching videos and eating pizza. Didn’t get to bed until about one in the morning. Then about an hour later all these fire engines roared down the road, so we got up to see what was happening. And it was our house that was on fire. I could see Mum and Dad on the top floor. Dad was trying to break open the security grills, but it wouldn’t give. I tried to run and help but a fireman stopped me. Then I saw Dad run round to the bathroom window. It was the only one without a grill. Because Dad reckoned it was too small to crawl through anyway. It was their only chance. He threw something through it and it smashed. But then there was this huge crash, and a ginormous flame just went “zap” straight out. The floor had collapsed. And I could still see Mum, screaming. I couldn’t hear her. ‘Cause all I could hear was fire, all round the house. And I kept yelling to them to get out of there. Yelling.

As with other biographical disclosures, it’s effectively a monologue which forms two thirds of a three minute scene. Despite being on location on a grassy verge at the edge of the beach the scene captures an intimacy. And despite some of the story being told while walking, there’s a stillness to it. There are a few angle changes, but nothing that feels like a different take, and so the story feels spontaneous and seamless.

Even though we’re almost fifty episodes in, this is probably the first time we’ve got to know Steven on this level. He’s been quietly doing his thing, but hasn’t stood out until now. Once again it shows that the casting people knew what they were doing. Adam Willits isn’t an amazing actor, but there’s something very natural about him. Like Helena Bozich, there’s something behind the eyes that feels truthful, and this scene makes use of that by having an extreme close up at times.

There’s an intriguing combination of jadedness and innocence. The childlike, almost enthusiastic way he describes the “ginormous flame” going “zap” shows that this is someone who is still very much holding on to unprocessed grief. He sounds almost objective, while at the same time is clearly re-living that night over and over again, trying to make sense of it all.

So when, on Steven’s birthday, Pippa continues the ritual first seen at Tom’s 40th in the Pilot - a house-shaped cake with figures of the family in front of it, we follow Steven’s gaze and see the figures of two adults and a child surrounded by the blazing candles and understand exactly why he feels distressed (I’m assuming it bothered Steven more on the more recent occasion because it was earlier that very day he'd opened up about his parents death).

Off the back of her faux pas, Pippa shared some of her own past to Steven when trying to convince him that it was good to talk about what’s troubling him:

When Tom was in Vietnam, especially after my brother was injured, I started having nightmares about him being killed. I loved him of course. Even then. That’s why. But I didn’t dare let my parents know. Or anyone else. Thought I’d look a fool if I told them I was in love… Tom came back without a scratch, but I was a basket case. Serves me right.

With Roo off-screen for over a month now, Frank relays another off-scree incident after he tried to catch up with her at her boarding school only to find her with an unnamed boyfriend (presumably the future Brett Macklin):

He had a red Mercedes convertible… He was dressed like Don Johnson, you know? Italian silk coat and everything. Supercool shades… I said to Roo “Can we go to talk somewhere?” “No” …And then in butts Mr Mercedes. “Hey mate. She’s moved up in the world. Don’t hassle her.” And I said to Roo “Is there a problem? Am I embarrassing you or something?” This guy said “Hey mate. You couldn’t embarrass anyone wearing that shirt. And Roo just burst out laughing. She’s standing there laughing at me. So I hit him.

Bobby is characteristically philosophical about the situation:

So you fell for a spoilt tart. It’s not the end of the world.

Narelle’s arrived. Lance’s hick cousin with big dreams of breaking into showbiz sounds absolutely dire. But in the light relief vein she’s already a big improvement on Lance and Martin’s tedious goofing around. So far at least. Bad singing is a quick way to get a cheap laugh, but it can go horribly wrong and just be a drag to watch. Amanda Newman-Phillips got it spot-on for Narelle’s audition, managing to be just off-key enough to convince while dancing suggestively in a tight little dress. Rather than cringing at someone trying too hard to be funny, I bought that Narelle genuinely believed she was being sexy while impressing with her talent and found myself laughing at both the audition and Narelle's delusions of grandeur:

I’m a natural. Like Barbra Streisand. She’s never had any training either.

I have a soft spot for Narelle. Overall she’s probably a forgotten character, having appeared for a relatively short time before being effectively replaced by ditzy Marilyn. I appreciated Narelle’s intuitive side. In one of her very first scenes, Narelle planted a significant seed, her objectivity as a newcomer showing Bobby that there's more to Frank than just being a foster brother:

God… What a spunk. …If I were you I know what I’d be doing… Don’t you fancy him? Get some makeup. Put a dress on. Flaunt yourself. Life’s too short to pass up guys like that.

Almost immediately, Bobby could be seen trying on lipstick and looking decidedly unhappy with the result. Narelle has woken a beast.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 51-55

The subject of homosexuality has come up for the first time in the Bay, with a couple of quite different nods. Lance got in first, with an observation about Donald Fisher’s gorgeous little Abyssian who answers to Papageno:

Poofy name for a cat.

Then Fisher himself challenged Bobby to back up her written exam comment that David Malouf’s book Johnno - which is part of the curriculum - is all bull.

According to Wikipedia, Johnno is a semi-autobiographical novel by Australian author David Malouf - his first novel - and first published in 1975. The book is written in first person past tense and the narrator is only ever known by the nickname “Dante”. Johnno is heavily autobiographical. The novel is centred upon the friendship between Dante and a schoolmate known as “Johnno” in their adolescence and early adulthood in the 1950s and 1950s in Brisbane.

The theme’s about identity, right? Finding out who you are and how you handle it… And Johnno’s a book that’s supposed to be about this guy who’s tryin’ to find out about himself. Well, I reckon it’s a dud.

Oh really? …Would you care to explain why you think this highly respected piece of Australian literature is a dud?

That wasn’t the question. We weren’t asked about it as a piece of literature. We were asked to talk about how the characters find out about themselves, right? …Well they don’t, do they? …They don’t find out anything. I mean here’s this guy, Johnno, who reckons he might be gay but he’s not sure. An’ he reckons he might have the hots for his best mate but he’s not sure about that either. And he never finds out because he cops out and kills himself… What guy’s gonna check out for a reason like that?

I imagine some might.

Maybe in your day, but it’s not like that now.

How do you know.

Because I’ve been in the same class with kids didn’t know which way they were going.

And how did they deal with it.

They talked about it. To their friends. Counsellors. They figured it out. Not like that dag in the book.

Well surely this story’s simply about one character who didn’t. There’s always the exceptions.

Then why are we doing this book?

Because it’s on the curriculum. And it’s a very beautiful piece of writing.

An’ a real lousy example of how you figure yourself out and handle it, right? And that was the question.

It’s a great scene in its own right. Bobby enthused by the topic having knuckled down to study and giving a perfect rebuttal that leaves Fisher speechless. But the inclusive, supportive picture Bobby paints of 1980s Australian schools makes it doubly fascinating. I think of the Eighties as a particularly homophobic time, but this was as a teenager in the UK at the time, with Thatcher’s Section 28 meaning schools were anything but inclusive.

Meanwhile, Bobby and Fisher’s conversation has led him to take a personal interest in her exam entries from that point on, something that doesn’t escape her attention:

What’s the big idea? My papers. You’re marking them all yourself. Every one of them… You reckon you can mark me down just ‘cause you’re dark on me? Well you’re not getting away with it. I’m entitled to a second opinion. I’ll go to Bertram. An’ if he won’t sort you out I’ll go to the education department.

I’m disappointed you think I’m victimising you. But you are correct in assuming I’m taking a personal interest in your work… I’ve just finished your English paper. I decided to give it closer attention after our little talk. Perhaps you’d care to take a look.

Seventy three percent?!

Well, at least you showed you’d read the text and managed to absorb a certain amount. I’d also concede that you made a few valid points about Johnno, so I’ve given credit where credit’s due… I suggest you leave. Before I penalise you for impertinence.

He reflects on the situation while Ailsa listens:

Ninety nine percent of teaching is nothing but chalk dust and frustration. But once in a while you see real potential in someone. A talent that nobody’s ever bothered to encourage. And then there’s a challenge. Suddenly you remember what made you become a teacher in the first place… This week, Bobby gave me the first real sense of what it means to be a teacher that I’ve felt in years.

In an ironic twist, Bobby has tipped the scales away from Fisher handing in his notice, something he’d gone as far as writing. This thaw in their relationship is mildly exhilarating to watch and, with the benefit of hindsight, truly fascinating.

More ground has been broken when Kerry started preparing some iced tea for her husband:

Not yet. Look, wait till I wash. How many frigging times do I have to tell ya?

While it’s hardly Deadwood proportions, I remember this raised my eyebrows thirty years ago. It’s probably not as shocking today, but delivered by Jeff Truman it sounds it.

Pippa, meanwhile, pokes fun at soapy cliches. First of all by mocking them when preparing an onion causes her eyes to water:

Tom’s left me. I’m pregnant and we’re broke.

And then by recapping a current storyline for Frank’s benefit when an unexpected visitor knocks on the door:

Floss’s son… except he doesn’t know it. Well, I mean, of course he knows he’s Floss’s son, but not that she’s Mrs Neville or that she’s been looking after Ben or that she’s brought him here… They haven’t spoken for fifteen years. It’s one of those long, complicated stories. Ask me later. It’s not as bad as it sounds. It’s worse.

And worse it was. Having been asked to stay out of Ben’s life, they had a touch of the Stella Dallas and pushed Ben away with cruel to be kind words. But not before Neville worked out something important about his son and reflected on his own past:

My old man used to lay into us kids with his belt whenever the mood took him. And I always swore that no kid of mine would ever feel a belt buckle across the back of his legs. Nor has he. Ever. Nobody’s ever yelled at him or knocked him about or hurt him, have they? …So when I saw the way that he pushed young Ben around today it fair made my blood boil. He didn’t learn that from us… That’s when I knew he wasn’t what we made him. He’s what he made himself.

In light relief, there’s been a wacky customer at Ailsa’s who is very susceptible to advertising:

It’s a little bit more expensive

Oh, I know. But they say on telly that you only use half as much. Not that I believe everything I see on telly, but… well I’ll try it anyway… And I want the stuff that you spray on the bottom of saucepans to stop things from sticking. Umm…

Don’t tell me… The one where she’s in an evening dress and she’s putting the roast in the oven… Anything else?

A couple of things… Butter. The one with, uh, whatshisname. You know, with the mechanical cow that spreads straight out of the fridge.

Sorry. I’ve only got the ordinary kind.

It was a nice bit of business. I’m not sure if the woman was meant to be a recurring customer. Nor even if she actually became one. Time will tell.

Meanwhile, Celia found herself confused on finding Ailsa and Alf up to their elbows in spilt bags of flour on the shop floor, making up after a recent argument:

This is just the sort of thing that leads to being accused of gossiping… I’ve just told Donald that you’re not speaking anymore. I mean… how am I to get the facts straight if people don’t make up their minds and stick to it?

Lynn’s got her faith back. And just in time for Easter.

 

[Mel O'Drama]

Episodes 56-62

Bobby’s crush on Frank is bringing an appealing new vulnerability to her. It’s teen chick flick meets Cinderella.

Just like Cinders, Bobby’s rags are mocked by the nasty sister when she prepares to leave for the Easter Dance in her trademark plaid shirt.

Talk about a scragbag. Never guess you were going to a dance. Be lucky if they let you through the front door.

Pippa plays Fairy Godmother, offering Bobby the use of her wardrobe, which Bobby reluctantly takes her up on. She also raids Carly’s makeup (I had no idea No. 7 had reached Australia) and when she re-emerges, the makeover is laughed out of the room by Carly in one of her more enjoyably cruel moments, made worse by the deafening silence from everyone present as Bobby loses face.

Tellingly, it’s Bobby’s would-be Prince Charming who pulls Carly up on her actions:

It really stank Carly. And you know it.

She’s a dag. I just thought it was funny she made herself look like one… She wasted my makeup making herself look like Dracula.

Carly’s bitchiness is right in character. It’s an edge she had at the beginning which has toned down greatly as the series has progressed, particularly in her relationship with Bobby. Indeed, Frank is quick to remind Carly how supportive Bobby was after her rape (“I didn’t ask her for anything”, Carly throws back defensively).

The re-emergence of Carly’s nastiness is, implicitly, a result of her anger and confusion. Since the rape Carly has avoided social situations because she can’t face the idea of being hit on by a guy. On the night of the Easter Dance, in the aftermath of her stirring and with the whole household out, Carly raids the larder for some cheap wine and drinks herself into oblivion.

Pippa comes to the rescue again and fixes Bobby’s heavy makeup which meets with approval:

What do ya reckon. Look OK?

It’s brilliant. You’ll have the guys queueing.

Yeah.

If they don’t, I will.

Big deal.

I’d forgotten how quickly Bobby turned the corner from being the tomboy who likes a laugh with Frank to the young lady who doesn’t quite know how to act around him. Bobby’s exposed nerves - her new awkwardness around Frank; her bursting into tears at Carly’s put-downs - seem almost out of character. But then it’s the result of change. Of progress. For the first time in her life she’s in a loving household and she’s letting her guard down. This is opening her up to new experiences and also new hurts. Everyone involved plays this new angle really well. Frank is still behaving like the brother, but knowing where Bobby stands (helped by Narelle’s convenient appearance at the dance to ask Bobby if she’d made a move on him yet) allows the audience to get on board with Bobby’s mostly unspoken hopes. When Frank compliments Bobby, or says he enjoyed dancing with her, we know it probably means more to Bobby than it does to him. But because Bobby is emerging as the heroine of the piece, it also means more to us. And that’s an effective way to tell this story.

A new word was added to my Aussie slang compendium when Carly asked what had happened to the empty wine bottle:

I hid it under your doona when Pippa came in.

A doona, apparently, is a duvet or quilt.


In “nothing older than yesterdays news” news:

I’m gonna get a couple of tapes of mine to go with that and then we can go.

What sort of tapes?

Oh, Hotel California. A couple of ABBAs…

(in horrified unison with Lance and Martin) ABBA?!

…Something with a really nice bit of tune to it. It always goes down well… (Laughs) Had you going that time, didn’t I?

Causing his teenagers even more embarrassment, Tom does a lot of jerky Dad dancing and nobody seems to mind.

continued...​