Some Australian satire. Written by Ric Throssell, based on his play.
Premise
"Digger" Smith returns from World War II
to his wife Shirl a baby girl, Betty, and a modest house in the
suburbs. A happy, uncomplicated man, "Digger" Smith stays so until
prosperity catches up with him and he makes strenuous efforts to "keep
up with the Joneses." Betty's boyfriend is Elmo.
Cast (in order of appearance)
- Lynette Curran as Betty
- Ron Haddrick as "Digger" Smith
- Chuck Kehoe as Elmo Senior
- Doreen Warburton as Shirl
- Lynette Haddrick as Betty as a child
- Max Brophy as Elmo as a Child
- Brian Hannan as Elmo Junior
- Bill Mullikie as parson
- John Armstrong as lift attendant
- Alexander Hay as a teacher
- Michelle Safargy, Gordon Mutch, Reg Gorman
Original play
It was based on a stage play by Ric Throssell (1922-99). He was a diplomat and author, the son of Kathleen Susannah Prichard, and was suspected of being a Soviet spy. (His mother helped found the Communist Party of Australia). His father won the VC and killed himself, his grandfather was premier of NSW. Throssell himself committed suicide after his wife died. His papers are here. A biographical newspaper article is here. An oral history with him is here. He sounds comatose... he goes through his life. 8.50 says he's been trying to write for television lately "it's a medium which interests me very much indeed, you have the immediacy of stage presentation and the flexibility of film." He was frustrated by limitations of the budget and inability to move outside. "This is inhibiting when your mind is set on a broad scope".
The play was first performed at the Canberra Festival in 1963 under the title Dr Homer Speaks. Here is the Ausstage listings.
It was the 25th play by Throssell who worked for the Department of
External Affairs. He called the play a comic cartoon for the theatre. He also said it was a satire on crew cuts and king sized culture.
The theatre reviewer for the Canberra Times said "it has
little to' recommend
it save an inconsequential humor. The situations are strained, the plot
is weak, the dialogue empty and what message it may have is soon lost in
boredom induced by strident over-emphasis. Last night's presentation
did little to assist one to take it seriously as a work of art."
This review prompted several responses.
In an oral interview Throssell said the piece "didn't work on stage bc of technical problems and it didn't work very well on television because of the limitations of what is acceptable to those who determine what is acceptable to the audience. But I think if the medium were freer, if one could use the medium in the way one wants to it could become a high point of dramatic art."
Production
Throssell said the play was twice the length of the TV version. Dr
Homer was a prologue character in the play who had been cut and
Throssell said the style had been changed.
Ron Haddrick's real life daughter, Lynette, played his on screen daughter. It was the first and last time she acted as a child although she became an actor as an adult.
It was directed in Sydney by Henri Safran who said "If they play could be
described in one word, 'satire' would be as close as you could get."
The shoot was a
difficult one for Safran due to what he claimed was “a flagrant lack of
interest and competence on the part of the cameramen… I have never worked under
more trying conditions… One would expect that a crew, given the chance to work
on a major production, would show some kind of enthusiasm and eagerness.”16 Jul 1965 NAA: C678,
SYDNEY DRAMA 1965/1966.
Music - Nigel Butterley, Frank Lyons. Played by the MI4s. Film cameraman - Bill Grimmond. Film editor - Bob Gautrey. Technical producer - John Hicks. Designer - Barbara Major. Producer - Henri Safran.
Reception
The Sun Herald critic wrote "it was well done, whatever it
was.... It was fast moving, all right. Elmo started out as a baby, and
finished up as a grey-haired tycoon. Somewhere in the one hour of
bafflement there was also Ron Haddrick brilliantly playing something or
other, and Doreen Warburton as his wife. Accents switched from
Australian to American, dollar bills floated from the sky, and it wound
up in what looked like the Australian bush. Somewhere there was a
message, but it escaped me. At any rate, it is good to see the A.B.C.
with enough courage to tackle such an offbeat offering... Whatever it
was, they did it extremely well."
The TV critic for The Sydney Morning Herald wrote "the price of experimentation either by producer or audience is high and half way through The Sweet Sad Story...
many viewers must have switched off and gone to their beds shaking
their heads and muttering 'I thought it was modern but it's beyond
me'... a gallant effort to drag television out of its depressing
orthodoxy...[but] a few hunks of raw and undissolved irony in a pale
gruel of unreality."
The Canberra Times called it "pleasant... Slight it was
(and only 45 minutes in this version), but considerably entertaining. It
was, I would say, as well written and better produced than an f.a.q.
import from the BBC or Rediffusion. The satire was mostly gentle,
mostly familiar - to aficionados of Barry Humphries and university
revues, it was from time to time a little stronger, a little more
jolting than we are accustomed to see on television...The satire was
made at once more palatable and more beneficial by Mr Safran's choice of
cast and designer."
The Age called it "a bright effort, well staged, well acted and with an ingenious script."
The Bulletin said his "only possible reaction is to sit
like a stunned mullet wondering was it all a ridiculous dream, and
finally peering around to discover whether he is alone in all this."
James Pratt called it "a truly sophisticated production of very considerable artistic merit."
Throssell thought this success would lead to him becoming a professional writer. But he wrote eight more scripts for TV and none were made.
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Ric Throssell, My Father's Son p 351
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Forgotten Australian TV Plays: The Sweet Sad Story of Elmo and Me
by Stephen Vagg
June 27, 2021
Stephen Vagg’s series on forgotten Australian TV plays turns his eye to some 1965 Canberra-written oddness, The Sweet Sad Story of Elmo and Me.
You don’t often hear the words “Canberra” and “culture” in the same sentence. A host venue for various “national” organisations/buildings, sure, a chief source of funding, absolutely… but actual local culture? [Insert obvious joke about porn here].
The Sweet Sad Story of Elmo and Me, produced by the ABC in 1965, is to my knowledge the only Australian TV play to have its origins in Canberra. It wasn’t shot there – the ABC had a commitment to make things in the “BAPH states” (i.e., Brisbane Adelaide Perth Hobart), but not the territories. However, Elmo was based on a play by a Canberran writer, Ric Throssell (1922-99).
Throssell was something of a renaissance man, with a very colourful family history. He was the son of Kathleen Susannah Prichard, a notable West Australian author (her novels include The Pioneers, filmed by Raymond Longford) who helped found the Communist Party of Australia and was later played by Googie Withers in the film Shine (1996). Throssell’s father Hugo won the VC at Gallipoli and committed suicide during the Great Depression, his uncle Ric was killed in action at the Second Battle of Gaza, his grandfather George was premier of West Australia, his first wife Bea died suddenly when she and Throssell were living in Moscow. Throssell was in that city working as a diplomat for the Department of External Affairs; he worked at that Department for over three decades, although his career was hurt when Throssell was named as a communist spy by the famous defector Valdimir Petrov; the Australian fought the allegations, mostly successfully, but they dogged him for the rest of his life.
As a sideline, Throssell wrote stage plays, and had a long association with the Canberra Repertory Society as an actor, producer and playwright. The Sweet Sad Story of Elmo was based on Dr Homer Speaks, Throssell’s 25th play (insert joke here about public servants having plenty of free time to write). It was first performed at the Canberra Festival in 1963 where it received a vicious notice from the Canberra Times (no hometown loyalty for Throssell).
However, the ABC liked the play well enough to have it adapted for TV two years later as The Sweet Sad Story of Elmo and Me. I haven’t read Dr Homer Speaks but Throssell said the TV version was markedly different (there’s no Dr Homer in the latter, for one thing). It was filmed at the ABC’s Sydney studios under the direction of Henri Safran who said, “If the play could be described in one word, ‘satire’ would be as close as you could get.”
Elmo tells the story of young couple, Betty (Lynette Curran) and Elmo Jnr (Brian Hannan), who are born on the same day at the same hospital in 1941. Betty’s parents are ex-Aussie serviceman “Digger” Smith (Ron Haddrick) and his wife Shirl (Doreen Warburton); Elmo’s dad is an American soldier, Elmo Snr (Chuck Kehoe). We follow Elmo and Betty from being babies, to primary school students, to teens, to adulthood, where they get married and fully embrace the materialistic lifestyle.
The treatment is extremely offbeat – Elmo is done in that absurdist, surrealistic style that you would sometimes see in the 1960s, with its satirical dialogue, outsize sets, flippant narration, and surrealism, sending up suburbia, materialism, education and television. There are jokes about the Marquis de Sade, Dr Spock, “I Like Ike”, pogo sticks, western and crime TV shows, ‘60s pop music and much more; you could call it Tashlin-esque.
If I couldn’t quite get what Throssell’s ultimate satirical point was, it’s constantly surprising and unexpected, and beautifully realised by Henri Safran, who was easily one of the best directors working in Australian TV drama in the 1960s. Barbara Major’s sets are outstanding. The acting is very good, particularly Ron Haddrick. Incidentally, Haddrick’s real life daughter, Lynette, played his onscreen daughter at age eight; it was the first and last time she acted as a child, although she became an actor as an adult.
The Sweet Sad Story of Elmo and Me was absolutely the sort of thing the ABC should have been doing at the time – bold, experimental, irreverent. That’s one of the reasons why you have a public broadcaster and the ABC did this one in style.
Throssell didn’t seem to do much other television in his career but never stopped writing, writing a number of novels, along with memoirs and editing collections of his mother’s work. He died in 1999, committing suicide after the death of his wife, and is easily one of the most colourful writers of Australian TV plays.
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