Pace, perfect pace

Press, 12 April 1982, Page 11

Pace, perfect pace

Review I

Ken Strongman

It is obvious that pace is important to runners. It is perhaps less obvious that pace is also fundamental to television. Take for example Vincent O’Sullivan's play in the “Loose Enz” series — “If the Cat, Laps.” It contained some clever words and evfen one of two intricate ideas. But lts pace was impossibly, embarrassingly, off. . It had the frenzied quality of a Chaplin film and at any moment one expected the characters to sound like the Chipmunks. They spat the words at one another until they sounded like ‘ marbles bouncing down an escalator. Perhaps it was because the producer stuck with a strict 30 minutes; My guess is that O’Sullivan had written a 40minute play.' Opposite in every way was the second part of Zola’s “Therese Raquin.” Its pace was that of a limping snail and yet an enormous amount happened. There were long sultry sequences with no words at all, just eyes, looking. There was even five minutes of Brian Cox walking from morgue to morgue, inspecting bodies. The pace of “Therese Raquin" is perfect for the smouldering Kate Nelligan. There can be few other actresses who can imbue a glance with so much in the way of brooding, sombre, torrid, soul-sucking sex. Pity there are only three parts. But the .important quality of this production is its

tempo. The director has recognised the power of. few words and proper pauses and has had the courage to use silence as it should be used. Drama is surely more than a furore of words. “Private Schulz” has unfortunately ended. Michael Eiphick was superb; calm, unhurried and with his timing measured to the nearest parsec. Every movement counted and every word was rich with innuendo.

Thermal episode was delightful, involving Schulz trying to extricate his buried two million pounds beneath a newly built public toilet in England. The change to England showed Elphick’s brilliance. Wjien in Germany he looked and sounded like a Cockney, spiv, and when in Englani.like a German wideboy.

lan Riphardson, no longer the crassly exact Major Neuheim, nqw played an inadequately criminal Scot just released from jail. At one point het made what could become a classic in the annals of Y ourt ly> thoughtful introductions. “I want to make one thing clear from the start, Mr Schulz here is a Kraut." Think of it with a Glaswegian accent. ■What a -.terrific ending it was. The money blew up, of course, just as poor Schulz almost hack it in his grasp. His basic problem was that he was brighter than those around hinp Still, he ended up,, by exquisitely improb-

able coincidence, with his Kitty.

"Schulz” was an extraordinarily subtle and clever series. It was like walking round and round a maze and constantly bumping into distorting mirrors.

Now and again it is worth mentioning “On the Mat" just to be mindful of its inadequacies. Last week, the Assassin’s mask was removed by the Avenger. It was a moment totally devoid of impact. He looked no different from a million others.

To return to the theme, the idea of pace is irrelevant to "On the Mat,” as in fact is any idea. Wednesday's “Close-up.” however, keeps up its well-paced presentation. Three equal but varied parts calmly making a few solid points. Last week it was drunken driving, the living dead of Haiti, and the F.O.L. To find links between them stretched one's flexibility, but at least two of the three were timely. And even the zombies were better paced than “If the Cat Laps.”