The Australian hour or so ...

Press, 19 December 1986, Page 19

The Australian hour or so ...

Ken Strongman

on television

The late afternoon on Two is TVNZ’s contribution to the Australian economy, in the form of the dreaded Grundy productions. At 4.50 there is “The Young Doctors,” and at 6.00, sinking even lower, is “Sons and Daughters.’ It would be interesting to know who watches the television at this sort of time, and, more particularly, whether there is anyone who actually enjoys the programmes. Watching one episode of “The Young Doctors” after about a year was impressive in that there seemed to be no gap. Much the same group of people were still doing their respective things, and one another’s. The first line thrust the viewer sraight into the horrendous world of thez Albert Memorial Hospital: gonna get hurt soon.” In the event, it was only the viewer’s sensibilities. Amazingly, the actors still don’t look embarrassed at what they are doing. This either means that they are very good actors, which seems unlikely, or that they are even thicker than they look, which also seems improbable. This episode centred mainly on a young doctor getting his

hands stuck together with Superglue and being afraid to admit it to the chief surgeon, a plot as compelling as an empty paper bag. Basically, the young doctors inhabit the world of the television advertisements, but cannot quite live up to it. They are failed yuppies. In fact, they all look as though they have fallen off the back of a cornflake packet. Even their voices batter at the ears like an orchestra of chainsaws led by a helicopter. Their lives remain as inspired as they were a year ago. “I’ve had a pretty rough week, sister,” said yet another pathetic nurse with personal problems. “She’s having a pretty bad time,” endorsed a young doctor who was in her know. This interchange carried on like that for at least 90 seconds. The best moment came on the ward rounds when a patient was told “You’ll be able to rest this on the bar at Bunnies in no time.” It was completely unclear what was being referred to. You can never tell with the Aussies. “Love and laughter, tears and sadness, and happiness.” Thus begins the song which introduces

fectly — “I’ve never had a life of my own.” It carried on exactly at this level with spiteful people standing with folded arms, spitting words at one another, or good bluff honest jokers sitting reminiscing over a few cans or discussing life over a cuppa. It was not as easy as “The Young Doctors” to work out what was going on. It seemed as though two sisters had met up again after many years. One was moneyed and successful and had not looked after their parents. The other was drawn and poor, and bad. It was heart-rending stuff straight from the WaggaWagga version of Mills and Boon.

The most-surprising aspect of “Sons and Daughters” and one which al-

most belied belief, was that it was even worse than “The Young Doctors.” It was less coherent, had even poorer sets and characters (both two dimensional) and had even more cliches per minute. “She’s just using you,” “I feel that I have-to make it up to you after all these years,” “Playing the good Samaritan just doesn't suit you,” and so on, and on, and on about Anzac day, new kitchens, the size of wardrobes and the meanness of life.

In some ways, it is a puzzle that Australian television programmes are so crude, but, without exception, they are. These two are the worst, laughably so, like a poor horror film if seen only on occasion. Seen more often they could cause irreversible change to the psyche.