Quatermass: Review: The Quatermass Experiment
By Toby Hadoke Ten Acre Films, out now The making of TV’s first sci-fi classic… The book’s subtitle – reprinted above – and the identity of the author should pretty […]
By Toby Hadoke Ten Acre Films, out now The making of TV’s first sci-fi classic… The book’s subtitle – reprinted above – and the identity of the author should pretty […]
By Toby Hadoke
Ten Acre Films, out now
The making of TV’s first sci-fi classic…
The book’s subtitle – reprinted above – and the identity of the author should pretty much tell you all you need to know. This is the first tranche of Toby Hadoke’s magnum opus, chronicling the making of the Quatermass serials and their offshoots.
Originally intended as one huge volume – in fact, the word humungous would probably have been an understatement had Hadoke gone that route – this focuses purely on The Quatermass Experiment. (The 1953 version that is, not the 2005 remake. Or, save in the sections on Nigel Kneale’s life, the very slightly retitled Hammer movie version.)
If you’ve read the interview with Hadoke here, you’ll have a good idea what to expect. It very much is “everything you’ve wanted to know about The Quatermass Experiment”, beginning with a biographical picture of Quatermass’s creator – up to 1959 – followed by the life of his first portrayer, Reginald Tate. Hadoke presents sides to both men that are unlikely to be well known, making the first 60 pages much more than scene-setting.
The meat is in the production material, taking us through from Kneale’s first thoughts on the subject to the final broadcast episodes. With only two of these still extant, there are times where Hadoke has to make educated guesses, and at no point are we left in any doubt what is documented fact, and what is extrapolation – at times, it feels like sitting chatting with Hadoke in the pub about it as he propounds his theories, backed up by a wealth of evidence. Each episode is dissected, with notes on the different versions during development (and once and for all giving the lie to the idea that the serial was being made up as it went along!), and there are some stunning photographs from the entire series – one of my favourites showing the precursor to the cactus that infects Caroon. There are plenty of anecdotes liberally sprinkled throughout, drawn from the many interviews Hadoke has carried out over the years, and you get a definite sense of how it felt to be involved with what turned out to be such a major television event.
The proposed Canadian broadcast and British repeat are delved into in some detail, as well as information on the restoration of the two episodes over the past twenty years. There’s also a section on the print versions, noting where Kneale rewrote/re-edited the script for the Penguin publication – and how that itself got altered for the Italian translation. We learn what happened to many of those involved, either side of the camera and Hadoke also indulges in some analysis of the serial, which makes for fascinating reading coming from someone who is so steeped in the lore.
If you’ve got any interest in Quatermass – and I would hope that includes most people reading this site – then you need a copy of this on your bookshelf. It’s always tempting fate to say that something is the last word on the subject – but I really think this is.
Verdict: Essential reading for anyone with an interest in British SF or the development of British television in the 20th century. 10/10
Paul Simpson