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Dennis Potter followed his staggeringly complex but hugely successful The
Singing Detective (BBC, 1986), which was filtered entirely through the eyes and
imagination of its male protagonist, with the more straightforward Christabel
(BBC, 1988), which used a woman's perspective throughout. In Blackeyes (BBC,
1989), perhaps his most difficult and challenging serial, he attempted to
combine both points of view.
After offering it to Jon Amiel and Nicolas Roeg, Potter eventually directed
the serial himself, his only television excursion behind the camera. Based on
his novel of the same name, it was shot on 35mm film, as it was originally
envisaged as both a four-part 200 minute serial and a shorter cinema version.
Potter uses exceptionally long unbroken single shots, in a style that might seem
reminiscent of his studio-based plays made on video, were it not for his use of
extremely complex set-ups in which the roving camera is constantly moving. This
technique is seen at its considerable best in the opening sequence, in which
Blackeyes (Gina Bellman) is pursued by the camera through a 360 degree set as
she tries, unsuccessfully, to hide.
Potter himself, in his unmistakable West Country burr, provides the copious
narration, something he had tried briefly in 'Blue Remembered Hills' (Play for
Today, BBC tx. 30/1/1979). Potter's delivery is typical of his dark wit and
verve, often taking a scatological turn, such as when commenting, "Ah, now you
can tell this is a British film," after the appropriately seedy author (Michael
Gough) breaks wind. The voice-over was only added in post-production and,
although making the highly solipsistic and jagged dream-like plot easier to
follow, it also added to the public furore when Blackeyes was first transmitted.
Rejected by audiences and critics alike, Potter was labelled 'Dirty Den' by the
tabloids for the drama's nudity and dark sexual undercurrents, even in the
service of a tale about female exploitation.
Targeting television viewers' passive complicity and complacency and using it
against them, Potter bravely injected himself into a narrative which, by dealing
in a visceral way with the male objectification of women, was bound to be
attacked for doing the same thing itself. It was then, and remains, a
deliberately uncomfortable, humorous, densely imagined, frequently powerful if
imperfect work, one that practically vanished after its original airing but
which, now that its shock value has long been superseded, needs to be
re-assessed by a new generation.
Sergio Angelini
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1. Hide and seek (3:22)
