G.B.H.

Just an addendum to my review: someone commented on the important scene which takes place during a Dr Who convention. 28 years previously, G.B.H. executive producer Verity Lambert had been the legendary original producer of Dr Who, who recruited William Hartnell as the first Doctor. There's no way that scene was a coincidence :)

During CoVid-19 lockdown I have re-watched GBH for first time since it was shown in 1991. I had forgotten just how good it is but also realised how relevant it still is today. So many references to things happening now, or one step away! On a personal note my mother appears as an extra in the series, so a double pleasure.

'GBH' set a formidable standard for TV drama to follow when it was first shown on Channel 4 in 1991, and nothing managed to better it. It is, superficially, the story of two men. The first is Michael Murray (Robert Lindsay), the brash leader of the council of an unnamed Northern city (but blatantly inspired by the Derek Hatton regime in 1980s Liverpool- only Hatton was never this fascinating!). Murray is, it seems a man who runs the town like a gangster and a 'baddie'. The other is Jim Nelson (Michael Palin in his best ever dramatic performance) the idealistic headmaster of a school for special needs children). The arena is set for a funny two-hour film about politicians and the common man. But 'GBH' is 11 hours long; we are taken into the deepest recesses of the two protagonists' minds- Murray is hounded by a memory from his schooldays and even in his brief moment of triumph suddenly shouts 'I wish I was a good man!' Nelson, although standing up to Murray, becomes shocked at his own courage, which leads to him seeking psychiatric help. Meanwhile, the scope of the series widens from local to national, with both men caught in a plot of ever-increasing complexity where our feelings for characters deepen with the revelations about them onscreen. Robert Young directs the series with astonishing cinematic flair and Alan Bleasdale shows again why he is as good a television writer as Dennis Potter, if not better. The incredible scope of the series puts it in the same league as the greatest mini-series of all, 'Edge of Darkness'. It encompasses heartbreaking tragedy (the electrocution scene) with hilarious comedy (Murray, stricken with a twitch and a 'Strangelove' arm, trying to find condoms in a hotel full of 'Doctor Who' fans) with consummate ease. It remains hard to find nowadays- the discontinued VHS release has been sold for exorbitant amounts - but it remains the jewel of 90s television and is not to be missed if you get the chance to see it.

Putting aside Robert Lindsay's much deserved BAFTA for his portrayal of sleazy politician Michael Murray, this show is worth watching because Alan Bleasdale's script is simply phenomenal. Even when the plot actually on occasion does move where you think it will -- you'll still be surprised, amazed, amused, angered. In short, this must be something like the Elizabethan audiences felt when they first watched Hamlet. The script is densely layered, mounting complexities upon issues upon personalities. And for all that, one doesn't have to be a genius to understand it and be moved through a number of emotions and reactions before finally being hung out to dry. It's brilliant.

GBH is an excellent view of the would-be overlords of local government in the UK, using everybody (whether within or without the overlord's grand plan) to achieve the goal of power.

The situation is viewed through the eyes of the elected local government official who is played like a puppet by the would-be power-mongers of the day (pseudo-socialists trying to hijack every situation to make the tory government of the day look ridiculous) regardless of the casualties caused by their actions.

The elected official starts out as a hard character, whose weak spots are exposed by the puppeteers through a relentless barrage of political and psychological attacks, gradually exposing the child within the hard exterior - and ultimately concluding with the deposition of said character - who departs with most of (if not all) of the audience's sympathy.

This is a riot of a screenplay, placing first our hatred, and then our sympathy with main character - often with bizarre & humorous consequences.