I’m never completely certain about when I first became aware
of the existence of the comedian Tony Hancock.
It could have been those two extracts from the radio series
that featured on THE LAUGHING STOCK OF THE BBC, a sampler LP that I once picked
up for the princely sum of £1.99 when I must have been the sort of teenager who
didn’t buy music, but tended to pick up things of a more eclectic nature.
Equally, it could have been when I was a student and I
picked up Freddie Hancock and David Nathan’s rather scurrilous HANCOCK book
when it first appeared in paperback on the day of release, having heard it
being nattered about on Breakfast TV that same morning.
But it must have been earlier than that, surely, for the
name to have resonated so. After all, at about the same time I lapped up the
repeat season of old HANCOCK’S HALF HOUR and HANCOCK episodes when they turned
up on Sunday evenings about that time, so I must already have known something,
even if he did die before I was even four years old.
Or maybe HANCOCK was so deeply burned into the DNA of the
nation back then that, if you were so inclined, you simply knew about him
without really knowing why, and despite all of the Sex Pistolling and New
Romanticising that was distracting everyone else around me back then.
Or maybe it was the Kenneth Williams Diaries that clicked a
cog or two in the raddled mechanism of my mind.
I know that for a few years afterwards I devoured everything
I could read about the man and bought volume after volume telling that same
tragic tale of a comic genius destroyed by his own demons and the evils of
drink.
It even inspired a painting or two, especially when I’d been
hitting the vodka a little too hard myself from time-to-time.
The thing is, we weren’t really a family who listened to the
radio all that much. I do remember JUNIOR CHOICE playing in the background of
Sunday breakfasts in the house I first grew up in, but, as far as radio was
concerned, that’s pretty much my only abiding memory.
Well, that and Radio Piccadilly, two-sixty-one, that my
sister listened to a lot back then.
Hmm… Maybe Ed “Stewpot” Stewart used to play occasional
Hancock clips…? Well, it’s a thought…
Nevertheless, quite how and when I became aware of the Lad
Himself is a memory lost in the fog of time, but as my parents decided that a
Readers Digest Peter Sellars cassette tape collection (with biography!) was a
suitable late teenage birthday gift for me, perhaps they could tell that the
old comedians were people that I was almost bound to become fascinated by.
Or perhaps I already was?
After all, those “old time” comedians were far more fresh in
the nation’s memory then than someone like, say, Dustin Gee is to people that
age now.
Anyway, I suppose the story here is that once bitten, I was
totally hooked on his works. Well, at least those of his BBC television works which
were available on VHS and his two starring feature films, because, generally,
they were the only things that were available to me.
I came to the radio series far later and, whilst I am happy
to report that nowadays I now have access to all of the radio episodes that are
available on lovely shiny discs, for many years the ones I had were a very
select few indeed.
The legendary “Sunday Afternoon at Home” and a few others,
mostly through recordings occasionally taped off the radio and the odd “Radio
Collection” tapes I picked up from bargain bins.
Perhaps I enjoyed the tragic story behind the façade to the
performances themselves.
Well, it’s a thought.
But whenever it was when I first came across HANCOCK, he certainly
made an immediate impact.
And do I have a favourite episode?
I think I do.
And it’s not that perennial favourite “The Blood Donor”, nor
is it the eternally fabulous “The Radio Ham” or any others from that ill-fated
final series for the BBC.
My favourite comes from a little earlier, and was broadcast
on the 16th of October 1959 as part of the fifth television series –
the very peak of Hancock’s broadest popularity - and is a spoof or perhaps a
parody of what is also a favourite film, namely “Twelve Angry Men”, directed
with aplomb by Sidney Lumet, the Henry Fonda vehicle in which he is the lone voice
on a jury otherwise convinced of the guilt of a poor lad dragged up on the mean
streets of 1950s urban America.
This would have been a very familiar film to the audiences
of the fifth television series of HANCOCK’S HALF HOUR, given that this ground-breaking
masterpiece of cinema was only in theatres a couple of years earlier. It really
is a masterpiece, by the way, despite its simple-seeming plot, and I would
recommend it as a movie to watch to anyone.
Incidentally, it was adapted from the live television play
written by Reginald Rose broadcast in 1954, which spent decades being
considered “lost” but then turned up in an archive in 2003 which kind of gives
hope to all of us about stuff turning up.
One of the series with quite a lot missing is, of course,
HANCOCK’S HALF HOUR, so everything is sort of connected, if you believe that
sort of thing.
The HANCOCK’S HALF HOUR variation, featuring as it does, at
least a couple of angry women despite still being referred to as “Twelve Angry
Men”, is told across a mere six scenes which, you might be surprised to realise, take
place, naturally, on the more prosaic, but arguably no less mean, streets of
East Cheam where Anthony Aloysius St John Hancock shares his digs or house or
home or whatever accommodation is deemed necessary for that week’s plot week
with the scheming crook, fraudster, pal, or whatever of Sidney James played
with youthful splendour by the perennially ancient Sid James.
Because he always looked like that, didn’t he?
Well, this one is sort of set in the vicinity of those mean
streets, although the Old Bailey isn’t really in East Cheam, of course, but the
HANCOCK’S HALF HOUR TV series, and, by association, the characters therein, is
based there at that time before the schism which led to a relocation of the
lone Hancock to a bedsitter in Earl’s Court a couple of series later.
It’s also worth noting that about this time, at the peak of
his fame, and less than a decade before the final tragedy that engulfed him, with
hugely popular shows running on both radio and television, Hancock, despite
appearances to the contrary, is about thirty-five years old.
Maybe everyone just looked older back then, eh?
So, let’s turn to the episode itself as Wally Scott’s
familiar Tuba theme is accompanied as usual by the stern television announcer
voice saying “BBC Television presents” and we cut to the familiar "H" surrounding
that week’s version of H-H-Hancock breathlessly H-H-Hesitantly- H-H-Hannouncing
H-H-His programme – filmed anew each time - and, as the applause continues, we
get an exterior view of the statue of justice on top of the Old Bailey and pan
downwards to street level before fading to a courtroom set where there is a
trial in progress, and Tony is a member of the jury listening agog to the
proceedings, all innocent of face and agape of gob.
A policeman, played with quiet notebook-brandishing authority
in a cough and a spit appearance by – crikey! - Robert Dorning, is under
cross-examination, first by the prosecutor Mr Spooner – played by Ralph Nossek,
and then by the defending counsel played by – it’s only Leonard flippin’ Sachs
(!)
The people they could get for such small parts in such a
highly popular and – of course - high profile comedy series is truly amazing.
Meanwhile, we discover the unlikely coincidence that Sid
James is also on the jury and nattering to Tony, and they engage in a bit of
banter comparing the proceedings with those that feature on the well-known “THE
VERDICT IS YOURS” television programme that would have been popular at that
time.
The fact that the Inspector’s notebook reveals that the
accused thought that the plain clothes officers were “Teddy Boys” gives the
courtroom much hilarity, and allows the scene to focus upon Tony and Sid at the
front of the jury box and, whilst the Judge (Austin Trevor – an actor not a
car) attempts to keep order in a slightly fluffy authoritarian manner, as Tony
continues to answer back – well, m’lud did try and hide his mirth behind that
wig of his - and has his competence to act as Jury Foreman (and just how DID
that happen?) called into question.
Sidney, meanwhile, provokes Tony into answering back several
times, not least because Tony is being made to look a proper Charlie in front
of everybody, which increases the judge’s vexation with him more and more,
leading finally to the “You tell ‘im” response to yet another of Sid’s
suggestions of what Tony should say to the judge.
Then, in order to increase the speed at which justice is
served, the judge suggests that the jury need not view the evidence – a stash
of expensive jewellery – again, which leads to some backchat about “fair
trials” and Tony giving the thumbs up to the accused, and the jury being shown
said exhibits - so that Tony can get an expensive ring stuck onto his finger,
with a lot of visual humour as Tony and Sid attempt in vain to get the thing
off, and many references to bars of soap and butter, and another – whispered –
“Ask him…” moment, which has the air of an ad-lib about it.
Then, as the summing-up is done, the defence counsel gets a
round of applause from Sid and Tony after a rousing speech by Leonard Sachs,
and “Right! Next!” the prosecuting counsel is roundly mocked by impersonation,
and, because Tony’s understanding of how things are done is based solely on his
television viewing, he wonders about whether they should take longer than the
couple of minutes offered by the imagined commercial break.
And, as the jury are led away with some “proper” court
speech from the always dependable Hugh Lloyd – one of the HHH regular players -
we are left to look at the totally exhausted judge as he holds his head in his
hands in utter despair, and we fade to black.
We are only ten minutes in to this particular Half Hour, and
twenty minutes of what I consider to be an example of absolute comedy genius is
still to come.
We cut to a shot of the door of the jury room, as we will in
slightly different ways each time at the beginning of all the three long scenes
making up the main “Jury Room” based part of this episode.
As in the film, the passage of time will be shown by the
removal of jackets and the jury members looking increasingly frazzled, sweaty
and bedraggled as we rejoin them in their deliberations, though not, in this
instance, by moving the walls in.
Not in a live television studio. Collapsing sets had already
provided more than a few awkward moments in a previous episode.
At first then, the twelve, this time including three women
and also another HHH regular Mario Fabrizi, as a juror who will eventually
crack, are all looking quite bright and smart as Sid suggests that one way to
pass the time is by having a nice game of cards, and he is even prepared to simply
cut the deck – “anything under a seven and he’s guilty!” – to perform his sworn
duty.
A military gentleman, played by William Kendall, pipes up
with what pretty much all of them are thinking, that the accused is guilty as
hell and it’s an open and shut case.
Tony, is, of course, the only one who thinks the opposite,
and with a swift “Et tu, Brute?” levelled at the always disloyal Mr Sidney
James, the “score” (as they put it) is currently eleven to one.
That is, of course, until Sid realizes that they are being
paid thirty bob a day, seven and a half nicker a week, for their service which
is more than he usually makes on the outside, and he suddenly decides to change
his vote to “Not Guilty” with a plan to keep this thing going for as long as he
can.
Thirty bob – about one pound fifty in modern money. Seems
preposterous, doesn’t it? But the past is a foreign country, and all that.
Of course, when the company director – played by Leslie
Perrins – points out that he earns far more than that thirty bob every day, his
own thoughts of personal gain are
immediately impugned by Sid, who offers to “fetch him a punch up the bracket”
at one point to make his point.
The cameras are, of course, favouring Tony for the
close-ups, because, in many ways, it was his face that was his fortune, and his
reactions are what make a lot of the comedy sing, which might seem odd as so
much of his surviving comedy was written and performed in the audio medium, but
Tony Hancock’s expressive face is an exquisite comedy jewel, if you are
unfamiliar.
Once he became so very well-known, of course, part of the
joy of the radio episodes is imagining those reactions for yourself in the
pauses, and they are hilarious.
Anyway, as we get into the multiple “Ah, ah, ah!” putdowns
of the arguments offered by the military gentleman, it is up to Tony, in one of
the two brilliantly performed long speeches he makes during this episode to
muster the troops with his “We are gathered here today” speech which goes off
on several confused tangents – the personal “wives/lives” fluff is a gem and Tony’s
reaction is priceless,nay, comedy gold, nay, worth the licence fee all on its
own, - and several actually hilarious uses
of the word “Nay” follow which all leads to him finally petering out and
letting the Company Director have a go, even if the use of the word
“unequivocally” leads to some confusion because – in another ad lib - there are
ladies present.
Then, as Tony sees the way the wind is blowing, Tony turns
to a representative of the “gentler sex” where the old lady in the hat –
probably Marie Lightfoot but I need to research that more – manages to live
down to everything you might expect from the “Hang ‘em and flog ‘em” brigade.
She even advocates bringing back the Cat.
The “unsure” elderly gentleman is easier meat, once the sad
tale of “a little boy wondering where his daddy with no sun to brighten his
morning might be” is told. He even falls for the “breaking boulders into little
boulders, cementing them back together for other prisoners to break up” ploy.
Which is nice.
It certainly moves Sid to tears, which doesn’t help because
“We’ve already got you!” - although pretty soon, he’s got the cards out again,
and is hoping to start a party, the licentious fool.
Stalemate is reached and the juror who is a farmer pipes up,
played by Philip Ray who was one of those character actors who turns up in lots
of things, but listeners may mostly remember from his turn as Professor Eldred
in DOCTOR WHO “THE SEEDS OF DEATH” in the late 1960s.
Anyway, the stalemate is likely to continue as Tony’s reason
for believing the accused to be innocent is that he’s “got a nice face” and, as
we fade to black, a dozen dinners are ordered, and Tony is still wondering if
they can send in a bit of lard in case we’ve all forgotten about that ring
stuck on his finger.
Seven hours later, we fade up on a clock showing midnight,
and our jurors are looking fatigued. Those jackets are off, hair is ruffled, the
sets are the same size, and Tony is explaining his theories to the others, as,
it seems, he has been doing at length.
There is exasperation in the air. Another poor juror is
targeted with tales of his lookalike, and whether he has a brother, and whether
that brother is a bookie’s runner.
This is one of the potential theories Tony has for the
innocence of the accused man, and it seems that he has indeed got several, and
has spent much of the intervening seven hours going through various absurd
possibilities, and driving them all stark staring mad.
Hmm… Fourteen Half Hours of Hancock burbling on. What some
people would have given to experience that. But of course, we are in the world
of fantasy now, in which our loveable clown is not the rich source of comedy we
know him to be, but the irritating fool that’s keeping the rest of them from
getting home.
The farmer moves over to the window where he is targeted by
Tony with tales of ruin as his “city-born wife” is left to run the farm into
the ground for him as this trial drags on and on and on for possibly years.
This is very much the format of the original movie, as one
by one the “men” are convinced by Henry Fonda’s juror of the possibility of the
innocence of the young boy who was in the dock.
By persuading the farmer that one trial he knew of lasted
three years, and a perfectly timed “You’ll be ruined but still have your integrity”
another juror is turned.
Sidney meanwhile works on the young newlywed with the
possibility of infidelity on the part of his new wife, and the tally becomes seven
– five.
Deadlock, and there seems to be something of a staring
contest starting, with Tony tactlessly singing the song “It’s a long, long way,
from May to December" as the screen fades to black.
We fade up again, possibly after the mid-episode break
designed for commercials in the overseas sales.
In the jury room, it’s now 4:00 am presumably (although we
are playing fast and loose with court procedure here for dramatic purposes).
Many of the jurors are asleep, and Mario finally gets to do
his cracking up schtick, leading to a comfortable “six all I think” moment
between Sid and Tony.
And so they decide to have “another go” at the rest, and we
get the excellent Hancock moment that truly makes this episode perfect for me,
the long, mangled logic of the “Does Magna Carta mean nothing to you? Did she
die in vain?” speech which is astonishingly well structured as it touches upon
Godiva, Doubting Thomas - The Get your
‘air cut joke is sublime - advertising, the licensing laws, and there’s even a
bit of Shakespeare thrown in for good measure.
Following this, there is a – well-deserved - round of
applause from the assembled jurors, and all but two of the jurors have now been
convinced, Ten - two.
Then the Company director cracks, with an “Oh, do what you
like”, and gives a powerful little speech about crime, and victims, that gets
Tony thinking, and by now the military gentleman doesn’t care either and it’s
twelve nil.
The jury has reached a verdict.
Until Tony changes his mind
That speech has set him thinking. What if the bloke is
guilty and they free him to rob somebody else?
Suddenly, however, they’re all very eager to agree that he
is indeed guilty, and get this nightmare over. This is understandable, and a
very rich comedy seam. So much so, that the horrors of being stuck in a
seemingly endlessly frustrating situation with Mr Hancock, will also be
returned to in “The Lift” episode of the HANCOCK series a couple of years later.
Meanwhile Sid realizes that his nice little earner may be
coming to a premature end, and, with the threat of changing his vote, is able
to persuade the others to “reimburse” him for “lost earnings” rather than doing
so, and, as the thirty bobs are handed over, British justice has triumphed
again.
The episode ends with [Spoiler alert] two scenes set back in
the courtroom which both start with an almost identical tracking shot down from
the coat of arms.
The first is the pronouncement of their verdict, which is actually
played all very normally pretty much and not rewritten for comedy effect at all, until the judge remembers that
valuable ring from earlier, and it is found to be missing.
The second is, of course, another trial, and all twelve of
the angry men (and women) are in the dock for conspiracy to steal a (I kid you
not) twenty thousand pound ring, which, given that it was 1959, must have been
one heck of a rock.
As foreman, Tony pleads guilty for all of them, as it would
be a shorter ordeal than any trial might prove to be, and a fight breaks out
amongst them as we descend into chaos and fade to black.
Of course, they do not go to jail. The East Cheam gang would
be back the following week for “The Train Journey” as the format of HANCOCK’S
HALF HOUR was that every week, apart from the personalities of the regular characters
involved – and sometimes not even then – the slate would be wiped clean and a
whole new situation would appear for their comedy.
But this is an exquisite half hour, which still holds its
charm more than sixty years after it was first broadcast, and is well worth a
look if you get the chance.
The original movie is pretty good, too.
Martin A W Holmes
Sept/Oct 2019
