The Year of the Sex Olympics — A Review.

*Spoilers*

22nd May, 2023: The Year of the Sex Olympics.

Right … 

It’s 22nd May, 2023.

And I’m thinking I should be watching some TV.

Or maybe a movie.

After dinner, of course.

Frankly?

I’ve been meaning to catch on or the other for a while.

And, yes: I’ve decided to watch the much spoken of, Nigel Kneale penned, TV play that is … 

The Year of the Sex Olympics.

What’s the betting that title will attract attention … ?

~≈♀≈~

Set in a distant future, The Year of the Sex Olympics opens with a title card showing the ominous line, “Sooner than you think … ” 

Then, after showing us a version of the Olympic logo that blurs into a version made up of Mars and Venus symbols … 

Shifts.

To show us Output, the control centre of the Sport-sex show: where Misch (Vickery Turner) is announcing the contestants in tonight’s episode, watched by technicians, Nat (Tony Vogel) and Lasar (Brian Cox*).

All overseen by the station’s Co-ordinator, Ugo Priest.

In a future where the great mass of the population — the lo-drives — are kept quiet by the hi-drives: folks like Ugo, Nat and Lasar, the ones in charge of the media, a media showing a hundred and one different types of porn.

Nat?   Thinks they should be providing something a bit more educational than the stream of sex shows the channel airs.

Misch?   Has nothing but contempt for the audience.

Ugo, the boss?   Has concern for Nat, his best worker: but also for the plummeting ratings, ratings that — literally — risk disaster.

And Lasar?   Is quietly waiting for his chance: to make a TV show that will make a serious killing in the ratings.

It’s only when a protestor† is killed, and the audience reaction, and ratings, go through the roof … ?

That the team — especially the ambitious Lasar — realise they may need an idea …

~≈♂≈~

Now … what did I make of all The Year of the Sex Olympics, then … ?

Is this piece of science fiction a warning?   Or just entertainment?

Was it a film?   A TV show?

What did I know about it?   What can I tell you about it?

Let’s start by telling you what I know about The Year of the Sex Olympics.

The thing was commissioned in 1967: for a ’69 broadcast: and written by the late Nigel Kneale of Quatermass, and The Stone Tape, fame.

The man’s generally agreed to be one of TV’s writing geniuses: on a par with Robert Holmes, Dennis Potter and Johnny Speight.

Kneale had to be offered a lot of raw cash for the show, as well:  as the BBC had sold the film rights for Quatermass, without his permission, or any kind of payment.

The resulting script?

Was filmed in colour for BBC2’s Theatre 625.

It was filmed in colour … and in a TV system called PAL‡: that had a video signal made up of 625 scanning lines.   At least, a video signal that your TV played, using 625 scanning lines, a video signal that consistent of black and white images, with a colour overlay.

It was the 1960s equivalent of high definition TV.

Indeed, the Channel’s head, David Attenborough, had commissioned a snooker tournament called Pot Black around the same time, for the same reason.   Snooker’s the one game you can’t watch in black and white, it has to be in colour: so it — and other colour shows — were a form of advert.

I also know The Year of the Sex Olympics was wiped: in the same sort of TV purges that saw so many episodes of Dr Who, Coronation Street, and so many others, destroyed.

However?   A black and white telecine copy was recovered in the 1980s.

And, while the copies concerned had a colour signal embedded in them, that can be extracted?   In the same way that colour signals were extracted from some Dr Who stories?

That has not been done with The Year of the Sex Olympics.

I’m assuming that’s for financial reasons.

It’s a shame, whatever the reason: by the look of what I saw, last night, those costumes deserved the colour treatment.

~≈♀≈~

There’s something else, as well.

Have you heard of reality TV?

Things like Big Brother?   I’m A Celebrity, Get Me Out Of Here?   Love Island?

Basically?   You stick a dozen or so strangers to a house, island or camp: film anything that happens with closed circuit TV, edit it and broadcast it … to an eagerly awaiting audience.

They’ve been popular with audiences since the 1990s: and popular with production companies, as they’re relatively cheap.

The argument from many I’ve seen interviewed about The Year of the Sex Olympics?

Is that — TV insider that he was? — Nigel Kneale predicted several things.

The change of language caused by a use of technology.

The easy access to porn.

The existence of reality TV.

There’s a lot I can say, there.

But yes: I think Kneale had a point or two.

I know language has changed: I hear a lot more MLE, Multicultural London English, since the rise of EastEnders.   I’ve heard the term ‘LoL,’ used, as well.

In showing a ‘future’ version of English, Kneale was on to something.

Near enough all of us have got smart phones, laptops or desktops: and can stream more porn than Lasar could shake a stick at.

I suspect Kneale wouldn’t be surprised.

Reality TV … ?

I don’t know if Nigel Neale saw Big Brother and its cousins, coming.

But you could say that, yes: in sketching out the Live-Life Show for a play about a fictional TV company?   

A Live-Life Show that sees its contestants abandoned on a remote island?

I’d say, yes: Kneale predicted it.

Or, at least, made a very shrewd guess at the shape of things to come.

~≈♂≈~

There’s another possible question: one that’s relevant in today’s Video On Demand world.

“Paul,” I hear you ask, “Paul, what was The Year of the Sex Olympics?   Was that a play, a TV show or a film you saw, last night?”

At the time?

It was marketed as a TV play: a one off drama with the potential to be spun off into a series: New Tricks, Strange and Porridge, got their starts that way.

I get the impression that The Year of the Sex Olympics wasn’t going to go that route: it, like others, was literally a one off drama.

These days?

I get the impression it would be much like Tetris, say: given a limited cinematic release, then streamed by whichever service paid for it.

Or like A Field In England: getting its TV debut on the same day as its theatrical and VOD release.

Something like that.

Personally, though?

I’m happy to call it what it was called at the time: a TV play.

We can only imagine what it would be now.

~≈♂≈~

But … ?

I hear you asking all sorts of things.

The main one, though?

Is quite simply this;

“Paul, did you see a good piece of TV?   Is this a warning?   Is this something you could recommend to others?”

Yes: The Year of the Sex Olympics is a lot of things.

Its shocking ending — an ending that sees the female lead killed by a murderer, sees the killer killed by her husband in revenge, sees the TV executive who set the murders up, lauded by his colleagues — leaves me thinking a few things things.

Firstly?

Leonard Rossiter’s performance as Ugo Priest, the man in charge, the man whose despairing face is the last thing we see, the man who’s realised he has made a broadcasting monster?   Is the performance of a lifetime.

Secondly?

Yes: this is a warning.   Given the fact Big Brother has had to send in the security guards to break up at least one fight, given Love Island has had to beef up psychiatric after care for contestants?

It’s a warning that’s still relevant, in today’s media world.

And yes.

The Year of the Sex Olympics is very watchable.

Go watch it as soon as you can.

The Year of the Sex Olympics.

★★★★⁺

*        I’d known Brian Cox and Leonard Rossiter were in the piece.   But it’s only tonight I realised having an actor called Cox, in a play called The Year of the Sex Olympics, was very funny.   If you’re twelve.   At any rate … ?   Brian Cox reminded me of the late Dave Allen.   A lot.

†        The protestor is a character called Kin (Martin Hodder): who is one of the team’s co-workers.   He’s already hijacked a broadcast, to get his art aired on the station, and is trying to do it again.   His attempted highjacking reminded me of the notorious Max Headroom incident.   The Wikipedia entry’s fascinating..

‡        I’m not sure of the technical details.   But I’m aware old fashioned TVs had cathode ray tubes in them, that fired an electron beam at the back of the screen you and me would be staring at: 625 times a frame, 25 frames a second.