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A children's drama like no other before or since, The Feathered Serpent
describes an Aztec-like civilisation in the throes of change from one faith to
another, whose high priest, Nasca, will resort to murder and deceit to ensure
complete submission to his god. But this unusual scenario is by no means all
that sets this drama apart from modern children's television. For one thing,
there's the violence. Blood is everywhere, with hearts cut out, children whipped
and tortured and men stabbed through the back. There's a witch's dummy with a
skull for a face and talk of men buried alive. All of which makes the series a
kind of horror for children, something unthinkable in today's more anxious
climate.
Historical drama now, especially that geared towards teenagers, 'modernises'
the language and attitudes of the invariably youthful characters so that they
are closer in spirit to that of the contemporary audience. By contrast, The
Feathered Serpent adheres to the conventions of its time, with its Shakespearean
dialogue, 'filmed theatre' camera style, and an unusual concentration on the
adult world, with the boy Tozo a somewhat token identification figure for young
viewers. And though it is an object of popular culture itself - it was made for
ITV's late afternoon children's slot - it differs from its modern equivalents
(Xena: Warrior Princess, US, 1995-2001; the historical episodes of the new
Doctor Who, BBC, 2003-) in that it never references popular culture. Indeed, its
seriousness and attention to period detail owe more to the educational remit of
children's programming under Lord Reith's BBC.
It also credits its young audience with intelligence. Indeed, it would be
hard to find an adult drama that so carefully maps the shifting of power between
the pillars of state: government, priesthood and army, represented in turn by
the Emperor Kukulkhan, his priest Nasca and general Mahoutec. And it would be
virtually impossible now to explore Nasca's religious fanaticism with such acute
understanding, this being a man who feeds his ailing faith by promoting violence
against another, uses suicide assassins and eventually, in desperation, invokes
himself as god.
The first series is a tale of court intrigue and political manoeuvring while
the second tips into the supernatural, while the drama becomes more symbolic
than character-driven. But both are satisfyingly complex, as thematically rich
as they are exciting.
Michael Bartlett
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1. Communing with the dead (2:26)
