Better Dead Than Woke: Reflections on Sam Tyler's Suicide in 'Life on Mars'

 

The central cast of Life on Mars (BBC One, 2006-07)

 

 

I. 

 

Whether by accident or subconscious design, I have long avoided watching the British TV show Life on Mars (2006-07), starring John Simm as Detective Inspector Sam Tyler, who, following a car accident, wakes up to find himself in 1973 and obliged to adapt his politically-correct model of policing to the times, working under the command of DCI Gene Hunt (played by Philip Glenister).  

But, since it's now being broadcast nightly on That's TV3 (Freeview channel 75, 9pm, Monday to Friday) - and since I was intrigued by Mark Fisher's k-punk posts on the first and last episodes of the series, which can be found in Ghosts of My Life [1] - I figured, what the hey, I'll give it a go ...

 

 

II. 

Initially, I didn't much like Life on Mars - I found the character of Sam Tyler and all the supernatural elements irritating. Not only did I not know what the fuck was going on - what was real and what wasn't - I didn't much care. And if I simply wanted to enjoy a seventies cop show, I could catch The Sweeney on almost any day of the week over on ITV4 without all the poncy postmodern elements [2].  

 

However, I gradually learned to love it: particularly for what Fisher calls its reactionary character and, indeed, for its amusingly nihilistic message that I'm very much tempted to endorse; i.e., that it's preferable being dead in 1973 than alive in the drearily woke (and somehow far less real) present. 

 

As I wrote in an earlier post:

 

Those who now sneer with politico-moral correctness and a sense of their own cultural superiority at the music, the fashions, the TV, and pretty much every other aspect of life in the 1970s need to be told (or in some cases reminded) that it was more than alright - it was better. For despite all the boredom, blackouts and bullshit of the time, people were happier and I'm pleased to have been born (and to have remained at heart) a 20th century boy. [3]    

 

If by jumping off a roof top like DC Tyler one could guarantee arriving in seventies heaven based upon one's own experiences of the period, then, again, I'd be very much tempted to do so ...

 

It's not that I lack confidence in the future (or the possibility of such) - although I don't share the progressive optimism of those who insist that the sun will necessarily come out tomorrow - it's more a case of accepting the fact that the future belongs to those young enough to still have dreams, whereas to those of us who are now on the cusp of old age and who value the beauty of memories and madeleines belongs the lost past [4].   

 

And death. 

 

 

Notes

 

[1] Mark Fisher, Ghosts of My Life: Writings on Depression, Hauntology and Lost Futures (Zero Books, 2014). The article I refer to, pp. 76-79, is entitled 'The Past Is an Alien Planet: The First and last Episides of Life on Mars' and is based on two posts published on his k-punk blog (the first dated 10 Jan 2006 and the second 13 April 2007).

 

[2] Fisher argues that Life on Mars was basically a cop show; "because it is clear that the SF elements [...] were little more than pretexts; the show was a meta-cop show rather than meta-SF". See Ghosts of My Life ... p. 78.

 

[3] See 'Notes on a Glam-Punk Childhood' (24 July 2018): click here. 

 

[4] I'm (rather obliquely) referencing the French filmmaker and critic Chris Marker, who describes madeleines as any object or moment that serves as a trigger for the strange mechanisms that can suddenly transport you to the past. 

      Obviously, Marker adopts the idea from Marcel Proust's novel À la recherche du temps perdu (1913-27). Readers who are interested to know more might wish to get hold of Marker's multimedia memoir Immemory (a CD-ROM released in 1997). 

 

 

Musical bonus: David Bowie, 'Life on Mars?', 1973 single release from the album Hunky Dory (RCA Records, 1971): click here for the 2015 remaster on YouTube. 

 

 

It's the Lad Himself (In Memory of Mssrs. Hancock and Hill)

Benny Hill and Tony Hancock pop art style
available from artandhue.com

I.

I suppose because I was a child of the '70s rather than the 1950s, I always thought that the lad himself was Benny Hill - that's certainly how I remember him being introduced (by the brilliant Henry McGee) at the start of each show.

But, as it turns out, this was just a borrowing from Tony Hancock, who died five years prior to Hill's appropriation of the phrase. Doubtless this was intended as a tribute to the man born in the same year as him (1924), in much the same way as the name 'Benny' was adopted in homage to another favourite comedian, Jack Benny. 



II.

What's interesting when you think about Mssrs. Hancock and Hill, is how the former's reputation and standing has only increased since his suicide in 1968; whereas following his death in 1992 - having been stabbed-in-the-back by ITV executives three years prior and had his comedy career rubbished by figures like Ben Elton - the latter has found himself unceremoniously dumped in a deep, dark memory hole.  

Now, whilst I'm pleased that Hancock has remained a much-loved figure within the British cultural imagination - for he fully deserves to be remembered fondly -  I do think that the fate which has befallen Hill is unfair and shameful.

It should be remembered that Hill was a huge star in Britain for almost forty years. And, at its peak, The Benny Hill Show was among the most-watched programmes in the UK, gaining an audience of over 20 million viewers. It was also, one might note, exported to nearly 100 countries around the world, earning Thames Television shit loads of money.  

Sadly, the world being as it is, there seems little chance of the show being repeated anytime soon - even though Hill does retain a number of loyal fans and even though some commentators place him in the top ten of greatest British comedians, alongside his childhood idols Charlie Chaplin and Stan Laurel.

To be honest, I was never a great lover of the show: it wasn't that I had any objection as a child to the pervy elements and dubious sexual politics of some of the sketches; rather, it was that I found some of the silent clowing and slapstick boring.

Having said that, I do have a soft spot for Benny if only because Ernie (the Fastest Milkman in the West) was the first single I ever bought (helping it reach the Christmas number 1 spot in 1971): click here to watch the promo video, starring Hill in the eponymous role and featuring Henry McGee as Two-Ton Ted from Teddington who drove the baker's van and Jan Butlin as Sue, a widow living all alone in Linley Lane, at number 22. 

Watching the Detectives: Notes on Special Branch and The Sweeney

George Sewell and Patrick Mower as Craven and Haggerty in Special Branch

John Thaw and Dennis Waterman as Regan and Carter in The Sweeney

I suppose every generation is convinced that the TV crime dramas of their youth were the best. For me, for example, as a child of the seventies, nothing before or after can touch The Sweeney (1975-78).

However, I do have a growing affection for the show that was in many ways its direct predecessor; Special Branch (1969-74), which was also made by Thames Television and which, like The Sweeney, ran for 53 episodes over four series.

Actually, when I say I have an increasing amount of affection for Special Branch, I'm only referring to series 3 and 4, starring George Sewell (as DCI Alan Craven) and Patrick Mower (as DCI Tom Haggerty). I have little familiarity with the earlier episodes and, despite the presence of Derren Nesbitt as dandyish DCI Jordan - the copper with a kipper tie - no great interest in them.   

For me, the show only really took off in 1973. And the reason for this - apart from the change of cast - was because Euston Films* took charge of the production and pioneered a technique of fast shooting on location using 16mm film for a grittier, more realistic look (a technique and a look they would later perfect on The Sweeney).

Craven and Haggerty were harder, more cynical characters than previously seen and Special Branch storylines became more complex; often dealing with social and political issues, for example, and revealing the sometimes dubious relationship between police and criminals (it's amusing to note that both George Sewell and Patrick Mower would later appear as villians in The Sweeney). 

So, here we are in 2020 ... What's the appeal of Craven and Haggerty, Regan and Carter, today?

Is it just nostalgia for unreconstructed seventies masculinity? Perhaps - though we are of course now invited to view such through an ironic lens whilst passing moral judgement on the racism and sexism and bad fashion choices, etc. 

Or is it, perhaps, that Special Branch and The Sweeney remain massively entertaining and that they still have something important to teach viewers; not about policing or political correctness, but about how to make memorable (well-written, well-acted) television.     

Notes

*Note: Euston Films was originally a subsidary of Thames Television, founded in 1971 by Lloyd Shirley (Controller of Drama), George Taylor (Head of Film Facilities), and Brian Tesler (Director of Programmes). As well as Special Branch and The Sweeney, they also gave us Van der Valk and Minder. 

Bonus: to listen to the Special Branch theme tune (composed by Robert Early): click here. And to watch the original opening and closing credits to The Sweeney (music composed by Harry South): click here.

In Memory of Liz Fraser

Liz Fraser in Carry On Cruising (1962)

I was very sorry to hear of the passing two days ago of busty British beauty and much-loved Carry On star Liz Fraser, aged 88.

As I wrote in an earlier post, any film in which she appeared is instantly improved, even if, sadly, not always worth watching, and seeing Liz in her black underwear always makes happy and nostalgic. She had the serious erotic charisma that Barbara Windsor, for all her infectious giggling, completely lacks and was undoubtedly one of the great comedic actresses of her generation and one of the smartest of all dumb blondes. 

For anyone like me who loves TV of the sixties and seventies, it's impossible not to think fondly of Miss Fraser, who had roles in many classic shows, including: Hancock's Half  Hour, Dad's Army, The Avengers, and Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased).    

And anyone like me who loves the Sex Pistols, will also recall that, like Irene Handl and Mary Millington, she also pops up in The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (dir. Julien Temple, 1980).

Thus, with her place in the popular cultural (and pornographic) imagination happily secure, she can, I hope and trust, rest in peace. 


Note: the earlier post I refer to above is 'Why I Love Carry On Cruising' (2 Jan 2017): click here.