Fabulously Flamboyant Friday – TISWAS

Welcome back my friends, to the flamboyance that never ends, as Fabulously Flamboyant Friday glides effortlessly across the crease to deliver yet another groin-polished googly from the gasworks end of musical magnificence.

Tonight we consider the iconic children’s televisual treat that was Tiswas (Today Is Saturday Watch And Smile) – a somewhat anarchic and usually chaotic live Saturday morning show that gained cult status among hung-over adults, semi conscious students and fans of slapstick. Blurring the boundaries between child and adult entertainment, Tiswas didn’t so much break the mould for Saturday morning viewing as pulverize it.

Once described as a TV terror in a tepid sea of syrupy slop, Tiswas was apparently disliked by the studio big wigs who thought it shoddy, amateurish, and guilty of setting some very bad behavioural examples for its young and impressionable viewers. However, it quickly developed a devoted cult following, became hugely popular with mainstream viewers – adults and nippers alike – and eventually started attracting some seriously talented musical guests.

Before Tiswas, shows like Blue Peter and Magpie would patronizingly praise their precocious pre-pubescent brats for the ingenious deployment of knicker elastic, ice-lolly sticks, bent metal coat hangers, Fairy Liquid bottles and sticky-backed plastic. Tiswas, in complete contrast, growled at its mini-monsters, treating them as little more than props, window dressing, or, more often than not, a thoroughly unwelcome inconvenience, tolerated only because they were a necessary ingredient in the show’s chaotic cocktail of slapstick, panto, pies, pop music and pratfalls.

Tiswas was conceived (and this was a genuine surprise to me) in late 1973 and first aired in January 1974. It was a cheaply-made, midlands-only curiosity; a hastily cobbled together show designed to link cheap filler material such as ancient Woody Woodpecker cartoons. It was the brainchild of an ATV producer called Pete Harris, who had three hours of Saturday morning broadcasting schedule to fill and bugger all in the way of budget or studio space with which to fill it. So, necessity being the mother of invention, his hand was forced: cheap ‘n’ cheerful improv, panto-style nonsense and larks-a-plenty were the order of the day.

However, to the delight and surprise of all concerned, the spontaneous shenanigans served up by the presenters soon began to develop something of a niche following, and their silly little Saturday morning show started to gain genuine cult status. Chris Tarrant joined the team in ’74 (allegedly for an additional weekly fee of £25 on top of his ATV cub reporter’s salary) and, as the episodes progressed, the childish antics on the show (which was entirely live) began to get sillier and sillier. Eventually, a seminal moment arrived, the very first bucket of water was hurled (at the somewhat startled and entirely unprepared presenter, Peter Tomlinson) and the TV legend that was Tiswas – although it never actually grew up – came of age.

The big-wigs at ATV were not impressed. Inanely giggling, so-called adult presenters hurling water, muck and panto-style custard pies around on a Saturday morning was not their idea of quality children’s programming, or indeed public service broadcasting, and they ordered the Tiswas team to clean up their act and set a suitable example for children. However, producer Glyn Edwards rather liked the muck and nonsense, so he decided to sneak the panto pies back in by introducing a suitable villain of the piece. He came up with the idea of The Phantom Flan Flinger and tasked him with delivering the show’s trademark shaving-foam pies in a slightly more controlled manner.

ATV bosses might not have liked the show, but the ratings just kept on increasing. Additionally, more and more ITV regions were deciding to dump their own Saturday morning offerings and broadcast Tiswas instead. By 1976, the BBC had started to notice a very large Saturday morning-shaped black hole in their midlands’ viewing figures. They examined the opposition and were not amused.

The BBC immediately set about creating their own Saturday morning children’s show and named it Swap Shop (it was actually called The Multi-Coloured Swap Shop, but no bugger could be arsed to say that). Swap Shop featured an eclectic range of heavyweight radio and children’s TV luminaries, including, at one point, the legendary Jimmy Savile, Officer of the Most Excellent Order of The British Empire, winner of the “Wholesome Family Entertainment Award” from the National Viewers’ & Listeners’ Association and, of course, the soon-to-be Sir Jim, with his Knights Bachelor award in the 1990 Royal Birthday Honours List. It was a very popular show, but it was pointless piffle when compared to the peerless, pie-based majesty of The Mighty Tiswas.

Tiswas series 4 (’77 – ’78) and series 5 (’78 – ’79) would prove to be a pivotal period for the show. It marked the end of the production’s micro-budget period and, crucially, Sally James was drafted in to join Chris Tarrant as co-presenter. Sally became the first regular female presenter of the show and was joined by comedians Jim Davidson, Frank Carson and Jasper Carrot (who all began to make regular cameo appearances) and John Gorman, Lenny Henry and Bob Carolgees (with of course Spit the Dog) who all jumped on board to become full-time regulars.

Rumour has it that Chris Tarrant was not particularly pleased by the inclusion of one of them there wamminz as a full time presenter, fearing it might upset the laddish balance and chemistry of the show. However, his fears were unfounded and he resiled from this position once he witnessed the enormous popularity of Sally’s outstanding contributions. In fact, the addition of Sally James substantially increased the adult feel of the show. The ‘rugby club’ humour became far more of a feature (usually with Ms. James as the target) and Sally quickly proved she could deliver a straight-faced double entendre with the best of them (e.g. in reference to the studio’s full English breakfast clock: “well I see the big hand is on the greasy sausage…”). Well… Quite… You’ll do for me, Sal.

ATV now realised they had a serious hit on their hands and pushed hard for additional regions to broadcast the show. Their big breakthrough came in 1979 when the crucial London area (along with Yorkshire and bits of Scotchland) started screening the show for the first time. It still wasn’t a fully nationwide show, but the addition of the London region completely transformed both the profile and fortunes of the production. Ratings soared and Tiswas became a bona fide cultural phenomenon.

Tiswas merchandise soon became widely available and the growing attention of teenage, student and adult demographics enabled the Tiswas team to successfully tour the country with series of very popular live stage shows. The Four Bucketeers even ended up on Top Of The Pops with the pretty dreadful Bucket Of Water Song.

Tiswas now began to attract some genuine heavy hitters from the world of popular music. Guests included Slade, Kate Bush, Genesis (relax – there’ll be no Phil the Fabulous tonight), Status Quo, Toyah Willcox, Saxon, Japan, Ian Gillan, Lemmy, Iron Maiden, Rick Wakeman, Cozy Powell and, to gasps of incredulity at the time, Robert Plant.

Plant had not long retired from Led Zeppelin (after the untimely death of his friend and drummer, John Bonham) and had pretty much disappeared from public view. Saturday morning viewers, myself included, were therefore somewhat startled to spot Plant and Cozy Powell mooching around the Tiswas set, scoffing breakfast cereal and cheerfully embracing the show’s chaotic spirit. The legendary frontman for the biggest rock ‘n’ roll band on the planet (sit down, Mick) was eventually introduced as a former farmer and retired cow puncher. Later, in the same show, the look of utter bemusement on the face of a contest-winning nipper (probably around 8 yrs old), as she was dismissively handed a stack of Led Zeppelin albums (on vinyl, of course) as first prize in a Tiswas contest, was a wonder to behold.

Tiswas’ seventh season in ’81 is widely regarded as their peak. However, by this time, Chris Tarrant had began to ponder wider horizons, convinced there was something to be said for making a late night version of their show for a more adult audience. Additionally, the future of Tiswas was somewhat uncertain as ATV was facing significant upheaval as Central TV took over the midland reins. As a result, Chris and the chaps decided to jump ship and the classic Tiswas era came to an end on March 28th, 1981, with the last show of the seventh series.

Tiswas did in fact return for an 8th and final series in September ’81, but only Sally James was left from the classic line-up. Gordon Astley, Den Hegarty, Fogwell Flax and Trevor James all joined her in the show’s new look line-up. Sally worked bloody hard (all kudos to her) but it was a sad, pale, shadow of the former show. The silliness, mess and larks were all still present and correct, but the spontaneity felt false, the comedy contrived, controlled and formulaic. It simply wasn’t as edgy or chaotic as before, and the plaintive off-screen cries of “for God’s sake keep broadcasting!” or the deeply sexist “you’ll do for me, Sal” were much missed.

By the end of summer, Central had had enough, the axe fell and Tiswas was put out of its misery. It felt, at the time, like a mercy killing. Central quickly released details of their new Saturday morning show for children. Do you remember it? No, you probably don’t. No one does, really. I had to look it up. It was originally called Big Daddy’s Saturday Show and eventually took to the air as The Saturday Show, without any trace of Big Daddy (the wrestling Johnnie, I assume).

But what of Chris Tarrant and the chaps? Well, they launched O.T.T. (Over The Top) in 1982 – essentially a late night, adult orientated version of Tiswas – to moderate acclaim and (no doubt to their utter delight) oodles of predictable outrage from the tabloid press. The show was broadcast live on Saturday nights in a post-pub time slot, with a thoroughly lubricated studio audience, a selection of near-the-knuckle sketches and some naked blokes dancing around with balloons over their tackle. The low point of each episode, for me at least, was the regular appearance of Alexei Sayle. I always thought his sub-Woolfie, ‘right-on comrade’ contributions to be deeply out of place on the post-pub show. Sayle, for me, was always the prototypical student activist and an exemplar of the archetypal pub bore.

O.T.T. completed its planned run of thirteen episodes, but the media furore was significant. As with ATV and Tiswas, Central Television was apparently not overly keen on O.T.T and there were suggestions at the time that some of Central’s major shareholders brought pressure to bear.

The O.T.T. team were back for a second series, but the show was much revised and thoroughly neutered. Renamed as Saturday Stayback, it was an entirely pre-recorded show (to allow time for the removal of anything deemed too crude or controversial) and just six episodes were recorded in a series of busy west midlands pubs. The show was fronted by Chris Tarrant, Bob Carolgees and Frank Carson, with guests such as Roy Wood and Thin Lizzy on board to provide a spot of live music. It was OK, but it never got a large audience and was promptly binned after its short, six episode series.

And that was pretty much it for the Tiswas team. Separate careers beckoned and they all went on their merry way with varying degrees of subsequent success. They still get together for the occasional reunion show (a 25th anniversary special in 2007 and I believe their most recent on-stage outing was in 2022) and they still get a tremendous turnout and inevitably go down well with an audience still keen to enjoy some typically Tiswas shenanigans. Well over four decades after the last Tiswas episode was broadcast, there is still enormous affection for the show and significant public demand for the reunions. It might have been a simple cheap ‘n’ cheerful bratfest, but it left an indelible mark on British broadcasting – and Saturday morning hangovers have never been quite the same.

Tiswas did in fact return to the airwaves for one last outing, in 1988, when Chris Tarrant, Sally James, Bob Carolgees, John Gorman and Frank Bruno (doing a Lenny Henry impersonation, one assumes) jumped back into the saddle to present a live revival of the show as part of ITV’s 1988 Telethon charity shindig. The Tiswas section went out at about 3am, so almost nobody saw it. However, it did include Melvyn Bragg getting a proper soaking and a thoroughly shambolic rendition of the Bucket Of Water Song. A suitably appropriate way to bow out, I feel.

Anyway, I think that’s probably quite enough of my inane rambling for this week’s Fabulously Flamboyant Friday. Additionally, as I detect a distinct and worrying lack of flamboyance in the videos posted above, we shall now correct this shameful failing with some Tiswas guests quite perfect for a Friday evening on Going Postal – the mighty, the legendary and utterly incomparable Nolan Sisters.