Not
a real death, fortunately, but the title of a novel set in what
was
then the mysterious world of radio. It was written in 1934 by
Val Gielgud
- brother of John Gielgud and then the BBC's Head of Productions
- and
'Holt Marvell' - actually
Eric
Maschwitz, a lyricist and
writer for films and the BBC.
The
plot revolves round a live broadcast of a play, using multiple
studios
(as was common at the time). One actor has a scene by himself,
at the
end of which the script calls for him to be strangled: he plays
this
alone in a separate studio, but at the end of the play is
discovered to
have been strangled in reality. The book goes through all the
usual
procedures of a detective novel, tracking the motives and
opportunities
of the suspects. (I won't give the solution away.) The book
isn't at
all badly written, though perhaps a little plodding in places,
but is
of particular interest because the authors have been careful to
keep it
realistic: the exact layout of Broadcasting House is made use of
(floor
plans are provided) and the technique of radio drama is
accurately
represented: it does provide an intriguing glimpse into the
workings of
the BBC.
The same year it was made into
a
film,
directed by Reginald Denham,
with Ian Hunter (best known as King Richard I in the 1938
Adventures of Robin Hood)
as the detective, Donald Wolfit as the murder victim, and Val
Gielgud
himself as the drama producer, Julian Caird (left). The film
sticks
closely to the plot of the book, but is lighter in tone, and
capitalizes on the glamour of broadcasting by including a number
of
cameo appearances by radio stars, among them Hannen Swaffer,
Gilllie
Potter, Elisabeth Welch and Percival Mackey. The film is
available on
DVD and turns up occasionally on
television.
Again,
the feeling of period broadcasting is reasonably authentic: but
when it
was shown on television many years ago a well-respected
technical journalist was trapped
into recommending readers to watch it because it provides a
'fascinating glimpse into Broadcasting House in the 193os'. Of
course
it does nothing of the sort. Quite apart from the technical
difficulties in filming in relatively small studios (the camera
wouldn't have been able to get far enough back) the BBC would
hardly
have welcomed a large film crew underfoot for the month it took
to
shoot.
All
the interiors were created at a small film studio in Wembley.
Though
the general atmosphere of the sets is correct, there are many
small
details which are wrong (if you want to be picky). The Variety
Studio
has a stage with tabs, as in reality (though the look is
slightly
different) but has stacking chairs instead of cinema-type tip-up
seats.
The
mock-up of the Dramatic Control Panel is very close to the real
thing,
but the drama microphones are slung on booms and placed above
the
actors, film-studio style (I would have expected drama studios
to use
stands, as now), as in the photo (right, of Donald Wolfit about
to be
strangled). Also, and quite wrongly, the studio doors have
catches on
them (visible behind the studio attendant, left).
The plot makes play of the fact that the drama was recorded on
the
Blattnerphone,
but unfortunately they weren't able to show it - either it was
technically impracticable, or perhaps the BBC wouldn't
co-operate.
The
most dramatic difference caused a lot of amusement among Control
Room
staff at the time. When the murderer is revealed there is a
chase
through Broadcasting House, including the Control Room on the
eighth
floor. In the book,
the murderer makes his way onto the roof, is shot after himself
shooting at a policeman, and falls 'a hundred and twelve feet
sheer to
the pavement below'.
In the film he rushes into a small room off
Control Room, and evidently flings himself across some terminals
as
there is a flash, all the lights go out, and he is dead by
electrocution.
This was the 50 volt relay supply.