Series 25 recap – alcohol, agency, and abbreviations

Over the nine seasons covered by this blog, we’ve often addressed alcohol abuse.

Joanna in series 20 and 21, not only messing up her own life but sending Chris off on a destructive wobbly.

Spencer’s father at the start of series 23, letting his mask slip while drunk.

Adam’s DNA donor blaming his loss of control on the drink. Mr. Robson using booze as a crutch to get through a difficult situation.

And now Maddie, abusing alcohol to fit in with her new friends, because they love her in a way her mother doesn’t. It’s one of the most compelling treatments, because it’s so relatable. Girl is new to booze, overdoes it, finds her “friends” are not that interested in her, and make her look a plonker.

The hero of this little story is Suzie, Maddie’s mother. She’s the one who grows, who changes her life. Maddie continues almost as she has done, perhaps a little chastened, perhaps a little more careful in her relationships. And we ask ourselves: why are they making the adult the hero of every story?

In the first episode of the series, Lisa has her mobile phone snatched; while giving chase, Mr. Robson falls and has to go to hospital for a very long time indeed. Lisa becomes a recluse, reluctant to leave her home.

A lot has happened to Lisa in the last few months: not just the attack, but her mother has left the family house, and her sister Shona has decided to go and live with her mother. Does she blame herself for what happened to Mr. Robson? Probably, though he’d have done it for anyone. Does she see the house as somewhere safe when literally everything else is falling apart? Almost certainly.

We’re writing this in late 2021, when people have been invited to remain at home for almost two years, in order not to spread a deadly disease. The house is a safe space when literally everything else is falling apart. Perhaps we’d have had less sympathy with Lisa if we’d seen this episode two years ago.

In the world of 2002, it takes Ray to entice Lisa out. Ray in his wheelchair: wittingly or otherwise, the series chooses to use the “inspirational cripple” stereotype, which is rightly criticised these days.

The bad feeling between Leah and Shannon continues, right through the series until they are honest with each other in The Breakfast Club. Two friends, drifting apart gracefully as they grow up, then something happens (Leah has non-consensual sex, Shannon lies about being with Danny Hartson) to blow them apart. But they go to the same school, and cannot avoid each other, and clearly still have some feelings for each other. While this plot doesn’t advance any of the social action storylines, and often simmers just below our radar, it’s the dramatic glue to hold so many other elements together.

Was the final resolution a cop-out? In a way, yes: Leah just quietly walks away from school. But in leaving, she is able to deliver one final shot at Tom, expose his continued solipsism and superficiality. In his world, nothing exists that Tom doesn’t personally experience.

Last time, we noted a lot of plots revolving around the teachers. Another plot aimed at the older viewer: Chris and his fake banknotes fraud. They could have had this as a third-string plot all year, but chose to have it as a two-episode wonder – the reward after Kieron has passed his initiation test and betrayed Vikki. It’s the right call: the scary plot is presented and resolved in two episodes, not long enough for the younger viewers to get worried.

What of the club? At the start of the series, we hoped it would be a new Third Space, somewhere not school and not anyone’s home. Ray’s Caff had been such a Third Space in recent years, and this year’s series felt a little weaker without somewhere similar.

Danny Hartson was the star of last year’s series, the fall guy of Kieron’s bizarre plot to get revenge against Mr. Hankin. This year, Danny is a foil, he mopes about around Vikki, moans about his choice not going to university, and seems unable to take charge of his own life. It’s a waste of a talented actor.

With just 18 episodes in this series, and so many big plots to squeeze in, some of the other plots were insufficient. We got hints about Briony not feeling right for much of the series, but only in the final episodes could we twig what was going on. Had this been a 20-episode series, they’d surely have explored this sensitive problem in more detail. As it is, we reckon the coverage was insufficient and glib and superficial, and they needed to do it better.

And the spectre of racism loomed again, as Josh prepared for his bar mitzvah ceremony. It felt like they’d only included this to say they’ve “done” antisemitism, albeit in a superficial and unconvincing way.

Those were the main plotlines of the 2002 series. There’s one final piece to come from this blog: reviewing the nine year sweep of Grange Hill, comparing the production teams and storytelling devices.

Series 25 recap – Deverill, death, and marriage

How do you solve a problem like Deverill?

Over the nine years this blog has covered, we’ve never had an unredeemed bully. The early years of Grange Hill were marked by sadists who abused other pupils, because nobody stopped them. Booga Benson, Mauler McCaul, and the archetype that was Gripper Stebson.

More recently, bullies have had to face the consequences (see Imelda Davis in 1986-7, or Frank and Grimbo in the 1993 series), or be redeemed by apologising for their actions. Back in 1996, Wayne had a personalised vendetta against Poppy, resolved when Lauren held him to account for his actions. Spencer was horrible to Amy in 1998, got shouted at by Annika; the downfall of the father Spencer idolised, and disappearance of his parents, gave him a new sense of place.

So it’s a very very long time since we’ve had an effective bully at Grange Hill, the sort whose very presence strikes fear into people’s hearts. Mr. Deverill was just that bully.

Uniquely, he was already in a position of power – he could appeal to authority to excuse his actions, and as deputy head was more likely to be believed than a “mere” pupil.

What techniques did Deverill use? The personal vendetta, against Ian Hudson for the temerity of not knowing there were roadworks on the shortest route. The harsh judgement, some staff literally could not do right by him. Deverill spoke down to people, and if you crossed him you were toast – just ask Anika Modi.

Deverill sowed confusion, and subtly undermined Mrs. Holmes – a confusing new timetable was all her fault. The “positive discipline” policy showed he wanted to rule the school to his standards whether they were good for education or not, and if we burble or sing here… Most tellingly, nothing was ever Deverill’s fault. He had excuse after excuse, without ever getting anything of use done.

Deverill sucks up to the school governor.

Our takeaway from the 2002 series: Grange Hill presented a case study in how a bully operates. Unless you’re watching closely, Deverill’s actions always seemed reasonable, and that’s how he wheedles his way in.

There is one redeeming feature: Deverill is primarily a psychological bully, his rage rarely turns to physical violence. Most eight-year-olds are not going to understand what Deverill does at all; we fear that those who do get it are going through similar trauma in their own lives. But if the plot is going to go over the heads of half the audience, is it really the best thing for Grange Hill?

Election Season

The series began with elections for the school website, an episode to reflect the political campaigning style of the time. Mr. Robson’s desire to let the pupils organise themselves butted against the governors’ desire to pretend the school was better than it was. It’s a timeless problem, played out five years earlier with Jessica’s brief editorship of the school magazine. Played out fifteen years earlier with a debate about whether to have a school magazine, and then by Danny Kendall’s “Radio Grange Hill” idea.

Desteeni cards were another framing device, used more to link disparate plots together than as a plot in their own right. Trading cards were familiar to the CBBC audience of 2002, both the concept and the lengths some people would go to in order to snag the rarest cards. They proved to be a useful motif, recurring through the series in unlikely places.

One such place was when Darren gave a set to Amy as a good luck charm. Grange Hill has dealt with death previously, in this blog’s time we’ve seen Judi Jeffries fall, and Lucy’s mother suddenly die.

It’s more difficult to deal with a prolonged terminal illness, and the tale of Amy and her mother was played with sensitive acting from all. This time around, we knew how it was going to end, making the early episodes all the more poignant.

They never tied up the search for Amy’s actual father, did they? Chaz was enough for the series, and for Amy.

Mr. Robson also considered his own mortality this year, when he was laid up in hospital for the first half of the series. Maybe that contributed to his decision to leave the school, and to formalise his relationship with Miss Carver. Mr. Robson’s absence also left a vacuum, in which the poison spread by Deverill could do its work.

One staff wedding took place, one staff wedding did not: Miss Fraser and Michael Barton, as Mrs. Holmes’s son was credited. We have to think carefully for any time Miss Fraser was teaching this year, and there weren’t very many of them. She was employed as a character, to know Michael when he came into school, and as a counterpoint to some of Deverill’s machinations.

After last year’s major plot, there was very little Mr. Hankin this year.

We’ve now written about 750 words about Grange Hill, and barely mentioned the pupils at all. Major change was coming to the series, to bring it closer to the pupils. From this evidence, it was necessary change.

On Friday, we’ll cover the other plot points, those primarily led by the pupils.