This Is The Network That Is

One of the best shows on BBC television is a situation comedy called Till Death Do Us Part. Its protagonist is a sort of Everyslob, an odiously vulgar xenophobe named Alf Garnett (played by Warren Mitchell). Every Monday night at 7:30, old Alf gets on and starts sputtering away. West Indian cricket players? "It's amazing how them sambos have picked this game up." The Labor government? "Right load of pansies, they are." Prince Philip? "Well, he's a different sort of Greek; he isn't one of your restaurant Greeks."

There is not a sponsor in all U.S. television who would countenance that sort of gritty billingsgate, but in Britain Alf is not only on the air but is also the most popular character on television. Or rather the most talked-about, for he either outrages viewers or spills them laughing on the floor. "The amusing thing about Alf," says BBC Director-General Sir Hugh Greene (brother of Novelist Graham Greene), "is the intense fury aroused among those who share his prejudices. The program offends a great many people--but those one is glad to offend."

High-Voltage Drama. Coming as it does from the No. 1 man in British television, that succinct comment largely explains why it is that BBC is so consistently sprightly and compelling. No American TV executive would think such a dread thing, let alone say it. Where U.S. television programming is mostly perma-pressed, sanitized and deodorized, BBC says what it thinks, encourages controversy, and, as Sir Hugh says, does not in the least mind getting people's goats.

This same will toward unself-conscious candor goes into another popular series, a running serialization of the Forsyte Saga. As soap operas go, it beats the U.S. product on all levels--story, acting, direction. One recent episode centered on the scene in which Soames Forsyte, raging with jealousy, assaults his wife, crying, "Any man can have you! I can have you!" And he does, with the camera discreetly turning its head at the proper moment.

Last week viewers also could watch and listen to the last in a series of unadorned but affecting performances of Bach's six Brandenburg concertos; this week they will see a taped special production of Eugene Onegin. Cathy Come Home, a recent drama about the British housing shortage, so electrified audiences with its high-voltage indictment of bureaucratic bungling that it prompted headline stories in the Times and the Guardian and a political debate. Scolded Opposition Leader Ted Heath: "Government action of the wrong kind can spell out doom for the Cathys of this world."

Abundant Talent. It is this kind of impact, as well as a flair for originality and superior production skill that make television in Britain an event every night. What keeps it going, too--both on BBC's two channels and that of the commercial system (1TV, for independent television)--is a readymade and intensely receptive audience. Outside of the big cities, there is little spare cash and entertainment beyond the pub to seduce Britons away from home. Also in BBC's favor is the abundance of theatrical talent in London. Members of the National Theater Company and the Royal Shakespeare Company as well as film professionals are constantly filling TV parts between performances, and are content to work for modest fees. Jonathan Miller's recent Alice in Wonderland, for example, starred Peter Sellers, Sir John Gielgud and Sir Michael Redgrave, in addition to Newcomer Anne-Marie Mallik as Alice.

Another contributing element in BBC's success is its financial independence. It is neither an Establishment organ nor, as most Americans believe, a state-controlled or state-financed network. Its programming budget runs $65 million a year, only half what NBC-TV spends. And that money comes from the viewers themselves, who pay an annual $14 license fee for their radio and TV sets. The advantage, Sir Hugh explains, is "freedom from commercial pressure." The U.S. commercial networks depend on sponsors' support, which is in turn susceptible to audience ratings--"a mortal danger" that Sir Hugh is largely spared. Thus the BBC can program for minority audiences. "We can afford to take risks because we have our assured source of income, which we can spend as we think right. It may be better to give intense pleasure to a small number of people than mild pleasure to a greater number."

Savage Satire. Only a dozen years ago, BBC was a stodgy and prissy old "Auntie." In those days, its nighttime newscasters wore black tie and BBC had a monopoly. But in 1954, 1TV was granted a commercial channel, and within a few years cornered 73% of the British viewing audience. One reason was that 1TV concentrated on entertainment programming, such as Coronation Street, an Anglicized version of Peyton Place. The other reason, believes Sir Hugh, was that "the BBC had the aura of the Establishment then; to a lot of people, ITV was 'us' v. 'them' on the BBC."

It was at that point that Greene, a BBC correspondent and executive for 19 years, was elevated to the director-generalship. He merely unleashed his department heads and told them to go ahead and make mistakes. One of the major experiments was the savagely satirical That Was the Week That Was.

It lasted for 13 months--and was briefly though unsuccessfully tried in the U.S.--but it set the free-swinging pattern for BBC's new approach. Today, BBC has closed the ratings gap with a respectable 48% share of the audience during the basic 50 hours a week it is on the air. (There is no daytime programming during the week and little TV after 11:30 p.m. in Britain.)

Only in the matter of color does the BBC lag behind the U.S. Colorcasting will begin on a small scale on one of the BBC channels this fall, but it will take another three years or so before British color programming will rival America's. Apart from that, the BBC, with its emphasis on performance rather than sales, can teach its old colonies a thing or two.

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