1976: Summer of Stingray

By the mid 1970s, Gerry Anderson’s Supermarionation series were largely off the air. A few ITV regions kept up random repeat runs of the colour series, but they were few and far between. One of the only stations keeping the flag flying was ATV who had, of course, financed the series in the first place. A few years earlier, the midlands operator had faced criticism for the sheer volume of Supermarionation shows that were to be found in its children's programme schedule, but all this meant in practice was that, during 1968, the only Gerry Anderson productions broadcast on ATV were first run episodes of Captain Scarlet and Joe 90. Stingray had, in all honesty, been played to death, having been on an almost continuous loop of repeats since 1964. By 1967, even I was getting fed up with seeing it.

Colour television provided a ready made excuse to dust off and repeat older colour series that had formerly been seen only in black and white, and the years from 1969 through to around 1973 provided an ‘Indian summer’ of ITC material getting its first outing in colour.

Beginning in December 1969, ATV began an early evening repeat of Stingray, which ran all the way through to September – the last time the series would be shown in a single, unbroken run by the midlands operator. Viewers with colour sets could, for the first time, see Troy Tempest and Marina as they were meant to be seen, and no doubt marvelled at the episodes’ rich colour palette. In our house, we were still watching in black and white. In fact, I doubt if I was even aware at this time that Stingray had been made in colour, so I didn’t feel we were missing out.

The show was then off air in the midlands for nearly three years; and when it returned, on 24 July 1973, it was in a new morning timeslot. 1973 was the first year in which ITV showed children's programmes and films during the school summer holidays, which now became a prime time to see Stingray, and the run of episodes continued through to the end of the summer break. There were more at Christmas, followed by a further run through the summer of 1974, by which time another near complete run of episodes was drawing to a close (the few remaining ‘orphaned’ episodes were stripped into editions of Tiswas during 1975).

In 1976, yet another repeat run began, marking the sixth outing for the series on ATV since its debut in October 1964. As ever, the repeats had an annoying tendency to begin a few weeks ahead of the school summer holiday, and this year the summer morning schedule began on the week commencing Monday 28 June. The TV Times didn’t give a title, but it seems reasonable to assume that the episode shown on Thursday 1 July, at 10.35am was the untitled pilot. The original ITV broadcast order was significantly different to the ‘official’ episode order, as seen in all episode guides and subsequent physical media releases, and the second episode was Emergency Marineville (8 July) followed by Ghost Ship (15 July). Our school didn’t break up for the holidays until the following day, so I missed all three of these repeats. We were then on a family holiday in Wales, which meant missing Subterranean Sea on the 22nd. Thus it was that the first episode I got to see in this 1976 repeat run was Loch Ness Monster, on 29 July.

This was only the second episode of Stingray I’d ever seen in colour, so as a fan it felt like a significant moment. It's hardly a typical episode, but it's certainly colourful. The episodes shown over the remainder of the summer holiday were something of a mixed bag, and only An Echo of Danger (19 August) conformed to the standard action adventure formula, while the others were either exotic, whimsical or romantic stories. I’d have much preferred to see episodes like The Big Gun or The Invaders to In Search of the Tajmanon (1 September), but any Stingray was better than nothing. One thing we did notice about this run of episodes was the different openings, some in colour, others in black and white, denoting episodes from the series’ two production blocks. We also committed the soundtracks faithfully to tape – I can still recall listening to a playback of Raptures of the Deep (28 August) and wishing that there was a way to record the picture along with the sound, little knowing that home video lay just around the corner, and that by the time of the next run of repeats we'd be able to do just that.

In Search of the Tajmanon brought the 1976 summer repeats to an end. Barring a solitary episode (Tune of Danger) shown on New Year’s Day 1977, and an unscheduled Stand by For Action on 15 November 1980, this marked the end of the line for Stingray on ATV. In 1977, rather than picking up Stingray again, ATV chose to show episodes of Joe 90 commencing Friday 1 July, in a run which included the decidedly unseasonable Christmas episode The Unorthodox Shepherd (22 July). I wasn’t bothered with Joe 90 and didn’t even bother to watch most weeks. Viewers in Yorkshire were doing rather better, with episodes of Thunderbirds, but elsewhere the ITV network was largely a Supermarionation-free zone.

The 1976 repeats of Stingray made use of somewhat worn and washed-out 16mm copies, occasionally marred with splices and missing scenes. By the time Stingray returned to our screens in 1982, it was in the form of newly struck 35mm prints. Curiously, the battered old 16mm versions were dusted off for a further repeat run in 1987, while the 1990s BBC2 revival was different again, with brand new transfers, replacing the monochrome opening shots with the colour version across the whole series. Both of the 1980s repeat runs had seen the series back in its time honoured summer morning slot, and when BBC2 placed it in their early evening schedule, it felt almost wrong.

For me, Stingray will always belong to summer mornings. All told, between 1973 and 1976 we got to see maybe half the series during those holiday screenings. The repeats of 1976 seem to belong to the whole fabric of that legendarily hot summer. Somehow, it wouldn’t have been quite the same without them. 

Thunderbird Sixty – part 3

 

3: End of the Road

By Christmas of 1967, Thunderbirds was last year’s news. The strip in TV21, now given an insane slant by writer Scott Goodall, would endure even beyond the comic’s demise in 1969, but on television it had, for the moment, run its course. For young viewers like me, it was Captain Scarlet all the way, and the new series meant a new range of toys in the shops. The first of these had appeared by Christmas, in the form of a nicely realised friction-drive model of the Angel Interceptor aircraft. TV21 promoted the new toys in a series of half page black and white ads, and it’s interesting to note how ‘The Angels’ were marketed as a separate entity from Captain Scarlet, with their own logo. Even so, the marketing campaign was small beer compared with the full colour advertisements that had helped to sell the range of Thunderbirds toys.

But we weren’t done with Thunderbirds just yet. The Andersons still had one more shot left in their locker. Stung by the disappointing response to the first feature film, they somehow convinced United Artists to do it all over again, and thus it was that, in July 1968, Thunderbird Six limped its way into the cinemas. The phenomenon of the ‘summer blockbuster’ was unknown in the late 60s, so the July release date was clearly timed to coincide with the long school summer holiday (although the film had received its BBFC classification back in January). In fact, it was released as a 'Sunday double bill', with Thunderbird Six playing in the afternoon while a brace of Bonds took over in the evening.

In the pages of TV21, the new film got scarcely a mention. There would be no photo-strip this time around, and aside from a couple of modest black and white quarter page blocks, there was no other publicity for the new venture. Away from the comic, a life-sized FAB1 toured the country accompanied by a real life Lady Penelope: in a nice bit of unpaid publicity from the rival TV network, the vehicle even made an appearance on BBC1’s Blue Peter.

For me, the film was a bit of a disappointment. Any chance to see Thunderbirds in colour in the cinema couldn’t be missed, of course, and the finale was as explosive as anything else in the Anderson canon. The featured vehicle, Skyship One, was a nice design, but we’d come to the cinema to see a brand new Thunderbird in action, and the final revelation of the Tiger Moth came as a giant let-down, clearly intended to amuse adult viewers. The rest of the film was little more than an innocuous travelogue showcasing some typically gimmicky Anderson ideas, with an unimaginative hijack plot bolted on. Thunderbird 6 was another box office failure. As a movie, it was sheer self indulgence. Thunderbirds deserved better.

By this time, the TV21 Thunderbirds strip was still in the very capable hands of Frank Bellamy, who managed to combine a bravura style with faithful depictions of the characters and hardware. The scripts, originally from Alan Fennell, and latterly from Scott Goodall, began to bear less and less resemblance to the series, with bizarre super-villains who seemed drafted in from the Marvel universe. The strip reached a nadir in the spring of 1968 with a storyline that began with the apparent murder of Brains, went on to depict the destruction of Thunderbirds 2 and 3, and culminated with the Hood attempting to saw the top off Tracy Island!

Despite this farrago of nonsense, the strip remained one of TV21’s most popular features. Equally insane, if not more so, was the Zero-X strip, which saw its characters subjected to endless ‘bodyshock’ storylines: one saw them turned into bald-headed, white skinned, red-veined mutants, whilst another had them taken over by malevolent cylopean leaves that attached themselves to their victims’ faces. Yet another adventure saw them melted into puddles of blue liquid. TV21 was beginning to look not unlike a horror comic… When the ailing title was combined with its sibling paper Joe 90, Thunderbirds was one of only two Anderson strips to survive the makeover. It would later resurface in Countdown, competently illustrated by Don Harley, who had covered during Frank Bellamy's brief absence from the TV21 strip in the autumn of 1966.

Thunderbirds as it appeared in the first issue of Countdown, February 20, 1971

In the ATV Midlands region, the series was still on air, and had more or less taken up residence in a Friday teatime slot, where it was to be found throughout the whole of 1969 and 1970. It was back again in 1971 for what must have been its fourth or fifth run. 18 episodes were shown before Land of the Giants took over the slot in June. TV now became a Thunderbirds-free zone until a handful of episodes turned up on Saturday mornings in early 1973. 

All this time, I'd been watching in black and white, so it was a revelation finally to see episodes in colour. For me, this didn't happen until 1975, when Lord Parker’s ‘Oliday was shown at Easter, and Richochet at Christmas. The series would not return to TV until 1981 – at least not here in the Midlands. Yorkshire Television, however, showed a batch of episodes in 1979, VHS dupes of which found their way to me the following year: they were low resolution and the colours were smeary, but it was better than nothing.

Also better than nothing were the few Thunderbirds episodes that had found their way onto the 8mm home movie format, albeit in heavily truncated form, and with captions instead of soundtracks. It's unclear when these films were originally released: the box artwork has the series copyright date of 1965, which fans (and the internet) have assumed to be the release date of the films themselves. This is highly unlikely, especially in light of the fact that at least one episode (Attack of the Alligators!) wasn't even broadcast until 1966. Either way, the films were still being sold in the mid 70s, making them some of the last items of original Thunderbirds merchandise to be available in the shops. I acquired an 8mm projector in 1977 and soon got hold of the 8-minute black and white versions of Day of Disaster and Thirty Minutes After Noon. The absolute last fling for Thunderbirds merchandising was Dinky's venerable Thunderbird 2 which finally dropped out of the catalogue in 1979.

Three of the Arrow Thunderbirds home movies, in 1-reel and 50ft editions

By 1980, I felt like nobody else still cared about Thunderbirds. I’d had one friend at school who wasn’t ashamed to admit he still liked the series, but I’d lost contact with him, and Thunderbirds fandom at this point in time seemed to consist of myself and Tim Beddows. We soon made contact with others, though, and spring of 1980 saw a kind of ad hoc international convention take place in our living room, attended by Starlog’s David Hirsch, Theo De Klerk and a couple of other ‘uber fans’ (there was no other kind at that time).

1981 saw the series return to British television with what appeared to be brand-new 35mm prints. Here in the Midlands, the repeats began on Sunday 30 August, at 1.00pm, and I was now able to record episodes on VHS tape.  The series continued until Christmas, in its 'official' broadcast order, with Thunderbird Six making an unwelcome intrusion into the run on Sunday 20 September. The repeats resumed on Sunday 12 September 1982, beginning with Desperate Intruder, and running all the way through to Christmas, with Give or Take a Million appearing on Sunday 12 December. My diary records that it snowed all day – thanks, Brains!

By early 1983, when the oprhaned episode Path of Destruction finally made it onto air, I now had a complete set of Thunderbirds on VHS tape, so it no longer mattered whether ITV chose to repeat it again or not. In the event, they didn’t, and while the 1980s would see the gradual emergence of an organised fan network devoted to the work of Gerry Anderson, there were no further sightings of Thunderbirds on the small screen as the ITV regions ploughed through the other Supermarionation series, covering everything bar Supercar and The Secret Service.

I could hardly have anticipated what came next. In September 1991 a repeat run began on BBC2 of all places. For viewers like me, Thunderbirds had been inextricably linked with ITV for the past twenty five years and to see it on BBC was almost a form of culture shock. It also meant that the series was shown without advert breaks for the first time in its history* and, more importantly, was being nationally networked. With an average of over six million viewers tuning in every week, there was clear potential for a new range of toys and other licenced products, and when the Matchbox Tracy Island appeared on the market, it became the season’s must-have toy. As a fan, I welcomed this new range of merchandise, but couldn’t keep up with the releases as every week seemed to bring rafts of new toys to the shelves of our local Woolworth’s. Many years later, during a house move, I sold on all of my remaining 1990s Thunderbirds toys – somehow, they lacked the charm of the 1960s originals, and the packaging was unappealing.

The idea of a full-scale revival of the series began to gain ground, and, inevitably, a movie resulted. I’ve never bothered with this worthless endeavour that saw the asethetically pleasing vehicles of the 1960s given a ‘twenty first century’ makeover (the new FAB1 must qualify as one of the most hideous reimaginings of a hero vehicle in the entire genre of sci-fi/fantasy). Later still came a TV revival, Thunderbirds Are Go, of which I watched a solitary episode out of curiosity. I was puzzled by the ‘plastic-haired’ appearance of the CGI characters and disappointed by the theme tune which reiterated the first phrase of Barry Gray’s original like a stuck record.

Over the years, Thunderbirds became a lightning rod for misguided creativity. Gerry Anderson had sold all his interests in the series back in the 1970s and since then had been forced to sit back and spectate as other hands made a travesty of his original concept. Thunderbirds 2068 was a pointless manga revamp of the format, but the wooden spoon for the worst production ever to sully the brand goes to 1994’s Turbocharged Thunderbirds, which mashed up the original footage into a gimmicky teenage format that saw the characters presented as ‘virtual lifeforms’ on another planet. Garbage doesn’t even begin to describe it.

There can surely be no point or merit in further attempting to revive Thunderbirds. The original can and should be left to stand alone for what it was – an artefact of its era and the apotheosis of the Andersons' unique film production technique. There have, of course, been more recent and accurate revivals of Supermarionation, but nothing will ever be equal to the original.

Thunderbirds is readily available to watch in HD on ITVX and on ITV’s YouTube channel. Though dated in many respects, the series stands alone, even amongst Gerry Anderson's repertoire. Thunderbirds was where it all came together: the perfect format, with a cast of warm, believable characters and imaginatively conceived hardware.

Watching Thunderbirds back in the 1960s and 70s, I'd hardly have imagined it would still be remembered so many years later. Being made in colour certainly helped to 'future proof' the series, and whilst its aesthetics are very much those of the 1960s, the fact of its being made with puppets and models makes it look a lot less dated than live action productions of the same era, while its real world physical effects really set it apart in an era of ubiquitous CGI.

I've no doubt that Thunderbirds will continue to be celebrated even when it reaches its centenary, in the TV21 year of 2065... and beyond?

[* To be pedantic, some of the ITV morning repeats in the 1970s were broadcast advert-free, including the YTV batch from 1979. The original commercial break captions subsequently became extremely rare] 

Thunderbird Sixty – part 2

 

2: Thunderbirds Toys – for Girls and Boys

Last time, I looked at the first weeks of Thunderbirds and how young fans of the series (like myself) acted out our own adventures with toys, with existing toys often standing in for the International Rescue vehicles in our imaginations (well, mine at least). My original ‘Thunderbird One’ was played by a friction-drive Gloster Javelin (with realistic sparking engine), which you can see pictured below. It took a few months before any bona fide Thunderbirds toys appeared in the shops, but once the floodgates opened, there was no stopping them.

It wasn’t just the International Rescue vehicles that I wanted to own: my favourite piece of hardware from the series was the Fireflash airliner – arguably a better and more realistic design than any of the Thunderbird craft themselves. Back in 1965, no toy manufacturer would dream of releasing a model of a vehicle that appeared in only a handful of TV episodes, and although our dad valiantly searched the shops that Christmas, no Fireflash toy was to be had (I wonder how many other kids of my age also wanted one?) As a substitute, I received a battery-operated model of the coolest real world aircraft currently available – the ill-fated TSR-2. In real life, the TSR-2 project had been cancelled (by Harold Wilson) by the time I got my hands on the toy, and I knew nothing of its intended purpose (it carried a nuclear payload). Decades later I saw an actual example at RAF Cosford where I'd gone, ironically, to look at a Gerry Anderson exhibition...

Thunderbirds 'stand-ins': Left, Gloster Javelin (Thunderbird One), right, TSR2 (Fireflash)

Apart from the vehicles themselves, the next most essential toy to own was a Thunderbirds outfit. This was available as a complete costume, comprising top, trousers and over-the-shoulder sash/belt, plus, of course, the famous cap. I don’t know whether our toy shop had sold out or whether the price of the complete boxed outfit was too steep, but I ended up with just the cap and the sash, which I had to wear over my ordinary clothes. The cap, being made of black felt, wasn’t exactly true to the series, and was replaced in the autumn of 1966 by a cardboard version given away with TV21 comic (issue 90, dateline October 8 2066). I wore it until I was old enough not to want to play Thunderbirds in the back garden any more, by which time it was held together with sellotape.

A near complete set of Thunderbirds dolls (minus TIn Tin), as seen on an auction site last year. The set realised £2,100

Spring 1966 had seen the very successful UK launch of Hasbro's GI Joe, rebranded as Action Man for the British market. Many adults were sceptical about a doll for boys, but the new toy was an immediate success, and inspired a range of Thunderbirds characters made in a similar manner, which arrived in toy shops later in the year. All the regular characters were available, and the likenesses were some of the best ever created for action figures. Unfortunately, they were nowhere near as robust as Action Man, being constructed of soft, flimsy plastic and held together internally by staples and elastic. When the staples rusted, your Thunderbirds doll fell to pieces. They were also incredibly hard to find in toy shops – all the Tracy brothers sold out almost immediately. A classmate turned up at school with Scott Tracy, but by the time I got down to the toy shop next weekend, only John Tracy remained. The less popular dolls (including, amazingly, Parker), could still be found in toy shops two or three years later.

1966 was the true 'Thunderbirds Christmas'. J.Rosenthal's range of toys had by now been rebranded 'Century 21', and dozens of other manufacturers had licenced products on the market. TV21 regularly featured whole page colour advertisements promoting the Century 21 range of 'Thunderbirds toys – for girls and boys.' These ads were to be found regularly in the comic (example above), with their last appearance coming in issue 131 in May 1967.

Sound Only Selected

Unless you’d taped episode soundtracks for yourself, the only way to revisit Thunderbirds when not on air was on vinyl. Century 21 records had launched in October of 1965, and amongst its first batch of releases was the Mini-album ‘Introducing Thunderbirds’. I had this bought for me, but didn’t think a lot of it – rather than an episode soundtrack, it was merely Jeff Tracy demonstrating the Thunderbird vehicles (or rather, their sounds) to Lady Penelope and Parker. What the record desperately lacked was music. Music was, of course, an essential part of the series, and I always made sure to hum some Barry Gray themes as I flew my Thunderbirds toys around the living room. 

The Century 21 'Mini Albums' are launched in TV21, issue 41, 30 October 2065. This was also the first photo of Thunderbird One to appear in the comic.

Much better record releases were to come – at my birthday in 1966 I was bought the ‘Thunderbird One’ EP, which condensed the pilot episode into a very effective twenty-minute narrative. My brother had the ‘FAB’ record bought for him at the same time, on which could be heard the decidedly iffy vocals of Lady P and Parker warbling a Barry Gray ditty about the Abominable Snowman.

Thunderbirds continued to be a big deal as far as I was concerned. Autumn 1966 saw new episodes appear in a two-part format, along with re-edited versions of the first series, now shown over consecutive evenings, Batman fashion. The series joined TV21 comic in January 1966, and by the end of the year had found its way onto the big screen. I was taken to Birmingham to see the film, my first experience of Thunderbirds in colour. I still recall hearing a child in a nearby seat telling his parents ‘that’s Thunderbird One’ as Zero-X Lift Body One emerged from its hangar. The fool!

Century 21 toys' Zero-X (1967)

Zero-X provided the last of the Century 21 Thunderbirds toys, but it took nearly a year to reach the toyshops and was eventually released alongside the short-lived range of 'Project SWORD' vehicles. As you can see above, Zero-X was one of the most realistic toys ever produced by Century 21. The main body and MEV were independently powered, by batteries, with coloured flashing tail lights at the rear, activated from a walkie-talkie style controller. My brother and myself both received the toy as a present that Christmas and mine remains more or less intact, and boxed to this day. Although it hadn't been run for more than half a century, the motorised MEV, when loaded with batteries, whizzed away across the floor like it was escaping from a hoard of Rock Snakes...

Thunderbirds continued on British television for much of the 1960s, although it was banished for twelve months in 1968 when the ITA decided that ATV had been giving undue prominence to the Anderson productions in the children’s schedules. It also made a difference where you lived: we were in the ATV region, and as financial backers of the series, they kept Thunderbirds on air almost continually from 1969 through to 1971. From November 69, those with colour televisions could see it as it was meant to be seen (I wouldn’t get to see a colour episode myself until 1975).

In part three, I'll look at the 'afterlife' of the series...