What’s in a hooter?

Press, 12 August 1986, Page 19

What’s in a hooter?

Ken Strongman

on television

As Sergeant Cryer has the biggest nose in the business, “The Bill” is one of the most aptly named programmes on television. The new series began with these same feet plodding along and the kindly, concerned, avuncular Sergeant doing his best for his wooden tops.' During the- year, his hooter, as they would call it, does seem to have grown, allowing him to draw even more young coppers under its protective umbrella. Other than this, the only noticeable change from the last series is that there is more of • that everyone - talking ? at - once - to - give - the - impression-of-reality < docudfama muddle. Minutes pass when it is possible only to pick up snatches of conversation ’such, as "Sarge, heavy transport modification.” It is not easy to be sure who said it or what it means. Perhaps this is the sort *of thing that does reflect reality.

Sergeant Cryer has the same foil in Galloway, the reddest-haired most wordspitting Detective Inspector in the world of the TV cop. To off-set his face, which is basically too pleasant and young looking for the part, he has a permanent seen-it-all expression and swears hard through his cigarettes and cigars. The result is like a character from “Just William.” In the first episode, his men were as puzzled as the viewer about how he came to be a D.I.

Apart from Sergeant Cryer, who becomes more kindly by the minute, the older characters in “The Bill” range from mere irritation with one another, through anger, to being entirely enraged. It is the responsibility that does it, even though they pretend to make it up over a few jars after work. The younger ones don’t snap at one another as much. Their relative lack of responsibility allows then to dwell on simpler matters such as sex, without pussyfooting around sexism, as it were. Conversation in, “The Bill” is the usual', now everly familiar post- “ Minder” mixture of boozers, snouts, comedians and leave it out Guv, leavened with a, bit of six-zero-zero-Sarah-Oscar. Most of this, except the Sarah Oscar stuff is expressed with a mildy sarcastic world-weary cynicism. Such an attitude is only to be expected when they have to listen to one another all the time against the roar of the traffic.

The working day embraces bank robberies, falsely registered vehicles and a hippy-owned domestic goat eating the neighbour’s shrubs. The best scene in the first episode was played by said goat, Hector by name, as he menaced a young cocky constable, since he (the goat) was gorged on cannabis. With events such as these making up their life’s work, it is not surprising that “The Bill” characters look as though they believe themselves to be more in the know than they actually are. It gives them the look of grown-up children in the playground. Behind all this though, they are simple predictable human beings. Even the plots don’t vary much, involving the uniformed

- branch not knowing what the ’tecs, are doing and the ’tecs not knowing what one another are doing. This . all ends in everybody saying, rightly “What a cock-up.” It is the “Coronation Street” or “East Enders of the police world, and will probably be watched just as avidly. In comparison with an earlier programme on Thursday, “Highway to Heaven,” “the Bill’.’ is first rate. There must be something seriously wrong with Michael Landon to write a part for himself as an angel come to. earth to do good, and then to direct himself in the role. You would have to be American to do this, but there it is, angels probably are.

Last week’s episode made pathos pathetic. It began with a diseased Street kid lighting stolen candles for his birthday and saying “I wish, I'wish ... someone would love me.” Then, there was Michael Landon with a beatific smile and gentle manner promising to make everything lovely. It is truly treacly schmaltz; in 20 years he will be playing God. "Highway to Heaven” clashes with the 6.30 News which, in general, is far more uplifting.