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THE BOX |
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- 1974-1977 - 90 minute premiere, 474 x 30 and 128 x 60 minute episodes and a 100 minute 1975 feature film - Produced by Crawford Productions for Network Ten - |
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“Once upon a time, in a place called Australia, there was a TV station, and it was called Channel 12. This is the story of what happens there... a sort-of bedtime story.” And with this voice over The Box began. The Box was Crawford Productions’ answer to Number 96 and was the prolific production company’s first soap opera, and with its taboo-breaking stories and nude glimpses the series quickly emerged a worthy rival to its predecessor in the sex, sin and shock stakes. Set in the “fictional” Melbourne television station UCV-12, The Box examined the lives of the studio executives, on-air personalities, and the office staff. Within the cast of characters many were said to be based on well known industry figures of the day, and the series featured many self-referential elements. From the perspective of Crawford Productions the clearest allusion to real life was in the depiction of Channel 12 action-adventure cop show Manhunt, with its troubled production and misbehaving and inept lead actor. Fans would try to guess which major stars and industry figures were being parodied and writers on the series helped encourage endless speculation by refusing to name any names. The usually low-key disclaimer tucked at the end of the credits of most programs was here prominently displayed at the start of the episode as part of the gag (“The characters and events depicted in this serial are fictitious!”) with a throbbing exclamation point to highlight the text. Of course it must be said that many characters - which included such familiar figures as the womanising television host, the prim unmarried secretary and the high-camp homosexual male - seem to be archetypes, though it seems likely that many television industry secrets and legends were nonetheless retooled in the form of plot twists as the series progressed. SERIES DEVELOPMENTIan Jones and Tom Hegarty of Crawford Productions, then known for its highly popular police dramas, devised the series and wrote the feature-length premiere episode. The Box had its genesis in a proposed behind-the-scenes exposé of the television industry to be titled The Dream Makers, which had been created at Channel Ten’s request for a soap opera. However Hector Crawford feared that Channel Ten’s Sir Reg Ansett would reject the show with its adult nature and risqué elements, so it was instead offered to Channel Seven. Seven eventually passed on the show, and the idea was put on hold. However after Ten bought Number 96 and enjoyed enormous success with it, The Dream Makers proposal was revived, retitled, and again pitched to Channel Ten - and Sir Reg Ansett was thrilled with the concept. Rumour has it this was at least partly due to his belief that the bombastic Sir Henry Usher was based on rival media tycoon Sir Frank Packer. It might be more accurate to say that the character was based on both Packer and Ansett, and Hector Crawford! During 1973 various reports about the planned serial began to filter through the press, with many emphasising the show’s sex and nudity angle. One of the first TV Week references to The Box came in July 1973 when former Number 96 sex symbol Abigail, then in the midst of the controversy over her firing from that serial, vehemently denied she had accepted, or had even been offered, a role in the show. Abigail said that “I don’t know where people are getting these extraordinary stories from - that I am doing the series - because I’m not. I don’t know whether Crawfords are trying to get publicity for the series by connecting my name with it, but it’s never been mentioned to me. The only details I know about the show are what I’ve read in the papers. Crawfords aren’t going out of their way to refute claims that I am in it,” she said. Even at this early stage the program was described as “a five-day-a-week serial similar to Number 96 but set in a television studio.” [1] Meanwhile a letter was sent out to managers and agents asking for young actresses willing to appear nude in the serial. The letter read “For our new television series, The Box, we are searching for a girl to play Felicity in the series. Applicants will be required to supply recent photographs of themselves, one of which will give us a reasonable idea of their figure. The type we are looking for is a ‘Lolita-type nymphet’ who is believable as a 15-year-old (but ideally 17-18) who has a very attractive face and figure, is willing to strip for television appearances and, ideally, has some acting experience. If necessary, we are prepared to supply free drama coaching if we find a suitable girl with no previous acting experience.” Crawford Productions casting director Loretta Healey explained that the letter was part of their strategy of starting a “nude file” of actresses prepared to strip for the cameras. “With our new series, The Box, going into production in October there will be a greater demand for actresses to appear nude on a TV screen. So far a few actresses we have approached to appear nude have indicated their willingness, but we feel it’s going to be difficult to find girls with the right body and also able to act,” Healey said. “If a part calls for an actress to take her clothes off in a series and she feels embarrassed by the presence of cast members and crew, then the end result invariably looks poor.” This same report went on to confirm that George Mallaby would play the lead role of a television executive in the series. [2] Briony Behets, the actor who had caused a minor stir by refusing to sign the usual contract with a nude clause when she was cast in Number 96 at its inception, was soon cast as the wife of Mallaby’s character. This time, TV Week reported, she would appear nude. “Yes, I will take my gear off. In Number 96 I would not agree to the clause which required me to do it but now I think I am older and more mature,” Behets told TV Week. “In a way it’s very flattering to be asked to appear nude. I have never felt confident enough to do it before.” The report claims that this confidence was due to the producers of the series convincing the actor of their sincerity and professionalism. In comparison to Number 96, in which she played Helen Eastwood, Behets said of the new series that “I think the scripts are better, and I think it has got a lot of life. I think people are fascinated by what goes on behind a TV station and this gives an insight which might interest people.” [3] Meanwhile when Lois Ramsey was cast as the gossipy tea lady she told TV Week “I don’t think there’s anything in my contract which says I have to strip. I feel I’m too mature for that sort of thing. Besides, I’ve already done it on The Mavis Bramston Show.” Overall Ramsey said that the role would mean plenty of “lovely, hard work, with lots of lines to learn”. [4] KEY CONCEPTSThe show’s original concept presented a tense network of dramatic situations. At its foundation was a wicked satire of the television industry. Opening stories examined the machinations of the fictional television station UCV-12, focusing on the lives and loves of assorted television personnel: producers, directors and actors. Importantly the garrulous tea lady and stern head of security gave the show grounding in the non-showbiz world that the ordinary viewer could relate to. Storylines would explore the love affair between workaholic program manager Paul Donovan (George Mallaby) and secretary Kay Webster (Belinda Giblin), and comic moments would be found in the antics of accident prone action star Tony Wild (Ken James) and his bickering with his bosses: the strict and severe station manager Max Knight (Barrie Barkla) and bombastic station owner Sir Henry Usher (Fred Betts). Ultimately they would all be put in their place by the sharp tongue of crusty tea-lady Mrs Hopkins (Lois Ramsey). Mrs H, as she was fondly known, was a maternal figure who wavered between crotchety and kind. She loved to gossip and to deal out home spun advice, and was close friends with the head of station security and former policeman Jack O’Brien (Ken Snodgrass). She also frequently acted as if she owned Channel 12 and happily interfered in station activities, readily bossing even Sir Henry around. Mrs H owned shares in Channel 12, something she would remind people of whenever her criticisms of station activities were rebuked. Mrs Hopkins rented her spare room to a succession of younger work colleagues, accentuating her maternal role in the proceedings, and she ultimately emerged as one of the show’s most popular and enduring figures. Meanwhile high camp producer Lee Whiteman (Paul Karo) was an openly (and obviously) gay character, yet was presented in the story as a respected professional and a loyal friend. The same could not be said for scheming bisexual reporter Vicki Stafford (Judy Nunn), who would do anything to get a story for TeleView, the magazine she worked for. The witty Vicki was a wonderfully wicked bitch figure for the show, emerging as one of the most popular characters. Meanwhile a string a sexy starlets such as Helen Hemingway, Briony Behets, and later the sultry Cheryl Rixon, were on hand to display their ample charms during the steamier moments liberally interspersed throughout the series. At this TV station even the makeup girl Bobbie, played by Leonie Bradley in a recurring bit part role, was stunningly beautiful. The primary after hours meeting place for the crew from Channel 12 was the Beverly Crest Hotel where they were attended to by barman Ted, played by Charles Gilroy in a recurring bit part role across the run of the series. Later they switched to the Commodore Chateau, with Ted making the switch with the regulars. Though the series premise had been revived as a potential rival for Number 96 on one of Ten’s competing networks, when The Box too ended up on Ten the show was programmed to run right after Number 96 in most regions. The Box proved to be a ratings hit, especially in its first year. While the opening episodes definitely focused on the showbiz angle, Hegarty and Jones would soon be moved to other projects and with Jock Blair, and later Don Battye, struggling to devise storylines to fill two hours of drama a week the behind-the-scenes showbiz exposé focus was overtaken by more standard soap opera style romance, drama, and character study. THE PREMIERE EPISODEThe series went in on sex and shock. The opening feature-length episode, first screened in Melbourne on 11 February 1974, dives straight into the storyline with nudity, drama and intrigue. There is a high quota of nude scenes, rampant sexual activity, and some sexual transgressions. In terms of potential censorship Tom Hegarty reported that “we got away with practically everything we thought we would.” [5] Perhaps this is because those risqué elements were well-integrated into the overall story. Opening scenes introduced some of the station personnel
via voiceover narration through the staging of live evening variety show Big Night Out hosted by Gary Burke (Peter Regan). During
a break Gary discovers a young female fan, the sly and seductive Felicity
Baker (Helen Hemingway), showering in his dressing room. A lascivious Gary
asks Felicity to wait a few minutes until the first commercial break at which
point he promises to return to get to know her. The assignation goes ahead
and they make love in the dressing room, however Gary loses track of time and
is not back on set as the show resumes. Outraged program manager Paul
Donovan, watching the show from home, witnesses the missed entrance and
angrily rushes to the studio to confront Gary. When he does they both discover Felicity in Vicki soon has Felicity safely tucked up in her apartment before turning her attentions to actor Tony Wild, the insecure star of Channel 12’s action adventure series Manhunt. After sleeping with Tony she cunningly arranges for him to pose for a nude centrefold with a young model - who turns out to be Felicity. After the pictures are taken Tony scuttles off to get dressed and Vicki lustfully kisses Felicity. There was plenty of business intrigue as well. The new program manager Paul Donovan, brought in especially to turn the fortunes of the troubled station, faces much opposition from Gary when he brings in new producer Lee Whiteman to take the reigns of the show. And despite having devoted wife Judy (Briony Behets) at home, Paul notices a mutual attraction for Max Knight’s secretary Kay, who is mysteriously involved in an unhappy and illicit affair with an unseen lover that she seems unable to extract herself from. There are several hints that Paul would perhaps like to have Kay as His Girl Friday. Lee is criticised for his outwardly camp mannerisms and
for his attempts to return “recovered” alcoholic Eddie Holliday (Cul Cullen)
to the limelight: a move prompted by Gary Burke’s misdemeanours and
lacklustre on-air performance. Eddie was once a great comic
whose alcoholism eventually ruined his career, leaving him in the lowly role
of The day of Eddie’s appearance on the show is reached, and while pre-show nerves threaten to weaken his resolve to never drink again, his daughter Cathy (Kay McFeeter) who is also an employee of Channel 12, manages to keep him on the wagon. However Gary decides to congratulate Eddie with a complimentary bottle of scotch cunningly left in the dressing room the evening of the show, and arranges for daughter Cathy to be indisposed lest she spoil the devious plan to get Eddie back on the bottle. The story builds tension through a series of chance meetings and crossed paths. Repeated phone calls and use of the office intercom emphatically construct a network of relationships amongst the show’s various characters. A strong element of the narrative is - appropriately enough for a story about television - characters observing and scrutinising other characters. Paul Donovan watches Big Night Out at home, and witnesses Gary missing his entrance. He storms out to the studio to the disappointment of his wife Judy, who had been shown to be relishing the rare occasion of having Paul home for the evening. Underlining her desire for a cosy and harmonious domestic situation, Judy had been shown hanging curtains in their new home as an oblivious Paul intently watched Big Night Out. Pace and tension are heightened by narrative jolts to the audience. When Gary returns to his dressing room to check if Felicity is still around, the narrative cuts to a tight shot of an angry Paul waiting where Gary - and the audience - had expected to find Felicity. Later, with Eddie Holliday’s big comeback show looming, pressure builds as various characters - from Paul, Sir Henry Usher and Max Knight assembled in front of the television in Max’s office, to tea lady Mrs H in an old frock borrowed from the wardrobe department and once worn by Googie Withers in Manhunt - make a point of wishing him luck and of being in the audience. Meanwhile further layers of tension are added with Paul’s wife Judy forlornly watching the opening acts of the program at home from her vantage point alone at the dining table set for two. And Paul’s potential extra-marital love interest Kay Webster sits alone in the studio audience. Kay had initially planned to attend the show with Jean Ford, chosen as a safe decoy for the night to ward off Paul. Jean had arrived to meet Kay at the bar only to be confronted by the sight of Don happily chatting with the true object of his romantic attention, Cathy Holliday, so had retreated home in embarrassment. Various elements of the plot accentuate the pressure on Eddie. Extra touches like the unearthing of the costume once worn by respected star and serious Australian actor Googie Withers represent the history and tradition of the entertainment industry that will somehow be tainted or disavowed if Eddie is indeed the “flop” that he fears he will be. Like the fictional members of his audience presented to us in the story, we, the real audience of the entire drama, hope that he will be a success while fearing he will be a failure. Paradoxically the wicked Vicki Stafford - who also watches and evaluates the various activities of other characters - had been thwarted in her attempts to print a scandalous story (“TV Sex Shock: Top Compere and Schoolgirl”) that would have had the effect of destroying the career of Gary, the real villain of the piece. By way of appeasement, Paul gives Vicki the exclusive on Eddie’s return. As Paul had pointed out to her, if Eddie flops it will make an even better story for her. As the live television program is beamed out to the viewers variously hoping for success or failure, Eddie’s entrance is announced. He stumbles out of the curtains apparently drunk, and collapses in a quivering heap on the studio floor. The opening episode with its compelling drama and liberal serving of sex and nudity proved to be a huge ratings success. The Sydney premiere on 12 February rated an incredible 46 - the highest rating for a series since the 1960s sketch comedy series The Mavis Bramston Show; in Melbourne the previous night the episode rated a strong 32. [6] Like Number 96 the show initially attracted curious viewers and heated publicity via its shocking elements, nude glimpses, and a saucy title whose implications were not lost on the viewing public. Indeed a full-page newspaper advertisement a few days before the show’s debut posed the question “After No. 96 what else could we show but The Box?” Other newspaper advertisements teased potential viewers by printing (paraphrased) lines of dialogue from the initial episode: “Don’t tell me you’re a virgin!” (Gary) or “We can make it exciting Felicity-in all sorts of ways” (Vicki). Hector Crawford himself was pictured in print advertisements that explained his position regarding the new sex and sin soap. The new program was described as one that “portrays real life behind the cameras of a television station, unposed, unrehearsed and strictly uninhibited.” The advert continued: “Some people say that they dislike certain things, when really they don’t - and we know many people will look at The Box and be afraid to tell their friends that they like it.” Crawford was not making a sly comment on the quality of the show - the opening episode stands up as great drama even today - but to puritans critical of the show’s sexual allusions and nude scenes. Crawford’s commentary stated that “nudity has always been acceptable as visual art” and that The Box was borne of their policy of catering to television viewers at large rather than the sometimes organised minority groups who try to dictate what audiences may see on their screens. “Inevitably, some people will call this policy irresponsible. I cannot agree” concluded Crawford. [7] Indeed just two days after the 11 February 1974 premiere of The Box, The Sun newspaper in Melbourne reported that the Australian Festival of Light led by Reverend Fred Nile had lobbied the Media Minister, Senator McClelland, for a change of personnel on the Broadcasting Control Board. The Festival of Light demanded new Control Board members “who would take their appointed task seriously” and enforce a stronger degree of censorship. In addition they released a statement stating they would ask Australian companies to withhold their advertising support from the 0-10 Network, and even went so far as to demand that the network’s licence be suspended for those times scheduled for The Box and Number 96. These demands came after a meeting Monday daytime (before The Box had premiered) with Network Ten executives where a request to voluntarily censor permissive sequences from the two shows was rejected by the network. [8] Prior to the debut of The Box a public relations officer for the Festival of Light had told TV Week “We can’t criticise objectively until we’ve seen it, but from all the feedback we have heard it seems to be pretty sordid stuff. Our main objection to programs like Number 96 and The Box is the way that they telescope every imaginable social problem and squeeze it into a half hour of television. It’s bad enough with Number 96, being subjected to lesbianism, homosexuality and adultery, but soon we’ll be seeing even lower and more degrading things on television.” [9] Just a few days out of its debut and the show was already infamous! Less contentious was the entertainment value of the show. One contemporary review by TV columnist Andrew McKay in The Herald newspaper compared the new show to its obvious stable mate, observing that “compared to the glued-together antics of Number 96 it’s a masterpiece,” albeit concluding that “the characters are largely stereotyped and the plot predictable.” [10] Ralph Broom in The Sun on 8 February 1974 noted that “despite the unnecessary nudity it is probably the best produced, directed, scripted and acted contemporary drama to come out of an Australian production company - certainly on a serial level.” Like McKay he made the obvious comparison with Number 96, concluding that The Box was “by far the classier show, with better sets and good performances from all characters, who have far greater depth than their counterparts in 96.” [11] THE BOX UNFOLDSAfter the knockout premiere the series continued in 30 minute installments each weeknight. Each episode opened with a quick titles sequence of Ken James in character as Manhunt’s Detective Blake in a night-time street scene. As wailing sirens are heard the police car rounds a corner, screeches to a halt, and Detective Blake bounds out of the car and fires a gun straight into the audience. The action is revealed as occurring on a television set that then explodes as the program’s title flashes onto the screen. This is followed by a rerun of the final scene from the previous episode. The episode’s end titles roll over a night-time shot of the Channel 12 building as the lights are turned off one by one. Seen atop the building, which really was Crawford Productions’ Abbotsford studio, was a large transmission tower. The transmission tower was fake, a small model suspended in front of the camera as the shot of the building was taken. [12] The opening episode had not featured the exploding television sequence; in it the opening titles, the title cards for the commercial breaks, and the end credits, had all run over a shot of the building. In the thirty minute episodes the title cards for the commercial breaks feature a still shot of the explosion from the opening sequence. While the opening episode’s end titles featured an arbitrary cast order where main players George Mallaby, Peter Regan, Cul Cullen and Belinda Giblin were top billed, all subsequent episodes listed the regulars in alphabetical order. As the series storylines continued Eddie’s drunken collapse on stage is rescued when Lee orders two actors, standing by to enact a hospital-stretcher sketch on the show, onto the set to cart Eddie off in a comic manner. Without missing a beat Gary Burke strides on to the set to announce to the audience that “Eddie was completely carried away!” Watching from the office Sir Henry and Max - along with the rest of the audience - have bought Eddie’s rescue: they think it was part of the act. Mrs H appears back stage with a bunch of sober-up remedies and a hearty pep-talk. Later in the show Eddie is sent back on, where he enacts his old slapstick drunk act. Mrs H, who it is revealed knew Eddie from the old days when she was a front row chorus girl at the Tivoli Theatre, had reminded him of this old act which could allow him to make the promised appearance and get the laughs, while covering-up his actual drunkenness. (The next day, even real-life stars Vic Gordon and Johnny Lockwood are said to have sent Eddie congratulatory telegrams commending his performance.) The week’s episodes dwelled on the ensuing question of whether Eddie would be allowed to continue to appear on the show, something demanded by Sir Henry who remained unaware of the star’s actual drunkenness. Meanwhile Paul and Kay spend much time vacillating over whether they should conduct an affair. After Jean sees them kissing Kay breaks it off even before they have slept together. In other developments it is hinted that Felicity, who spends most of her time lounging about in her underwear before doffing her bra to bounce around in just a pair of black panties, is in fact not fifteen years old, and is far too old to be a school girl. Vicki is keeping Felicity locked up in her apartment; it seems clear all the scandal is being cooked-up by Vicki in order to launch Felicity as a TV star. Meanwhile after helping save Eddie, Mrs H’s own problems are revealed: her son Wayne is serving a prison sentence in Pentridge after killing a family while driving drunk. In further developments it seems Judy Donovan, bored at home all day, will soon be tempted into an extra-marital affair. Meanwhile, despite not liking him, Jean parties with Gary in order to make Don jealous. When Gary refuses to take advantage of her after a few too many whiskeys Jean is initially offended, but later decides he isn’t such a bad person after all. During the first week of episodes viewers were introduced to yet more regular characters: complaining Channel 12 gate guard Chiller, played by pop singer Ross D. Wylie, and studio dancer Barbie Gray (Lynda Keane) who carried a torch for Don Cook. Don and Barbie would much later marry. After several weeks on air the identity of Kay’s mystery lover was finally revealed to be her boss, Max Knight: through the weeks the affair had continued Kay had only ever made love to the camera. Max was playing with fire by conducting an affair with his own secretary, especially since his wife was Sir Henry’s neurotic, high-maintenance daughter Marion, played by Margaret Cruickshank in a recurring role. Though more a supporting character in the program’s opening episodes, the character of Sir Henry would soon be developed, with his more caring, sympathetic side emerging. His portrayer Fred Betts said of the role that “The Box is gruelling, continuous work. There are a lot of lines to say and there’s always the danger of becoming stale when you work with the same character for a long time.” Of his character Betts said “He’s the father figure I suppose. The character of Sir Henry was originally based on the late newspaper mogul Sir Frank Packer; it later included airline chief Sir Reg Ansett and, finally, Hector Crawford.” [13] Key original characters Eddie and Cathy Holliday left the series in mid 1974. Eddie, sensitively portrayed by versatile entertainer Cul Cullen, was a sympathetic figure in the opening episode with his travails one of the more compelling story threads. It therefore comes as somewhat a surprise to learn that he hated the role, the script and the show. He judged The Box as an altogether dishonest show and its scripts contrived, telling TV Week that despite rival series Number 96’s purportedly substandard sets and acting that “Number 96 is by far the better show. You know why? Because it’s honest.” Cullen told TV Week that he didn’t always follow the script, admitting “I used to make it up as I went along, and it worked fine.” The scenes came out so well, according to Cullen, because of the skill and intuition of his main co-star Kay McFeeter who played Eddie’s devoted daughter Cathy. “She could take a change of line in her stride. She never missed a reaction. With anyone else any script change would have to be talked about, rehearsed and rehearsed again. Any spontaneous feeling would be lost. With Kay I didn’t have to worry. She reacted naturally which is why the whole thing came across as it did.” [14] Eddie was written out of the series by suffering a stroke and retiring to the country. Cathy, by now appearing in an on-screen role in Channel 12 program Holiday Farm, abruptly left the station to go and act as his carer full-time. In late 1974 the character of Cathy was returned to The Box and in the story she took a role playing the nurse in new Channel 12 medical drama series Mercy Flight, at this point moving in with Mrs H. New regular cast members added during 1974 included Vanessa Leigh who came in playing the frequently nude, ebullient blonde weathergirl Fanny Adams, and Matlock Police semi-regular Luigi Villani who joined The Box as Channel 12’s exuberant and eager-to-please maintenance man Mick Moloney. Though starlet Vanessa Leigh had no acting experience prior to being cast in The Box, her nude scenes drew such good reviews that her original 13 week contract was extended for another eight. [15] She would ultimately continue undressing in the series well into 1975. In the story Fanny ended up in the role of nurse Jane Healey in UCV-12’s medical drama Mercy Flight. Also during the first year of The Box Mrs H’s son Wayne (Bruce Kilpatrick) was released from prison. Wayne promptly fell in love with Lee Whiteman, forcing his distraught mother to admit her son was gay. A few months after his release from prison Wayne was drowned while saving someone else and was posthumously awarded a medal for bravery. While the character of Mrs H was written as a seasoned
figure who had spent her life in the theatre, her
portrayer Lois Ramsey felt that her difficulties with The later episodes were less biting and de-emphasised the
shock elements of the opening scenes, focusing more on office politics and
the interpersonal problems of the various Channel 12 staffers, and placing
greater emphasis on light hearted comedy situations. Overall the series
seemed to avoid the big headline grabbing stories such as those that Number 96 was famous for. Much of the drama seemed to be
character-driven: the events and stories were largely rather prosaic but the
characters living them were interesting, complex people, or were at least
funny. Tony and Sir Henry were mainly given comedy stuff to do, INTO 1975A year into the storyline Gary was still making shifty manoeuvres to maintain his Big Night Out role. Judy Donovan, by now separated from Paul and working for Channel 12 as a production assistant, was thrilled to finally fall pregnant. Sir Henry was still making constant complaints about Tony Wild who he thought was a long-haired layabout, apparently forgetting that he wasn’t a real policeman, just an actor playing one. Mrs Hopkins was being fleeced by fake medium Delma Brown (Janne Coglan) who claimed to be able to contact Wayne’s ghost. Felicity, who had entered the storyline impersonating a sexy schoolgirl named Felicity Baker as part of a convoluted scheme to achieve fame, has achieved her goal and, now known as Felicity Greenfield, is now working for Channel 12 as a presenter on Big Night Out. Vicki Stafford now works for Channel 12 as on-air host of daytime talk show Girltalk. Vicki has by now softened in character, frequently showing sympathy for the underdog while saving her cutting barbs for those who really deserved them, but her essentially sardonic manner prevailed. In other developments an interfering Jean steps in to defend Kay when Judy names her as correspondent in the divorce from Paul, thus incurring Judy’s wrath. Meanwhile young actor Brad Miller (David Downer) had begun a romance with Jean while enduring a fraught relationship with Fanny Adams, his co-star in medical drama series Mercy Flight. Fanny, a late replacement in the role when Cathy pulled out of the show, was a Channel 12 weathergirl with no formal acting training who was famous for her good looks and attractive figure, qualities that played a large part in her Mercy Flight casting. Just like several starlets in The Box itself, Fanny was plucked from presenting to take on a dramatic role presumably because of her beauty and despite her lack of acting experience. In the storyline of The Box at least, it was hinted that this caused some resentment amongst the other actors and various other members of staff. A jealous Jean soon arranged for Fanny, who ironically enough was tired of being a sex symbol and wanted to be taken seriously as a dramatic actress (“Instead of playing a body I could be a proper dramatic actress!”), to be fired from the role just as Brad had made peace with her. The decision to fire Fanny was quickly reversed, but when Mercy Flight itself was cancelled Fanny Adams opted to go into nursing for real. She promptly left Channel 12 and her planned acting career to start her training. Her portrayer Vanessa Leigh switched careers too, working as the personal assistant to a very wealthy jet-setting Arab sheik in Europe. By 1981 she was back in Melbourne, engaged, and briefly returned to acting with a role in feature film Duet for Four (1982). [17] The episodes from this period of The Box display many attempts at broad comedy, much of it given to Tony Wild and well played by his always energetic portrayer Ken James, although his punning dialogue in a discussion about Fanny Adams (“She’d give you the clothes off her back!”, “I’ve never had any trouble handling Fanny!”) was strictly of the Are You Being Served? calibre. Of his role in the serial Ken James told TV Week that “I’ve got the feeling I’m walking the razor’s edge with the character all the time. If you overplay it either on the serious side or for laughs you lose it.” [18] “When I was first offered the role in The Box I wasn’t sure what to expect. I didn’t want to appear in a series which was just a copy of Number 96, but after looking at the scripts I became tremendously excited by the series.” James told TV Week that he auditioned for Crawford Productions via a videotape audition, and that before that “Crawfords were considering dropping the part of Tony Wild because they were unable to come up with someone suitable. In the audition I played Tony Wild all wrong. I played him as a straight and almost heavy kind of character. Crawfords wanted him to be comedy relief to help break up the dramatic situations which make up the bulk of the series. I now see Tony Wild as an insecure bloke who is desperate to impress everyone, but putting his foot in it every time he makes a move. He is conned by various people at Channel 12 because of his insecurity in his position in Manhunt, the series he stars in. When others are in trouble Tony is a bloke who is always willing to lend a helping hand.” James went on to explain that “This character role is the most challenging part I’ve had since I started out acting when I was 16. Tony Wild is a totally believable character and I believe the public are beginning to get to know him and like him.” [19] Despite the comedy subplots, the colourful characters, and the amusing wordplay dialogue, it must be said that the show did at times seem rather thin with endless scenes of two characters talking over a cup of tea in the tiny Channel 12 canteen, and lots of time spent on various secretaries and assorted office workers conducting heated arguments about personal relationships amongst the typewriters and filing cabinets. While the show poked ironic fun at the production of Manhunt we didn’t often see it being filmed: The Box was a high output serial where outdoors filming was rare, the number of sets and locations limited. If there was drama over Manhunt, it would often be a laboured boardroom discussion about ratings points and budget overruns. Overall the series proper settled into a breezy soap opera style where storylines were often rather light and where drama was built through the characterisation. Unusually for an Australian serial, after the storyline reached a minor cliffhanger before the commercial break, the program would resume after the break with a continuation of that same scene. In the story Don Cook was promoted to director of Big Night Out and married dancer Barbie but they faced
turmoil when their son was born mentally retarded. The stresses caused his
work to suffer, and after Paul demoted him to Girltalk, Don angrily quit the station and he and
Barbie left the series in early 1975. This began a large exodus of original
characters and Don and Barbie were followed by Jean Ford, Kay Webster, Judy
Donovan and Paul Donovan who all departed in the first few months of 1975.
George Mallaby who played Paul left to act in the film
End Play. [20]
Briony Behets who played
his wife Judy switched to a role in Bellbird [21]
before appearing in Class of ‘75 as
a sexy gym teacher. Of her departure Behets told TV Week “I was getting thoroughly sick of working on The Box - I don’t mind admitting it, but when I finished
I started to miss the people I worked with and wish I was back there.” The Box was taped far in advance of the episodes going to
air and so for a brief period in early 1975 Behets
could be seen in The Box, Bellbird,
and Class of ‘75 simultaneously. [22]
Many months later Behets reflected on her time in
the series. “The Box was an invaluable training ground
and did a lot for me. It made me more outgoing, gave me a lot more
self-confidence and taught me how to concentrate.” Sadly by the end of 1975
her main gig was as weather girl on the Channel 0 (10) news in Meanwhile, after her character Jean Ford had endured four love affairs that ended in heartbreak Monica Maughan opted to sign on with the Melbourne Theatre Company. [25] Lonely Jean’s situation had slowly improved as the series progressed. For one thing she moved away from her demanding mother. Her portrayer told TV Week “I have tried to make Jean’s character develop through the series,” [26] and when Maughan left the show the writers ultimately pulled out a happy ending for the heretofore perpetually unlucky-in-love spinster secretary. She accepted the marriage proposal of Brad Miller, the star of Channel 12’s Mercy Flight series, and they announced their engagement on Big Night Out in the 1974 end-of-year cliffhanger episode of The Box. Fearful after enduring one broken engagement, Jean developed grave doubts over the future of the relationship with Brad when a Mercy Flight romance between the fictional doctor and nurse saw Cathy Holliday, who portrayed the nurse character, fall in love with Brad for real. After initially calling it off Jean quickly came to her senses and The Box got its first big wedding. The entire cast were in attendance all dressed in their finery, with Kay Webster as bridesmaid and Paul Donovan as best man, while Sir Henry Usher gave the bride away. [27] Though she had opted to leave after just a year in the role, Maughan enjoyed her stint in the series, telling TV Week “I’ve had a super, super year working with some wonderful, talented people. I have never been in a serial or a long series before and I have learnt a lot - and enjoyed every minute of it. You have to take the series for what it is and we all felt from the start that we were working on a good series and put a lot into it.” [28] Later Maughan would again accept an ongoing role in a serial, when she played the downtrodden inmate Pat O’Connell in Prisoner for six months starting in 1979. In this series she would tangle with acerbic officer Vera Bennett, a sad and lonely woman with a sickly mother represented initially by a highly critical voice in the other room - a situation that recalled the home life of Jean Ford. The Box had finished up its first year ranked as Australia’s second highest rated program, beaten only by Number 96. In fact, despite its strong opening and, according to TV Week’s Jerry Fetherston, its better acting, after its premiere episode The Box was never again to overtake Number 96 in the ratings. [29] In early 1975 George Mallaby won the Logie Award for Best Actor just as he finished up work on the series. Of his lead role for the show’s first 13 months Mallaby later told TV Week that “the pressure of doing two-and-a-half hours of television a week was beginning to take its toll and if I hadn’t quit the series it would have seriously affected my health. I virtually lived and breathed The Box 24 hours a day and as a result my private life was virtually non-existent. When I took on the role in October 1973 I knew it was going to be a tough and demanding job, but I never imagined the strain it would place me under. In the early stages it was a new experience for all of us and we managed to cope with the heavy work load, but as the series progressed my on-camera involvement was increased at a fast rate. During the first few months I just collapsed in bed and slept each weekend to enable me to get through the following week. When my participation in the series increased it became a seven-days-a-week commitment, leaving no time for any kind of private life. With two-and-a-half hours being taped weekly, working on The Box was equivalent to making one full-length film each week. A situation like this wouldn’t be tolerated anywhere else in the world except Australia - and while it’s allowed to continue the quality of the finished product is bound to suffer. I’m not knocking the production companies, because in most cases they’ve done a great job and given employment to countless people associated in the industry. The blame must clearly be levelled at the television networks, who are continually holding the production companies and actors to ransom.” Mallaby cited the Nine Network’s surprise cancellation of their number three rated program Division 4 as an example of the Networks holding the production companies to ransom. [30] Despite its initial infamy the series ultimately emerged as just a mid range success, and had a run of less than four years. From February 1974 until Friday 29 November that year the series was screened in Melbourne as five, half-hour episodes stripped across each weeknight. This was the same format as Number 96 and in many markets episodes of The Box were programmed to run at 9.00 PM right after Number 96. Starting 1975, The Box was screened in one-hour installments. [31] In Melbourne at least, when the show resumed for 1975 on 14 January it was in one-hour blocks, broadcast Tuesday and Thursday each week. Starting 25 February 1975, three one-hour episodes of The Box went out each week, on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays. Then, commencing 9 September, the series went out as two, ninety-minute episodes a week in Melbourne, on Tuesdays and Wednesdays. Fatigued viewers finally got a reprieve starting 4 November when the series reverted to running as two one-hour installments each week, and the final episode for 1975 went to air 3 December. Through these permutations the advantageous starting time of 9.00 PM right after Number 96 remained consistent. Starting from episode 221 taped in October 1974 The Box switched to colour production. The opening titles and end credit sequences continued with the exact same footage that had always been seen, and now it would appear in full colour: clearly Crawford’s had had the foresight to film these sequences in colour in the first place. Towards the end of 1975 the end credits sequence would be updated. Now the closing credits would run over a wide shot of a deserted television studio interior as the lights were switched off one by one. THE BOX MOVIEIt had also been announced that The Box would have a feature film spin-off just as Number 96 had had, which would be shot in colour during the show’s hiatus in January 1975. Though there was a major exodus of characters from the series, departing characters Mick O’Brien (Luigi Villani), Kay Webster (Belinda Giblin) and Paul Donovan (George Mallaby) would have leading roles in the feature film. However by this stage the show’s ratings were already beginning to wane, and a rather lukewarm viewer interest would also greet the film when it was finally released. The Box feature film was written by co-creator Tom Hegarty as a parallel story; though it and the series featured mostly the same characters the storylines of each needed to be self-contained and to run independently of one another. The film featured all new sets and was shot at Crawford Productions’ Abbotsford studios, unlike the series which was videotaped in Studio B at Channel Ten’s Nunawading studios. Actor Peter Regan, who played compere Gary Burke in the series, was unwilling to appear in a feature film while merely receiving the usual television series pay packet the cast would receive. To make up for this loss guest star Graham Kennedy, originally to make just a brief cameo as himself making a Manhunt appearance, found his role upgraded. Rather than ten day’s work, he now would spend four weeks filming on The Box. This suited everyone concerned; Kennedy was a big fan of the show, and was an ideal choice to play the super star host of a television variety program. Moreover he did the part for the same pay as the other leading players, and with no star billing. [32] In this new arrangement Kennedy would still play himself, and in the story would now be filling in as host of Big Night Out for the absent Gary Burke. Then, during his stint with Channel 12, he requests a part in the new Manhunt film, winning the role of its devious villain. Said Hegarty, “Peter didn’t want to do it for some reason - it had something to do with the deal. The film almost didn’t happen. Then up popped Graham.” As Graham Kennedy would be playing himself, many script meetings were required to ensure that the character we see on screen accurately reflects the real person. “‘Oh, I probably wouldn’t say that’,” Kennedy would say of his character’s dialogue in draft versions of the script. “‘Oh, what would you say?’ And off he would go. The hardest part was trying to stop him doing old jokes. He knew thousands. He had an encyclopedic knowledge of them. I wanted him to do the quick-witted Kennedy-thing, not gags as such.” The makers of the film were aiming for a rating of ‘Mature’ rather than ‘Restricted’, and among the sex scenes and nudity there would be just one expletive. Kennedy was given the honour of speaking it, and was reportedly pleased by this. Kennedy himself said of his acting role, “I suppose I actually have to play myself, but how do you do that? It is easy enough to be yourself but I have no idea how to act it.” [33] In the completed film the Graham Kennedy on screen is an appealing and genial presence, and his scenes - which stay within the confines of light comedy - are well acted. A special song and dance number for his character - performed in the story as a Big Night Out routine - was also included at Kennedy’s request. Breezy office secretary Lindy Jones, portrayed by future star of musicals and live theatre Geraldine Turner, was a new series character who also appeared in the feature film. Unfortunately, even with the greater emphasis on comedy in the feature film, there wasn’t quite the latitude to have the office secretaries launching into song and dance numbers. The film’s main story has the station in financial trouble, with a heated meeting of the board of Usher Consolidated Victoria leading to the appointment of officious efficiency expert Dr S M Winter. Much to Max’s surprise this expert is revealed as a woman named Sheila, portrayed by Cornelia Frances in the film’s stand out performance. The various Channel 12 staff members attempt initially to impress her, a tactic that sees Lee Whiteman briefly reinvented as a polite and mild mannered conservative, before banding together to sabotage her efforts. Meanwhile Sir Henry Usher reaffirms his belief that Manhunt star Tony Wild is a dangerous fool and a liability to the station, yet Paul Donovan has his own solution to the station’s troubles, and decides to launch a do-or-die feature film version of Manhunt starring Wild. Lee Whiteman is asked to direct this fictional film spin-off, but the irresponsible on set exploits of star Tony soon turns the feature into a compendium of Wild gaffes. Tony is in further strife after an unapproved product endorsement for Meadow Grass Deodorant, and finds his budding romance with UCV-12 wardrobe assistant Tina Harrison (Tracy Mann) thwarted when he is aggressively pursued by sex mad starlet Ingrid O’Toole (Marilyn Vernon). Later, and to her great pleasure, Ingrid finds that Dr Winter’s apparently camp personal assistant Bruce Madigan (Robin Ramsay) is anything but. The crisp and assertive Sheila is promptly revealed to be an old friend of Vicki’s, and she goes on to form an unexpected alliance with Sir Henry Usher. After their friendship blossoms Henry refuses Sheila’s offer to ignore her actual observations and instead turn in a favourable report. In her final summations at the end of the investigation she concludes that while the station personnel are all adept at their jobs, it is Sir Henry’s constant interference that stymies their success. Yet with the expected failure of the Manhunt film - the station’s last chance of survival - Channel 12 personnel still face an uncertain future. However an overseas buyer recognises a work of brilliant comedy hi-jinx in the film and makes a lucrative offer. Channel 12 is saved and the entire cast of station staffers adjourn for a gay party aboard Sir Henry’s houseboat at the Manhunt shooting location: Victoria’s picturesque Lake Eildon. In the film’s final comedy flourish - an action sequence drenched in symbolism - Tony’s speedboat careens uncontrolled towards the houseboat on which the wrap party is being held sending panicked partygoers diving into the drink one by one. The boats crash but as the houseboat sinks Sir Henry remains in place, going down with his sinking ship. Unlike the earlier film spin-off Number 96 (1974), which was basically an extended episode of the TV serial where signs of the low budget and tight filming schedule were often apparent on screen, the makers of The Box attempted to create a technically polished product that fully utilised the capabilities of the new medium. The film boasted a generous $315,000 budget [34] and, filmed on 35 mm with a substantial amount of location filming and stunt work, the completed film has aged well, though whether it is as enjoyable as the technically inferior Number 96 is arguable. Probably best used by the film are series regulars Ken James and Fred Betts. James is dependable as ever playing the inept and accident prone actor causing chaos on the set, and this time we see plenty of the troubled Manhunt location shoot. Sir Henry is given a more pivotal role than in the series and is embroiled in many of the film’s action and comedy set-pieces, and Betts turns in a fine comedy performance as the usually bombastic, frequently confused, but sometimes sympathetic station owner. Paul Karo and Barrie Barkla also give enjoyable performances in the film - joyously camping-up their roles for comic effect. Meanwhile the wonderful Judy Nunn is in fine form as Vicki, who is by this stage no longer a magazine reporter and now hosting her own show for Channel 12. Unfortunately she is sadly under utilised in the film and does little more than hang around the station, cigarette in hand, trading bitchy one liners with her pal Lee Whiteman. Meanwhile many of the most entertaining moments belong to guest star Cornelia Frances who steals the show. She is brilliant as the stern professional, and then particularly funny when she gets hopelessly drunk for the first time while having dinner with Sir Henry, leading to her more girlish - and sexual - sides erupting. Less successful is the romantic tension developed to occupy Kay Webster-Brooks - out of the series by this point - in her brief return to Channel 12. The now married Kay returns from overseas ahead of her husband, and when she begins working for Paul he pursues her in a manner that would most likely be regarded as sexual harassment today. In the film’s most underdeveloped and unsatisfying story thread each of Paul’s persistent attempts to rekindle their romance is greeted by a cold rebuff from Kay. Finally and without warning she suddenly seduces him, yet the next morning abruptly announces she’s leaving both Paul and her unseen husband to go to Brisbane to sort herself out. In any event the movie version of The Box had thrilling action sequences, bedroom farce, comic fantasy sequences, lots of in-jokes, and of course the expected nudity. Like the makers of the Number 96 film, Crawford Productions took advantage of the more liberal censorship rules governing feature films, and included scenes of explicit full frontal nudity that would not be allowed on television at that time. Ironically it is the film’s nudity, which mainly consists of Marilyn Vernon going the Full Monty in an extended vignette of mistaken identity set in a hotel bedroom, which seems to be the one thing handled in an unimaginative manner. Meanwhile Belinda Giblin’s “artistic” topless love scene with George Mallaby draws giggles from audiences today. The film had its premiere in Brisbane in August 1975. David Stratton would later note that while the film differed from the Number 96 film in that it at least looked professional, in other areas it scarcely displayed any more intelligence than that film and its “juvenile plotline and amateurish direction”. Stratton reports that The Box feature was likewise a success, if a more modest one. [35] The film was not released until after the introduction of colour on Australian TV. Much of the novelty value of earlier film spin-offs is that they allowed fans to finally see the action of their favourite show in full colour; it was more difficult to convince patrons to part with their hard earned cash when the series which could always be seen for free, could now be seen for free in colour too. Perhaps too the public were tiring of the sex and shock soap operas in general. Number 96 and The Box had been running together on Ten for more than eighteen months and by this stage 96 was attempting to combat declining ratings with several high profile cast changes and the much publicised bomb blast storyline. Though The Box feature might not have returned the expected box office receipts, one pleasing consequence of the film was that its new specially built office sets, after being used for the airport office interiors in Homicide feature film Stopover, would replace the more basic original The Box studio sets in the ongoing series. In the story the new sets were explained as the remodelled interior after UCV-12 suffered an office fire. [36] THE BOX BACK ON THE BOXThe feature film had placed increased emphasis on comedy, and in 1975 the series itself began to focus more on comic situations. To keep the show fresh there was a high turnover of characters in the series. A very young Tracy Mann began a long and successful acting career with a lengthy stint playing the naïve Tina Harrison. Tina, who was member number 69 of the Tony Wild fan club, joined Channel 12 as a cleaner who fawned over Tony. Her main career ambition was to become a typist, but she ended-up working as the wardrobe assistant for a lengthy period. Lindy Jones (Geraldine Turner) was the program manager’s voluptuous new secretary while Jacqueline Kott was effective as Eddie’s former wife and Cathy’s mother, the aristocratic Beth Granger. Beth starts work as Channel 12’s new wardrobe mistress and soon there are rumours she is having an affair with Sir Henry. Fast-talking sports caster Vern Walters (Syd Heylen) manoeuvred his way into Channel 12 before being manoeuvred out by Sir Henry, while Harry Vendor (Rob Steele) was an obnoxious new Channel 12 security guard who introduced an intimidated Felicity to kinky sexual fetishes. Meanwhile Lee Whiteman helped polished Channel 12 newsreader John Barnett (Donald McDonald) come out of the closet and they enjoyed a brief live-in relationship. Most surprising was the love affair started by the sardonic Vicki and the scheming Gary, who apparently left their promiscuous ways behind and moved in together. In the show’s middle years among the most recognised and enduring characters was the frumpy Enid Parker (Jill Forster), a jolly, health conscious, and super efficient unmarried secretary who followed Kay Webster to work for Max Knight. Enid ruffled Max’s feathers by attempting to reorganise his entire life, and was close friends with his wife Marion. As an accomplished worker with some actual authority in the workplace, Enid clashed with Mrs Hopkins who thought she should be the one to interfere in everyone else’s activities, and they were soon embroiled in an ongoing feud. Jill Forster was cast in the role of Enid on the say so of The Box Executive Producer Jock Blair; Forster had previously played a similar role for him in an episode of Ryan and clearly he liked what she had done with it. [37] Forster’s beauty was hidden behind unflattering spectacles and a pinned-up hairstyle to play Enid - a more comical reworking of the show’s previous spinster secretary Jean Ford - although for a brief period the former Number 96 star was allowed to drop the dowdy disguise when Enid’s wicked younger sister Emma surfaced. For the portrayal of Emma, a glamorous model, Forster let out her hair and traded Enid’s plain smocks and monogrammed jackets for a fur coat. For the duration of Forster’s time playing the dual role a production error left the character of Emma uncredited, while TV Week magazine soon reported that puzzled viewers were flooding Channel Ten with letters asking the name of the attractive new actress portraying Emma. [38] Forster’s real life husband John Stanton also came in as the inscrutable new program manager Nick Manning who replaced Paul Donovan. After six months Lindy, played by Geraldine Turner, was written out of the series and in the story former production assistant Sharon Lewis (Noni Hazlehurst) replaced her as Nick’s secretary. Of the switch the show’s producer George Foreman told TV Week that “We feel the character of Lindy has run its full course now. Besides this, we like to change our girls around occasionally.” [39] Indeed original characters Felicity Greenfield and Cathy Holliday also made their final exits in mid 1975. To replenish the ranks new characters were the dry American director Brian Colson (Roger Newcombe), and Lee Whiteman’s cousin Douglas Jackson (Tony Barry) who joined Channel 12 selling station sponsorship. Meanwhile the ebullient and relentlessly unflappable aspiring actress Deirdre Matthews (Isabel Kirk) installed herself at Channel 12 in a bid for stardom. Attempts to oust her were stymied by the discovery she was the daughter of Channel 12 Sydney’s managing director. Deirdre soon became a demanding diva, insisting on a lead guest starring role in Manhunt, but was put in her place when the show’s furious director Lee Whiteman instead assigned her the role of the corpse. Meanwhile future The Young Doctors favourite Judy McBurney came in as the temperamental and selfish plain-Jane office typist Jane Fowler who moved in with Mrs H and promptly began to take advantage of her kindness. Viewers were also introduced to Nick’s rather serious wife Carol (Barbara Ramsay). Meanwhile in the grand tradition of Vanessa Leigh, The Box’s latest sex symbol was the shapely blond Cheryl Rixon who as the beautiful but naïve television starlet Angela O’Malley steamed up proceedings in two substantial stints during the show’s middle period. Angela became engaged to Doug, but after being tempted to stray by new Manhunt actor and Tony’s despised rival Peter Kendall (Tristan Rogers) she foolishly broke the engagement, not realising that Peter saw their union as nothing more than a one night stand. Of her frequent nude scenes in the series Rixon told TV Week that “it doesn’t worry me at all. One thing Australian people aren’t used to are girls saying a straight out ‘yes’ to a nude scene. They usually expect to have to trick them into it. Whenever I have said ‘yes’ straight away I’m sure they’ve thought ‘She can’t be serious’. The only thing that does annoy me is if the person behind the camera doesn’t do a good shot. A bad nude shot can look awful and distasteful. After all it’s only you that can be projected.” [40] Through 1975, location-shot comedy vignettes were used to lighten the drama. There was Enid’s fitness class in the park with Tony Wild, Tina Harrison, Mrs H and Lee Whiteman. Mrs H hurt her back and collapsed in pain while Lee was distracted by a “gorgeous hunk of athlete” running in the opposite direction. As Lee later explains, “It’s a wonder I didn’t pull something!” Angela O’Malley bounced her way through an advertisement for a pool company. While Angela worried about her dialogue the crew remained preoccupied by her appearance in a wet t-shirt. When Vicki, in her role as publicist, decided to showcase Tina Harrison in a photo spread publicising the station, Tony Wild’s constant “helpful” advice through the process is nothing but a hindrance. In other sequences Tony decides he will be the next Harry Houdini and has Tina lock him in the boot of Sir Henry’s Jaguar to rehearse an escapology stunt for magic special Wild About Magic - to be taped later that afternoon. Unfortunately the car speeds off with Tony inside and, its location unknown, production of the show is jeopardised. Later there’s more car trouble when Tony miraculously manages to lose the wheel nuts while “helping” an anxious Vicki change a flat tyre. Towards the end of the 1975 episodes came
the dramatic office fire storyline. Nick Manning is working late on a crucial
tender application and sends his secretary Sharon Lewis off home. Max and Sir
Henry leave for dinner, however Henry’s carelessly
discarded match sets a pile of scripts on The episode’s fire sequences were directed by Rod Hardy and George Miller (the regular Crawford Productions director, not the Mad Max director of the same name), who would both go on to direct Australian feature films and later work as directors in various Hollywood productions. The fire story features videotaped studio shots of the blazing offices in The Towering Inferno-type scenes depicting daring rescues amongst flaming interiors and collapsing ceilings. Intercut with this are striking and sharply edited filmed sequences apparently shot on location as Nick, Carol and Jack make their attempted escape through the smoky corridors and fire escapes. Suspense builds as the threesome are trapped by a locked door as the flames approach. Doug, Max and Sir Henry arrive on the scene to find a large contingent of police and ambulances as a team of fire fighters battle the blaze. Hoping to rescue any staff members trapped inside, Doug, Max and Sir Henry disobey orders and enter the burning building, but luckily the fire is quickly extinguished and they are promptly reunited with the relatively unscathed Jack, Nick and Carol. The highly effective fire episode which went to air in
Melbourne on 28 October 1975 also features amusing vignettes of Gary Burke at
home with houseguest Angela O’Malley. Angela, in the sexiest outfit
imaginable, sits watching Channel 12 to see her advertisement go to air but
is perturbed by the intermittent station transmission. When the commercial
finally screens, we watch Gary and Angela watch TV as she innocently comments
“you can just about see everything!”, while The pyrotechnics of the office blaze were orchestrated by the same special effects technician who had conducted the previous month’s Number 96 delicatessen bomb blast. Some of The Box fire sequences were shot on location at Crawford Productions’ Abbotsford headquarters, including the external shots of the car park filled with ambulances and fire fighting equipment, and a glimpse of the building exterior as flames appear in a third floor window. The blazing interior office shots were taped in the usual ATV0 studio regularly used for The Box interiors. Crawford Productions reported that the main reason for the fire was to explain in the story the upgrade of the office sets, not to clear out expendable cast members as had occurred in the Number 96 bomb. [41] Indeed, unlike that show’s fiery disaster that killed off several key characters, the only thing to perish in The Box was Nick’s tender application. In the story the loss of this important document proved to be large strategic blow to station business, and soon budget cuts and job losses were feared. The previously prim, plain and selfish Jane Fowler saw the error of her ways, and had a make-over, but was abruptly retrenched in the ensuing Channel 12 cost-cutting drive: a retread of one the storylines from The Box feature film. Meanwhile, after a successful season in the show, sex symbol Cheryl Rixon departed. As the 1975 season came to a close Deirdre Matthews had been installed as the station’s publicist, although with the spate of retrenchments she fears she may be the next to go. During a stint as Nick’s secretary Sharon Lewis developed romantic feelings for her boss, prompting her request to swap positions with Enid. This left Sharon working for Max and Enid working for Nick. Enid and Nick’s portrayers Jill Forster and John Stanton were married in real-life and now the characters would be closely teamed in the program’s storylines as well. The show’s 1975 end of year cliffhanger had Enid apparently terrorised by the ghost of Channel 12 while working late one night. At the end of 1975 the highly popular Paul Karo who played Lee Whiteman had decided to leave the series, with his final episodes going to air in the first few months of 1976. Of his departure Karo told TV Week “Two years is a long time for a character actor to stay with one role. Besides initially I gave myself a year with the role it’s just that I liked it so much I stayed longer.” [42] Another original character, the villainous TV host Gary Burke, departed shortly afterwards, when the makers of the show felt they had exhausted his story potential. His portrayer Peter Regan told TV Week “We’ve come to the mutual decision that the character has run the full course. I’m more than pleased with the two-and-a-half year run I got with the series. There certainly are no complaints there,” Regan said. [43] In a separate TV Week report, Regan described conditions working on the show. “I do enjoy The Box. When asked if the role of Gary Burke is satisfying, I think first you have to approach it on its own level, considering the audience to which it appeals. I mean, we’re not doing Shakespeare, so we’re not after that type of audience. But it’s hard for the local product with the limited time and budget to compete with the overseas shows […] I suppose though the product suffers sometimes because of the system here of accountants, not creative people, in top positions at TV stations.” [44] The Box was famous for dramatising real-life elements of the television industry, but this time life imitated art and Regan soon became a TV variety host for real when he acted as compere of Quest produced by the Australian Broadcasting Corporation. 1976At the start of 1976 TV Week reviewer Frank Crook re-evaluated The Box. Describing it as the “program which started so promisingly, faltered, then regained its poise,” Crook reported that “the show has now completed the full circle and has returned to its original format; a tight, terse little drama about a TV station now thankfully minus the meanderings of its writers, which very nearly turned the show into a farce.” Crook designates Ken James’ character Tony Wild, and Paul Karo’s soon-to-depart Lee Whiteman, as the show’s standout characters. In Crook’s evaluation the pace of the show takes a definite lift whenever Tony stumbles onto screen. “For too long now too many people have taken Ken James for granted. And that is often the case with an actor of real skill. One tends to forget that he is an actor playing a part. For in the case of Ken James it is a question of identity. His Tony Wild is so real in so many ways, that Ken James the actor rarely gets the credit he deserves. For our money, anyway, Ken James is not just an actor in The Box. He IS The Box.” [45] In December 1975 original series producer Jock Blair summed up plans for The Box in 1976 for the Observer TV guide. “The show will be a lot more down-to-earth than in the past twelve months. It will be more like it was in the first year.” The magazine surmised the show’s trajectory as having started off as a showcase of flesh and controversy before becoming a lot more tame in its second season. Observer TV reported that there would be an increase in sex and nudity for the new year. “1976 looks like being a hot year. We’re going to give viewers something to sit up and watch. There’ll be controversy and more humour,” Blair reported. [46] For the 1976 episodes Jock Blair had been reinstated to his former producer role. He explained to TV Week the season would “add a few of the old ingredients. We want to be more controversial, more entertaining. We hope to include many more fresh faces this year, particularly in the pretty, young girl category. Auditions and screen tests are currently underway. It should prove to be a good year.” | |
