He painted model soldiers, unlocked the sink, and shot enemy agents: Edward Woodward's chippy, moody secret service assassin may have been TV's first anti-hero
Played with controlled intensity by Edward Woodward, David Callan is a working-class loner, reluctantly yet ruthlessly stitching up or shutting up Eastern Bloc agents, ex-Nazis and possible security risks, all at the behest of a murky section of British intelligence. "All the rotten jobs," as he puts it.
With just three TV channels to choose from, an evening's viewing in the late 1960s was somewhat limited. But even if there had been more, Callan would still have led the field: in a time before video recorders, this seminal spy series from ITV – with its iconic swinging-lightbulb title sequence, its sharp scripts and cracking characters – was stay-in TV.
The show turned the James Bond image on its head. Callan, possibly TV's first antihero, is the section's top killer, addicted to his own deadliness. Unlike Bond, he is unglamorous, insecure, has no love of Queen and country, and lives in a dingy flat where we occasionally find him making model soldiers (his colleagues goad him by calling them toy soldiers) and unblocking the sink. But he is the show's moral compass, such as it is, displaying a sensitivity lacking in his fellow agents: posh Meres (Anthony Valentine) and cocky Cross (Patrick Mower). This he does by constantly questioning the orders of his boss, Hunter, and helping the section's unwitting victims.
The character first appeared in 1967, in A Magnum for Schneider, a TV play by James Mitchell (who later scripted When The Boat Comes In). Four series followed over five years, now available as two box sets: The Monochrome Years (1967-69) and The Colour Years (1970-72). Although they were hugely successful, only half of the 22 black-and-white episodes escaped being wiped or lost. It's fascinating to see how edgy and pared back they are, filmed in sweaty, wide-angle close-up. The colour years feel more stylistically familiar: Callan appears less crumpled (he woos a politician's widow in Suddenly – At Home) and the storylines are much meatier.
The show was not afraid to touch on the politics of the day, with Corin Redgrave popping up as an anti-immigration MP in Amos Green Must Live – an episode that was postponed to avoid a clash with the 1970 general election. Although it's not without action scenes – the chippy spook gets brainwashed by the KGB, springs an enemy agent from prison, and harpoons a baddie in a boutique – the series is more of a character study. We watch to see if, when and why Callan will fly off the handle, and how he'll interact with his sidekick Lonely, a smelly thief excellently played by Russell Hunter. Their punchy, sardonic exchanges are a highlight: "I don't hold with spies," says Lonely. "Hard luck, mate," replies Callan.
Forty years ago, programme-makers had to go easy on the gore, so there are no blood-spattered murder scenes and the violence is implied rather than graphically depicted; nor is there any earthy language or lots of location filming – meaning certain elements inevitably seem quaint, not least the toy-like technology, hideous furnishings and dodgy foreign accents. The series may have hit the small screen at a time when the cold war seemed permanent and a public telephone could mean the difference between life or death, but the quality of the drama and the continuing relevance of the theme (security forces using dirty tactics) win out. And Woodward, all high cheekbones and furrowed brow, gives one of the most compelling performances in TV history. Reported by guardian.co.uk 1 day ago.
Played with controlled intensity by Edward Woodward, David Callan is a working-class loner, reluctantly yet ruthlessly stitching up or shutting up Eastern Bloc agents, ex-Nazis and possible security risks, all at the behest of a murky section of British intelligence. "All the rotten jobs," as he puts it.
With just three TV channels to choose from, an evening's viewing in the late 1960s was somewhat limited. But even if there had been more, Callan would still have led the field: in a time before video recorders, this seminal spy series from ITV – with its iconic swinging-lightbulb title sequence, its sharp scripts and cracking characters – was stay-in TV.
The show turned the James Bond image on its head. Callan, possibly TV's first antihero, is the section's top killer, addicted to his own deadliness. Unlike Bond, he is unglamorous, insecure, has no love of Queen and country, and lives in a dingy flat where we occasionally find him making model soldiers (his colleagues goad him by calling them toy soldiers) and unblocking the sink. But he is the show's moral compass, such as it is, displaying a sensitivity lacking in his fellow agents: posh Meres (Anthony Valentine) and cocky Cross (Patrick Mower). This he does by constantly questioning the orders of his boss, Hunter, and helping the section's unwitting victims.
The character first appeared in 1967, in A Magnum for Schneider, a TV play by James Mitchell (who later scripted When The Boat Comes In). Four series followed over five years, now available as two box sets: The Monochrome Years (1967-69) and The Colour Years (1970-72). Although they were hugely successful, only half of the 22 black-and-white episodes escaped being wiped or lost. It's fascinating to see how edgy and pared back they are, filmed in sweaty, wide-angle close-up. The colour years feel more stylistically familiar: Callan appears less crumpled (he woos a politician's widow in Suddenly – At Home) and the storylines are much meatier.
The show was not afraid to touch on the politics of the day, with Corin Redgrave popping up as an anti-immigration MP in Amos Green Must Live – an episode that was postponed to avoid a clash with the 1970 general election. Although it's not without action scenes – the chippy spook gets brainwashed by the KGB, springs an enemy agent from prison, and harpoons a baddie in a boutique – the series is more of a character study. We watch to see if, when and why Callan will fly off the handle, and how he'll interact with his sidekick Lonely, a smelly thief excellently played by Russell Hunter. Their punchy, sardonic exchanges are a highlight: "I don't hold with spies," says Lonely. "Hard luck, mate," replies Callan.
Forty years ago, programme-makers had to go easy on the gore, so there are no blood-spattered murder scenes and the violence is implied rather than graphically depicted; nor is there any earthy language or lots of location filming – meaning certain elements inevitably seem quaint, not least the toy-like technology, hideous furnishings and dodgy foreign accents. The series may have hit the small screen at a time when the cold war seemed permanent and a public telephone could mean the difference between life or death, but the quality of the drama and the continuing relevance of the theme (security forces using dirty tactics) win out. And Woodward, all high cheekbones and furrowed brow, gives one of the most compelling performances in TV history. Reported by guardian.co.uk 1 day ago.