After a somewhat neurotic start, the local mini-series, Hard Copy, has settled into its scaffolding and now ranks in the very short list of worthy productions to have emanated from SABC television. It’s economically shot and scripted. The characters resolve authentically and maintain their individuality. I wonder whether the practice of assigning one writer to each character is being used. There is a leanness to the dialogue, much is left unsaid.
With visual dramatic media like film and television comes an enviable economy that the stage cannot match: the close-up where the tiniest expression in a character’s eyes can speak volumes. It is exploited with great effect in Hard Copy.
Within the strictures of production timetables, the series tries to be as up-to-date as possible. Editorial conferences deal with topical stories and largely this succeeds. But it is, in itself, a limiting factor. Where the topicality falls flat is with the idea of adding coexistent authenticity by bringing in real live “celebrities”. This comes across as coyly disguised name-dropping.
Watching these figures as they try to “act” makes you want to crawl into the pile of the carpet with embarrassment. Last week’s episode had a ponderous running gag about the similarity in looks between Tony Leon and Tom Hanks which flew like a concrete balloon. It might, of course, have been intended as subtle mockery of the two well-loved faces of the leader of the official opposition. Somehow, I doubt it. Even with Darrel Bristow-Bovey now swelling the imaginative compass of the writing team, they don’t dig that selectively.
Competing in coyness is what seems to be the obligatory moral tub-thumping that has persisted so far in Hard Copy. I think it was in the third or fourth programme of the series that, by some dreadful oversight, no liberal bloodletting occurred — for this the writers were probably beaten with a stick by Anton Harber. The plot-line was about the leaking of a lead story to a competing newspaper. The programme fair whisked by, uninterrupted by characters climbing on to soap boxes to elaborate on the tertiary evils of racism or the sacred obligations of journalism. Listening to these, you feel like you’re being slowly crushed by a moral steam-roller. “This doctor is murdering children without any respect for their democratic rights or dignity, and it’s the ethical duty of our profession to rip open our journalistic mackintoshes and expose ourselves to people like him.”
Homilies may safely be left to the clergy. (And it is certainly arguable whether a doctor refusing to perform an abortion can reasonably be accused of having “killed” the applicant because she committed suicide as result of his refusal. Airing a fatuous opinion like that is little more than an exercise in leftist conscience-polishing. Admittedly this is a speciality of the character concerned, so it might be on purpose.)
Notwithstanding reservations, what the Hard Copy series has shown is the rare depth of our local acting talent. The show is excellently cast — with the exception of the pop-up celebrities — and among the actors there is star quality.
One of these is Martin le Maitre who plays what seems to be a mix between chief sub-editor and arts editor. Le Maitre is one of those rare actors who irradiate what they work in. You can’t stop looking at him. He carries aura and credibility in equal doses. He’s like an accomplished musician, it all looks so easy and natural. The camera loves him.
Another in Hard Copy with a younger version of these properties is Jody Abrahams, who plays the rather blunt-mannered but effective investigative reporter. Another “natural”, Lindelani Buthelezi, has wonderful comedic qualities.
The star system has always been distrusted by the SABC, which has inherited an ingrained fear of any individual getting bigger than the system — a hangover from the past. What our television needs are series written around actors of Le Maitre’s calibre. At the heart of nearly every memorable television series is a single character: Robbie Coltrane in Cracker, Helen Mirren in Prime Suspect, David Jason in A Touch of Frost. All of those were appealing because the central figure was human and fallible, at odds with the world, with personal shortcomings dragging behind them, but ultimately successful in their work. E.tv tried constructing a cop series around a central character, using another eminently gifted actor in Bill Flynn, but Jozi Streets was so abysmally scripted and produced on a shoe-string that it looked and sounded third-rate.
Dimension is critical. Having a whole battery of interesting characters in one 27-minute weekly snatch means the silhouette is about all that can be managed with any one of them. Soap operas are broadcast daily in small slices because at that frequency of exposure the silhouettes stack up quickly. What viewers want is a regular hosing of their emotions and a story to wonder about. People are interested in people. If they want sermonising, they wait for Sunday morning.
The trouble with Hard Copy lies in its conception, which tries to accommodate a basic confusion between frame and intentions. If you want to be serious as opposed to solemn, use some space.