"Animals can be cuddly, friendly, faithful... but beasts are nightmarishly different..." This was how the TV Times heralded the arrival of Beasts, Nigel Kneale's anthology of six plays - each focusing around a particular "creature" - produced by Nicholas Palmer for ATV in 1976. The warning was to be a timely one. Over the next six weeks, those in the audience brave enough to watch were treated to some classic Kneale horrors, and a lot else besides... To those lucky enough to see it first time around, the series still remains memorable, and, helped by screenings at Kaleidoscope over the last few years, Beasts is finding a whole new audience of fans today.

The series opened powerfully with "During Barty's Party", an exceptional instalment which has lost none of its impact over the passage of time. Beasts was to cover some pretty outlandish territory, but here Kneale chose to exploit an all to familiar fear for most people - the deep-seated, uncontrollable horror of rats - and turn it on its head. "During Barty's Party" takes as its premise the fact that humankind and rats are natural enemies, but we are comfortable in the knowledge that we can always destroy them. A common theory prevalent in the seventies was that rats could grow immune to certain poisons over time and their offspring would be genetically immune from the outset. The episode poses the question: what would be the consequences for humanity if a strain of rats evolved that was immune to all our poisons and that, as a result of their mutation, had developed a greater level of reasoning intelligence as well? Angie and Roger Truscott (played by Elizabeth Sellars and Anthony Bate) discover at first hand the terrifying answer to Kneale's question. Alone in their isolated house, they hear scratching noises and assume there is a rat under the floorboards until it becomes increasingly clear that more rats are there, and more, and more... Their dog, dispatched earlier to deal with the rat, has not returned. A car has been mysteriously abandoned in a nearby lane and left there all day, doors still open. Angie knows there is something terribly wrong, but is not sure what. Tuning in the radio to an entertainment show hosted by Barty Wills (the Barty's Party of the title) they hear reports of rat swarms in their area, with large rats moving in columns by the thousand. The radio treats it as a trivial item but Angie somehow feels the menace should not be underestimated and is desperate to leave the house. Roger, a self-obsessed and stubborn man, dismisses her request, saying that he is not about to leave his house to be infested by vermin, and by this action unwittingly seals their fate. As their lines of communication are gradually cut off, it becomes clear that the rat swarm is encroaching on the house and preparing for a co-ordinated attack. Angie, in desperation, phones Barty's radio show and so convinced is he by her terror that he drops his light-hearted patter and launches a rescue attempt, but due to a technical error he has misheard Angie's surname and the 'phone goes dead before she has time to correct him. We know by this stage that the Truscotts are doomed and have no escape, but Kneale provides a masterly catharsis of tension in the form of their returning neighbours, the Gibsons. Thinking they are saved at the last minute - as we, the viewers, do - Angie and Roger see the rats attack the Gibsons en masse, in a terrifying foretaste of their own fate. The climax of "During Barty's Party" is an explosive masterpiece of psychological terror in almost Hitchcockian style, and Kneale, ever the master of irony, ends the piece with a close up on the radio set, and we hear Barty speculate on whether it was all a hoax, to the sound of the Truscotts' dying screams...

The use of clever dramatic devices and subtle direction enhances the claustrophobic terror of "During Barty's Party. The action takes place almost entirely in Angie and Roger's house and they are the only characters to appear in the flesh - Barty, the Gibsons and the other characters are only heard as voices and never actually seen. This serves to focus the action solely on the Truscotts and their environs, thus increasing the tension to an almost intolerable level as they gradually begin to realise the fate that has befallen them. The technique also underlines the fact of their increasing isolation. Obviously the use of such a device depends for its credibility on believable performances, and Elizabeth Sellars and Anthony Bate both play their characters with complete conviction, complemented by Kneale's script which gives each of them a fully-developed history in the matter of a few minutes. Don Taylor's direction is also worth considerable credit, especially the moment when Angie and Roger witness the deaths of the Gibsons, which is portrayed by a single, lengthy close up shot of Bate and Sellars' faces, happiness at their supposed salvation being quickly replaced by horror and revulsion. The climactic rat attack is superbly realised, and, like all the best screen horror, is all the better for the fact that the rats are never actually seen, merely suggested by burrowing noises, moving doors or wood chippings bursting forth from skirting boards. The psychological horror this conveys is far greater than any that could have been created by the use of real or, worse, stuffed rats. It is a testament to the quality of this episode that even today, it lives in the memory of those fortunate enough to see it at the time.

One of the best aspects of the Beasts series is that each play is different in style and tone. The second episode, "Buddyboy", is to be shown today at Kaleidoscope and, so as not to spoil your enjoyment, will not be covered at length here. Whereas "During Barty's Party" concentrated on a creature that incites almost universal hatred and revulsion in humans, "Buddyboy" deals with a much-loved and respected animal, the dolphin. "Buddyboy" is an example of Kneale's skill in taking a potentially ludicrous premise and treating it with total seriousness. Hubbard the dolphinarium owner (played by Wolfe Morris) has lost his prize attraction, Buddyboy, in mysterious circumstances, and wants to sell up at the earliest opportunity. Dave, (played by a pre-Professionals Martin Shaw) has big plans for the site as an exclusive pornographic cinema, but is disturbed by Hubbard's desperation to finalise the sale and his plans to leave the country. Thinking Hubbard is in financial trouble, or in the thrall of organised crime, Dave starts to probe into his past with terrifying, and unexpected, consequences...

After today's screening, "Buddyboy" is likely to become the Beasts episode people either love or hate, based entirely on whether they think it ever overcomes the potential pitfalls of its premise, largely a matter of personal opinion. This aside though, the episode is well worth a look for the credible performances - particularly from Martin Shaw, who conveys a subtlety that belies his macho Professionals persona. Given the subject matter, the episode must have been difficult to take entirely seriously, but the cast manage admirably. Wolfe Morris is also particularly effective as the tortured Hubbard. The sets - particularly the dilapidated dolphinarium - convey the creepy atmosphere well, and Kneale provides another multi-layered script populated by believable characters.

Nigel Kneale brought us back into "During Barty's Party" territory again in the third story "Baby", except in this case the protagonists faced an even more unspeakable horror. Jo Gilkes (Jane Wymark) and her husband Peter (Simon MacCorkindale) have just moved to an old, run-down farmhouse which is being renovated by workmen. Peter, a vet, has just taken up a new job in partnership with a local colleague, Dick (played by T.P. McKenna) and is delighted with his new post. It also looks as though Jo's pregnancy will work out this time - on a previous occasion, she suffered a miscarriage. But Jo is not happy - she remains uneasy about the place, and feels there is something deeply wrong. All around, there seem to be suggestions of death, stagnation and decay; the only living creatures in evidence are scores of ravens, ancient harbingers of death, whose sinister cries constantly permeate the air. And the fields are impossible to cultivate or use to graze livestock. Her fears are compounded by the fact that her cat runs away immediately on entering the house - she feels he knew there was something abnormal about the place. Peter, who is as self-obsessed as Roger Truscott was in the first Beasts story, dismisses her concerns as arising from nervousness about the pregnancy and proceeds to continue the renovation work on the house himself. Whilst knocking down a wall, he discovers a strange urn buried in a cavity and decides to investigate further. After unsealing the urn and releasing the noxious stench of death from within, he extracts a hideous, deformed and unnatural creature that defies any description - in Peter's words, "a farmyard monster. A cross between two animals that ought to have known better". His professional curiosity aroused, he plans to show the creature to Dick, but Jo is terrified of it, a fear that is made all the greater by Peter's assertion that he is not sure that it was ever actually born. Dick suggests it could have been entombed in the wall for hundreds of years, given the age of the house, and Jo is unsettled further by the workmen's' tales of unlucky charms and curses practised by people versed in the "old powers". They say that "if something wouldn't happen by nature... then such as that might serve". Later, whilst walking in the woods, Jo hears a an unnatural, inhuman call, like a low growl, and a massive shadow is cast over her. Terrified of this unknown menace, she awkwardly runs away. From this point she regularly hears this sound, as if something is stalking her, and strange things start to happen back at the house, such as empty rocking chairs moving by themselves. After a night when she is driven almost hysterical with fear, Jo hears noises emanating from downstairs and goes to investigate. Creeping downstairs, she is startled by a noise sounding like a baby being suckled, and turns to see a hideous misshapen creature, with blank, sightless eyes and a gaping maw sitting in the rocking chair, suckling all manner of obscene offspring. It is a thing of unspeakable horror, like something from a nightmare, and at the sight of it, Jo falls, convulsing, on the floor, screaming and clutching at her stomach in agony. The conclusion we draw is obvious - nothing can be naturally born here. Then, we see the rocking chair again, but, even though it is still moving, there is nothing there...

"Baby" is as effective an instalment as "During Barty's Party" and also benefits from the fact that it doesn't provide all the answers. Although the resolution is supremely satisfactory, and doesn't betray the suspense that has been gradually built up throughout, we are still unsure about many things; this makes "Baby" deeply unsettling long after the episode has finished. The performances are strong from all the principals - Jane Wymark portrays Jo very well and she has our sympathy throughout; Simon MacCorkindale (who would renew his assocation with Nigel Kneale in Quatermass three years later) makes Peter human (if unlikeable) and T.P. McKenna adds a touch of class to the proceedings. The direction, by John Nelson Burton, contains some brilliantly executed set-pieces, such as when Jo is stalked by the unseen creature - as in "During Barty's Party", making our imagination do the work - or the last scenes where close up shots of Jo make us share her fear as she walks down the stairs.

"What Big Eyes" provided another contrast to the type of stories seen so far. Bob Curry (played by Michael Kitchen, of To Play The King fame) is an RSPCA inspector charged with the task of investigating the safety of animals in transit for import and export. Suspecting malpractice by an animal trader, Jebb, Curry looks at Jebb's books and sees that three timber wolves have been imported in the last eighteen months, apparently at the request of a local pet shop. His curiosity aroused, Curry visits the shop, a run-down and seedy backstreet affair, and talks with the proprietor, Florence Raymount (Madge Ryan). She admits receiving the wolves, but is evasive about the reasons, saying that her father is the one who will supply the answers.

When Curry meets her father, Leo Raymount (Patrick Magee), an immediately sinister figure, it quickly becomes obvious that his daughter is totally in his thrall - in return, he despises and abuses her loyalty. It transpires that Raymount has scientific pretensions - though he is dismissed by the scientific establishment as a mad crackpot - and is obsessed with new theories of evolution. He tells Curry that he his life's work will eventually prove a common ancestry between wolves and humans, namely lycanthropy - the ability for "werewolves" to change their physical form from one to another and vice versa. He says his theories are proven by our folklore and race memories - in his version of Little Red Riding Hood, Grandma was not eaten by the wolf, she was the wolf. Then he reveals - to Curry's horror - that he has used the wolves for experimentation, and is proceeding to inject himself with their tissue. Curry realises he is gradually poisoning his own blood and urges him to stop, but Raymount is determined to continue. Some time later, Curry returns to Raymount's rooms above the pet shop to find him delirious. Wracked by the blood poisoning, he expires after giving a mock lecture and thinking himself to have changed into a wolf. Florence calmly waits for what she sees as the inevitable to happen. After a trip back to his office, Curry goes back to the pet shop to find Florence destroying her father's possessions and equipment. She is hysterical, saying that she was prepared to serve her father when she believed his work was right, but now it has been shown to be worthless, she feels her whole life has been wasted, and her father has betrayed her faith in him. Curry tries to comfort her, to little avail. Going back into her father's study, where his corpse is still lying, covered by a sheet, Florence taunts him to change into a wolf now, if he can. Then, imperceptibly, there seems to be some movement from under the sheet, as if a change is occurring, but Curry snatches the cover away - to reveal the corpse, still completely human, underneath. But Florence is convinced that, just for a second, her father's work was true...

This episode is ultimately unfulfilling, as the viewer is left unsure as to what Kneale was trying to achieve. Whilst it is admirable that he didn't fall into the cliche of having Raymount actually change into a wolf at the end - as the viewers expect him to - the fact that he does not makes the ending too downbeat and unsatisfactory. But "What Big Eyes" does contain some marvellous moments - such as Raymount's descriptions of the old times before humans and wolves became separate species, or his own interpretation of Little Red Riding Hood. The performances are strong - Patrick Magee is perfectly cast as Raymount, and conveys the sinister, crackpot scientist persona very effectively, and Madge Ryan is equally good as his repressed daughter. Michael Kitchen gives Bob Curry a convincing youthful idealism.

The penultimate episode was "The Dummy", an instalment which illustrates, as did "Buddyboy", Kneale's ability to take a ludicrous idea entirely seriously. The action takes place in a film studio, where Revenge of the Dummy, seventh in a series of tacky British horror pictures is being made. Clyde Boyd (Bernard Horsfall) - the actor playing the Dummy, a creature that is "a mixture of animal, vegetable, mineral, immortal, bullet-proof, indestructible" - seems disturbed by something and keeps ruining takes. After one failure too many, Clyde storms off the set to his dressing room, closely pursued by the director, Sidney Stewart (Glyn Houston), and the producer "Bunny" Nettleton (Clive Swift). It transpires that Clyde, who has a severe drink problem, is on the verge of a mental breakdown after years of rejection as a serious actor - "I was just the man that played the Dummy... the man in the rubber suit". Worse, his wife left him three months previously for Peter Wager (Simon Oates), an actor who has a part in this film. Clyde is furious that he should have to work with Wager and Bunny desperately tries to conciliate for the sake of the film. When this fails, Bunny suggests to Sid that someone else could be put inside the suit, but Sid is reluctant, saying that Clyde alone gives the Dummy its character - "I don't know if you have noticed it but... there's a lot of Clyde in it. He acts it". Meanwhile, a journalist is on the set observing the shoot and she tells the publicity man about a theory she has about men who specialise in performing behind masks. Ancient tribes, she says, believe the mask itself is alive, and the man behind it is merely helping...

Meanwhile, Bunny changes tack with Clyde, saying that his performance comes from deep, primeval instincts within him and as such is much superior to conventional acting. Clyde seems dragged back from the edge by this, and is put back into the costume. But there seems to be a difference in the Dummy this time. From deep within the costume, a hysterical, inhuman growling is continually heard and Clyde seems to have developed superhuman strength. It is as if he has been possessed by the spirit of the Dummy. Matters come to a head when an actor is killed by the Dummy on the set and the studio is cleared. The police are called, and they watch as the Dummy rampages through the studio. Clyde's wife is summoned in an attempt to bring the man back, but her attempts to conciliate fail and she too is attacked by the Dummy. Wager, infuriated by this, tries to shoot the Dummy in the studio, only to discover that the costume is empty. But Clyde, still possessed it seems, is lurking in the shadows and he attacks and strangles Wager. Later, when Clyde is led off under restraint by the police, the star of the film, Sir Ramsey (Thorley Walters) asks who he is. This draws the inevitable response: "The Dummy"...

"The Dummy" worked well in all its objectives. As a send-up of the tacky horror movies so despised by Nigel Kneale, it was skilful satire, but also conveyed a much deeper, more disturbing message. As with "Baby", we are unsure as to all the answers; has Clyde really been possessed by an evil spirit, or are his actions merely the result of his complete mental collapse? The fact these questions are left unanswered give "The Dummy" lasting appeal, and the whole notion of possession by an inanimate object is deeply unsettling. Added to this, the episode boasts a superb cast - the strongest assembled in Beasts - all of whom are well suited to their parts. Even though this was largely intended as a send-up, Kneale still takes the time to meticulously build up the characters' histories and make them entirely believable. The direction by Don Leaver - stalwart of The Avengers and Public Eye - is skilful; Witness the scenes featuring the Dummy, which looks appropriately tacky when on the horror set, but seems to become more sinister once its "spirit" has taken over Clyde.

Last in the Beasts line-up was "Special Offer", again an episode that provided a few surprises. Set largely within a downmarket convenience store, it told the story of Noreen Beale (an early role for future Birds of a Feather star Pauline Quirke), a fat, ugly and repressed shop assistant, and the life of continual abuse and humiliation she suffered at the hands of her colleagues. She is secretly in love with the smarmy manager, Mr. Grimley (Geoffrey Bateman), who is himself infatuated by the other assistant, Linda (played by Shirley Cheriton, later in ATV's brilliant Raven) - needless to say, Grimley utterly despises Noreen and is looking for any excuse to be rid of her. Gradually, strange things start to happen in the store and Grimley jokes that it must be "Briteway Billy", the organisation's cartoon mascot. Items fall off the shelves or explode for no reason, and on many occasions, an unseen creature seems to be running along shelves or into freezer units. Some of the staff seem to think that Noreen is somehow responsible and she is treated with even more contempt and suspicion than before. Every time the "creature" goes on the rampage, more damage is done and Grimley tries to investigate with his boss Mr. Liversedge (Wensley Pithey). They suppose it could be an unknown animal, or a poltergeist, but both gradually begin to realise that it is Noreen herself who is responsible - she must have telekinetic abilities. Both are dubious and elect to keep her on for her own sake, but after a particularly disastrous incident, Noreen is sacked and exacts a savage and powerful revenge on her tormentors, particularly Mr. Grimley, who is seriously injured by flying objects during Noreen's final assault.

This episode is evidence of Kneale's ability to overturn the series' own cliches - in "Special Offer", the "creature" involved was a deliberate red herring , the actual culprit being altogether more human. But in using a story about telekinesis, he was still able to play on our fears of the unknown, in this case, the untapped potential of the human mind. The characterisation was strong and bolstered by some excellent performances - Geoffrey Bateman conveyed his character's vanity and ambition well, and Pauline Quirke made an extremely sinister anti-heroine. Also worthy of note is an appearance in the episode by an actress called Lynda Marchal, playing a job applicant - these days, she's better known as Lynda La Plante, the award-winning writer responsible for the excellent Widows and Prime Suspect series.

Overall, Beasts was an intriguing venture into many of our deepest fears. Nigel Kneale provided six excellently written scripts which, by and large, were realised well on the screen. The episodes were not disadvantaged by being confined largely to one studio and shot on videotape. In fact, like ATV's later series Sapphire & Steel, this could often help to heighten the atmosphere and claustrophobia of the piece, such as in "During Barty's Party". It would be fair to say that some episodes work better than others - some fail to fulfil their full potential - but as a whole even the weaker episodes have much to commend them. The best episodes remain uniquely terrifying and, like Kneale's other works, push the frontiers of television drama to their limits. Viewing the Beasts canon as a whole, it is clear that the series was one of the most original and thought-provoking works of its time and, in its best examples, its power and appeal remains undiminished today.

Copyright © Adrian E.C. Petford 1994. All Rights Reserved.

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