1965's second series of The Wednesday Play (BBC, 1964-70) is often thought of
as the first: it was here that it began to fulfil its remit for new and
aggressively contemporary drama. The series launched with 'Tap on the Shoulder',
setting out the anthology's stall for modern drama that challenged cosy
conventional beliefs.
Although the play's main storyline, about a gold bullion heist, is routine
enough, it also exposes the hypocrisy of high society and corruption through all
levels of the establishment. It suggests that the greatest criminality is
perpetrated not by the conventional lowlife villains of much crime fiction, but
by people in positions of privilege or authority. 'Tap on the Shoulder' starts
with a publican using Masonic connections to arrange a minor convenience with
the police and ends with the thieves recognising that 'white collar' crime is
where the real money is to be made.
At the centre of the story is Archibald Cooper, MBE, a self-made man who has
attained a position of respectability and honour thanks to the riches he has
amassed through bribery and judicious donations to "old people's charities and
the Conservative party". The dialogue implicates bishops, journalists,
politicians and the police in various levels of corruption. The thieves are only
half joking when they suggest they could bribe peers, even the prime minister.
The title playfully alludes to both the touch of the Queen's sword upon
ennoblement and the policeman making an arrest, suggesting that these apparent
extremes are not so far apart as traditionally assumed.
Although the thieves appear to escape, there's the hint that they will be
caught later, whereas corruption amongst the respectable classes goes unpunished
and Cooper receives a knighthood. The play's open attack on the integrity of
authority figures chimes with the 'death of deference' associated with the
1960s' satire boom, as exemplified by Beyond the Fringe, Private Eye and That
Was the Week that Was (BBC, 19623-63).
Directing his first full television play, Ken Loach provides a largely
straightforward production. But the heist scene itself, captured on film and
featuring lengthy periods without dialogue, is unusual for a time when
television drama was heavily dialogue-based, and hints at Loach's later use of
film to challenge the conventional methods of the medium. In many ways, then,
'Tap on the Shoulder' was a harbinger of things to come for Loach and The
Wednesday Play.
Oliver Wake
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