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Posts Tagged ‘post-apocalyptic’

I’m starting to wonder if I haven’t been letting my acquired prejudice against most modern TV colour my attitude towards New Survivors. I mean, it’s a modern mainstream drama, so I feel that managing ones’ expectations downwards is probably a good idea, and most of the writing in Episode Nine is fairly risible, but even so… Once you factor in the sentimental focus of a modern TV show, and the great subtlety drought, Episode Ten at least becomes not uninteresting.

To recap: having decided to forsake conventional notions of morality in favour of a ‘let’s just look out for our own, no matter what’, our heroes are intent on springing Greg and Tom from the slave camp they were packed off to at the end of the previous episode (on the principle that ‘Tom may be a murderous psychopath, but he’s our murderous psychopath’).

Unfortunately, they have no idea where said slave camp is, and have to resort to driving around trying to find Billy the secret slave-trader, on the off-chance he knows where it is. As the episode is less than an hour long, this is required to happen improbably quickly, and Billy (scenting the chance to enslave them all) takes them back with him to his base of operations, just around the corner from the slave-operated coal mine.

We are, I suppose, obliged to accept that the country is in a state where there is sufficient demand for a coal mine to be a going concern, and the various communities (none of which we’ve never seen on-screen) have enough of a food surplus for this to be viable. It feels a little implausible, but – as mentioned – we haven’t seen much of the state of the wider country. (It occurs to me that the first phase of the original show, in which the core trio basically wander the wasteland meeting different other survivor groups, performs an invaluable service in terms of world-building.)

The slave mine is the brainchild of Smithson (Christopher Fulford), a former Oxford don and expert in classical history who is such a fan of the slave-based economies of ancient Greece that he has decided to reinstitute slavery in the post-viral world. Well, I suppose it is just about possible. Greg and Tom get put to work down t’pit, giving them a chance to grumble at each other some more, and then Greg comes up with a cunning plan to escape by pretending to be an expert on mining. Good luck with that one, Greg.

Meanwhile, despite their record in the whole ‘rescuing people’ department being frankly questionable, the others attempt to rescue them, although not before allowing themselves a little moral outrage at Smithson’s vision of the new world. Fairly predictably, Greg’s escape plan and Abby and Anya’s rescue attempt bang into each other, resulting in everyone ending up down t’pit, apart from Tom, who has managed to escape all by himself in the meantime. (Honestly, the plotting in this episode…) Will he come back and save his former companions? (Clue: yes.)

Well, one thing about New Survivors which wasn’t the case with the old show is that it’s not afraid to be political in a fairly specific way: the new series is much more interested in the post-apocalyptic economy, specifically in the way it mainly seems to function by people exploiting one another, whether it be explicitly in the form of slave labour, as depicted here, or the trading of favours for sex (touched upon in a few episodes), or the exploitation of children as labourers (Episode Six). It’s all very firmly anti-capitalist, which I don’t necessarily have a problem with, and it may just be that the new show is a product of its time (this series was in production during the immediate aftermath of the financial collapse which was, I think, one of the defining events so far this century).

The episode is surprisingly uncompromising in its handling of the aftermath of the climactic slave rebellion, with quite brutal retribution being handed out to the various oppressors, and on top of this there’s a scene where one of the prisoners, who’s mortally injured and dying in agony, is euthanised (in a fairly back to basics manner) by Tom. It may be the programme is sincerely trying to depict people trying to make sense of a post-morality world, where conventional notions of good and evil no longer apply – but many of the characters are still framed in terms of the moral outrage they express about slavery and the treatment of the various prisoners. Smithson is an out-and-out villain, there’s no attempt to give his philosophy any real credibility. So I rather fear this is just a case of a confused production which can’t quite make up what its central emphasis should be. Still the best episode of the second series so far, though.

I would say Episode Eleven continues this upwards trend, but for the fact it’s an incredibly mixed bag. The A-plot is quite strong – our heroes rescue a bunch of other survivors from some raiders, and go back with them to their idyllic community. (Even Pointless Al and Dim Sarah, who’ve been getting it on in the back of a moving lorry, finally do something useful in helping drive the raiders off.) Pointless Al and Dim Sarah are so loved up you just know a Major Development is on the cards, while Maybe-Gay Anya takes a break from her UST with Tom to feel that certain spark with the girl in charge here. Needless to say, this puts Tom into brutish thug mode.

(I have to say that for all the weaknesses in this series – and attentive readers may have noticed I think there are plenty – Max Beesley’s performance is consistently solid, perhaps even surprisingly so. Then again I do mainly know him from playing the bongos in the title sequence of The Word and supporting roles in things like Torque.)

It all goes epically wrong, of course, when the occupants of a remote part of the community fall victim to what seems to be bird flu – it turns out this is a mutant form of the plague, from which the survivors’ genetic immunity does not protect them. Poor old Dim Sarah blunders in on the afflicted, catches the new flu, and cops it, although not before there are many opportunities for longing looks between her and Pointless Al, long speeches and declarations, and the sadness music soaring as it has seldom soared before.

It’s quite well-played (though, needless to say, the 21st century subtlety drought is in full effect), although (broken record time) wasn’t New Survivors supposed to be less depressing? In the end Abby gets to burn another corpse while someone recites that ‘A time to live…’ bit of the book of Ecclesiastes. They should probably have stressed that ‘a time to refrain from embracing’ part more, seeing as Tom and Anya decide to mark Dim Sarah’s passing by having frantic doomsday rumpo on top of a hill (even Tom has figured out that the new flu is eventually bound to kill everyone but Abby and her Magic Immune System).

So far so good, but as far as the B-story goes… I know I’ve been hard on the plotting of this series so far, but we’re into a whole new world of nonsense here. Basically it goes as follows: for no very particular reason, Greg decides to go back to his former home, taking Abby with him. There he comes across a mysterious postcard he received before the pandemic hit, which has a mysterious map reference on it. For no particular reason, Greg and Abby decide to visit the map reference, which is conveniently local, and find an airfield. There they find an unhinged businessman who received a similar postcard and has been hanging around waiting for a mysterious flight ever since the plague struck. When he realises the flight really isn’t coming, the businessman tops himself. Greg figures out that this was all part of a secret evacuation plan to save certain individuals from the apocalypse, and assumes his mysteriously-vanished ex-wife must have added his name to the list. As you may have guessed, this is all laying in plot ahead of the final episode of the series, but the incredibly clumsy way it is done is difficult to credit.

Anyway, to the final episode: realising the new flu may finish the job of wiping out humanity, Abby decides to go back to the boffins in their lab and let them finish work on their vaccine using her tissue. She gets back to discover that the manner of her earlier escape breached security there and the virus has got in and killed nearly everyone – but, looking on the bright side, her son Peter has been brought here by Roger Lloyd Pack (don’t ask, it’s a bit involved). Now the chief boffin, who’s survived using a semi-vaccine derived from Abby’s blood, has secreted Peter somewhere and is awaiting extraction by his mysterious superiors. (Yes, months after the end of civilisation, Skype is still working, apparently.)

Well, one thing that follows is the quest for a vaccine, which ends up being tested on Pointless Al (maybe I’ve been too hard on him). It’s a close thing, but he survives, thanks in part (it’s implied) to a visit by the ghost of Dim Sarah (quite how Dim Sarah’s ghost was bright enough to find her way to the right bedside is not explained). (This looks very much like one of those things where a performer was contracted for every episode of the series despite dying before the end, hence some odd flashbacks/spectral appearances, etc.)

Elsewhere, Greg and the others manage to capture the chief boffin, and Abby gets Tom to try and torture the location of Peter out of him. When the cultural history of the 2000s is written, scenes like this one – where the good guys reluctantly admit that torture is sometimes necessary – will surely be recognised as a trope, for they turn up in so many different programmes. They seem to me to very obviously be an expression of western liberal angst over the measures governments felt compelled to employ to protect themselves, following the September 11th attacks: if it’s okay for these characters we’ve come to empathise with and care about, it must surely be okay for us too, sometimes. (Not that the torture actually works in this case, but that’s just down to plot requirements.)

Everything concludes with a big chase, some shooting, and a proper appearance by the fine actor Patrick Malahide as the boffin’s boss. Again, interesting cultural stuff going on,  as (of course) it turns out the evacuation flights are connected to the boffins, who decided to save the elite of society from the disaster. A disaster it turned out they caused. So, we have a global disaster, which the architects of which have managed to escape using their wealth and influence: not the most subtle allusion to the financial crisis, but it does fit in with the general theme of this second and final season of the new show.

Let us speculate as to what may happen next: Abby and her friends have ‘enough’ vaccine to protect themselves from the new flu, but it’s strongly implied that mass production is required in order to save the rest of the world. Slightly ominous, then, that the series concludes with Tom, still quite possibly a virus carrier, stowing away on the plane to the secret enclave where civilisation still endures. It is easy to imagine this not ending well – Tom infecting the elite, wiping the overwhelming majority of them out, and the vaccine never being produced, resulting in Abby and Greg and the others eventually wandering about as the last survivors of an almost completely depopulated world. Hey, but it can’t be as depressing as all that – if we’re shown one thing in the course of this show, it’s that all these people really, really love each other, so it can’t be all that bad.

Well, New Survivors turned out to be a bit more authentic than I expected – just my luck to choose to watch the very worst episode as my first exposure to the show. I don’t much care for the manipulative sentimentalism of the new show, nor the atrocious plotting of many of the episodes, and the absence of subtlety also irks me – but then I could say all those things about Moffat-era Doctor Who, and I’ve still stuck with that, although it does sometimes feel like a contest between myself and the show to see which one of us dies first. If nothing else New Survivors is sometimes rather well acted, and offers an interesting mirror of the period in which it was made. That latter point is equally true of the old show, of course. I suppose that, in the end, I am just a man of the 1970s at heart.

 

 

 

 

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Accepted wisdom is that the second series of a TV show is often when it hits its stride, as everyone involved has figured out the logistics and issues involved in making it and can now get on with trying to make it really well. Just look at – to think of a few examples off the top of my head – Star Trek, Blake’s 7, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Avengers, Babylon 5, and so on. That said, this isn’t an absolute rule: it wasn’t the case with the original Survivors, which lost a crucial character and cast member and got bogged down rather in bucolica, and I have to say that the omens are not good for the remake of the show, which (just to reiterate) I am currently checking out in its entirety for the first time.

We are of course well beyond the original conception of Terry Nation by this point. Abby has been kidnapped by the minions of evil boffins searching for a vaccine for the plague virus which has already destroyed civilisation, Greg has been grievously wounded by killer chav Dexter after the group’s resident psycho Tom Price killed one of his men in cold blood, and everyone is stuck in the middle of a city, which (we were invited to conclude) is a really bad place to be.

The end of series one picked up the pace a bit and Episode Seven (this seems to me to be the easiest way of keeping track of which one we’re on about) appears to have been written to the brief ‘don’t give the audience time to think about anything’. Abby’s adventures in dubious virology are basically the B-plot, or maybe even the C-plot. The bulk of the episode concerns the travails of Greg and the others.

Treating Greg (who apparently has ‘shrapnel’ in his chest, rather than the shotgun pellets you might expect) requires medical supplies, and so Anya, Al, and Tom leave him in a hotel and rush off to the nearest hospital, which happens to be on fire. The hospital has the bad manners to collapse on top of them, trapping Anya and Al in the rubble. Tom rushes back to the hotel and collects Sarah and Najid to help dig them out. (Meanwhile Greg is having flashbacks to the collapse of his marriage, as you would: perhaps the programme-makers realised what a drab and thin character New Greg tended to come across as in the first series, especially compared to Ian McCulloch’s version, and this is intended to fill him out a bit.)

Well, as the digging progresses and Al and Anya are (of course) sharing significant moments of emotion in the rubble, a bunch of locals turn up looking rather sheepish – despite the city centre being a decrepit hell-hole, they are trying to build a new life here, which apparently involves burning down hospitals in order to stop the spread of disease. (No, you didn’t read that wrong, and this is basically the reason given on screen.) Rather than being completely abandoned, it seems like the city is full of people, and one of them is a slightly rum character who survives by lending construction equipment to people. (I mean, really. Really?) However, in order to get him to lend them a JCB (or, as it eventually turns out, a trolley jack), our heroes basically have to pimp Sarah out to him, against her will. I’m left slightly queasy by the casual attitude towards rape which is taken in a lot of modern culture, and by people talking about it, but this is much too close to it for comfort – and it’s not just that, it’s the fact that the situation is so ridiculously contrived and melodramatic. If the whole ethos of the show was that it takes place in a horrible, totally amoral world, then it might be more acceptable (though the ludicrously implausible plotting would still stink the place up), but it’s not – the focus of the show is still largely on the relationships between the regular characters (the group is now casually referred to as the Family, for God’s sake – note that significant capital F). Sarah wuvs Tom. Tom wuvs Anya. Anya wuvs Tom, maybe, but she’s not sure. Al and Najid wuv each other in a brotherly kind of way. Greg doesn’t wuv Tom, as he’s cottoned on to the fact that Tom’s a violent psychopath. Everyone wuvs matriarch Abby. Urrgh.

I suppose the thing that annoys me the most is that while the programme may still be called Survivors and take place in a post-apocalyptic world, there’s only the barest lip-service paid to that in the episode itself. No-one seems especially worried about where their food or water or petrol is coming from, people talk about hiring a JCB, they have video-conferences and wear suits. It doesn’t feel post-apocalyptic in any real sense.

More or less the same is true of the other storyline with Abby (who is, we’re told, an exceptional walking miracle as far as her body’s response to the virus is concerned). It may be a nightmarish satire of the attitudes of Big Pharma. It may be a disturbing conspiracy thriller. (At one point Abby is threatened with being intentionally put in a vegetative state for her own good, and at certain points I feel like this series is trying to do the same to me.) But I’m pretty sure it isn’t anything really to do with surviving after the collapse of civilisation and the tough choices involved in building a new society.

Abby stays nabbed by the boffins until the end of Episode Eight, at which point she is released by the sympathetic wife of the main villain (they are both Mums and share a Magical Mum Connection which means they instantly trust each other). Of course the evil boffins want Abby back as she is the source of a vaccine for the virus, which (we are told) may mutate at any moment into an even more lethal form.

While all this is going on, everyone else is looking for Abby, without very much success. Despite the fact that the city seemed busting at the seams with folk in Episode Seven, who all seemed pretty well-fed, here we are told the city is a decomposing wasteland where our characters are slowly starving to death. Hmmm. What follows is essentially a load more soap-opera shenanigans, with the usual ambiguous attitude towards Tom’s violent psychopathy, Sarah getting a big emotional moment as a result of having been raped the week before, Al not doing anything very interesting (as usual) and Najid being stroppy. The chickens are not mentioned at all; I fear the worst. None of it really lingers in the mind or goes anywhere particular, but at least at the end everyone is back together and ready to push on with this year’s plot, which no doubt will concern the boffins chasing Abby about the place.

Although not in Episode Nine, it seems. This is notable on one level as the one marking the first appearance of Roger Lloyd Pack in the new show (he is the only actor to appear in both TV versions of Survivors) – he plays, effectively, a slave trader (NB, New Survivors = ‘less depressing’) – and on another level as the only episode of the new show I caught on your actual television (I think it was a 2011 re-run), and it was so bad I didn’t bother going back for any more.

The crux of the episode is that the increasingly preposterous Willis and her killer chav henchman Dexter catch Tom and decide to put him on trial for the murder he carried out at the end of Series One. Abby and the others try to mount an intervention, resulting in the most ridiculous trial scene in the annals of human literature: the members of the jury are chosen at the whim of the judge, who is also counsel for the prosecution. Two of the jury are close associates of the defendant, and closely involved in events leading up to the crime. One juror recently shot and nearly killed one of the others. None of the characters seem to find anything remotely peculiar about this arrangement, of course, but despite the incredibly brazen attempts at fixing the trial by the useless Willis, Tom is found innocent, but still sent down for seven years anyway. How does someone as blatantly incompetent as Willis keep her job? Do the words ‘Hello, I’m the only government minister who didn’t die’ have some weird mystical power over everyone else? I could go on at some length, but it frankly doesn’t warrant it.

(Meanwhile, Pointless Al and Dim Sarah are getting it on somewhere else. There is not much else to the B-story this episode but at least it isn’t the A-story.)

I seem to recall that on the same day I watched this on TV, I also found a copy of the Nation novelisation in a charity shop, and after the episode concluded, I retired to bed with the book, finding it to be vastly superior in every aspect of the writing. That opinion still stands, in case you were wondering.

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Anyone who waded through my initial thoughts on New Survivors will be familiar with my suggestion that it reflects a key change in British culture – the shift from traditional, external sources of authority, to the primacy of personal emotion and feeling. Making my way through the rest of the first series, I think I may have identified another curious social change which has snuck up on us without anyone noticing.

‘Our great advantage at the moment is that everyone loves everyone else,’ declares Charles in the original show, speaking a few months after the primary kill – and indeed, everyone back in 1975 tends, initially at least, to be civil to each other, and roving gangs of hostile thugs are notably thin on the ground. When antagonists do appear, they are more often than not motivated by their own personal agendas or political schemes rather than simply being generally malevolent.

Episode Four of New Survivors is partly concerned with retelling yet another bit of the original series (and the novel) – in this case, Garland’s War. The essentials remain the same – while searching for her son, Abby arrives at Waterhouse, a country estate whose rightful owner is engaged in a battle for control with another group who have taken it over, but as ever it is the little changes that have been made which are most indicative.

Gone is the somewhat oblique class warfare angle to the story, with minor aristocrat Garland attempting to assert his claim to leadership over a group of belligerent plebs – said claim being based on the fairly reasonable grounds that he’s a trained soldier, explorer and survival expert. In this version Garland is just a hunky bloke who used to work in London (just why he is so handy and practical is not really touched upon), and the group occupying Waterhouse are basically a load of ASBO kids who trash the place on a whim. The intellectual core of the previous version – at what point does fitness to rule override democratic concerns? – has been replaced by more of a scare story intended to push the audience’s buttons – how would you feel if a gang of yobs took over your lovely home? Where the first version’s conflict was left unresolved in the episode itself, this one finds Garland becoming a kind of surrogate father to the group, after they are united in their concern for a wounded child. (The unresolved romantic tension between Abby and Garland from 1975 is replaced by a scene where they go swimming naked together and have a bit of kissy time, because of the 21st century subtlety drought.)

My point is that while the original show did feature the occasional gang of raiders, it didn’t presuppose a widespread disintegration of moral values in the aftermath of the plague, whereas this one does seem to assume that there are going to be gangs of killer chavs and ASBO kids running wild everywhere. Perhaps the social contract has weakened that much in the UK in the last thirty or forty years, or perhaps it’s just pessimism based on a routine diet of scare stories in the mass media. Or perhaps it’s just the best way to generate stories in this kind of setting, given this series is built around emotional problems rather than intellectual and philosophical questions? (In which case the directive to make the 21st century Survivors ‘less depressing’ begins to sound slightly ironic.)

Something similar happens in Episode Four’s C-story, where a couple of raiders turn up with rather unpleasant intentions vis-à-vis Anya, but luckily she and Greg are able to somewhat unconvincingly fend them off. That’s pretty much all that happens; the C-stories tend to be rudimentary on this show.

But what of the B-story, I hear you wonder. Well – something else is going on here, as Tom, Al and the others head off to check out the ecopolis, or whatever we’re going to call the place Willis is in charge of. Willis decides to boot Al out virtually at once, on the grounds he’s a bit too rich and lazy, but Najid is effectively taken into care despite his wishes to stay with Al. It seems to me to be a story playing on fears of an intrusive nanny state – a very odd choice for an ostensibly post-apocalyptic series, but another contemporary concern tweaked and exaggerated to provide a story. Ripped from the headlines either way you cut it, this show.

As usual the most interesting stuff concerns Tom Price, who tries very hard to get in with Willis’ group, only failing when his prison tattoos are noticed and his attempts to lie about his past fall flat. He hides all this from the other regulars, of course. There’s still a sense of ambiguity about exactly what his aims are, of course, and if nothing else it keeps the series ticking along and being more than just the kind of SF show that the average Daily Mail reader might find themselves empathising with.

Episode Five is a different kettle of fish, inasmuch as it doesn’t directly remake any particular episode of the original show, but still somehow has more the feel of it than most of the new series. This may be because this the season’s cheapo offering, featuring no major new locations and mostly occurring in and around the group’s house.

A bunch of other survivors turn up, looking for shelter. They are led by John, a former architect who claims to be in direct contact with God. One of their number is heavily pregnant and they want to stick around until the child is born. A proper old-fashioned kitchen table council meeting ensues, and of course the new group are allowed to stay. What follows is largely a character piece with the programme-makers cashing in the plot coupon of Anya hiding her medical background from the rest of the group (also her sexual orientation, but, you know, first things first). There’s a crisis during the delivery! Can Anya overcome her self-doubt and help with the birth?

Then, as this isn’t quite substantial enough to hang a whole episode on, it turns out that John’s messages from God are a symptom of his being a paranoid schizophrenic, and there’s some stuff with a kitchen knife and his trying to kidnap Anya, while his hopeless followers stand around blinking in confusion.  In the end, the new mother declines to put John back on medication to control his condition, and a newborn infant goes off in the care of a woman with a serious heart condition and a man with a serious psychological disorder, because, apparently, you never know what the power of love can achieve. This supposedly qualifies as a happy ending.

It’s particularly vexing because the episode takes a rather patronising and superior attitude throughout towards the characters who have faith (except for Najid, because you don’t want to tick off any Muslim viewers). Believing in God is a quaint old superstition, apparently, but having faith in the power of love to overcome paranoid schizophrenia is the path to the future. If nothing else this episode did make me realise just how tolerant the original series is towards its characters of faith – even when it was clear that the programme-makers didn’t agree with them, they were generally treated even-handedly and respectfully. Another demonstration of how external social values (those of religious faith) have been displaced by those of liberal humanism (the primacy of personal feeling and experience)? It rather looks that way to me.

I suppose I should also mention the scene where Tom confronts Anya over her past choice of sexual partners. Tom is unusually brutal in this episode, and fairly unpleasant here, although this feels entirely appropriate. The problem with the scene is that it simply feels like the writers came up with a list of points they felt obliged to cover and then navigated between them in a notably inelegant and melodramatic way (concluding with Anya’s declaration that ‘I don’t fall in love with men or women, I fall in love with people’, which if you ask me lacks a little on the clarity front).

The series starts to show a distinct identity of its own with Episode Six, which is, of course, the ‘series finale’ in modern parlance. All the way through we have been treated to slightly wearisome hints as to the existence of a mysterious enclave of ruthless scientists working on a vaccine for the plague (they are clearly attached to the Department for Post-departure Equine Housing Access Point Closure), and these start to pay off, as the group decide what they really need is not someone totally immune to the virus (like most survivors in this version of the story) but one who got really ill but then recovered – like Abby…

This takes a while to manifest in the episode itself. First we have a lot more cashing in of plot coupons and emotive slightly soap-operatic goings on. It turns out that Willis has joined forces with Dexter, leader of the killer chavs from Episode Two, and the two of them are expanding their area of operations, apparently in the name of securing food supplies. This strikes me as fair enough, as – despite the climbing instructor in the opening episode rehashing Bronson’s speech about how all the old skills need to be relearnt, and people need to learn to fend for themselves again – all anyone seems to do in this series is scavenge for food and petrol. The only step in the direction of providing their own food anyone has made is keeping those bloody chickens Najid keeps banging on about, and this is more of a character bit than anything else. The series may be called Survivors, but the mechanics of how they actually survive are clearly a low priority.

Anyway, Abby gets righteously cross with Willis, Dexter has fun settling a few old scores, they (literally) wheel Bob on for a confrontation with Sarah, and so on (the actress who plays Sarah has the thankless task of trying to portray someone who’s supposedly highly manipulative but also rather dim). In the end the chavs drive off with Anya (Sarah sells her out, motivated partly by jealousy of Anya and Tom’s relationship – see, soap suds all the way), but the others rescue her before taking to the road again. Tom cold-bloodedly kills one of Willis’ people just to emphasise that it’s not worth pursuing them, and I for one get a disturbing sense that the makers of the show seem to think that his psychopathic tendencies are more than offset by the softer feelings he has for Anya. Sorry, not buying that.

Meanwhile, Najid has run off (it has something to do with the chickens, probably) into the dank and fetid hellhole that is the centre of your typical big northern city (the apocalypse hasn’t done it any favours, either; kaboom tish), which means the others have to go in and fetch him, pursued by Dexter. There’s an odd subplot about a group of ruthlessly exploited children living in the city, who have to scavenge all day long in order to get the treats and computer games offered by their so-called guardians – I get the sense this may be trying to make some kind of allegorical point, but I’ve no idea what it is. In the end (spoiler alert) Greg gets shot and wounded by Dexter, who then has an exciting gun battle with Tom. In the closing moments minions of the sinister boffins turn up and kidnap Abby.

Which to me very much suggests that the series was designed to end on a cliffhanger from the start, which I suppose if nothing else shows confidence on the part of the producers. This felt like one of the better episodes of the series, to be honest, although that may just be because I wasn’t constantly comparing it to a 1975 episode and finding it rather wanting. It’s pacy and varied, and the tomb city is well-realised, but at the same time it doesn’t have much to offer beyond soapy character bits and frantic action-adventure. I don’t object to a little action-adventure in my Survivors – quite the opposite, in fact – but without a bit of intellectual heft to back it up the results are slightly vacuous. I imagine the second series is largely in the same vein as this last episode, getting further and further away from Terry Nation’s vision for the programme. In which case the absence of a third and subsequent series doesn’t really surprise me.

 

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As a long-time partaker of the wonder and glory that is the Eurovision Song Contest, I have to admit that it has changed over the years, and not necessarily for the better. I’m not necessarily referring to the influx of vast numbers of formerly Soviet countries, although this has obviously had an effect, but some of the other little rule changes along the way. I speak, of course, of the change in rules that means that these days everyone is allowed to sing their song in English, regardless of whether or not it’s a dominant language in their country or not. You might think this was an absolute positive, and I suppose in terms of simple comprehension it has something to commend it. But what it has robbed the world of are the many creative solutions different countries found to the problem of how to write a song which connects to a vast audience which doesn’t share their native tongue.

This is, of course, gibberish. (I mean that the solution is gibberish, not the preceding paragraph, though I admit this is probably open to debate.) I direct you to such classic Eurosong entries as 1975’s Ding-a-Dong, 1968’s La La La La, 1969’s Boom-Bang-a-Bang, and 1967’s Ring-Dinge-Ding. The best way, it seems, to write a song which makes sense to the whole of Europe, is to write a song which only marginally makes sense at all. And I think the world is lessened just a little by the fact that this sort of thing doesn’t really go on any more.

Having said that, of course, the question of how to connect to a wide audience in a world without a common language is a real one, and one solution that several people have discovered and rediscovered over the years is to dispense with language entirely. Michel Hazanavicius scored a big international hit five years ago with his faux-silent movie The Artist, although he seems to have struggled a bit to convert this into continued international success. It’s interesting to compare his career with that of another notable French film-maker who also came to prominence with a black-and-white, effectively silent movie, and went on to forge a significant, if not entirely respectable, career: Luc Besson, whose first full-length film as director was 1983’s Le Dernier Combat (E-title: The Final Battle).

The film takes place in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, with buildings reduced to ruins and the countryside replaced by a blasted desert. Quite how this has come to pass is never really explained, mainly because whatever catastrophe has befallen the world has also robbed people of the ability to communicate – writing and even speech seems to be beyond most people, without chemical assistance anyway.

Naturally, with this sort of premise, there’s a limit to how much back-story you can give the characters. Chief amongst these is a man known only as the Man (Pierre Jolivet), who as the story opens is trying to complete a home-made plane, presumably so he can escape from the wasteland and find his way to somewhere better (the temptation to start ascribing motives and goals to these characters is almost impossible to resist, as you can see). The local gang of survivors present some difficulties, but eventually he completes his project and flies off.

Elsewhere, a semi-derelict hospital is under siege, if you can call it that when the attacking force only consists of one man. He is the Brute (Jean Reno), and the reason why he is so keen to get access is not immediately apparent – but his persistent efforts are the source of much dismay to the one remaining doctor (Jean Bouise) living in the building. When the Man’s plane makes a forced landing in the vicinity, he finds himself drawn into the struggle between the Brute and the occupants of the hospital. But in this bleak and violent world, is there any chance that basic human compassion can survive?

If I was the sort of person who went around wrangling comparisons between films, Le Dernier Combat would give me lots of material to work with. But, of course, I’ve sworn off that sort of thing. So to describe it as being very much in debt to Mad Max 2, with perhaps a delicate seasoning of Alphaville, is not something I would ever find myself in danger of doing. Nevertheless, this is obviously another of those decaying society/barbarism in the ruins sort of films. It’s a little unclear whether the decision to shoot in black and white is a stylistic choice or one forced on the film-makers by the meagreness of their budget, but the film looks as good as a well-photographed black and white movie always does. I’m not quite sure, but I suspect this may be one of those films which started off low-budget but then received an injection of cash just to get it ready for release – the production was apparently originally designed to make cost-effective use of the large number of ruined and derelict buildings dotted around Paris in the early 1980s, but the final product also includes scenes filmed in Tunisia, and at least one striking VFX shot (the office building standing incongruously in the middle of the desert).

The no-dialogue gimmick is a reasonably good one and does at least mean that Le Dernier Combat travels better than many French movies – one notes that as his career progressed, Besson eventually accepted the inevitable and started making films in English. However, I found the movie had the same problem as, say, your typical Hammer dinosaur movie – by dispensing with dialogue, it becomes incredibly difficult to have more than a fairly simplistic plot, with only rudimentary characters and virtually no humour.

Of course, many people would argue (a bit unfairly, if you ask me) that simplistic plots and rudimentary characters have been Luc Besson’s stock in trade throughout his career ever since. Are there some inklings of his future success to be derived from this movie? Is there something essentially Bessonian about it?

Well, apart from the presence of Jean Reno and music from Eric Serra – both of whom went on to become regular presences in the Besson rep company – there may be a few indicators. Besson is a noted writer and producer of headbanging action movies by the skip load, but many of the films he’s actually directed have either definitely been SF or carried a faint whiff of it about them. The opening shot of this movie is up there in the surreality stakes, including a deserted office, a partially-constructed plane (in the actual office), and a man disporting himself with an inflatable rubber woman (no one does brazen, lunatic excess quite like Besson). And there is something unreconstructedly blokey about it – all the main characters are male, with women kept largely off-camera as objects of desire. Which isn’t to say that Besson movies don’t feature interesting female characters, but they do tend to be impossibly glamorous ass-kicking babes.

So, anyway… Le Dernier Combat is an interesting movie, and you have to admire the invention that’s gone into it, but it’s very obviously the director’s first time doing this sort of thing. As you might expect, the story is a little slow and not very much happens, but it looks good and the storytelling is solid. Definitely an interesting movie for fans of low-fi SF and Besson himself.

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All right, folks, I have good news and bad news for you. Well, possibly more like two sets of different news. You may recall that I said that I wasn’t going to be endlessly making comparisons between Survivors and New Survivors, mainly for sanity’s sake. I’m not quite sure how to break this to you, but that may prove a tricky resolution to stick to. You may also recall that I was pretty consistently vicious about the new show while only having seen about twenty minutes of one episode. Having watched a few properly now… well, I certainly haven’t changed my mind and decided it’s the current century’s equivalent of I, Claudius, but there’s some fairly interesting stuff going on here.

What’s most interesting to me about Episodes Two and Three of the new show (no idea why they decided not to put individual episode titles on this sucker, but they would have made it easier to keep track of things) is the way that they’re obviously based on incidents and ideas from the original show. As ever, it’s the manner in which they’ve been updated for a modern audience which is most revealing.

Episode Two opens with the group having settled into a lovely old house they have managed to acquire between episodes (there’s that trimmed-to-the-bone storytelling style again). The first order of business is to get some food, so off they trot to a local supermarket – however, they find the body of an alleged looter has been strung up inside and an armed gang claiming possession of the stores within the shop.

To seasoned Survivors watchers this is clearly a retread of parts of Gone Away, in which essentially identical events play out. Tellingly, however, the shotgun-toting yokels of 1975, who were all men of a certain age, have been replaced by a gang of lager-swilling killer chavs (although their leader still has a double-barrelled shotgun). There’s still an element of class awareness built into how the story is framed, but the conflict here is not between Abby’s libertarian views on the reconstruction and the autocratic approach of the Emergency Committee, but on a more basic level – the gang are just scum, intent on grabbing as much as possible.

Slightly disconcertingly, we then roll on into a plotline based on the stuff with Anne and Vic in the quarry, from Genesis. As New Survivors is a bit more suburban than its forebear, the quarry has become a warehouse, Anne has become Sarah (presumably because you can’t have two characters called Anya and Anne in the same show), and Vic has become Bob (I can only assume there’s some kind of half-baked Reeves and Mortimer in-joke going on here). As we are in the 21st century and there is no such thing as subtlety any more, Sarah and Bob’s relationship is much more openly manipulative, not to mention sleazy, than was the case first time around. The story plays out in much the same way: Bob breaks his leg, Greg turns up, declines to take responsibility for much, fends off Sarah’s advances (again, brick through a window subtlety is the order of the day), and poor old Bob is left to a grisly fate. The two plotlines about the warehouse and the killer chavs come together at the end, where I got a bit of an inkling of a problem with the new format – you’ve got Greg and Tom Price essentially competing to be the show’s leading man.

This continues into Episode Three, in which Greg and Tom go off looking for petrol and find themselves in a set-up sort-of-kind-of-screw-up-your-eyes-and-put-your-head-on-one-side based on the central idea of Gone to the Angels, as they encounter a family which has managed to avoid exposure to the virus and are living in desperate isolation. Basically, there’s a widowed father who’s gone a bit nuts and is doing everything he can to keep his children safe (he’s nuts, but in a sympathetic way, of course, because, hey, he loves his kids so much), even if this means keeping them as virtual prisoners.

Well, the daughter sneaks out and gets to know Tom and Greg, who are hiding in the barn to avoid the mad dad, and it’s all supposed to be quite poignant and moving, I suppose. The daughter is well-played but I found it all a bit wearing, to be honest, especially with the sadness music constantly blasting out on the soundtrack. Greg and Tom realise that, having been exposed to them (and thus the virus) she can’t go back to her mad dad and little brother. This is terribly traumatic for everyone until Tom makes a big speech persuading the mad dad that it’s better for them to take a chance and live a short but happier life out in the open rather than starve to death in misery avoiding exposure to the plague. Things conclude with the family playing happily in the sun and our heroes driving off with the petrol they needed. The logical conclusion to this story (a few days later the happy family all drop dead of the virus) does not materialise, as one of the directives for this new show was apparently to be ‘less depressing’. Is it wrong of me to prefer thought-through bleakness to sentimental cobblers?

And a few days later all their troubles were over… (Note ‘mad dad’ stare employed by Neil Dudgeon (on the left).)

Meanwhile, over in the other major plotline, Abby finds herself still bogged down in elements from Genesis, with perhaps a dash of Law and Order sprinkled on the top. She stumbles upon a supposedly self-sufficient, eco-friendly centre under the none too confident control of the last surviving member of the government, Samantha Willis (who popped up from time to time in Episode One), played by Nikki Amuka-Bird. It seems like a dream come true until the settlement is raided by a couple of desperate hopeless types, and the question rises of what to do with the offenders.

Now, the thing about Abby’s encounter with the Emergency Committee in Genesis is that it’s all about her horror and disgust at what she sees as the rise of incipient fascism and brutality, and the thing about Law and Order is that it’s about the uncomfortable truths the leaders of a community have to confront. They’re about authority, but in different ways, and you can’t do both at the same time in the way Episode Three attempts here. Abby is appalled when one of the prisoners is summarily executed, and leaves, but because Willis is not an out-and-out villain (it seems we’re not really allowed to have these in modern TV drama), there is an attempt to make her somewhat sympathetic too. This takes the form of her shooting the prisoner in the head in front of the rest of the community moments after announcing the guilty verdict, but in a clearly anxious and conflicted way. There is more than a touch of melodrama about this and clearly the groundwork for future conflict between the two groups is being laid.

And what of all the other members of the fairly sizable ensemble while all this is going on? They are worrying about building a chicken coop. Hmmm. Don’t recall that happening in Nation, but at least it makes the rest of the episode look somewhat thought-through and intellectually demanding in comparison.

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Well, readers, I think we’ve had more than enough cooling off time, and we should direct our attention to the remake of Survivors broadcast by the BBC in 2008 and 2010. I’m a huge fan of the original show, obviously; you don’t want to read endless complaining about how the new show isn’t as good; and so I’m going to try and avoid comparing the two in terms of quality. That said, making comparisons does seem to me to lead us into some interesting places.

You know, I can’t decide between the captions ‘Two of these people are not like the others’ and ‘This picture isn’t at all awkwardly posed and obviously photoshopped, dearie me no’. Decisions decisions…

Let us begin with episode one. There are obviously quite a few similarities between the beginnings of the original show and that of New Survivors (as I fear I’ll be referring to it; sorry) – a couple of the characters are reasonably close in conception, some key storytelling beats are repeated, and one line of dialogue survives unchanged. Needless to say, of course, there are also lots of changes. Some of these you could have predicted – the new show is more diverse, of course, and the production values are rather better. (One aspect of the diversification of the show is the way in which Abby has gone from having a very post-Roedean RP accent to being from… to being from… well, I must confess that while it’s obvious that Julie Graham has a regional accent, I can’t actually work out what it is, which is particularly awkward as I suspect she’s using her natural voice.)

However, the one change that really jumped out at me is the fact that New Survivors has a proper symphonic score to it, where the original series barely used incidental music at all. There is crisis music when serious events are happening, and sadness music when characters are having a tough emotional time. The audience is basically being cued as to what to feel. You could say this was evidence of the same lack of subtlety which informs most mainstream drama nowadays, but on the other hand you could argue it reflects a more fundamental shift in approach.

British society in general has become more emotionally articulate over the last few decades – people talk about 1997, and particularly the outpouring of public emotion after the death of the Princess of Wales, as some kind of watershed, but it seems clear that this is just one sign of a wider shift. Where once we looked to more objective external sources to validate our lives and experiences – religion, traditional, social authorities – it seems to me that its our own emotional responses which have taken on this role. You can see this in a general shift towards popularism and sentimentality in most mass media, and also the tenor of our politics – the British people really do seem to have had enough of experts (figures of objective social authority), choosing instead to make major decisions based on half-articulated feelings.

I’m probably sounding very critical and traditionally British and uptight about this, and I suppose that to some extent it’s a change I don’t necessarily feel is a positive one (note how I myself frame my answer in terms of feelings rather than by appealing to an objective source of authority). In the end I suppose it’s one of those unsolvable questions – which set of standards is better? How you decide is based on whichever standards you yourself have adopted.

What is clear is the influence this has on New Survivors. Not only is everyone is much more emotionally articulate and open about their feelings, they are largely defined in terms of whatever emotional arc has been plotted out for them – the key character traits of New Greg and New Abby are made very clear soon after we meet them, often through dialogue where they basically state their personal agendas. (Plus, where original Abby was essentially an idealist, new Abby is positioned much more as a matriarchal figure – you couldn’t really envisage Carolyn Seymour playing Big Momma to the group in the way that Graham does.)  What’s particularly telling is the sequence in which Abby has her eyes opened to the reality of the post-virus world and the need to become self-sufficient if society is to be reconstructed. Frankly, I was a bit surprised this bit of original Survivors survived at all, as it’s steeped in 1970s concerns and openly philosophical in a way modern TV shows usually avoid like the plague. In 1975 this bit of speechifying is delivered by a wise old schoolteacher in fairly abstract terms. In 2008, the same speech comes from an outdoor activity instructor, speaking in terms of the personal nature of human experience. The implication is that this man is a source of wisdom not because he knows a lot, but because he is in touch with the important elements of existence. Ideas are of less significance than the emotional context they are couched in.

As I mentioned, the first episode of New Survivors sticks reasonably close to its 70s counterpart, although the coming together which took half the first season in 1975 occurs here by the end of a feature-length first episode. In addition to New Abby and New Greg, we have a couple of brand-new characters, Al and Najid, neither of whom seems especially interesting at first glance, and… well…

Well, I have to say that one of the things which reflexively put me off the series when news of it first reached me (I was living in a central Asian republic at the time) was the way it handled some of the classic characters. Playing New Jenny is Freema Agyeman – who at the time was reasonably fresh off her stint in Doctor Who, and had a bit of a profile. But, of course, this is stunt casting, for in this version of the show Jenny is not immune to the plague and dies in the first episode. This is, essentially, playing games with audience expectations, or so it seems to me: the revelation that Jenny is dying of the plague is written and directed as an unexpected plot twist, that only makes sense as such if you’re familiar with the old show. As I say, a cheap stunt.

Taking Jenny’s place is a character named Anya (played by Zoe Tapper), who is effectively a new character but seems to me to be based on the Christopher Reich character from the 1975 version of the story (Andrew becomes Anya). Presumably as the story continues she will take on some of the plot functions of Ruth (a character not in Terry Nation’s novelisation of the series, and therefore not covered by the BBC licence).

Also still around is Tom Price, although he is effectively brand new – no longer the useless vagrant of his previous incarnation, as played by Max Beesley he is a psychopathic ex-convict (some of his sex pest tendencies seem to have survived, though). Beesley does a good job of portraying new Price as a genuine enigma – does he genuinely mean what he says after knifing a prison officer to death in order to escape, when he makes a vague show of regretting what looks to me like an unnecessary murder? Or is he simply justifying it to himself? Is he the ruthless predator he sometimes appears to be or genuinely looking for a fresh start? This piece of reimagining at least is interesting.

As I say, this is the 21st century and so subtlety is thin on the ground, but you can’t fault the production values (even if these do extend to a bloomin’ big explosion which serves no real plot function). Generally, the further Adrian Hodges’ script departs from the spirit of Terry Nation, the less engaging it gets – good grief, I’m actually saying nice things about Terry Nation’s writing. Certainly Nation never let the desire to include a big moment or sequence override plot logic in the way Hodges’ sometimes does – the most jarring example being Al waking up in bed with a corpse, which only makes sense if you accept that a) a person with the virus would go out clubbing and b) nightclubs would still be open at the height of a major pandemic. But hey ho.

To be perfectly honest, the first episode of Survivors is not quite as gruelling as I feared, although my expectations were ankle-level low. Enough of Terry Nation’s original ideas have survived, in this episode at least, to make this an interesting alt-reality version of the story. I’m curious to see if this continues to be the case.

 

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So here it is: the final episode of the original run of Survivors, Martin Worth’s Power. Whether or not you find this to be an appropriate and satisfying conclusion to the series is probably a matter of taste; personally, I think it rounds off the series better than any of the other obvious candidates, despite the fact it is only tangentially about any of the core characters of the programme.

Charles, Hubert, and Jenny are travelling up to Scotland by rail, trying to catch up with Alec and Sam. Alec is ensuring the power grid is shut down, preparatory to his attempts to restart the generation of electricity at a hydroelectric plant. What he doesn’t realise, of course, is that Sam is determined to stop the restoration of power, believing self-sufficiency to be a morally better way of life for the survivors.

Things get a little more complicated when Charles and Jenny discover, rather to their surprise, that Scotland is not the empty landscape they expected but home to a thriving population of about 150,000 people – outnumbering the entire population of England by about ten to one! The local laird, McAlister (Iain Cuthbertson), is rather cynical in his expectations of English attitudes towards the Scots, and hardly surprised when he learns that Charles has been planning to utilise Scottish-generated electricity exclusively for the benefit of English communities. Even assuming that Sam’s plan to destroy the mechanisms at the power stations can be stopped, can the English and Scottish survivors reach an agreement as to who will control the electricity?

Well, the first thing I have to say about Power is that is does require the dedicated viewer to accept that the nature of the show’s world has fundamentally changed since series one – McAlister’s explanation as to why the plague left Scotland relatively untouched doesn’t really make sense given what we’ve seen and were told in early episodes, especially Gone to the Angels. Isolation is only a protection against the virus as long as you stay isolated, as the angels discovered in series one – as soon as one survivor carrying the virus meets a community which hasn’t been exposed to it, the whole process of infection and death should start all over again. Power is essentially inconsistent with the early series one episodes (not to mention the general tenor of season two, where a running theme was the characters’ awareness of how close to extinction humanity was).

Once you get past this, it’s a decent enough story, I suppose – exactly what power the title refers to being usefully ambiguous, potentially either electrical or political power. The episode stresses that from this point on the two will go together, provoking yet another political squabble between Charles and McAlister. The fact that England and Scotland are basically now engaged in a diplomatic negotiation stresses the fact that nation-states are now back on the scene, and that while things are of course nowhere near their pre-plague state, the essentials of civilisation are no longer in doubt. As someone else has pointed out, the last scene of the episode could well be a call-back to a key moment in The Fourth Horsemen – both depict a couple eating by candlelight, but the important thing is that in Power they are doing so by choice.

Of course, one of the key influences on early Survivors, at least, was George R Stewart’s Earth Abides, which stresses how utterly unlikely the restoration of technological civilisation would be – certainly not within three years of the disaster, starting from such a low base population. The inclination and the resources surely wouldn’t be there, and the survivors of Stewart’s book have basically regressed to being hunter-gatherers by the time it concludes, six or seven decades after the plague. That said, it’s pleasing to find echoes of other classic SF fiction in Survivors, and one key element of Power – the way that, as soon as basic survival is guaranteed, politics once again rears its ugly head – seems to me to recall the conclusion of John Christopher’s Tripods books, where the alliance which has repelled an alien occupation of Earth messily disintegrates into petty nationalism and distrust. This is classic British SF, so naturally it’s going to be pretty miserable.

It seems to me that there is one further intersection between John Christopher’s brilliant catastrophe novels and Survivors, as well. Nearly twenty years later, Ian McCulloch (having finished being a star in Italian video nasties by this point, a gig he apparently got off the back of his Survivors stardom) approached the BBC with a view to reviving the series and seeing what kind of state post-apocalyptic Britain would be in, nearly two decades after the plague. (McCulloch was planning to return as Greg, but has always refused to reveal how this would be possible.) The big idea for the revived show would be that an unspecified African nation had made a much more rapid recovery from the plague than anywhere in Europe, and was now intent on a military occupation – colonisation, if you will – of the continent. The BBC declared that this was racist and declined to produce the new series, and when Survivors eventually returned it was as a remake rather than a continuation. McCulloch’s notion sounds to me to be very reminiscent of Christopher’s The World in Winter, in which the sun’s output declines, resulting in a new ice age and the populations of temperate regions being forced to flee to the equator. The final section of the book concerns a military expedition by an African nation to an ice-bound UK which has fallen into anarchy and cannibalism. The World in Winter is a problematic book in many ways for a reader nowadays – its themes of racial and cultural conflict remain awkwardly potent – but it does anticipate, at the very least, McCulloch’s vision for a new Survivors. Whatever: it was not to be.

Survivors itself may be an inconsistent series, troubled by conflicting ideas as to what it should really be focusing on, but its best episodes still stand up extremely well today, with a capacity for handling big ideas, and including complex, subtle characterisation, that few modern programmes can match. (Of course, most of the time the production values are lousy, but that’s BBC SF from the 20th century for you.) You can see why people have returned to it, in both the 21st century revival and the recent audio continuations of the original series. No end in sight to this vision of the end of the world; as you might expect, Survivors is a survivor.

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