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IF PRESSED,
I would have to
admit
that my usual
inclination is
to think of this
opening episode,
and indeed
Series 1 in
general, as
being more “kiddie
TV”
than I would
like it to be,
given everything
that follows.
But on the 20th
anniversary of
its first
transmission, it
is time to go
right back to
where they met
and revisit
Page One
with fresh
eyes... if
I can just get
past the
“oh-my-god-how-young-they-all-are!”
thing.
So. First and
foremost, this
really isn’t,
and wasn’t ever,
just kiddie TV.
Good god. It
zips around like
a zippy thing
from Zippytown.
Maybe “nothing
happens”, but
there is so much
here it scarcely
matters that the
wafer-thin plot
is eked out over
the first two
episodes. Short
scenes, packed
in tight, and
the dialogue is
crammed in – 24
minutes bursting
at the seams. So
much, in fact,
that it even
spills out over
the end credits.1
A certain person
who shall remain
nameless (but
might have
something in
common with the
name of this
website) and I
have argued
before about TV
as a disposable
medium. But
great
television has a
life beyond its
initial
broadcast – and
Press Gang
is rich in
detail and
nuance. Repeated
viewings
highlight the
care and
attention
lavished on the
production from
the outset, and
bring new
insights and
delight beyond
that first hit.
So now, and with
the benefit of
hindsight,
notice how much
of the
incidental
detail is laid
out here in
Page One:
Lynda’s penchant
for all things
red, Garfield
(on a spike!!),
and setting up
the Junior
Gazette’s first
tabloid
headline, for
those
predisposed to
notice that the
disco in
question is
called The
Joint. Even the
episode title
itself will make
a sly
reappearance
eventually.
And Himself
wants me to
believe that all
this was
designed to be
zapped into the
ether for 24
minutes, never
to be seen
again...
I’m finding it
hard, let me
tell you.2
There is
a glorious chaos
about the
newsroom as it
evolves during
the first days
of paper, and
all hail to the
set designers
and dressers for
their
astonishing
attention to
detail. For me,
my absolute
favourite thing
is the
‘Trespassers
Will be
Exterminated’
sign, which
betrays SM’s
fanboy roots far
more eloquently
than any ‘I Love
Tom Baker and I
Want to Have His
Jelly Babies’
badge could, and
which now brings
a further
frisson of
delight in light
of The Moff’s
appointment as
God of Doctor
Who.
The fangirl in
me
wants to know
which one of the
JG staff
was responsible
for it. Lets
face it, it
can’t have been
Julie – all the
letters are in
the right order,
for a start...
Lynda is at the
heart of this
episode, getting
the lion’s
share of the
snappy lines,
many of which
should continue
to be
exploited in
everyday life
given the
slightest
opportunity.
“I've had more
fun with a
pencil stuck in
my eye” and
“I'll just fly
over there on a
pig” have proved
very handy over
the last two
decades.
Bizarrely, “Get
more pollution
from Sarah!”
always amuses
beyond reason,
although it is
sadly useless
out of context.
But it is
“Lethal? Great!”
which gives us
the clearest
indication of
what we can
expect from
Lynda. Julia may
have not quite
yet hit her
stride, but
nevertheless it
is quite clear
that Ms Day’s
steely gaze is
already firmly
on the prize,
regardless of
the number of
small children
that might be
obliterated in
the process.
Lynda aside, we
are granted
brief but potent
tasters of our
regulars here:
Kenny as
dependable,
dumped-upon
right-hand man,
Frazz as
slothful dimwit,
Colin the
racketeer and
Julie, who can’t
spell (or
draw!), but has
better dress
sense than Lynda
(then again, who
doesn’t?).
Danny manages to
impress, despite
that fact that
he appears to
have been
dressed by his
Mum. He has no
qualms about
standing up to
Spike’s
hard-man facade,
and with his
bizarre single
earring and
languid pose, he
somehow
contrives to
exude
“rebellion”
with more
conviction than
James Thomson
Jr. Matt
Kerr and Bill
Sullivan are
clearly old
friends, and
rather pleased
to find
themselves
reunited on this
project, whilst
Chrissie Stuart
has been tasked
with guiding
Lynda into the
shark-infested
waters of
journalism.
Which now also
makes them
dragon-infested.
They don't know
what they’re
dealing with...
And then there
is the romance,
and the drama.
Oh boy. Here is
Spike – brash,
breezy,
smart-mouthed –
and hooked
within a minute
of first
encountering
Lynda.
There is a
beautiful and
revealing moment
of intimacy,
when he removes
his shades
(donned like
armour before he
enters the
office) and
declares war on
dragons.3
The line is
corny, but Spike
is delighting in
the thrill of
the chase
already. You can
see why anyone
with less starch
in their tights
might cave
immediately.
Dramatically,
the stand-out
scene is when
Cool Hand Kerr
in his Cool Car™
encounters Spike
in the car park.
Imperceptibly,
everything slows
down, suddenly
burdened with
our
soon-to-be-best-chum
Captain Subtext.
Why, we might
ask ourselves,
does Spike
engage so
readily with
Matt Kerr, given
his transparent
horror in the
moment he first
realises who he
is talking to?
Is that the
unmistakable
lack of a father
figure thrumming
in the air
between them?
There are
clearly issues
here begging to
be unearthed,
and so Spike’s
apparent
willingness to
allow Kerr to
convince him to
stay piques the
interest. [On
a technical
point, it’s also
worth noting
here that the
end of this
scene looks a
bit odd, like it
might have had
to be restaged,
which detracts
somewhat from
the action.]
Ultimately, of
course, it is
not Matt Kerr
who coaxes Spike
back into the
newsroom, but
Lynda. Which
tells you
everything you
really need to
know about their
relationship
right there – on
Page One.
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