There can be no doubt that Fawlty Towers is one of the best comedy series ever made. It stands out amongst its stable mates as something truly unique: a farce in the best sense, only occasionally stooping to the level of people missing each other and dropping their trousers.
Instead it featured tightly constructed plots where each individual strand wove together into a tapestry of comedic excellence. Leaving aside some of the earlier episodes, many instalments left the viewer breathless as they rushed along at breakneck speed. It seems strange therefore that a serious contender to Fawlty Towers’ crown took twenty years to arrive, and when it did it was almost universally panned.
Chalk has to be one of the most underrated comedy series ever made. Men Behaving Badly and Absolutely Fabulous achieved a cult status because they, like Fawlty Towers, are the antithesis of the cheap sitcoms. By embracing an older format, Chalk offered a similar style of comedy to John Cleese’s oevre, but someone at the BBC noticed and decided to publicise the fact, thereby sealing Chalk’s fate.
If they had let it alone, the public might have warmed to the style and drawn the comparisons themselves. Instead the viewing population was effectively told that Chalk was aping Fawlty Towers, and they instinctively switched to “cynic” mode. They might still have been surprised if an episode featuring the attempted cover up of a corpse hadn't been included at the start of the series’ run. Clearly this was a mistake that could only enforce the public's misconceptions. (Juggling it around in the schedule, however, would have failed dismally. It's the episode which shows the delightful Miss Travis joining Galfast's staff.)
Chalk, however, has more in common with Joking Apart, Moffat's critically acclaimed BBC2 comedy, than with Fawlty Towers. Both series were ensemble comedies, populated with archetypal characters so that the plots could rattle along by themselves, but rather than having to contrive situations to bring his characters together, the school environment allowed them all to be present in the same building. David Bamber’s portrayal of Eric Slatt was hugely energetic and, as one critic put it “a delightfully bravura performance,” but the balance with the other cast diffused the focus so that he never dominated each episode.
This is, perhaps, the most stark contrast to Fawlty Towers, where John Cleese’s character was central, driving each episode to its conclusion. Slatt is almost certainly a watered down Basil Fawlty, but he is not a carbon copy. This is deliberate as the plots involve more leaps of logic and changes in direction than Fawlty Towers, and these would not have been possible if the other characters had not been given their own space. Ultimately, the only striking similarity is that they are both tightly written farces, and this can hardly be a valid criticism.
With Chalk, Moffat also took the opportunity to satirise the trendy ideas of teaching including fast-tracking, (“you mean we’re lavishing the most education on the pupils who need it least?” “I like to think so!”) and the emphasis on sciences (“she has successfully passed three A-levels - four if you count English.”). Wisely, though, especially considering how satire is often regarded as a low form of comedy, the speed of each episode meant that these jokes were never dwelt on; no sooner had the gag been thrown at the viewer than other developments were following fast. Watching Chalk is not a passive occupation.
Alongside the pointed satire, there are many sharpened one-liners. Proving that this is an ensemble comedy, it is the supporting cast that get the funniest lines. Discovering that Slatt’s mother is the double of his wife, Suzi Travis comments “that’s not a relationship, that’s an attempt at re-entry.” When asked what he teaches, the terminally gloomy Mr Carkdale responds “Bastards,” presumably echoing the feelings of secondary school teachers everywhere. One of my favourites is the exchange between Miss Travis and the pathetically lonely Miss Trippley: “The Internet? Do you have to be such a cliché? Is there a sadder activity yet known to human kind?” “I don’t know, but it’s the best way to find out more about Star Trek.”
The critical lambasting Chalk received left the BBC hugely embarrassed and they switched its place in the schedules with Men Behaving Badly. However the BBC’s initial overconfidence allowed a second series to be commissioned before the first had been transmitted. The format for the second series remained much the same, but there were several key differences.
Firstly Slatt’s character was softened, with Bamber drawing on his role as Guy from the play My Night with Reg for some of the more tender moments. Slatt’s marital problems were brought to the fore, explaining his motivations and drive to succeed, until the final episode when all was turned on its head, shifting him from tragic figure to hero.
If this more rounded character had been in place from the beginning, viewers would almost certainly have warmed to him quicker. Slatt’s development over the two series, however, was, and is, fascinating, affording some variety in the performance. Initially the change was seen as a sop to the British public, but it makes the second season more rewarding for those familiar with the series as a whole. It is also worth pointing out that the characterisation was not a complete about turn. Whilst assaulting a senior education official, Slatt gave us the following insight into the reasoning behind his defence of Miss Trippley: “You will not come to this school, take a member of this staff, give them hope and companionship and then plunge them into a terrible abyss of despair, misery, hopelessness and pain, because that is my job!” This new Slatt had compassion and a dictator’s paranoid desire for power all rolled into one.
A more important addition to the series, though, was the inclusion of knowing references to the dynamics of characters in television and the limitations writers are faced with. The characters of the headmasters from each series were identical, acknowledged in the final episode by Mr Kennedy reading out a letter from his predecessor, Nixon, which was, coincidentally, exactly the same as what Kennedy had said moments earlier. The similarities between Slatt and Miss Travis were highlighted in another episode, exploring why, despite the animosity between them, she always got him out of trouble.
Moffat’s self referencing, including pointers back to earlier episodes, is probably the greatest sign of a series on a suicide mission. BBC1 sitcoms don’t go in for this very much; it is largely the domain of BBC2. If Chalk had been a success, it is hard to imagine the series being allowed to develop in this direction, but as it wasn’t Moffat had a free rein. We should be grateful that it was killed off so soon, as, when watched as a whole, the series’ shifts are as entertaining as the stories themselves and the formula neatly avoids becoming stale.
Should it be repeated, Chalk is well worth giving a second chance. True, the satire may date it before too long, but that is, after all, only one level of the humour. The final episode alone assures Chalk of greatness, showing an amazing twist of characterisation, and combining and contrasting comedy with tragedy in a way that makes you stop and reassess what you have seen. Sadly, it will be a long time before we see its kind again, at least on a mainstream channel.
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