Simon Brett - Situation Tragedy

‘Oh, I agree.’

‘And, if there’s money going for all that sort of rubbish, I don’t see why it should always go to the same circle of boring professional personalities with heads too big for their bodies. Because, to be quite frank, Charles. .’ George Birkitt lowered his voice, ‘I wouldn’t mind a little more money. They’re getting me damned cheap for this series. Okay, I know it’s the first time I’ve had my name above the title — as if I cared about things like that, for God’s sake — but they are still getting me damned cheap. No, if they want to do another series after this lot, I’m afraid they’ll find my agent in more of a negotiating mood. It’s not that one wants a huge amount of money, it’s just that one doesn’t want to be undervalued.’

Further demonstration of George Birkitt’s unwillingness to fall into a star stereotype was prevented by the arrival of The Strutters ’ new Director. Bob Tomlinson, the man who certainly knew his stuff when it came to sit com, proved to be a thickset individual in his fifties whose appearance behind a market barrow would have been less remarkable than behind a television control desk. He was dressed in a shiny blue suit and wore an expression of belligerent boredom.

‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s sit down and read this rubbish.’

‘Bob!’ cried Peter Lipscombe heartily. ‘Sure you’d like to be introduced to everyone, wouldn’t you?’

‘I’ll get to know them soon enough in rehearsal,’ said Bob Tomlinson, and sat down.

‘But you haven’t worked with Dob Howarth, have you?’ Peter Lipscombe persisted.

‘No.’

‘Well, do allow me to introduce you to our lovely leading lady.’

Bob Tomlinson looked up briefly. ‘Hello. Right, PA got the watch ready? Let’s start reading.’

Peter Lipscombe intervened again. ‘Er, yes. Just a moment, Bob. If I could say a few words. .’

‘Why?’

‘Well, er, as Producer, I would like to — ’

‘Oh yeah, I forgot you were Producer. All right, be quick. I’ll get myself a coffee.’ And Bob Tomlinson got up and walked across to the coffee machine, while Peter Lipscombe started his pep-talk.

‘Right, first let me say how nice it is to see you all looking so well. Now we’ve all had a horrible shock and there’s no use pretending what happened didn’t happen, but what we’ve all got to do is to put it behind us and look ahead, just remember what a jolly exciting series this is going to be. Now, because of circumstances, we’ve lost a couple of days’ filming, but we’ll be able to pick them up in the course of our schedule. And, incidentally, I’d like to warn you now that I’ve just received Script Number Six from Rod and that’s going to involve some of you in a night’s filming. We’ll let you know the date as soon as it’s been sorted out, but I thought you’d like to know.

‘So. . here we all are and by this time next week we’ll have recorded the first episode — second, if we include the pilot — of this really exciting new series- The Strutters ! Let me tell you, ladies and gentlemen — ’

‘Have you finished?’ asked Bob Tomlinson, returning with his cup of coffee.

‘Well, er, yes, I, er, um. .’

‘Okay, read from the top. Start the watch, girl.’

Maybe it was the inhibiting expression of boredom on the director’s face, or perhaps it was just that the script was inferior to the pilot episode, but the read-through didn’t seem very funny. Peter Lipscombe and Tilly Lake provided their usual sycophantic laughter for the first few pages, but soon faded to silence.

As the pay-off to the episode was spoken, Bob Tomlinson turned to Janie. ‘How long?’

‘Part One: 10–17, Part Two: 9-41,’ she supplied efficiently. ‘Making a total of 19–58.’

‘That’s near enough.’ Bob rose with the enthusiasm of a man about to put three coats of paint on a forty-foot wall. ‘Let’s block it.’

Peter Lipscombe raised a hand to intervene. ‘Um, just a few points before you do that. Debbi, that line you have on 1–7, where you say, “No, I’m not that sort of girl”. . could you — ’

“Ere, what is this?’ asked Bob Tomlinson, with all the anger of a barrow-boy who’d arrived at market to find someone else on his pitch. ‘I’m the Director of this show. I give the bleeding artists notes.’

Peter Lipscombe didn’t want a scene. His voice took on a mollifying tone. ‘Yes, of course, Bob, of course. I wonder if you’d mention to Debbi that I think one way — not by any means the only way, but one way of delivering that line would be to emphasise the ‘that’. ‘I’m not that sort of girl.’ I think it points up the joke.’

‘All right,’ Bob Tomlinson conceded. ‘Which one of you’s Debbi? Right, on that line, could you hit the “that”? Okay, let’s get this bloody show blocked.’

‘I’ve got a point, Bob,’ said the colourless voice of Rod Tisdale.

‘And who the hell are you? Another bloody producer?’

‘No, Bob, this is our writer, Rod Tisdale.’

Bob Tomlinson glowered. ‘I don’t like writers round my rehearsal rooms.’

Rod Tisdale showed no signs of having heard this. ‘It’s Page 3 of Part Two.’

‘Oh, don’t bother me with bloody details on the script. Tell the producer.’

‘Peter,’ said Rod Tisdale obediently, ‘on that page, I think the line, “I can’t stand it any longer” would probably be better as “I can’t stick it out any longer.” You know, probably pick up the laugh on the double meaning.’

‘Yes, nice thinking, Rod. Um, Bob, Rod’s had rather a good idea, I think. On Page 3 of Part Two, wondering if we could change “I can’t stand it any longer” to “I can’t stick it out any longer”?’

‘Change it. See if I care.’

‘No, but I don’t want us to force it on you. We all want to be in agreement on things. So do say what you’d like.’

‘I’d like you and the bloody writer to clear out and let me get on with this rubbish.’

As rehearsals progressed. Charles found his respect for Bob Tomlinson increasing. He realised that the director’s manner was not just rudeness for its own sake, but a way of getting on with the job quickly. And his contempt for the material he was directing (a feeling for which Charles found in himself considerable sympathy) did not seem to make the performances any worse. Nor did it lower the morale of the production; after the agonising of Scott Newton over every comma, the more practical approach was quite a relief. The atmosphere in the rehearsal room was rather jolly.

Bob Tomlinson just got on with the job and didn’t waste time with socialising or toadying to his stars. He was an efficient organiser and ensured that every part of the production came together at the right time. He was a good example of the huge value of competence in television. Flair may have its place, but flair is not always coupled with efficiency and, given the choice between a director with flair and one with competence, many actors would opt for the security of the latter.

Certainly the cast of The Strutters didn’t seem put out by the offhand manner of their new Director. They seemed to respect his lack of obsequiousness. It made them more equal, a group of people who had come together to get on with a job of work. Aurelia Howarth, used to cosseting and cotton-woolling from generations of producers, seemed totally unworried by Bob Tomlinson’s directness and his undisguised lack of interest in the welfare of Cocky.

The atmosphere between Director and Producer remained. The fact was that Bob Tomlinson was not used to working to a Producer. For many years he had combined the roles, and his agent had ensured that the final credit read: ‘Produced and Directed by Bob Tomlinson’. It was only because of the last-minute nature of his booking on The Strutters when his other series was cancelled that he found himself in this unusual position.