All to Play For (40 page)

My vision had crystallised into a very appealing future when I realised the bathwater was going cold. Newly oriented, I heaved myself out of the bath and threw a big towel around my shoulders as the water swirled down the plughole, sucking my old skin down with it.

Anthea received a rapturous welcome when she arrived at Sisters in Synch the morning after her
Newsnight
appearance. They had a development meeting scheduled; the writers and Maggie were already there, and they applauded her entrance, so she took an embarrassed bow. Maggie, who had gone to the
Newsnight
studio with her to give moral support, had been so impressed that she feared she might be developing a crush on this Amazon. The writing team were inspired. They’d liked her before, but now they would do anything she asked. It felt wonderful.

The day sped by. Ideas were born, combined, they grew, they flew, they were captured and harnessed, they bore offspring. They were corralled into a drama series which would be challenging, surprising, funny, but above all truthful in what it said about contemporary urban life. The characters reflected the capital’s racial mix, the attitudes of the young generation, the pressures of the modern workplace; they were nearly all intelligent and they were predominantly female, even though it was essentially an office-based series. At the end of the day they agreed on a title:
Sisters and Brothers
.

Jill and Maggie walked to the tube station together afterwards. Jill was anxious about whether Channel 5’s Barry Goodman would take offence at the way Anthea had made him look stupid on television, and make trouble for the show. Maggie was unconcerned.

“It’ll be fine. She apologised profusely to him after the broadcast, she said she’d got carried away with her anger at the BBC, and how true it was that Channel 5 had given her such a good break, and generally crawled up his bum. He was okay with it – if we give him a ratings success, he’ll forget all about it. If we don’t, he’ll probably remember, but he stands to get all the credit if the show does what we hope it will.”

“Men are weird, aren’t they?” said Jill. “You can never really tell how they’ll react.”

“And they think
we’re
the unpredictable ones.”

“Maybe there’s a story I can use in that.”

“You’re busting with ideas, aren’t you?”

Jill sighed happily. “It’s the best feeling in the world. A couple of weeks ago I was in development hell, I was almost ready to call it a day and get a job at Tesco. Writing was torture. Suddenly it’s like I’ve walked through some portal into a parallel universe. Development heaven, that’s where I am now!”

Penny chose not to mention the
Newsnight
debate when she arrived at Magenta the following day; she had no doubt where Nik’s sympathies lay.

Jak, however, lost no time in raising the subject the minute he entered their large open plan office. “The BBC’s like a beached whale, ain’t it? Too big and blubbery to turn round and get back in the sea. It’s just lying there, puffing out its last gasps.”

Penny observed him over her half-moon reading glasses, calculating that he’d been working on that metaphor since he woke up.

The effort was repaid: Nik was impressed. “Too right, man,” he said. “Its days are numbered. The twenty-first century’s going to be completely different, and I, for one, can’t wait. D’you see
Newsnight
, Penny?”

“Unfortunately not. Was it good?” she enquired disingenuously.

“You missed a cracker,” smirked Jak.

“The beauty of it all is… ” Nik paused for their full attention, “We don’t have to do a bloody thing. We needn’t lift a finger. All we do is sit here, turning out hit shows by the dozen, whilst the BBC turns in on itself, chews its own legs off and eats its own insides. There’s no need for us to fight them. We just wait till they’re staggering around blindly looking for a bandage, and we stroll in with our fabulous series. They’ll fall at our feet.”

Penny regarded him with amusement, the cheek of the man! His arrogance was astounding. She returned to her computer screen, and the endless search for budget economies.

Later the three met to look at the
Bus Stops Here
episode breakdown which Jak and his team of novice writers had produced. Penny’s heart had sunk on reading it, the writers’ skills were disturbingly weak. Chosen for their youth, malleability, cheapness and lack of union membership, it seemed to Penny that they hadn’t even mastered a basic grasp of grammar. She wished she could remove the lot in one sweep of her arm, and replace them with a couple of the experienced professionals she was used to, but she realised that criticising Nik and Jak’s decisions would lead only to her own swift defenestration. So she kept her own counsel, and hoped that the boys (she allowed herself to think of them in those terms) would eventually realise for themselves that this shower couldn’t write a hit series in a hundred years, never mind six weeks. She would stick to her brief, and comment only when the budget was affected.

“Nice work, Jak,” began Nik. “It’s looking good. I like your guest star list: Billy Crystal, Pamela Anderson, The Spice Girls… ”

Penny sighed, and Nik invited her to state the obvious, “A-list celebrities charge A-list fees, that’s the trouble Jak. Not a lot I can do about that.”

Nik nodded, and gave Jak a sympathetic look. “Sorry mate, but we’ll have to start with the lower ranks. Think of some more – the ones who’ve dropped off the radar and need a bit of exposure. Old pop stars, maybe. Dolly Parton. Gary Glitter. I’ll leave it with you. Okay, location and set. That’s a biggie. Tell us the bad news, Pen.”

“Well you’re right, it’s pretty crucial that we find somewhere incredibly cheap, and very easy to reach, we can’t pay much in travel and subsistence. I reckon we can get by with six weeks on location and another six in the studio, but there’s no leeway at all, no contingency. Supposing we find the ideal location, we’re going to need an experienced crew, Nik, otherwise we could end up with the most appalling shambles.”

Nik had been long enough in the business to see the wisdom of this. You could scrimp and save in development and pre-production, but once the cameras were rolling money flew through your fingers, and mistakes at that point could mean binning the lot and having to start again. That was a risk too far. “We need a good crew, you’re spot on there, Pen. It’s a priority. Get us the best people you know.”

“The best people don’t work for this kind of money, I’m afraid.”

Nik simply looked at her, his eyebrows raised, “Just get ’em.”

Penny frowned and sighed. “I really can’t squeeze any more out of other areas of the budget. It’s all skin and bone.”

Nik smiled encouragingly. “You’ll find a way round it. I’ve got every confidence in you Pen.” He clapped her on the shoulder and her glasses fell onto the desk. “Sorry, darling.”

Penny pursed her lips. “I might be able to call in a couple of favours, I suppose… ” Nik winked, and clicked his tongue twice. Penny tried to pretend he hadn’t, and fiddled with her specs.

“Title,” announced Nik. “
Bus Stops Here
is killing me, it’s so dull. No Yank-appeal.”

“Sorry?” Penny was confused.

“Yank-appeal. Will the Yanks lap it up?”

“Oh, overseas sales.”

“You’ve got it.” Nik cleared his throat; trust Penny to be slow with the current terms. “It’s essential, a snappy title. Luckily I had a bit of a breakthrough this morning. I woke up with this one, short word in my head.” He paused again for effect. “BUS. With an exclamation mark.”

Penny and Jak stared, nodding slowly. Penny hated it, but let nothing show.

“BUS!” murmured Jak. “Buss! What about two s’?” Nik grimaced. “You’re right, keep it simple. Bus! I like it, Nik. It’s short and sweet.”

“Very memorable,” added Penny.

“Dynamic. Simple,” agreed Jak.

“And the beauty of it is the image,” explained Nik. “The good old Routemaster, pillar-box red – instant recognition all over the planet. You couldn’t ask for a better selling point.”

“Well there you go, then,” said Penny rashly. “End of discussion.” Nik glanced sideways at her, noting her momentary loyalty lapse. Sarcastic old cow, he thought. You’ll see. Aloud, he said, “Okay. That’s all for now, let’s get cracking.”

Chapter Twenty

A few weeks after Peter told Jonathan and me to prepare
The Medical Miracle
as fast as possible, it was done. I had the shooting scripts ready for printing in the new paper-saving A5 format, Roger had picked his locations, and the cast and crew were chosen and waiting to sign their contracts. All we needed was the controller’s green light, which would release the funds. It had been an exciting time. Jonathan, Roger and myself had spent most of it together, trying to be as discreet as we could; Peter wanted the fewest possible number of people to know about it, so we didn’t talk about it with colleagues. It was even removed from the Drama Brochure, which was still under constant revision. Jon and Roger deliberately chose actors who weren’t well-known faces, but whose acting skills were superb. The design was to be very naturalistic and emphasise the beauty of the landscape and there would be a score of Welsh music. It would be shot on film, rather than videotape, so that the visual quality was top notch. It promised to be a very fine production. We were twiddling our thumbs now, trying to look busy and quell our anxiety.

One morning I was sorting through my post, and found a document from David Stringfellow which summarised his conclusions following the series of workshops he had run. It seemed a long time ago already. I skim-read it; he’d put a lot of work into presenting a fair argument in favour of the proposals we had all made to improve the management of the department. I thought it hadn’t a hope in hell of being carried out and agreed with arch-cynic Stewart on this one. The whole enterprise was nothing but a sop to make us
think
we would be listened to, and keep us quiet for a few months. I opened another large envelope and found a cheaply photocopied booklet entitled
BBC Drama Brochure 1997-8
. I was puzzled. Was it Sonia’s way of circulating a draft for all the producers to check? I propped my feet up on the desk and read it.

INTRODUCTION

Welcome to this year’s drama brochure. If it looks flimsy, blame budget re-allocation. The launch has been delayed for the fifth time, and might happen in a couple of years in ‘Stroller’s Deli’. As you can see, we have a splendid array of dramatic produce on offer, I’m sure you’ll find something tasty to tempt you. Enjoy!

DRAMA GROUP STAFF

At the time of going to press there were unfortunately no departmental heads expected to remain in place for more than a couple of weeks. The executive producers were in a meeting. The producers were down the job centre.

I was intrigued. It was a pretty accurate take-off of the style of the brochure. Was this Sonia’s idea of a joke? If so, it was very out of character. I read on. The next season’s output wasn’t presented in the usual divisions of series, serials, singles and shorts, but as:
COPS AND CRIME SHOWS! DOCS AND SCIENCE SHOWS! FEELGOOD SHOWS! FEELBAD SHOWS! NICE COZZIES! VEHICLES FOR AGEING STARS!
I had to smile. As a summary of our programmes it wasn’t entirely inaccurate:

COPS AND CRIME SHOWS:

THE BROKER’S MAN – Sour but sexy detective quits Fraud Squad to investigate insurance.

DANGERFIELD – Sour but sexy police doctor with many problems acquires more.

THE CRIME TRAVELLER – Sour but sexy detective time travels to solve crimes before they happen.

DALZIEL AND PASCOE – Sour cop teams up with sexy cop.

HARPUR AND ILES – Straight cop teams up with bent cop.

SILENT WITNESS – Tough but caring woman pathologist gets offally involved with victims.

BECK – Tough but caring woman journalist turns private dick.

HETTY WAINTHROPP INVESTIGATES -Mrs Bucket turns private dick.

PIE IN THE SKY – Fat foodie as unlikely cop.

HAMISH MACBETH – Offbeat PC off beaten track.

OUT OF THE BLUE – Troubled team tecs tackle tricky tasks.

BACKUP – Top cops back up bottom cops.

I had to pause for breath. I knew we made an awful lot of police drama, but a list like this really brought it home. I read on:

FEELGOOD SHOWS!

THE HELLO GIRLS – Fifties phones, fashion, fun and frolics.

BALLYKISSANGEL – Endearing Irish endure mass celebrated by celibate Brit.

PRESTON FRONT – Trials and tribulations on the TA trail.

COMMON AS MUCK – Bin-end bin men been round again.

HAVE YOUR CAKE – Sex in the suburbs.

FEELBAD SHOWS!

EASTENDERS – Cockney crones and crooks carry on croaking.

HOLDING ON – Murder on the underground express.

THE LAKES – Lovable Liverpudlian lynched by Lakelanders

THIS LIFE – Lifts lid on lissom lawyers’ wobbly world.

And last but not least…
SINGLE DRAMA

Due to lack of interest/ratings/space/funds we have decided this year to present one amalgamated film:

EFFING BASTARDS – Set on an inner-city council estate riddled with gang warfare and crime, two young people who initially distrust each other fall in love as a result of being drawn together in a terrifying spiral of deceit leading to an act which is to change their lives forever. Can they escape crack addiction? Will Angel be forced into prostitution and die of AIDS? Can love survive in the futile world that is post-Thatcherite Britain? A passionate, disturbing and sometimes hilarious film from Stewart Wanker and the multi-award-winning team who made ‘The Truth’, the searing indictment of Thatcher’s Britain which swept the board at the Grimsby Film and TV Awards in 1981.