Stereotypes honed to perfection

Press, 15 February 1985, Page 15

Stereotypes honed to perfection

F Review!

Ken Strongman

It had to be. A mini-series made in combination between American and Australian television was doomed to the abyss before it flickered on to the screen. “Silent Reach” was so awful it almost (but not quite) had that amusing fascination generated by tenth-rate horror movies. The scene was immediately set with a crude interchange in an Aboriginal burial ground. Within two minutes a spear had penetrated the grave robber (a fair dinkum Aussie geologist) from back to front, thrusting not altogether pleasantly from his belly. This was merely the start of three hours of stereotypes, taken and honed to perfection.

The plot had all the rich-

ness of boiled cabbage. A troublesome C.I.A. agent is sent to Queensland to trouble-shoot for Conwright Industries, against which saboteurs are doing their explosive worst. Is it the Abos? It is not an insignificent problem — “23 million acres” grunts the boss, swinging round in his chair like Psycho’s mother. Poor, weary old Robert Vaughn is the C.I.A. man, surrounded by all the actors in Australia. Years ago, in

“The Magnificent Seven” he couldn’t quite catch the flies any more. Now, he has the look of an ageing tortoise, even though that sweep of black hair still gives him monocular vision. He just looks too ancient for hopping along railway trucks and fist-fighting the odd Neanderthal.

Everyone other than Robert Vaughn had exactly those crinkled eyes and face in equal proportions of cracked leather and yellowing parchment that comes from long hours of staring into the desert. Robert Vaughn had a wrinkled everything. Meanwhile, background music buzzed with the charming constancy of blowflies. The dialogue was a match for actors and action. “You

love it out here in the desert, don’t you? Why?” “It restores my sense of perspective.” Even these tender words were spat and snarled so that they became part of the action. All that Robert Vaughn, who is after all an experienced actor, could do about this was to practise a hundred different ways of saying “er”. “Tell me, er, about your er, er, relationship.” Even all this rubbish could not entirely ruin the majesty of the Australian outback. Although, in fact it was the Australian connection that did for “Silent Reach” in the end. It rendered it, in spite of insufferable plot, characters and acting, finally unconvincing. It tried to be American and did not manage it. All one

can hope is that the TVNZ programmers did not see it before they bought it.

To make this week an entire rant, there is something truly apposite about the born-again feel of “Energy Source Television” and its insidious “Day One.” William Southgate fits in exactly as well, with the appearance of an etiolated Mephistopheles who has unaccountably reverted to good.

Anyway, last week’s programme seemed worth, a glance since it purported to be an analysis of punishment. It started out very well, with many people speaking much good sense about prison and its alternatives in New Zealand. It had the feel of a thoughtful documentary, with useful in-

terviews and well-informed people being allowed to speak their minds. Then, creepingly, the screen was being dominated by prison chaplains and prisoners (viewed from behind) talking about “Why I became a Christian.” From a reasoned beginning, it slipped and slithered its way into something disturbingly crassly doctrinal. If prisoners can say “The Lord” every few words, then religion must be for anyone and everyone. If this sort of programme were to be made by advertisers, there would be mass complaints. Next week, it is “Feminism and Christianity,” thereby attempting to prove that Christianity can extend even that far. Dangerous stuff, this.