The Critics View of The Day of the Triffids

The Day of the Triffids is one of the finest examples of British science fiction on television. The performances are less acted and more inhabited, the atmosphere coiled tighter than a rationed gas ring, and the effects - well, let’s call them charmingly shoddy. It’s ridiculous to suggest it’s anything less than a stone-cold classic.

And, 40 years on from its original broadcast, Douglas Livingstone’s adaptation of John Wyndham’s magnum opus remains a talking point. The BBC’s 1981 version, we won’t discuss 2009’s attempt which sunk without a trace, was rewarded with a Blu-Ray release in 2020 and prompted much discussion, even if a lot of that was due to criticism of the restoration.

But back in 1981, a full 30 years on from the publishing date of the original novel, what did the critics make of the BBC’s latest science fiction offering? The Day of the Triffids was part of the BBC’s £33 million drama lineup for 1981 and, as ever, would be under scrutiny from the viewers and the press. There was also the Star Wars issue. Ever since Star Wars had redefined special effects in 1977, anything less than a stellar visual spectacle would be ridiculed, regardless of the budgetary constraints.

So, did the critics hold back? Was there a chance, much like today’s fans of vintage post-apocalyptic dystopian science fiction, they would appreciate the craft and aesthetics of a story which, in 1981, reflected the public’s paranoia of an apocalyptic event? Well, some did. Others, less so.

The Substack is Active Again

A couple of years back, I launched a Substack account for Curious British Telly, a sort of digital attic where I could squirrel away peculiar odds and ends of vintage British television - those charming little curios which didn’t quite fit in with the deeper dives of the main site. Think of it as a scrapbook, with all manner of fascinating cuttings pasted in.

Now, I’ll admit, it fell into a bit of a slump last year, like a forgotten Betamax tape gathering dust up on a shelf. But recently, I’ve started filling it again with gleaming little gems and nuggets of interest for you to digest and ponder over. I've even covered a fascinating blouse work by a Central Television continuity announcer, and if that doesn't tickle your fancy, I don't know what will.

So, if you'd like to receive these musings delivered free to your inbox, just head over to https://curiousbritishtelly.substack.com/

The Sky-Fi Music Show

It never ceases to astonish me that, in Britain during the mid-1980s, you weren’t strictly stuck with just BBC1, BBC2, ITV and Channel 4 for your viewing options. While most of the country soldiered on with this scant selection, pockets of progression were sprouting elsewhere. Cable television was slowly unspooling its coaxial veins in certain enclaves of the country, bringing with it a whole new world of programming.

Enter Sky Channel. Launched in January 1984, it was one of the poster boys of this brave new era. Cable television, mind you, had long been a humble affair - all shoestring budgets and community goodwill. But now it was now time for professional broadcasters to throw their hats into the ring, ready to expand the RGB horizons of British living rooms.

Variety and quality, though, weren't the best terms to describe the early days of Sky Channel. Providing a diet heavy on American reruns such as Starsky and Hutch and Fantasy Island, viewers in search of something new and exciting were left hungry. Nonetheless, in amongst all this trash, a spark of originality emerged: The Sky-Fi Music Show.

Friday People

The unstoppable rise of social media, paired with the bloated growth of British television to just shy of three million channels, has meant celebrities are now ten a penny. Once upon a time, celebrities were rare creatures, glimpsed only by the lucky few, radiating a star power that approached the divine. And it took talent to be a celebrity, not merely a willingness to humiliate yourself in public for a pittance of retweets or the crumbs of a YouTube revenue payout.

Simpler times, us elders lament, as we pour scorn on this modern obsession with celebrity. Yet the truth is, when youth was on our side, we were just as guilty. We too dreamed of this glittering prize, of fame poured down our parched throats like the first sip of a Pimm's on a blistering summer’s day. And while we may not have had social media, we were just as ravenous as today's masses when it came to devouring every last tidbit about our idols. To prove this point, let's head back in time to 1985 for a peep at Friday People.

Secrets Out

As a child, my hobbies were far from eccentric. I whiled away the hours collecting coins, obsessing about Doctor Who and engaging in spirited wrestling matches with myself in the privacy of my bedroom - all perfectly legitimate for a young pup. My more peculiar fascinations - delving through the forgotten vaults of British television, hoarding vintage crisp packets, and chasing the alchemy of the perfect cup of coffee - came later, when age and money allowed for wilful indulgence.

But if Secrets Out is anything to go by, some children managed to occupy themselves with far more niche and bewildering pastimes than I could ever dream of, even as an adult.

5 British TV Tie-in Computer Games from the 8-Bit Era

The Playstation 5 is the pinnacle of modern gaming. With 16GB of RAM, an 8-core AMD Zen 2 processor, a frame rate of 120Hz and capable of displaying billions of different colours, it’s a formidable beast. But you can’t play Knightmare on it. There’s absolutely no chance of controlling The Young Ones. And as for A Question of Sport? Forget about it. However, if you travel back in time and arm yourselves with just a few kilobytes and a cassette, you can enjoy all these and more.

As a youngster of limited ambition and energetic thumbs, I was a passionate gamer. From the raucous screech of Amstrad CPC loading screens that sounded like a dial-up modem having a nervous breakdown, through to the instant gratification of a well-moulded SNES cartridge and onto the point/click precision of PC gaming, I dashed through this pixelated wonderland like an Italian plumber.

But then, the inevitable happened. I discovered beer. Specifically, Newcastle Brown Ale - an earthy elixir which promised adulthood and led to countless calls on the porcelain telephone. My consoles started collecting dust and I embarked on a series of magical, unpredictable adventures that even the finest programmer would struggle to dream up.

Gaming, for me, is just a relic of a misspent youth. But it's also pure nostalgia. In those halycon days, there's one abiding memory which stands out: the shelves of my local computer shop sagging under the weight of TV tie-in computer games. Most of these 8-bit tributes to our favourite shows were terminal mediocrity. Occasionally, there was a touch of genius, but only fleetingly. On the whole, they were get-rich-quick schemes determined to rob schoolchildren of their precious pocket money.

I owned several of them. Many others, though, slipped through my clammy, adolescent fingers. Now, thanks to the magic of emulators, I can revisit them with adult hindsight and minus the load times.

The Curious Tale of Bristol Channel

Once upon a time, community television in Britain was considered an exciting experiment, something that hadn’t been done before and could unite communities while fostering creativity. In hindsight, local television endeavours often faced ridicule and operated on shoestring budgets. But, back in the early 1970s, there was a real buzz about showcasing the community and providing a voice for the locals.

In 1972, the Minister of Posts and Telecommunications, Christopher Chataway, announced an ambitious project aimed at evaluating the logistics and appeal of local television services provided through a cable service. Cable television wasn't new in Britain; the BBC's earliest cable broadcasts date back to 1936. However, independently operated cable television stations were rare. Pay-TV, an innovative pay-per-view service, had been launched at the start of 1966, but by the end of 1968 they had ceased transmissions.

Now, though, there would be five community cable channels launched in Greenwich, Sheffield, Swindon, Wellingborough and Bristol. Greenwich Cablevision was first out of the blocks in July 1972, and, for 10 months, was the UK's sole community cable channel. And then it was joined by Bristol Channel.

Yes, There Was a Mid-1980s US Pilot of The Wombles

"The series will outsell The Muppets series of the late 1970s" Vincent C Piano, CEO of Mizlou Programming, 1986

Over the years, there have been numerous U.S. adaptations of British TV shows. Some, such as Sanford and Son, Shameless, and The Office, have been wildly successful, while others have struggled. Transatlantic adaptations of The Inbetweeners, Teachers, and multiple attempts at Fawlty Towers are often seen as flaming car crashes at the bottom of the Grand Canyon. However, few people know there was an audacious attempt to introduce The Wombles to American audiences.

Up Our Street

I doubt many people remember Up Our Street. In fact I'd bet my bottom thrupenny bit that fewer than a handful do. But that's the ephemeral beauty of the past - not everything has to be remembered.

More often than not, it's for good reason: appalling levels of quality. Sometimes, though, things simply fail to make an impact. That's not necessarily a slight on their quality; they just lack that certain something to stand out when we look back decades later.

When it comes to television, Curious British Telly has always thrived on unearthing forgotten nuggets and breathing life back into them, if only for a few fleeting moments. It's an exercise that's very much up our street. Just like Up Our Street.