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This was a very experimental period for television. Once a month there was a live drama. Sydney one month, Melbourne the next.
Behind each drama was a mini drama being played out in the studio. “Hamlet” was directed by Royston Morley, who had previously produced a version in England in 1936. Three days studio rehearsal was allocated, but this proved inadequate. When we stopped rehearsing a few hours before on air we had only got half way through the play. The result was not the disaster it might have been, but it seemed to go on forever. Half way through there was an intermission and a young pianist played for about 15 minutes in studio 23.
Being ‘live’ created a lot of logistical problems. For instance in “Wuthering Heights” the opening scene was in winter and featured snow around the outside of the house. Later in the production they went back to the same exterior and it was summer. During the intervening time we had to remove all the ‘snow’. Not an easy task as the ‘snow’ was actually small pieces of foam and in a studio with ‘live’ microphones we could not use a vacuum cleaner so a dust pan and broom were the order of the day. Despite all our efforts, when the action returned to the outside of the house in the middle of summer I noticed a pile of ‘ snow’ around the window frame that had gone unnoticed.
One of the major dramas of 1959 was Richard II. Produced by Raymond Menmuir it involved both major studios. Months in preparation and large by any standard, nonetheless, the day following its transmission, Ray and I found ourselves rostered to do “Kindergarten Playtime”.
In a rare premonition, minutes before we went to air ‘live’ with the drama “Venus Observed”, I wondered what would happen if the gun did not fire. I looked around the studio, saw a broom in the corner, gave it to a studio hand and told him when the time came for the gun to go off to hold the handle of the broom about a foot off the ground with his foot halfway down the handle and if the gun did not go off, to let go of the handle and push down as hard as he could with his foot. The gun did not go off, the broom made a loud bang and the heroine died. Sad to say when I heard the replay, the off mike sound of a broom hitting the floor sounded more a clatter than a gun.
Smoke Machines
In “Swamp Creatures”, the opening scene was a tracking shot through a swamp. The studio set looked convincing, but mist and creepy sound effects were needed to complete the picture. At rehearsal, producer Raymond Menmuir was not happy with either. The gram op went off for better sound effects and staging asked channel 7 to help out with a more effective smoke machine. This duly arrived, but too late for rehearsals. The basic idea was to heat the machine up with boiling water and then at the appointed time drop in dry ice. The resulting steam was then fed along a hose, under grass mats, to a studio hand, also hidden under grass mats, who lay in the middle of the set spraying the steam around. He used his hand to partially block the mouth of the hose, thus forcing the steam out at a faster rate and it consequently went further. The result looked great. This then was the opening shot, a steamy swamp with eerie noises. In the control room the producer congratulated the sound op for the frightening sounds. In fact the screams were coming from the ‘swamp’ where the studio hand had been forced by the heat of the steam to drop the hose and was now breathing in the carbon dioxide as he lay hidden under the mats. The camera started moving forward, and suddenly, just behind the camera, the grass parted and the figure of the studio hand rose to his full height, let out one last almighty scream, and fell flat on his face. In the control room the producer who could not see what was happening was very impressed with the frightening noises. While high up on scaffolding, waiting to make her dramatic entrance down a flight of stairs, leading lady Jacqueline Kott saw the whole thing and was convinced the studio hand was dead. The studio hand was quickly carried from the studio and an ambulance called. Meanwhile a shaken Jacqueline made her entrance and carried on as if nothing had happened. Except she was playing to a nearly empty studio. The cameramen, the sound man and myself as prompt were the only people in the studio. Everyone else was helping the stricken studio hand. Eventually he was taken to hospital and the remaining crew returned to the studio. On air the play continued faultlessly, the viewers unaware of the drama taking place behind the cameras. The studio hand made a full recovery, but left shortly after to take up a career in literature.
Smoke machines featured in another memorable occasion, but this one not so dramatic. “Make Ours Music” was a pleasant compilation of evergreen melodies. It was noteworthy for its imaginative use of sets and cameras. The sound was all prerecorded and the artists mimed on the night. On this occasion a male singer was on a bridge as the mist slowly rose (from under the bridge). Once again the producer, in this instance James Upshaw, was not happy with the volume of ‘mist’ so a more effective smoke machine was called for. This turned out to be the new super compact model. It was based on oil, not dry ice. Once again the machine was heated up and on cue I started pumping away on the handle and the smoke trickled out. But not in sufficient volumes for the producers liking. I pumped harder. And harder. Eventually the Floor Manager crawled under the bridge, grabbed the machine and started to pump even harder. Success. The smoke fairly billowed out. Meanwhile up above, on the bridge, the singer was launching into a particular melodic part of the song. Slowly the mist grew thicker. And thicker. Soon he looked as though he was singing, not on a bridge over a stream, but more a bridge over a stalled steam train. The mist had turned to smoke. Thick, black, oily, smoke. As the cameras slowly moved in for a close-up the acrid smelling smoke started to have its effect on the singer’s lungs. He started to cough. And he coughed. In glorious close-up the viewers watched as the singer doubled up in coughing fits as all the while the song continued, not faltering for a second.
Colour
In 1959 an energetic young designer from England joined us. His name was Doug Smith. He questioned our way of doing things and opened our eyes to a whole new approach to television production. He started with “Woman’s World”. This was the era of black and white television. So the studio sets were all painted in shades of grey. Doug changed all this. He felt people work better in colourful surroundings. Besides certain colours made you relax, talk better etc. Doug did his research and came up with colourful sets that were a joy to work in. The presenters were happier and the guests more outgoing.
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