Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Steve Hawley
‘Baird himself was always exploring the fringes of his imperfect medium,
taking up one experiment after another, more with the passion of an artist
Picture the scene. It is three thirty in the afternoon on 14th July 1930,
and the first BBC television broadcast of a play is drawing to a close. The
Pirandello’s one act drama “The Man With The Flower In His Mouth”, written
first large TV screen. It may be only ten square feet, but this is practically
IMAX compared to the ten square inches that Baird’s television sets usually
run to. An invited audience of VIPs, including signor Marconi himself , has
The screen is five feet high by two feet wide, and has been
is made up of 2,500 incandescent light bulbs, which are red hot, and have
started to melt its edges. A frantic message comes to the studio below to stop
the broadcast, but the producer, Lance Sieveking, appeals to Baird. “He was
It would not have been the first time that an invention of Baird’s had
Man With The Flower In His Mouth was the first great artistic acheivement of
Among the viewers of the large screen on the studio roof was the
booking agent of the nearby London Coliseum. Thus two weeks later Baird
British Television was hired for a fortnight’s run at the theatre.The screen was
set up on the stage and received live broadcasts from Baird’s studios. This
was the first recorded demonstration of interactive TV, as via a phone link
from the stage to the studio the audience could make requests and ask
boxer ‘Bombadier’ Billy Wells, scout leader Lord Baden-Powell, and British
screen one inch square. The latter was acheived by a Nipkow disc, the heart
of Baird’s system, fitted with green, blue, and red filters, and was successfully
shown to the public on 6th July 1928 (“....a basket of strawberries showed the
red fruit very clearly”). He actually intended to combine colour pictures with
The broadcast of The Man With The Flower was the culmination of an
astonishing period of creativity, but it was also, ultimately, his apogee. His
own crude system was an evolutionary blind alley. What the world needed,
and what it got by 1935, was an electronic system which gave high definition,
and had no moving parts. In short it needed the cathode ray tube, and the TV
system which came about from the combined efforts of many scientists,
thousands of engineers, and the financial might of EMI and RCA. Baird’s
construction of biscuit tin lids and bicycle lamp lenses could not compete, and
yet , on his own apart from a small group of hand picked technicians, he
consistently stumbled into the unknown ahead of the rest. His crude
Video art is always arbitrarily deemed to have begun with the invention
of the portable video recorder in 1965, and the seminal recording of the
Pope’s visit to New York by Nam June Paik. Television before this is
significance. In fact, the early pioneers of TV had to find their own language,
The Man with the Flower in His mouth stretched the boundaries of
not in fact even the first ever broadcast drama. Ten months earlier, the radio
station WGY in New York had broadcast a melodrama called “The Queen’s
Messenger”, written by one J. Hartley Manners, and Baird himself had
screened a play called “Box and Cox” performed by his loyal staff. But
Pirandello’s one act drama was the first serious theatre piece that had been
broadcast, with a talented producer and cast, and as Baird’s engineer Tony
utmost”.
based on the Nipkow disc, a revolving disc with a spiral of holes in it that
scanned the, hopefully immobile subject. In Baird’s case the disc was
originally the lid of a biscuit tin, pierced with thirty holes, into which were
inserted bicycle lamp lenses. Behind the lenses had been placed crude
photoelectric cells, and the apparatus also made use of other readymades,
such as carpet needles. Moreover the requirements of the system meant that
the actors had to perform in a space eighteen inches wide by three feet high,
only a little bit larger than a present day TV screen, in total darkness, whilst
complained that they ended up black and blue, as they kept falling over in the
dark. The camera was static and the actors had to slide in and out of the fixed
The idea for the first BBC play had come from Baird’s indefatigable
publicist, Sydney Moseley, with Lance Sieveking as co-producer and Val and
his brother John Gielgud as principal actors. The play was chosen by Val
Gielgud, partly for its artistic merit, but mostly because it had only three
actors, plenty of long speeches, and little action. Sieveking was well known as
understand what he was driving at”. The choice was inspired. If Moseley was
the showman, and Baird the unworldly prophet, then Sieveking was the
ludicrously cramped confines of the performing space, there were two other
and also each time an actor got up from the performing chair to be replaced
by another actor, the picture wobbled and lost synchronisation for several
seconds.
Sieveking devised a fading board, like a large table tennis bat, which
was lowered in front of the performing space while the actors changed
places, but this was only a marginal improvement. Finally he replaced this
with a sliding board of black and white squares, like a chessboard, which,
surprisingly, worked. When pushed in front of the “camera”, the photo electric
cells were not disturbed, and relatively smooth transitions could be acheived.
backcloths by the then noted artist C.R.W. Nevinson. Given the definition of
the 30 line Baird system this was somewhat overoptimistic (modern TV has
625 lines). Moseley himself commented acidly that for all the viewers would
see of these they might have well used a sheet of newspaper or a household
duster.
For the make-up, they discovered by trial and error that the best
results were acheived with the forehead and cheeks painted yellow, and
heavy blue lines accentuating features such as the nose. By the time the play
went into rehearsal the two Gielguds were unable to perform through illness
and had been replaced by Earl Gray as the man and Lionel Millard as the
customer. Gray found the rather peculiar make-up “strangely unnatural” and
not surprisingly was disturbed by the flickering spotlight. This was the first
The play had just two speaking parts, with a silent appearance by
Gladys Young as the Man’s tragic wife. A commuter who has missed his train
regales a stranger with the trivial causes of this catastrophe. The stranger
hints at a tragedy that has befallen him, that compels him to use his
let it rest a moment - my imagination! I cling with it.... to the lives of other
people’.
the play by going to Southwold pier and making for sixpence an aluminium
record, at the end of which he clapped his own speech and hummed God
Save the King. Dennis Freeman and Brian Mitchie played music effects on a
portable gramophone, and the 16 year old George Innes, later producer of
the Black and White Minstrel Show, was effects boy, sliding the chequerboard
The audience for the play was necessarily limited. Apart from the large
staggering 25 guineas. Few had been sold because until March 1930 it had
been impossible to receive sound and vision at the same time. Because Baird
had access to only one transmitter, the picture was transmitted first, silent,
and then two minutes later the sound without pictures. This bizarre
arrangement continued until he was granted the use of two transmitters only
four months before the broadcast of The Man With the Flower. In addition,
apart from the viewers of the big screen the rest would see the play on a
screen the size of a postcard, the colour of which was usually not black and
and a musical score, and a conductor’s hand with a violin bow, before the
cafe orchestra started up. These early television close ups were effected by
pushing the fading board in front of the camera as a sort of primitive wipe,
and placing the props in the four and a half square feet performance space
There were other close ups in the play, including hands and objects on
a table. But what the audience saw was mostly the face of the Man or the
Customer. This was unsurprising given the limited space, but Sieveking also
managed to squeeze in a two shot. He found that if the back of the nearest
speaker’s head was seen with the face of the protagonist smaller beyond it,
the producer taken in profile was shown on the screen. A few days later the
BBC received amongst many letters, three from Birmingham, Dublin, and
Lisbon, asking why the last speaker had stood sideways to the camera, and
why his lips had not moved. It seemed that the brodcast had been received at
Baird lived on until just after the end of the second world war, but the
television world had moved on without him. He tried in the 1940s to market a
large screen “tele-radiogram” with a two by two and a half feet screen that
could receive BBC black and white as well as Baird’s own high definition
colour transmissions, and even his own stereoscopic system. It also had a
radio and an auto changing record player, a home cinema fifty years ahead of
its time. But his reliance on mechanical methods until almost the end ensured
his commercial failure. The Man With The Flower In His Mouth would remain
having a set of his own, he had to rely on the set at a local store, where there
was a long queue to watch the play. The review ended plaintively “...I who
fade out”
Briggs, The Golden Age of Wireless OUP 1965