Close to a Complete blank

Press, 20 August 1981, Page 11

Close to a Complete blank

Review

Ken Strongman

Proceeding in a brave but foolhardy manner, it is possible to spend a completely dreadful hour early on Tuesday evening, but one needs helmet and groin protector. By judicious channel switching one can first see “Blahkety Blank” and then “Close to Home,” between which the advertisements come as an enormous relief.

“Blankety Blank” is compered by David Halls, the jolly, grey-haired nonHudson one. it is flashing lights and flashing teeth — doubtless designed to. keep everyone awake — and simply faaabulous prizes. Contestants come whirling in on a disused railway turntable to fill in blanks in poorly written sentences in order to match similar sentence completions by a resident panel.

There are blanks not only in the sentences but also in the action, in counterpoint to moments when everyone is speaking at once. Not that this matters since they all manage to speak without saying anything.

It has the look and sound of the worst type of television advertisement, except

that it is less well rehearsed and runs less smoothly. But it creates the same vacuously frantic atmosphere. Who dreams up these insulting ways 7of making people look ridiculous and then giving them prizes to compensate, for it? It must be someone who has a minimum of respect for human dignity and intelligence.

It is an abuse of both the contestant and the viewer, although possibly not of the resident panel. (Terence Cooper just should not be there, after his excellent performance in “Mortimer’s Patch”.) They must surely pay enormous fees to persuade people to take the part. Should you wish this puerile horror to continue, a quick flick of the selector brings “Close to Home” into early evening awareness. It is a sort of verbal “On the Mat" for those who cannot control their excitement in the presence of Joe le Due or who are asleep by 10.30. The characters in “Close to Home” snap fingers at one another and shout to indicate the drama of their circumstances. Everything not dramatic is expressed with

breathy excitement. Life is about food, sex. money and possessions (perm any two from four in any order). The intrepid viewer attempting to make sense of the intricate lives of those involved in New Zealand’s answer to “Coronation Street” is helped by the obviousness of their place in the social order. Adjusting his riot shield, the viewer will know s/he is watching the supposed antics of typical members of the working class.

They all swear, speak in redundant colloquialisms and put “eh?” at the end of every utterance. They like to eat sausages and everyone knows that "something must be up, he didn’t finish his sausages."

However, philosophy abounds. “You know, I think it’s hard for young people growing up these days.” And on Tuesday there was a long and unsubtle sequence demonstrating how to cope with life in a wheelchair.

The scene is set for all this charming interchange by the tuneless and terrible introductory music. It screws the

nerves up to a pitch of excruciating anticipation, matched only by the dramatic content of what follows.

The real problem with these two early evening programmes is that it can be extraordinarily difficult to read or sleep while they are screening; it’s the noise. However, family conversations can be carried on.

It is possible to miss a good 95 per cent and yet miss nothing at all. The little that happens is trivial, insignificant, and is best left out of one’s life. However, should you switch on in an unguarded moment, do have your mental padding to hand. It is the only way to face the remainder of the evening in an approximation to sanity.