No news is bad news

Press, 20 September 1985, Page 15

No news is bad news

r Reviewl

H<en Strongman!

It has been more than one year since your fainthearted reviewer has watched “The Young Doctors” — please believe it. So, at 6 p.m. on Monday, suspending horror, having thoughts about how far it is possible to go in the line of duty, and feeling almost righteous, there I sat. It was like being thrust into a vaguely familiar twentieth century Australian bedlam and being surrounded by a group of people one had hoped never to see again. All that had changed were the opening credits and the age of the young doctors; this seems to’have reduced even further. Other than this, everything seemed to be much the same, with no character development at all. This is not an exaggeration; either they were all the same as they were a year ago or, in some cases, even more like themselves than they were then.

Take Tania. She is, if anything, even nicer than she was; the milk, honey and cream of human kindness oozing from every pore. She pouts like a jug and simpers like a kettle with a wonky whistle. Several other characters did not actually appear on Monday, although since Ada mentioned them they must be around. It is best not to speculate about what they might have been up to. As usual, everyone is breaking out in emotion as though it were pimples, but without a salve in sight. Hate, jealousy and anger vie for attention with love, generosity and forgiveness, all within the space of one minute and usually within the space of one head. If hands are not going up in horror, voices are going up in whining pique. But in spite of all this emoting, nothing actually happens, not even good melodrama. The major point of plot is exactly as it was 12 months ago; personal problems interact with professional life in a constant interplay. If the patients survive surgery, they are bored to death by having to lie there emprisoned by conversation about the worries of the hospital staff. Most of these concerns revolve, in the end, around pregnancy; how to bring it about, how not to bring it about, or what to do about it should it have been brought about inadvertently. Meanwhile, men rest on

their beds trying to keep their stitches in through the laughter. Anxious solo parents wander through the hospital trying to find out whether or not medicine is practised there. And there is the usual young girl with a mysterious pain. She will probably turn out to be the Anti-Christ. The dramatic import of all this was summed up by one of Tania’s better lines towards the end of the episode: “I want the drainage bottle cleaned.”

Following this awful 30 minutes, and thus competing with the news, is a programme which I vow never to watch again. "The Facts of Life” is a sitcom without the “h.” It consists entirely of the horrible, shrilling, squealing voices of young American womanhood at its adolescent worst. There is nothing funny about this programme, nothing illuminating, and definitely nothing worth watching. However, to have watched one episode allows the making of a very, very special point. “The Facts of Life” is actually worse than “The Young Doctors.” Take my word for this, don’t, make the comparison and lose an hour from life. It is enough that one person has done it. It is not just poor, or bad, or trivial, it is completely, stultifyingly, crashingly boring. The hour from 6 p.m. to 7 p.m. is important. It can set the scene for the evening, or help finish the day, or both. “Diffrent Strokes” is poor, but the alternative is worse. The news can be depressing, but the alternative makes even the wage round and the consumer price index seem elevating. If you do not watch One during this hour, switch off.

Tailpiece. “Te Karero” is a bit difficult to follow at times, but recently it surpassed itself. There was an item in which nearly everyone who appeared, male or female, was given the unlikely caption of “Charlie Coffin.” Either this was in error or something odd is going on.