By Keri O’Shea
When creator Nigel Kneale brought Professor Bernard Quatermass to the screen in the late 70s, it was not the first time that this intriguing and rather under-appreciated figure had appeared; since the 1950s, when he was first introduced, he had become a quiet but interesting institution, a man whose scientific acumen was often acutely thrown into disarray by the forces he encountered as part of his work. However, by the late 70s – when it seems the Prof had decided to take time out from shall we say a ‘challenging career’ – there was no escaping the chaos on the streets of Britain, and it seems fair to say that this later TV series carried with it some of the anxieties of its own time.
I say ‘chaos’, and the strikes, three day weeks and power cuts which were really taking place in the UK in the years around the making of this series certainly look that way, but in the fictional universe of Quatermass, it’s not really full on chaos at all. There’s something oddly polite and rather British about the breakdown of society in the early scenes of Quatermass; the marauding thugs of London all speak with Received Pronunciation (damn you, acting school) and although many parts of the city look like ghettos, TV continues to run, there’s clearly fuel for vehicles and the police are still around too. This ain’t Threads. But what is behind this unprecedented dysfunction, this so-called ‘urban collapse’?
If he has any suspicions, Professor Quatermass (John Mills) is keeping quiet about them, at least at first. The multinational (read: Russia and the US) space project ‘Hands in Space’ seems to be the priority for TV output rather than the conditions on the streets, and in his professional capacity as someone who has worked in space research and development, Quatermass has been asked to participate in a show which will air at the time a new mission is taking place. When asked about his feelings on this superpower-driven new project, Quatermass goes off-message and declares his skepticism; thus when the mission ends in disaster moments later, with some unspecified disaster causing the US and Russian craft to decompress (including one haunting scene when one astronaut desperately tries to escape) the superpowers begin to wonder if he’s involved. However, alongside fellow scientist Joe Kapp (Simon MacCorkindale) he’s able to flee, with Kapp offering him refuge at his home. All Quatermass is really interested in at this stage is finding his missing granddaughter; however, his attempts to find her are interrupted by their burgeoning scientific suspicion, based on data collected at Kapp’s place, that the space accident was caused by a hitherto unknown phenomenon.
Meanwhile, the country’s youth seems to be broadly divided between the mercenary street people and the Planet People – a slightly more sinister version of Age of Aquarius hippies, who all claim to be on the verge of escape to a new planet. Well, many cults have said as much; what’s different here is that a new call to a stone circle seems to be common among them, with thousands making their way to the same site. It’s the scientist’s nightmare: the possibility of a relationship between supernaturalism – magic – and forces which seem more from the realms of astrophysics. Quatermass and Kapp have to entertain the possibility that what they see unfolding challenges and endangers everything they know or indeed hold dear.
As I said, this is in its way a rather gentle take on dystopia: no viruses, no zombies, no cannibalism through necessity (or choice), but rather a culture verging on the precipice of complete breakdown, at risk from forces outside itself. It’s a completely recognisable world with some additional touches, which would have made it more relatable for contemporary audiences and makes it interesting in subtle ways for us. The Planet People would have been, and still are, familiar characters – the series mentions that their likes would formerly have ‘visited Glastonbury or Stonehenge’, and they’re hardly the most threatening cult ever to appear on screen. But what we have here is a series which can ratchet up the pace rather carefully, gradually intermeshing human behaviour with an astral cause, then allowing the situation to grow ever more threatening and hostile. This is a very character-driven story too, and whilst it may appeal to nostalgists who watched it the first time around (it comes complete with breaks where they originally appeared) it will also appeal to new viewers, who may like to see science fiction with a different focus and handling, particularly via a man of science who has come to an impasse; he just wants his family safe, and recoils from the horrors which are taking place.
Nigel Kneale was an absolute master at crafting tension, and he had an eye for framing scenes in such a way that they stay with you (I contend that anyone who has ever seen his version of The Woman in Black can be rendered prostrate with fear by simply mentioning ‘the bedroom scene’). He was also superb at introducing a cynical veneer to his scenes: in Quatermass, the stalls of books ‘guaranteed to burn well’ and the coddish Paganism embraced by a desperate and ragged population – with trinkets to match – are just two examples of opportunities he seized which go on to look amazing on screen, thanks of course also to director Piers Haggard, whose horror movie Blood on Satan’s Claw is one of the UK’s finest. Quatermass does far more than give us effective scenes, of course, and sets up its overarching tension between rationalism and supernaturalism very well, sustaining it across its episodes; Kapp’s sincere assertion that a love of learning is ‘the only way’ indeed seems the only way in the face of what is going on, but then again, Kneale forces us to give some credence to the big ‘what if?’ – here, learning and science has hurtled into forces beyond itself, and its proponents have been forced to consider things previously thought impossible. All of this is achieved with a good balance throughout between quiet pause for thought and high action.
This series had been unavailable for some time prior to this new release by Network, and their presentation here is of a good standard (with only one niggling omission – one of the episode synopses included on the disc is mute for some reason). Still, good quality new releases of these otherwise-lost series can only be a good thing, so for a still-innovative spin on how humanity just might unravel, it comes recommended.
Quatermass (1979) is available on DVD and Blu-ray from Network now.