Somehow I managed to stagger through reading this in the latest "Round The Archives" podcast from Lisa and Andrew (available at https://soundcloud.com/user-868590968/rta037-episode-37) - this is the text for anyone who couldn't understand my burbled nonsense...
PODCAST ARTICLE 18 (FOR EPISODE 37) – THE THICK OF IT
PODCAST ARTICLE 18 (FOR EPISODE 37) – THE THICK OF IT
First appearing in a very brief three-part
series on BBC FOUR in 2005, THE THICK OF IT was very much the bastard child of YES, MINISTER, given that it was conceived when creator
Armando Iannucci championed that series for a completely different series about
the “Greatest Sitcoms EVVAH!” and thought it might be ripe for an update of
some kind in the horrid, torrid and thoroughly sweary era of spin and press
manipulation in the more modern British political era of the early 2000s.
YES, MINISTER
and YES, PRIME MINISTER are, of course, more than a little bit utterly
brilliant, and so this was no small task but, with a tiny budget and –
initially - a very small cast, and based upon a short sketch, a little piece of
satirical treasure - a sweary, adult, and very sophisticated legend,
of course, but there you go - was sneaked out
onto what was very much a minority channel in those days, and a comedy legend
was born, albeit one you might not want to watch with your parents in the room
with you.
The show’s creator, Armando Iannucci,
purely coincidentally, has a background of Scottish Italian roots which is similar
to that of series star Peter Capaldi, but that’s all it is, really, so we’re
not going to let any “Scottish Political Mafia” conspiracy theories sneak into
this particular piece, oh no.
Well, not unless we’re told by the RTA
Editorial Rottweiler that we ARE definitely going to sneak that “Scottish
Political Mafia” theory out into the world because it’s in the public interest,
anyway.
It’s standing behind me, isn’t it…?
Anyway, after steadily working his way up
through the ranks of BBC production, Armando Iannucci worked on Radio Four’s ON
THE HOUR, the series that ultimately became television’s THE DAY TODAY, a
seminal series which ultimately begat several incarnations of ALAN PARTRIDGE,
and gave a career boost to a whole host of comedy stars of next decade.
Armando Iannucci also began performing in
series like THE FRIDAY NIGHT ARMISTICE and even had an eponymous sketch show
broadcast by Channel Four, the impact of which seems to have been lost in the
maelstrom following 9/11, although I do remember seeing it at the time and the
“Care home for Middle-aged Men” sketch remains a terrifyingly hilarious high
point to me at least, and I’ve pointed people in its direction time and again
ever since.
Go on. Watch it. It’s very funny.
It’s also not funny at all, from a
particular point of view of actually BEING a middle-aged man, of course…
[SIGH!]
Meanwhile, THE THICK OF IT was brewing up
nicely.
The first episode is fairly typical in that, at first appearances, in
terms of an actual plot, nothing very much seems to happen. One Minister of the
Crown is manipulated into resigning, another is duly put in place, a mistake is
made, and there’s a scramble to put it right - or at least less wrong – and
that’s about it.
Okay, in the real world of Politics and headlines, that’s probably
quite a lot, and would lead to screaming banner headlines and endless news
interviews for days and days and days, despite it being, basically, a few shady
people chatting in dingy offices in Whitehall.
Which is, of course, the genius of it.
Because episode one is also a spectacularly clever and complex
twenty-nine minutes that tells that simple story as it unfolds in a hilarious
and squirm-inducing fashion, and the programme makes quite an astonishing impact
right from the outset.
Much like the fictional Department of Administrative Affairs in its
inspiration, DoSAC (The Department of Social Affairs and Citizenship) in which
the series is set, does not exist, but sounds as if it either might, or ought
to.
That the first Minister we are introduced to is David Archer from
THE ARCHERS – even if you might not have recognized him - is just the icing on
the soufflé, of course, and Timothy Bentinck plays the departing Minister
(Cliff Lawton) in the first seven minutes or so of the episode with the kind of
befuddled and muted rage that we will very quickly understand to be totally the
norm in these corridors of the powerless.
Despite (it is rumoured) being on the brink of giving up acting
when he got the part, Peter Capaldi makes an immediate impression in the role
destined to become most associated with THE THICK OF IT, as Spin-Meister-in-Chief
Malcolm Tucker in these scenes, scenes which presumably are only there to serve
as an instant introduction to his character, as he is not exactly a huge
feature of the rest of the episode despite being a terrifying looming presence
right from the off.
The entire series is filmed very much in a cinema-verite style and
– we are told – largely improvised around the scripts (or vice-versa), and yet
the panic that the mere mention of Malcolm being in the building induces in the
characters is palpable, and you even begin to worry yourself about whether he’s
sneaking up on you, as a whole host of indecisions suddenly coming into play,
like whether fruit is the better thing to be seen eating instead of the
pastries they actually want, and the simple word “coffee!” becomes a panicky
mantra to all and sundry.
And words are very, VERY, important in THE THICK OF IT as we are
about to discover in the exchange between Malcolm and the
soon-to-be-ex-Minister.
After all, when you are employing writers to specifically write the
most horrific sounding, X-rated insults possible, you know that something
approaching genius is going on behind the scenes.
We’re not on cosy old BBC1 any more, people. The sitcom boundaries
are shattering around us as we watch.
It’s an important opening scene, this, despite the fact that Tim
Bentinck is booted out of the door fairly rapidly – he will return although
there must have been moments when somebody wished they’d reversed their casting
- because it establishes Malcolm and, let’s be honest, in THE THICK OF IT, it’s
Malcolm that really matters.
It’s peculiar going back to watching Peter Capaldi playing Malcolm
Tucker having seen him spending several years being utterly wonderful, vulnerable,
and breathtakingly good as DOCTOR WHO of course, because he is immediately so
bloody terrifying, charming, and affable and yet, in the best Macbethian
tradition, the smile does hide a villain, and his words – however ordinary they
might at first appear to be – hide a real underlying menace.
From the moment we find Joanna Scanlan’s Director of Communications
Terri Coverley - a strangely motherly yet ruthlessly ambitious character - carrying
the minister’s cases, we can sense Cliff is in real trouble, and whilst shiny
new phrases like “Useless as a marzipan dildo” and “Bum chutney” are instantly
and effortlessly added to the Oxford English Dictionary, an awkward political
scandal is signposted merely by means of the headline spotted on a passing newspaper.
Already Cliff’s Ministerial career is being talked of in the past
tense – very tense – and whilst harmless phrases like “The PM likes you
personally” are bandied about with new terrible deeper meanings, the trap is
sprung. Malcolm’s simple follow-up phrase “The thing is…” seals his fate, and
because Cliff appears weak, he’s simply got to go.
The lobby have already been told, the resignation letter has
already been written and, whilst Cliff shows his true mettle by trying to get
Tom at transport fired instead, the furious and surprisingly youthful-looking
Malcolm Tucker “persuades” him to go citing “personal reasons” and whilst the
whole “jumped or pushed” debate rambles on, Cliff is “persuaded to ring the PM and…
We reach the simple white on black TITLE CAPTION (there is –
thankfully – no jaunty theme tune to remind us this is a comedy) and the
episode proper can begin.
Cliff Lawton’s photograph on the office wall, now has a companion
next to it, which is of his replacement, The Rt Hon Hugh Abbot MP, who we meet a
few week’s later it would seem, as he appears to have been in post for a while
as he arrives at work, riding on the crest of a wave of vagueness and
bewilderment.
At this point we are also introduced to his political advisers – the
youthful Ollie Reeder and the older but no more wise Glenn Cullen, portrayed by
Chris Addison and James Smith.
Just for a moment, Hugh tries to act like a competent Minister of
the crown, because he feels as if his political star is in the ascendant, and
he shows a certain amount of smug gittery as his latest idea, one which Ollie currently
refers to as the “Snooper Squad” is
liked by the PM.
There then follows one of those scenes of almost cringe-inducing
embarrassment as these buffoons try very hard to be a group of jocks when we
all know that they were exactly the kind of dweebs that were having their heads
flushed down the toilets of whatever public schools you can be sure they once
suffered in.
Now they are in positions of relative power, they begin to act in a
way that they think powerful people ought to act in and it is spectacularly
embarrassing in a way that the sitcom THE OFFICE made acceptable.
This, we all believe, is how the real people inhabiting the real
corridors of power actually behave, or, at the very least, have convinced
themselves that it is acceptable to behave; mindless blokey banter of the most
ghastly sexist and misogynistic sort, which, in the hands of THE THICK OF IT is
hilarious, in the real world, far less so.
Because the PM “signaled” that they should introduce the scheme,
Hugh is mind-snappingly chuffed about it, and between them they decide to (Oh
Lord!) “double bubble” it by giving the
story to Angela Heaney at The Standard, as played by Lucinda Raikes, who is
very understandably an EX girlfriend of Ollie’s, although what she ever saw in
him, we are left to wonder, especially when massively Un-PC observations like “She’s
easy!” are bandied about in the sort of private conversations you know those
who end up publically apologizing are always having.
Trying (for whatever reason) to be part of this stupid boys club, Terri
also tries joining in banter, which is somehow far worse, and whilst they do
start to guiltily nod towards the ethical stuff even as Ollie persists with the
patronizing put downs, Hugh lets slip that he thinks that his personal driver
despises him…
Moments later, Hugh and Glenn are in the back of the ministerial
car on their way to a school to make the announcement and listening to The
World At One (WATO to its chums) and the much missed voice of Nick Clarke!
Hugh is still chuffed, even when the fatalities in a train disaster
in Bangalore are announced he manages to make an ill-timed comment, presumably
increasing the disdain of his driver, and is positively gleeful as the prospect
of putting one over on the boys in the Treasury.
Then Malcolm rings, and Malcolm is upset, by which we always mean
furious, at what Hugh is planning to announce and threatens “a hurricane of
piss…”
Which is nice.
…and they end up discussing the syntax of this being exactly the
sort of thing that the government “should be doing” as opposed to actually
doing it. Hugh, on his way to make a speech announcing the scheme is told, in
no uncertain terms to kill it .
And when Malcolm Tucker says kill it, you know exactly what he
means.
There is a moment of terror inside in car as
Hugh realizes the magnitude of his gaffe, and how he was sucked in by that
little word “should” because Hugh knows, he just KNOWS that Malcolm is ALWAYS
right – should didn’t mean yes –
Meanwhile, Ollie is having lunch with his
journalist Ex and leaking the very story they now want quashed.
Outside Perivale Station (Ace McShane fans take
note), the car stops to pick up both Ollie and his doggy bag of olives, and
there’s another scene of hilarious panic in the back of the car as they try to
place the blame beyond themselves and provide a viable explanation in their
usual already all too familiar inept manner, and the eyes of the driver seen in
the rear-view mirror notices all.
The myth of a leak by disgruntled civil servant
is hatched, although they detect a “tone” in Terri’s voice as they contact her via
phone, as Ollie backtracks furiously to his journalist friend whilst getting
ever more carsick
Next we cut to him admitting to wanting to have
a moment of “playing the big man” as he whines and weedles at her via a mobile
phone in a layby, although they generally seem to come to the conclusion that
they can blame the much-unloved Terri.
Another rather brilliant scene follows when it
dawns upon these three hapless cretins that they’ve invited the entire press
pack out to a school in Wiltshire and now have nothing to tell them.
In one of those truly genius scenes of panic
and deep insight we witness Glenn’s cynical side as they brainless-storm the
always popular topic of capital punishment, the National Spare room Database
(would that that idea remained in the realms of comedy) and – suddenly “Zoos!” – because everybody likes zoos.
The Minister’s weary “That’s shit isn’t it?”
speaks volumes, and, once again, this is quietly observed unremarked upon in
the mirror by the Greek chorus that is Hugh’s driver.
A nice touch is Hugh using an electric razor in
the car as they go along, which tells us much about having to appear on camera,
and what people perceive when people do, in the media age.
The less than ingenious solution is to present
to the press hounds the notion of an ordinary day at the office for DoSAC,
showing them a little bit of the everyday, coal face politics which they never
report, and their smug gittery at coming up with this, that they had tricked
them – the mugs! – into coming all the way out to Wiltshire by a waving a shiny
bit of tinsel at them gives them a moment of misplaced joy.
Their chatter continues when they arrive at the
school and, amidst talk of springy concrete and whether references to real
families and real people sounds too communist or not, including a brief
reminder that fathers are people, too, Hugh heads through the double doors to
give his speech.
Jump cut.
He leaves, muttering “Well, that was a fucking
disaster!”
And the silence in the car as they head back to
the office is in stark and hilarious contrast to confidence of the journey out.
Happily, back at DoSAC, they discover that
there is no mention at all of the speech in The Evening Standard, and Hugh gets
a compliment of sorts, a kind of Inverse Attaboy, and a half-hearted “well
done” that he got away with it by giving a press conference so boring that
nobody could find anything to write about it.
And whilst Glenn and Hugh are feeling less than
quietly pleased with themselves, and their friendship is delineated with the
phrase “I took the flak, and you supplied the flak jacket!”, and as they are
enjoying a boisterous post-mortem…
Malcolm Tucker arrives.
Wanting “A. Word.”
Dear Lord! Even I’m terrified.
And remember, this is episode one and we barely know the man yet.
Now you begin to appreciate the power and reasoning behind that
opening scene.
Malcolm – in these particular circles – is God!
Malcolm’s word is law.
Malcolm is the Devil Incarnate.
Malcolm is… well, Malcolm!
And whilst he is casually riffing on Billy Joel’s “We didn’t start
the fire” we discover that the PM is on a plane in Stockholm thinking that the
Treasury are trying to stiff him one and, as a diversion, decided to stuck with
Hugh’s story and, in a battle of the shoulds – “Don’t ‘should’ me!“– that Hugh swiftly loses when he unwisely
believes he momentarily has the upper hand, the PM is suddenly backing what is
currently being referred to as Hugh’s “Snooper Force” and, despite that slight
moment of triumph, he now has to completely reverse his position and, it turns
out, the announcement Hugh didn’t make, he actually did…
Ah, politics, eh…?
It’s rather like one of those psychological experiments in that an entire
room full of people are so very persuasive about an obvious falsehood, you
begin to doubt yourself and start agreeing with them.
Malcolm tries to get inside Hugh’s mind, telling him to just say
that he said it, and, with a little fable about someone he knows who had a
dalliance but was able switch a switch in his head and return to his other life,
Hugh is convinced into such dark psychopathic arts.
“Where are my people?” bleats Hugh to an almost empty office.
“His” people have gone home at the end of their working days, so he
is left to explain that “Things have changed” and that he did announce what he
didn’t announce to Terri, Glen, and Ollie, to which the obvious and unavoidable
response in the world of THE THICK OF IT is…
“We’re fucked!”
And, of course, Hugh has to turn to Malcolm for help - which
involves them all getting on the phones.
Ollie’s journalist friend Angela is back having had a pretty awful
day at the office herself. Again, with startlingly sharp insight into the cruel
and misogynistic world of journalism – surely worth an entire series of its own
– someone actually went out and bought her a pair of flip-flops – which are
somewhat unfortunately named British footwear - which were presented to her
with a porn picture stuck to them and the message “Angela Heaney swallows
anything!”
She is, quite understandably furious.
Why not, she asks Ollie, not tell the story he’s now feeding her,
but instead tell the story of this “Day of Spin” which she has unique insight
to.
As Ollie flusters, Malcolm steps in telling her what a “Good idea” he
thinks that is, and makes a swift exit.
Only.
Then he comes back.
Only...
He knows exactly why she shouldn’t do that, because, as he so
affably puts it, she’d be DEAD.
Professionally, we think.
Professionally, we hope.
And as Malcolm explains in explicit detail about how dead this poor
woman is going to be – professionally we almost believe – we do genuinely
believe that he is capable of doing this and Malcolm in full flow is a truly
magnificently terrifying sight.
At least Ollie has the apparent decency to do some squirming even
if, being Ollie, it’s particularly self-serving squirming.
And so we find the Minister on the radio, live on air talking about
what is now being called the “Sponge Avengers” in a way that’s obviously never
going to come back and bite him in the backside at all.
And outside, waiting in the Ministerial car, Hugh’s driver listens
to radio, hearing everything, and not rolling a single eyeball.
And as the episode ends, with silent captions interspersing with
the final scene, Hugh Abbot, Ollie and Glenn are in the stairwell, finally
ending yet another rubbish day at the Ministry. Ollie has promised a “Lifestyle
Piece” on Hugh’s home life to Angela which already has him moaning and, as they
reflect upon what is already becoming known as “Flip-Flop Friday”, Hugh
whispers that he really, REALLY, needs Glenn to get him a new driver, and yet,
as he accuses the driver of the heinous crime of smiling and smirking
inappropriately, he gets into the car capitulating with the cheery false
bonhomie of “You’re the boss” as the episode ends.
The utter twerp.
Sometimes, when reflecting upon THE THICK OF IT, I do forget just
how good it is actually. As I mentioned at the start, nothing much happens but
an awful lot happens, and the way the jigsaw is put together is breath-taking
to watch, and even those foul-mouthed flights of fancy do have a touch of
genius about them, you have to admit.
As with all comedy based upon other people being fundamentally
embarrassing, those twenty-nine minutes have flown by, and yet somehow, you’re
desperate for the ordeal to be over, and the gaffes to just stop, but equally,
you’d quite like for it to go on and on and on.
This “Thank Your Lucky Stars, Griff Rhys Jones” Not-Quite-The-NOT
THE NINE O’CLOCK NEWS fourth player has had a troubled decade since his
appearances in THE THICK OF IT and his sudden, necessary departure which is
beyond our remit here, but cannot being ignored.
However, I might want to suggest to you at this point that it is
sometimes possible to separate the artist from the art. Does a great painting
diminish in greatness because of who painted it? Does a fabulous song become
less fabulous because of who performed it? Does a wonderful movie become less
wonderful because of somebody being in it? Does a sitcom become less funny
because of one of the actors playing in it?
To some viewers or listeners, the answer is quite obviously a firm
“Yes” and that’s fine. I can respect that, despite the fact that I sometimes
find myself idly humming certain tunes that can never be played on the radio
ever again, but the early series of THE THICK OF IT do deserve seeing, because,
despite all of that, they do have a whiff of greatness about them.
Obviously there are going to be associations, and certain
television shows are unlikely to ever see the light of day again because of
what somebody involved with the programme turned out to have done, and that’s absolutely
quite right, too.
After all, nobody wants to be randomly reminded of a heinous act
simply because they switch on their television, but the issue remains extraordinarily
complicated, and probably far more complicated than I can go into here.
And God help us if anyone closely associated with a much-loved
television favourite that is constantly being re-run turns out to have been a wrong-’un…
I choose to rewatch the early series of THE THICK OF IT not because
I condone the actions of one of its star players, but because it’s interesting
to watch, and actually a bloody good half an hour of television that doesn’t
get seen as much as it might once have done for, well, pretty obvious reasons,
I suppose.
THE THICK OF IT would get far sharper later on, and would lead to
the spin off feature film IN THE LOOP, and, ultimately the American hit comedy
VEEP.
Meanwhile, out of necessity, its own focus would shift due to the
unavailability of that one rather significant central character, and, as it
became more successful and acquired a more significant budget, the cast of
characters grew and grew, and introduced such fine actors as the sublime Roger
Allam, and the delightfully sharp Rebecca Front to orbit around the
machinations of Malcolm Tucker throughout the subsequent seven years or so.
Meanwhile, the perpetual survivors that are the characters of Glenn
and Ollie, one of life’s more odious double-acts, as well as Terri, will squirm
and toady their way into complete and fully rounded figures with lives and
backgrounds and genuine concerns and worries.
Occasionally you might feel some sympathy for any or all of them,
but then they do something so crass and selfish, and you find yourself loathing
them all over again.
Which is magnificent.
Martin A W Holmes, February
2019
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