WHICH

FRAME
OF
MIND?
This supplement
has been submitted
by New Left Review
as evidence to the
Pilkington Committee
on the Future Of
Broadcasting And
Television
TV
COMMENTS
If, like Plato, we believe in Golden Men who know best and if we
get our way, we will not be troubled by problems of quantity and
quality in television, not if we have the luck, that is, to be
Golden Men ourselves, for we will provide ordinary people with the
amount and kind of television we think is good for them. But if
we agree not with Plato but with Mill about the great social
problem of human happiness, then we must face the logic of our
preference. The television that is produced will refl ct what
people do like, not what we think they ought to like, and it is
not of great relevance to criticise television. If we don’t like
it, or don’t say, like the kind of newspaper or films we have, it
is not these things we should be saying are unsatisfactory. We
should have the courage of our convictions an d say that people
are unsatisfactory, and that, as Plato said, we must take matters
out of their hands.
Sir Robert Fraser (address given at Scarborough)

WE SHOULD NOT BE SATISFIED
UNTIL WE HAVE ACHIEVED IN
BROADCASTING THE SAME RICH-
NESS, VARIETY AND COMPETITION
OF WHICH WE ARE SO JUSTLY
PROUD IN THE BRITISH PRESS.
Norman Collins
The Twentieth Century (TV Issue)
Since the war we have been feeling our way
along a more indirect approach. It rests on the
conception of the community as a broadly
based cultural pyramid slowly aspiring up-
wards. This pyramid is served by three main
Programmes, differentiated but broadly over-
lapping in levels and interests, each programme
leading on to the other, the listener being
induced through the years increasingly to
discriminate in favour of the things that are
more worthwhile . . . As the standards of
the education and culture of the community
rise so should the programme pyramid also.
Sir William Haley—
then Director-General of the BBC, in the Lewis Fry
Memorial Lecture at Bristol University.
 I don’t like the Brains Trust because we
think it is too clever and there’s nothing
exciting about it, and another reason is
because it is too slow and I think it is mainly
for grown-ups. They are always talking
about things which I haven’t heard about
and the people always seem to use big
words and I never understand them and
they never seem to agree with one another
and they are always smoking, making noises
with their chairs and they are always inter-
rupting so that you cannot understand a
word they say. It’s always the same scenery,
all dark colours, bits of old pictures hanging
on the wall and it’s all dull, the whole thing
is dull.
I think it all ought to be done away with.
They are always talking of uninteresting
things and always leaning back in their
chairs smoking as though they were million-
aires, they ought to be sacked and never
heard of again.
II year old boy (Television and the Child )
The public is on the side of commercial
television. So are the statistics. So—to put
it bluntly—is the money. So, by some
compound of skill, luck and instinct, is the
spirit of the times we live in.
None of these factors would count for
very much if the programme companies
could not be trusted with this restless
medium. But they have shown in these
crammed and hectic months that they can
be trusted.
Commercial television has been a short
time growing up, but it has grown up
strong and healthy and responsible. And
now it is ready for new responsibilities.
Daily Mirror (Spotlight on Television)
It is as possible for the majority to like the good
as it is for the majority to like the bad. The terms
are themselves invidious. There is good jazz and bad
jazz. Good classical music and bad classical music.
Good music-hall and bad music-hall. Good sermons
and bad sermons. Good football and bad football.
And, no matter how bad the jazz, the classickl music,
the music-hall, the sermons or the football, no
element of moral badness is involved. It is purely
an aesthetic and not an ethical term.
Prigs are of both kinds. There is no hard dividing
line. It is strange, however, how frequently the
aesthetic prig begins invoking the ethical values.
Dire social consequences are predicted where none
will accrue. Phrases like “morally enervating” are
used when morality simply does not happen to be
involved. The most that can be said is that nowadays
large numbers of people spend large amounts of time
viewing television. Previously they spent large
amounts of time going to the cinema. Neither habit
need rouse the moralist to an undue level of
indignation.
Norman Collins, The Twentieth Century
(TV Issue)
While there were less than Five million
homes with TV in 1955, without of course any
choice of programmes, there are now over
eight million, of which over six million can
receive two programmes and enjoy the simple
right and pleasure of viewing the one they
like.
. . . in fact, the old system of monopoly
in Britain was carried away by a wave of
democratic thought and feeling.
Address by Sir Robert Fraser (ITA)
TV
AND
THE
COMMUNITY
THE CONTROVERSIES in the press and in political
parties about whether we need a third channel
and whether alterations are necessary to the
structure of either the BBC or ITV or both have
all, directly or by implication, revealed a variety
of attitudes towards the basic question: in what
manner should television (and other media) com-
municate with its audience? There are in fact
four main attitudes towards communication, and
it may be useful at the outset to define and
comment upon them.
Four Attitudes Towards Communication
(a) Authoritarian: Here communications media
are seen essentially as part of the whole machinery
by which a minority governs a particular society.
The media are a channel for the instructions and
ideas of the ruling group and they exclude, as a
matter of policy, alternative instructions and
ideas. Monopoly of the means of communication
is a necessary part of this kind of political system,
and is supported by censorship and by prosecu-
tions of sources unfavourable to those in power.
(b) Paternalistic: This may adequately be de-
fined as an authoritarian system with a conscience.
Whereas the first system justifies its monopolistic
position by claiming, quite simply, its right to rule,
the paternalistic system defends the same position
in terms of the need to educate and enlighten.
Such a system will use censorship but will
commonly excuse itself on the grounds that
certain groups or individuals need to be protected,
as a public duty, against certain kinds of ideas or
art. As a matter of policy, this kind of system
undertakes the regular inculcation of certain
values and habits and tastes which it wishes to
extend to the society as a whole. Usually it will
regard criticism of such values as, at best, muddle-
headed and, at worst, as a kind of moral insurrec-
tion against a tried and trusted “way of life”.
While the authoritarian sees himself as every-
body’s natural ruler, the paternalist likes to see
himself as everybody’s father—and for this role
there cannot be any real competition. Naturally,
his conception of his duty as everybody’s father
imposes a high seriousness, responsibility and
even reverence towards his work.
(c) Commercial: At first, the commercial atti-
to communications is powerfully opposed to both
authoritarianism and paternalism, for its asserts
the right to offer for sale any kind of work which
it believes the public will buy. The preferences of
ordinary people thus finds expression in commer-
cial policy to an extent that, by definition, they
can not do under older systems. At the same time,
however, commercial policy can only be sustained
by achieving profits, and it has been common—at
recognisable stages in English cultural history—
for the profit criterion to rival and then to take
over from the earlier assertion of independence.
Once this happens, it ceases to be concerned with
the offering of any kind of work or idea, as such
(which was its advantage over the systems it
replaced), but with the offering of any profitable
kind of work or idea.
As the amount of capital required to finance
and operate modern commercial communication
systems increases, two destructive elements
develop. First, there is the need for a compara-
tively quick return on the capital invested, so that
the test of the product is not simply what people
will buy but what they will buy quickly. As most
quick buying is in relation to known, existing
tastes, this emphasis can limit or destroy the
possibilities of growth or experiment, in which
new tastes are learned. Second, the huge amounts
of capital required will tend to restrict entry into
the communication system to limited groups
whose principal, if not only, qualification is that
they possess or are in a position to raise this
capital; to groups, in fact, which are bound to be
unrepresentative in terms of the whole society
which they are, presumably, intended to serve. In
other words it can, and very often does, happen
that this kind of monopoly claimed as a matter
of principle by authoritarians and paternalists is
achieved as a matter of practice by simple
financial pressures by the new kinds of com-
mercial owners. Thus what began as an assertion
of independence can become as much the practice
of minority control as the two former systems
and will in any case lack the seriousness and
concern for long term growth which paternal
systems have as their virtues.
(d) Democratic: This attitude to communica-
tions rests on two simple principles: that every
member of society has a right to choose for
himself what he will read, listen to or watch; and
that every member of society has a right to
33
contribute to what is communicated—that is,
written, spoken and shown. On the right to
receive, this attitude overlaps with the commercial
attitude and may be enlisted in its support against
authoritarian and paternalist systems. But on the
right to transmit it is distinct from all three
earlier systems: it is against authoritarian control
of what can be said, against paternalist selection
of what ought to be said, against commercial
selection of what can profitably be said.
On the right to receive, the democratic attitude
requires the ending of all forms of monopoly or
control over what is generally available. On the
right to transmit, it requires the creation of forms
in the communication systems which will
genuinely enable any member of the society who
wishes to contribute to public communications
activities to do so without having to pass the
barriers of censorship, paternal selection or
calculation of profit.
In any modern society, the assurance of this
individual right can only be assured by means
of common public responsibility. Only when the
communication systems operate on behalf of
the society as a whole (rather than in the interests
of a ruling minority, a paternalist group or a set
of commercial interests) can be achievement of
democracy in this field be reckoned complete.
The criterion is not what we must hear or say,
not what we ought to hear or say, not what is
quickly profitable to hear or say. It is and can
only be what we need to say, as free individuals,
and what we need to hear, from other free
individuals. All free communication is naturally
varied and any democratic system of communica-
tions must allow for and welcome major diversi-
ties and alternatives. It must not be a few people
speaking to many or an elite of any kind speaking
to “masses”. People’s real differences, and yet
their equal right to speak and be heard, must be
made the theoretical and practical basis of any
democratic system.
Of these systems, the BBC falls into the pater-
nalistic category: its virtues have been respon-
sibility and seriousness; its defects a question of
tone and selection which, though seemingly
unimportant on isolated occasions, reflect what
we believe to be a harmful cultural attitude; it is,
pre-eminently, one of those things which we
identify with “them” rather than “us”. Important
social changes in Britain have made it difficult
to maintain an openly paternalistic policy, and
it was very largely because of these changes that
the quite different conception of commercial
television was able to get through. In the inter-
vening years, many people have come to realise
that we threw out the baby with the bathwater:
we got rid of a paternalistic monopoly at the price
34
of allowing commercial motives to set our cultura1
pace.
Questions of Culture
We turn now, for a moment, away from types
of communication to consider one cultural
question which is central to the form and
content of work in the popular communications
media.
Popular Culture. It will be generally agreed
that our society (or perhaps its “arbiters of
taste”) teaches us that there are two kinds of
cultural activity: “high” or “serious” art, and
the large and very varied forms of expression
which are grouped under the general heading of
“popular” art or culture. It would be an over-
simplification to say that the former is regarded
as by definition good and the latter by definition
bad; it is true, however, that we are often invited
to believe that only “serious” art appeals to our
higher sensibilities and that, by contrast, “popu-
lar” art is concerned essentially with such vague
concepts as “entertainment” and “escapism”.
Now it can be argued that much work in the
field of popular culture has been annexed by the
speculators and gimmick-mongers of Denmark
Street and elsewhere; that much of it reaches the
public only because it is likely to be financially
profitable; that much is not only worthless but
positively harmful. Yet many of these same
criticisms can be levelled at the “serious” arts:
there is no real moral distinction between the
actions of the dishonest pop music promoters
and those of the speculators and fashion-creators
in the world of painting.
In any case the dividing line between “serious”
and “popular” creative work is hard to define.
Some of the most important and enduring creative
work of this century can be found in the cinema,
in the developing schools of jazz (which have
influenced “serious” music profoundly), even
perhaps in such specialised fields as the graphic
arts and industrial design—yet all these areas of
work are excluded, by the tastemakers, from the
concept of “serious” art. It is likely, for instance,
that such films as City Lights, Bicycle Thieves
and La Terra Trema will come to be considered
as being amongst the most valuable artistic
work of this century; yet one of our most
highly regarded film critics has always been
at pains to emphasise the impossibility of the
cinema becoming an art form—whatever that
may mean.
A condescending or contemptuous attitude
towards popular culture is found at many influen-
tial points in our society. It is seen, for instance,
in schools where “cultural” tuition often seems
concerned with fortifying elite tastes against what
is thought to be harmful exposure to such things
as films and popular music. It is also found in
many of our “quality” newspapers and magazines,
where the contrast in space and level of criticism
between articles on the two categories of art is
striking.
The arbitrary division of creative work into two
qualitative categories has had damaging effects
upon our whole culture. Because the bulk of the
population is assumed to be able to enjoy and
appreciate only work of the “inferior” quality,
the appreciation of “serious” art tends to develop
into an activity at once exclusive and arcane, and
spawning ever more recondite interpreters. The
very language of much present day art criticism
seems to suggest that the understanding and
enjoyment of paintings is limited to members of
some secret but obviously smart club.
Two Cultural Camps
In a wider context, too, “serious” art and
culture have been elevated and placed apart from
popular forms. The most notable example of
this—a concious act of policy—was the creation
of the BBC Third Programme. Let it be said at
once that excellent work has come out of this
programme, and that it should not be damned
because much of its output has bsen trivial,
pretentious or merely opaque. The thing wrong
with it is that, by definition and declaration, it
excludes “ordinary listeners”; is engaged in a
cultural weeding out process. The same tendency
is apparent on both television channels in what
the providers are pleased to label “minority
programmes”. Their form and content—and the
heavy press advertising which announces them—
are designed expressly for “top” viewers; the
bulk of the television audiences, sampling the
atmosphere of cultural one-upmanship of many
of these programmes, quite naturally switch off
or turn to the other channel.
Now, if “serious” art is to be regarded as good
and “popular” art as markedly inferior at best,
it is a short step (and one which many have
taken) to the assumption that standards of
production and response to the latter are not
very important; that, because “popular” art is
concerned merely with diverting us or offering
us temporary escape from our daily lives, it is
outside the scope of aesthetic or moral criticism.
It is interesting that this view is used by so-called
purists to condemn popular art, and by many
professional low-brows to defend it.
It is a dangerous view; it is especially dangerous
when we find it expressed publicly by senior
members of the television authorities, because it
is television that deals, in greater variety than any
other communications medium, with popular
culture. For underlying this attitude is the theory
that such material need not, should not, be taken
seriously by the provider or the audience; that
it should be wholesome, innocuous, amusing,
rather than attempt to appeal to a deeper, more
positive response. Ultimately, this view—once we
have swept aside such slogans as “we give the
public what it wants” and “viewers demand to be
entertained, not instructed”—reveals contempt
not merely for popular culture but also for the
millions of people who derive pleasure from it.
The only adequate and fruitful way in which to
consider these two categories of cultural activity
is to realise that all forms of expression have their
own validity and all are deserving of serious
appreciation. Whether we are considering cool
jazz or a classical symphony, Elizabethan drama
or a television thriller, the important thing is not
to categorise them in the pejorative sense but
to determine whether they are good or bad of
their kind. It may well be true to say that most
variety programmes, thrillers and panel games on
television are bad; it is not true to say that they
are necessarily bad by definition. All good art,
however we categorise it, is serious in the most
important sense that its creators and interpreters
have respect for the medium they use and for the
dignity and intelligence of their audience. It
would, for instance, be difficult to decide which,
in this sense, was the more serious programme,
the Brains Trust or Hancock’s Half Hour (except
that the Brains Trust is often difficult to take
seriously at all); or whether the appreciation, the
emotional intensity of response of someone
listening to a great blues singer was any less
than that of someone else listening to Flagstad.
The realisation of this is important to our
cultural health and development. It is absolutely
essential if we hope to understand, appreciate
and criticise television and other mass-communi-
cations media in a positive and helpful way. It
is perfectly reasonable that a high proportion of
television output should be concerned with sport,
low comsdy, jazz and pop music, yes, even with
panel games; it is at once snobbish and dictatorial
to question this. The sickness of television lies not
in the preponderance of this type of programme
but in their form and content—in the fact that
the overwhelming majority of them, expecially on
ITV, are innocent of invention or skill either in
conception or achievement; that even as “escap-
ism” or “diversion” many are at best vapid and
at worst positively harmful; that, basically, their
providers share a cynical or arrogant attitude
towards popular culture. It is only when the
concept of popular culture is treated with the
respect—and enthusiasm—it deserves, and when
35
the same care, seriousness, awareness of the
human dignity of the audience that is apparent
in a few of the best “minority” programmes
spreads through the whole range of production,
that we are likely to get good television in this
country.
The Idea of a Common Culture
Most members of our society would say that
they believe in democracy. But while it may be
an easy and attractive concept to support in
principle, true democracy depends in practice
upon a positive and constructive belief in the
twin ideas of the essential equality of people as
human beings and the development of a common
culture. On this definition—which we consider to
be the only adequate one—democracy as a way
of thinking and living has yet to become a fact
in this country. Our society is artificially divided
not only into social classes but also in terms of
innumerable other examples of “us” and “them”.
It is not merely that some of us wish to retain and
promote these divisions: many features deep in
the fabric of our society help positively or by
default to serve these ends. For example, the
fundamental principle underlying much adver-
tising (which is a major force in our social
organisation) is that direct appeals to status—
the invitation to compete with one’s neighbour
for social prestige—is a sound way to sell goods.
Many people are rightly disturbed by the pro-
position, implicit in this method of marketing,
that emotional problems may be resolved by the
acquisition of material goods. But just as dis-
turbing is the sort of common social response—
from which few of us are entirely immune—which
makes this idea financially profitable to advertisers.
Even if we accept the theory that traditional
class divisions are gradually breaking down, it is
evident that new ones are being created to replace
them. One example is the social prestige accruing
to the possession of the new and specialised
technical skills which are required to run an
increasingly complex industrial society; another is
the power and influence belonging to the new
managerial class who deploy these skills in
industry. As with all social divisions of this kind,
the fundamental error made is that class or skill
or position is thought to be, not so much an
attribute as a comprehensive definition of the
human and social worth of a man. As with all
divisions, too, attitudes of the society as a whole
are reflected, confirmed and nourished by much
in our educational system: on the one hand,
going to a “good” school still gives a flying start
to the socially ambitious; on the other, almost
every type of school is concerned to a great
36
extent with instructing people in the simple,
narrow techniques of “how to get on in life”.
In our society, the idea of individuality is
highly regarded as a rallying cry against con-
formity. Yet this idea, which is basically valuable,
is seen not as the attempt of individuals to become
unique, differentiated human beings within the
common context of society (an attempt which
must in any case be often frustrated by the
demands of a society of “consumers”), but rather,
in terms of the lonely figure striking out on his
own, ploughing a lonely furrow, “rising above
the common herd”, etc.; a figure partaking of little
and giving less to a culture common to all. Thus
while a strong and genuine feeling about the
growth and development of the individual, and
respect due to this specific individuality, is
essential, it is often distorted in our society in
ways which are false and culturally divisive. This
distortion becomes more acute as an industrial
society develops: it thrives not only as the
bureaucratic structure grows but also as each
“work” activity becomes more specialised and,
as a result, the “us” and “them” situation more
compelling.
A Fragmented Culture
One of the most important and valuable
features of many primitive societies is that
production and culture are unified and common
to all. In the highly industrialised state, by con-
trast, the complexities involved in the organisation
of production, and the kind of relationships
between people which such organisation creates,
tend to divide us rather than appeal to our sense
of community and common purpose; and in this
process of fragmentation, the idea of cultural
unity has gone to the wall. Yet we are all members
of a single society—a society which depends upon
all of us and from which we derive our ideals and
values; a society in which common interest is still
true self-interest, however strong and persuasive
the pressure which divide us may seem. But if
their sense of unity, of common purpose, is the
mainspring of the cultural environment that we
need to create positively, rather than pay lip
service to, it requires in all of us a much deeper
and wider view of democratic possibilities. The
possibilities become reality not merely by estab-
lishing parliamentary government but in the
manifold ways in which we as citizens relate our
individual patterns of experience, our ideals, our
fears, our social behaviour to the growth and
direction of our society, and, even more, in the
extent to which each citizen is enabled, as of
right, to share these experiences, ideals and so
on through commonly-available media of com-
munications. In the course of an important state-
ment about communications in the last chapter
of Culture and Society, Raymond Williams
observes:
A culture, while it is being lived, is always in
part unknown, in part unrealized. The makin of
a community is always an exploration, for con-
sciousness cannot precede creation, and there is
no formula for unknown experience. A good
community, a living culture, will, because of this,
not only make room for but actively encourage all
and any who can contribute to the advance in
consciousness which is the common need. Wherever
we have started from, we need to listen to others
who started from a different position. We need to
consider every attachment, every value, with our
whole attention; for we do not know the future,
we can never be certain of what may enrich it;
we can only, now, listen to and consider whatever
may be offered and take up what we can.
“Freedom of speech” is a very important asset
of life in our society; but it is essentially a negative
one in the sense that it has merely reduced the
possibilities of prosecution for saying what you
feel. What we are proposing here is a positive and
constructive concept of how our culture could be
made to grow and become richer. We are not
simply concerned with the rights and aspirations
of minorities and dissenters (though these rights
are crucial) but with the idea of cultural growth
through universal participation which, being
universal, would cut across and help to dismantle
the barriers of class, work activities and the rest
of the apparatus of the divided society. We believe
that such participation is not merely a moral right
(which, presumably, most people would support)
but that it is absolutely vital to the development
and maturity of our society.
The idea of a common culture, as we noted
above, depends upon cultural production and
distribution being available to all. Clearly, the
present organisation of cultural distribution—the
press, the cinema, television—specifically denies
this common availability. And television, which
because of its immediacy, its power to influence
and the fact that it is a truly national medium,
could contribute so much towards the develop-
ment of a common culture, is by the same token
so disappointing at present. This is not to deny
the possibility—real in the case of the paternalist
BBC, less likely in the case of commercial ITV—
that the concept of cultural unity exists in the
minds of the providers. It is simply that their
present organisation and structure make it a
practical impossibility. Both channels are restrict-
ed in their attitudes and output by the narrow
cultural range and experience, not so much of their
creative workers as of their administrators. It is
no accident that many of these administrators,
chosen for their excellence as administrators and
as “public men”, should have inherited traditional
often well-meaning but culturally damaging atti-
tudes towards communications. These attitudes,
partaking of such vague but significant slogans
as “mass education”, “palatable instruction”
and the value of “escapism” as a useful social
safety valve, polymerise into a total outlook that
is essentially dominative, however benevolent,
polite and clear-of-conscience it may be; an
outlook that ratifies, in fact if not in principle,
the idea that communications should reflect and
confirm the cultural values and sensibilities of
a minority rather than those of our society as
a whole.
Responsibility
The final question is, who is responsible? The
providers frequently offer the justification (cf.:
“Comments”, p. 30–31) that they are “giving the
people what they want”—that this is the only
“democratic” way of running television, and that
their policies have been vindicated by high
viewing figures.
This approach seems to us an evasion of
responsibility. Television transmission is, broadly,
divided between two monopoly structures, the
BBC and ITV. The public has no direct access
to these media. They view what they get, and they
have a “choice” between two channels—but they
do not produce the programmes, decide the
balance or make suggestions. The rights of the
“viewer” are limited and negative: he may, if he
is outraged, write a letter of complaint; otherwise,
he has the “freedom” to purchase a set, and the
“freedom” to switch off when he cannot take it
any more. Given their structure, neither channel
is “democratic” in the ordinary sense of the word.
The producer of programmes may, of course,
make every effort to interpret, to please or to
flatter public taste. Like the editor of a paper,
he mediates between the articles he chooses to
print and what he thinks his public wants to read.
But, in the end, only those who produce the
programmes can be held accountable for what is
transmitted. And it is quite wrong for producers
and providers to try to shift the responsibility
from their own shoulders to those of the audience.
It is true that, with repetition, “The public may
grow to like what it is getting”. But that is a quite
different thing from “getting what it likes”. No
one can minimise the difficult responsibility for
mediating between production and public taste.
But the problems of television can only be seen in
their true perspective when the providers recognise
that, for better or worse, the responsibility for
the quality of what they produce is, ultimately,
their own.
37
USE
AND
ABUSE
THERE CANNOT be much doubt that the bulk of
television variety is bad. It is bad not only because
most of the material is very poor of its kind but,
more important, because it is very doubtful
whether many of the programmes are, by nature,
suited to the medium.
Many of the administrators of ITV—the main
offender in this field—are “showmen” whose
experience is largely confined to the music hall.
The old and lively music hall tradition, with its
high degree of audience participation, is unfor-
tunately nearly dead in this country; it languishes
not so much through its own shortcomings as
because of the fact that we, as a people, have
changed in terms of our entertainment tastes and
needs. Yet a high proportion of television variety
seems devoted to the proposition that the music
hall can be dragged back from the grave: we are
constantly offered the high-kicking lines of chorus
girls and all the rest of the paraphenalia required
to fill the vast stages in which television’s “spec-
taculars” are performed. As a medium, television
is ruthless with shows of this kind: the “bigger”
the production, the more paltry and ant-like are
the performances rendered by the small electronic
box. Television destroys the bigness and brashness
—and also exposes the limitations of the apron
stage—which are the hallmarks of shows of this
kind; it demands instead intimacy, subtlety and
the ability to “think small”. The need for this
last ability is realised from time to time and finds
expression in the use of “night club” techniques
(as in Late Night Extra, now luckily departed).
Here, however, the approach has been equally
wrong because the “smallness” of the medium
has been equated with immobility—a defect which
television conspicuously lacks. One of the “small”
shows in which an escape has been made from
both the apron stage and night club restrictions
is ITV’s Cool for Cats; unfortunately, the basically
interesting idea that pop music can be interpreted
in terms of the dance fails here in quality of
content; fails in the assumption that a blend of
calisthenics and Cornish wrestling is an adequate
substitute for choreography.
We are constantly told about the novelty of
television as a medium and about the difficulties
this imposes, technically and creatively, not only
on producers but, more perhaps, on performers
trained in other media. This is perfectly true and
must be allowed for—even at this late date. But
we would feel happier if there was some evidence
in the form of a few daring and, possibly,
disastrous experiments—that the providers were
seeking to master the medium in this field of
entertainment. To date, this is sadly lacking.
On the evidence of current performance alone,
it is obvious that this is a fruitful and exciting
form. It is also obvious that, with one or two rare
exceptions, the BBC performance is immeasurably
superior to ITV.
The best known of comedy is Hancock’s
Half Hour, but others featuring Stanley Baxter,
Charlie Drake and (on ITV) Arthur Haynes, have
also been successful. Clearly, the success of
Hancock’s Half Hour owes much to the individual
talents of Tony Hancock and of his scriptwriters,
Simpson and Galton. But primarily the show
derives its success from the attitude of all three,
and their producer, to their medium, an empirical
attitude deriving little from other media except
sound radio. It has been especially interesting to
follow this programme from the beginning of the
first series: on the one hand, the scripts, though
similar in plot to many of the radio shows, have
rapidly accustomed themselves to the very different
needs of television; on the other, Hancock’s
technique, at first an unsatisfactory blend of
music hall and “revue sketch” methods, has
evolved into something utterly appropriate for
television, a splendid mixture of subtlety and ham.
It would be foolish to expect television of this
quality in every show; equally, however, we as
viewers have a right to expect producers and
performers—whether good or merely competent
—to have as much respect for both the medium
and the audience as the Hancock team. It is just
this dual aspect—together with the desire and
ability to extend the possibilities of the medium—
that stamped the Goon Show and ITMA as
excellent radio, however much their humour may
seem dated today.
Apart from the variety show and comedy series
there exists a number of programmes which offer
various kinds of diversion—most characteristically
the panel games and quiz shows. These pro-
grammes are a dominant part of ITV’s output,
and include Dotto, Take Your Pick, Double Your
Money and Criss-Cross Quiz.
It is proper that television should provide
39
entertainment. This function should be balanced
but certainly not replaced by programmes with
an educational purpose. In particular, too much
has been said about passive viewing (it depends,
of course, on what is viewed) and there is perhaps
too much concern about what television replaces
in our lives (it depends on the quality of what is
replaced). But even allowing for this, are these
games—and in this number—really a valid and
genuine part of what a national service should
offer? Do they not encourage an attitude of total
passivity relieved only by positive appeals to
mercenary greed? We are not trying to damn quiz
shows as such but, rather, the kinds of values and
attitudes which these particular shows uphold and
encourage.
Too many of the diversion-type programmes
on television seem to justify themselves on one of
two principles: by an appeal to passivity or, on
the contrary, by their ability to gain any kind of
strong “reaction” from the audience. But both
these attitudes are bristling with moral dilemmas.
On Candid Camera, Take Your Pick and the
contests on Sunday Night at the London Palladium
for instance, is there not something indecent,
rather than amusing, in the way people are
obliged to do tricks like animals at the circus;
something corrupting, rather than uplifting, about
the way qualities like friendliness and helpfulness
are exploited in the name of entertainment. Is there
not something fraudulent about the way in which
the genial bonhomie of Wilfred Pickles in his
radio and television programmes are used, and
specifically relied upon, to sell a patent medicine
in the commercials? Is it a pure coincidence that
the glittering array of “prizes” in the quiz shows
are the same commodities plugged in the adver-
tising breaks?
All these features of television (especially ITV)
suggest that the providers find nothing wrong in
exploiting the good and positive feelings of
viewers for the most dubious purposes. Such
features dispose once and for all of the opinion
that this type of programme is simply a diversion,
a form of escapism, to which moral or aesthetic
criticisms do not apply.
The other depressing attitude towards “enter-
tainment” is that, because it is not “serious”, it
requires little care or imagination in production;
that it is right and proper to stick to well-worn
formulae. A good example is Juke Box Jury. The
idea originally behind this programme—a critical
assessment of pop music—is a good one; but the
idea has been ruined in practice by three things.
In the first place, its standards have been deliber-
ately lowered, in terms of the music offered, to
that of Denmark Street at its worst: few of the
real pop music talents, like Sinatra and Ella
40
Fitzgerald, or those of the jazz world, ever get a
hearing. Secondly, the purpose of the “jury” is
not to criticise the music but rather to determine
whether the records are likely to be a hit or not.
Thirdly, the members of the jury are invariably
inarticulate—in striking contrast to many of the
customers whose taste they are supposed to be
judging. This is a BBC programme. Is there some
commercial pressure—similar perhaps to the
embargo on mentioning brand names—that pre-
vents it from being seriously critical? If it offered
a genuine variety of popular music and had
panellists who knew about and could communi-
cate their knowledge of this music it could not
only be an extremely valuable programme but also
highly entertaining. The BBC often reminds one of
the parson determined to be one of the boys by
having rock’n’roll in the crypt. If it were really
serious in its attitude towards popular music it
would demonstrate its respect by treating this
sort of programme in a responsible way.
Short Dramatic Fiction
These are either genuine serials or, more
frequently, series of self-contained stories featuring
a particular character or group. The form and
content cover a wide range—from crime thrillers
and westerns to “human interest” stories such
as Emergency- Ward 10 and dramatised documen-
tary, such as Probation Officer. The quality of these
programmes also varies a good deal. We want
to deal here very briefly with one particular type
of programme—the crime thrillers—because they
not only seem to be in the ascendant at present
but also because the kinds of values and “message”
they directly and indirectly convey are of con-
siderable interest.
By far the best of these programmes is Maigret.
Many of its virtues undoubtedly derive from
Simenon himself; yet in translating the stories
into visual terms, the adaptors and producers
have been careful to retain these virtues: the
casual but effective establishing of the routine of
police life; the validity and relevance of any
violence to the specific story; the ways in which
the point and resolution of the stories turn to a
great extent upon the character of Maigret and
his adversaries. Certainly, they are not out-
standing drama; but, like many of the original
novels, they are undoubtedly good examples of
their particular genre.
It is important to establish this standard before
considering the overwhelming bulk of the rest of
the crime thrillers on both BBC and ITV—such
as The Adventures of Harry Lime, Mark Saber,
M Squad. Most of these shows are shoddily made:
they stick to a rigid and obvious formula, com-
prising blocks of cryptic dialogue followed by
violence, linked by brief passages of atmosphere
setters, the whole being lubricated by deafening
music. The technical inadequacy of these pro-
grammes, however obvious, is far outstripped by
the nastiness of their content. All are concerned
principally with the mere mechanics of “the
chase”. Few try to establish anything but minimal
personal characteristics in either heroes or
villains: the general level of treatment seems
deliberately planned to throw contempt upon
human relationships, and in what passes for moral
outlook and in their methods, the heroes are quite
as unpleasant as their adversaries. Both delight
in using illegal methods, neither hesitate to kill
or maim. Indeed, most of these shows are
distinguished by seemingly ritual displays of
violence which do not become less vicious,
arbitrary or corrupting by being repeated every
week. It is interesting to speculate on what sort
of people are prepared regularly to write and
produce material of such consistent and compre-
hensive rottenness. It is important also to ask
by what distortion of the term “public service”
the authorities justify them.
Longer Plays
It is difficult to generalise about this category,
since they do not fall into so ready a pattern as
the programmes in the previous section. In
addition, it is certainly impossible to praise or
condemn them as a group: a lot of good and bad
and mediocre drama is being produced. The most
encouraging sign is that a number of playwrights
of talent—Alun Owen, John Arden, Harold
Pinter—are being commissioned to write original
plays for television. In addition, of course, we
should be grateful that classics like Shakespeare,
Chekov and Ibsen, and distinguished contem-
porary dramatists like Arthur Miller are also
produced, though they vary widely in quality of
production.
Two points need to be made, however. First,
a score of such productions, heralded by heavy
advertising in the “prestige” papers, does not in
any way justify or in some way cancel out the
continued presentation of the Harry Lime and
M Squad kind of muck. If we judge people
capable of appreciating and responding to Owen’s
Lena, O My Lena, on one evening, by what moral
or aesthetic gobbledigook is Mark Saber thought
adequate the next or any other evening?
The other point is a subtler one which we can
only mention here. It is that far too many plays
seem to be dramatised problems rather than plays
about people. It is as if those in charge of plays
decide that we ought to have a drama about
“the colour problem”, “anti-semitism”, “juvenile
delinquency” or some such question and then
order 90 minutes-worth from one of a list
of authors. Naturally, most such plays have a
stultifying “educative” tang, concerned with plot
rather then character. This kind of drama reveals
a failure of imaginative commitment, a carrying
over into drama of the dead hand of “fairness”
and “objectivity”—so much a part of television’s
current affairs programmes.
T.V. as Journalism
Television offers us a wide variety of pro-
grammes which can be included in the category of
“Enlightenment”: news bulletins, current affairs,
“interpretations” and comments on the news,
travel and documentaries, programmes about
arts, science, hobbies and sports. The media,
clearly, has a most significant role as a presenter
and interpreter of events. To what extent can
these possibilities be realised?
It is impossible to give anything like an adequate
critique of television journalism. But certain
aspects deserve particular attention. National and
international events, for example, do get a
frequent airing on television, contrary to popular
view. Indeed, there are more programmes of this
kind on ITV than on BBC. The problem here is
not quantity but depth of treatment. Both
channels feature such programmes in non-peak
hours; many of them are ridiculously short; and
even the best of their kind—Panorama, Tonight
and This Week—frequently capitulate to the view
that “serious” discussion must be interspersed
with “light” or “popular” items.
Some of the techniques of television journalism
are also worthy of comment. There is, for example
the interminable “interviews with the man in the
street”—a technique which lends a spurious
authenticity to such programmes. These are in no
way a representative sample—but they often
pretend to be. More often they provide a slice
of cockney humour cut out of context. Fascina-
ting to watch, such “slices of life” are seldom of
any real value. Another aspect of this kind of
programme is the “cult of the interviewer”. There
are too many people on whom has fallen the
mantle of “roving reporter”—the jack of all
trades, who, finding it impossible to be soundly
informed about subjects as different as nuclear
strategy, refugees, apartheid, Irish horse traders,
expense accounts, striptease clubs, has been
obliged to capitalise his personality instead. It is
little wonder that such “star” interviewers are
sometimes unable to pin down the experts and
public figures who appear before them. One of
the reasons why What The Papers Say (Granada)
is often interesting and informative is because it
features journalists who know intimately what
41
the papers do say, and are personally involved
with their subject.
Then there is the tricky question of impartiality,
or “balance of viewpoints”. Obviously there was
a legitimate fear about allowing either channel to
editorialise freely: that is why the notion of
“balance” was written into the Television Act.
But it has led to some very odd practices. The
principle is frequently defended because it allows
the viewer to make up his mind by presenting
both points of view on any question. But all too
frequently, presentation is all we have—no discus-
sion, or argument, development or agreement.
What is more, this neutral technique more
frequently encourages the viewer to take neither
point of view, but to stick rigidly to his own pre-
conceived prejudices (a point confirmed and
interestingly discussed by Dr. W. Belson in recent
research for the BBC).
Non-communication of a kind has reached
its nadir in such a programme as Free Speech, in
which two pairs of political opponents indulge
in 30 minutes of invective and calumny at each
other’s expense. It is hardly surprising that they
fail to communicate or persuade, since they are
so clearly incompatible on every other basis
besides politics. This interpretation of “fairness”
encourages the cult of the personality on tele-
vision, switching the emphasis of the programme
from the content of what is being discussed to the
style and personality of the participants.
Let it be admitted at once that the problem of
“fairness” is a difficult one. It could be partly
surmounted, simply, by more time in the develop-
ment of a theme and argument, and less haste to
balance off points of view. But as well as this, the
channels are far too wary of drawing upon the
personal viewpoint and convictions of the partici-
pants: “balance” should be interpreted more
widely, over a rather longer run of programmes.
Television is desperately in need of the committed,
personal voice, developing a theme or position
held with some certainty, rather more in the style
of signed articles in the press.
It is clear that television lives on its “per-
sonalities”: that it creates them almost overnight.
But it is also frequently defended because of its
ability to expose or lay bare the personality of the
great public figures. Face to Face is a sophisticated
and intelligent programme of this kind. However,
even here, we must beware of the thin line which
separates the genuine searching interview from
its near-neighbour—the “exposure” technique,
common in the Sunday press. Such a technique
is a debasement of its genre—it claims to lay
bare, but its more urgent priority is to indulge the
emotions it exposes, to give us a kick and a thrill.
Moreover, TV’s ability to expose is often over-
42
rated: public persons have a private persona
which they can manipulate just as effectively in
their “off ” hours. On the other side, lies the danger
of forgetting what is proper for a public medium,
and what ought to remain a private grief or
trouble. It is a difficult line to draw. The small
screen often gives an illusion of “reality” which
it does not, in fact, possess.
Tyranny Of The Formula
The comments offered above are an attempt to
localise the general discussion about television by
reference to particular programmes and charac-
teristic features of the media as they are used at
present. There are two reasons for wanting to
begin here. In the first place, the question of an
expansion of television must, we feel, be related
to a careful discrimination between what is good,
what is bad, and what is potentially good within
television. In the second place, we feel it impor-
tant that the public should be discouraged from
accepting as a final standard the “uses and
abuses” of television as they exist at present.
Judged by its potential uses, its achievements to
date have been, largely, disappointing.
Perhaps the most important single reason for
this is the way in which television is apt to find,
and then settle for, a formula. There is rarely
any surprise about viewing. We know what to
expect—the crime series, the western, the panel
game, the documentary, the discussion, the
comedy episode are so damnably predictable.
Once in a while something really rewarding turns
up, but by and large, the patterns impose them-
selves with monotonous frequency. If one com-
pares the excitement and experiment in the cinema
at a similar stage in its history, the contrast is
striking.
What is more, programme after programme
gives evidence of being manipulated to fit the
standards of some mythological “standard
viewer”, who exists, if at all, only in the mind of
the producer. Television has given rise to a
particular—and new—combination of talents: the
rapid journalistic approach, with some visual
excitement thrown in, but not too much talk, the
ideas simplified and accessible, the whole thing
encased in the warm, personable approach. Nor
is it simply a question of technique. The techniques
are, frequently, “efficient” enough. They are bad
only when they do not spring from a real purpose.
At the heart of any real communication between
large groups of people there must be a sense of
the variety of the audience, a respect for the
maturity of people, and a sense of personal
conviction. Until these things come, television
will continue to be clichéd, formula-ridden and
bland.

IT IS clear from the preceding sections that
responsibility for the form and content of
television rests squarely with the providers: they
must be held accountable, and brought face to
face with the responsibility, by whatever means
our society thinks fit. At the same time, any
safeguards imposed from the “ top ” will only
be marginally useful unless the medium and its
effects are considered in the widest possible social
context. There is, for instance, a great oppor-
tunity to help raise the quality of response and
critical appreciation of the audiences themselves;
to help them become more discriminating over
the whole field of television output.
We mentioned in Section 1 that high viewing
figures do not necessarily support the claim that
the TV authorities are “giving the public what
it wants”. What can be said is that ITV, because
it relies on advertising revenue, must seek to
provide programmes which will achieve the
readiest acceptance with the largest number of
people, especially at peak viewing hours. The
BBC, though not under direct commercial
pressure to provide consumers as well as viewers,
has nonetheless been obliged, by the very
existence of ITV, to do the same thing. Attempt-
ing to gain easy acceptance on this scale means
that a thoughtful, positive response from the
viewers is often a hindrance and must be dis-
couraged. If people are openly invited really to
think about what they have seen, to judge its
value, to be critical in the best sense, to be
impatient with the second-rate, they may
certainly become better viewers—but they will
cease to be the huge, bland, undifferentiated mass
of consumers that the advertising-dominated
medium really seeks. Present practice not only
rejects the idea of viewers as critical individuals; it
also obliges the providers to be wary of true
innovation, experiment and ether things which,
because they are new or complex or controversial
in the real sense, require a positive, creative
response from the audience. For it is essential
that, at the end of each programme the viewer
must live happily ever after, undisturbed by moral
or emotional questions or the excitements of
genuine involvement.
Because they realise that this attitude (and the
sort of programmes in which it finds expression)
TASKS
FOR
EDUCATION
appeals to the lazy, the crude, the uncritical part
of our natures, the providers try to salvage their
honour by injecting isolated transfusions of
“culture” into their schedules. The theory under-
lying these programmes is not that we all like the
usual television fare and also, occasionally, need
to stretch our minds. On the contrary, the
cultural efforts are specifically directed at “top
viewers”: they are proudly labelled “minority
programmes”, are extensively advertised in the
posh papers and weekend reviews, and are rarely
shown at peak viewing times. They are, in short,
well beyond the scope of the entertainment
values and expectations which the programme
planners have conferred upon the mass consumers.
Secondly, it is often said that a high proportion
of television programmes are crass—which is
undoubtedly true. The fact remains, however,
that almost every programme—good, bad or
indifferent—offers some view of life, some implicit
or explicit social and moral attitudes. The worst
drama serial conveys some sort of picture of
humanity, and the worse it is, the more debased
its values are likely to be. However good or bad,
however well or shoddily presented, these values
are seen, heard and absorbed by millions of
people. Many people are worried about the sheer
volume of television material dealing with
violence or with the implied virtues of materialism
and social competitiveness. It is difficult to
measure the effects of these features of television,
and the difficulty is not made easier by people who
try to find a crude, mechanical connection
between, say, violence on TV and juvenile
delinquency. It is equally shortsighted to say
that, as these effects have not been systematically
investigated, they do not exist. Those who argue
along these lines usually go on to say that violence,
dishonesty, appeals to our worst instincts, have
always been a part of our popular culture so that
the situation is in any case not new. This kind of
argument overlooks the fact that an old problem
is still a problem; it also implies that there are no
important differences in the nature and the power
to influence between, say, the “penny dreadful”
and the cinema.
We do, in any case, know a little about some
of the effects of the mass media. For instance,
the report Television and the Child commented
43
that “viewers seem to be affected by the material-
istic outlook inherent in many television plays.
When considering what sort of adult they would
like to be, they tend to think more of the things
they would like to own than personal qualities
or the work they would like to do.” Other
reports, in this country and America have also
traced how the content of television helps to
shape the ways in which we look at ourselves and
at our society.
Thirdly, we have the difficulty posed by the
attitude of our social tastemakers, to which we
are taught to subscribe, towards “popular
culture”. To the extent that we, as a society,
nourish the view that certain types of art are for
some people, other types for others, and that
only one of these types is of any real value, to the
same extent has our society failed in one of its
main cultural tasks. The extent of this failure is
apparent when we consider the attitudes of a
great number of our educational pundits. In
many schools cultural tuition is in practice
concerned with fortifying an elite against the
encroachments of the mass; with winning a few
converts to highbrow arts and, by default at least,
condemning popular art out of hand. Alterna-
tively, the view is taken that “entertainment”
(the poor relation of art) has nothing to do with
values or morals except in the most negative
sense; that it deals only in escapism and is at
best a useful safety valve. Lastly, popular art is
sometimes proposed as a stepping stone to
higher things; with the result that the important
and lasting qualities of a Louis Armstrong or a
Paddy Chayevsky are regarded merely as yard-
sticks against which to measure the greatness of,
say, Beethoven or Shakespeare. The implication
of these views is that most of the programmes on
television are not only without serious interest
(very often true) but, more important, are outside
the scope of critical evaluation.
The task of raising the critical standards of
appreciation of television audiences is faced, then,
with three major challenges: the open discourage-
ment of discrimination by the providers in almost
all programmes, with the exception of a few,
carefully segregated prestige or snob productions;
the inculcation, as a by-product of “entertain-
ment”, of values and attitudes which are often
undesirable; the prevailing social attitude that
popular culture is normally outside the scope of
critical evaluation—that, therefore, television
should be “enjoyed”, not judged.
It is obviously a big task and it is not likely to
decrease as long as BBC and ITV exist in their
present form. We believe the task should be
shouldered at least partly by our formal channels
of education—schools, universities, training
colleges and adult education centres. We are not
referring to the use of television in teaching or in
schools broadcasting—a specialised aspect of
broadcasting which we shall not deal with here.
Nor should the task for education be seen in
terms either of research activities or in the
inculcation of aesthetic dogmas. It should rather
be concerned with ways in which television and
other mass media could be used positively to
enlarge and enrich our experience, and with
training children and adults to evaluate critically
the kinds of experiences and ethics in which these
media deal. Many valuable proposals along these
lines have appeared in such reports as Film and
Television in Education for Teaching (by the joint
working party of the Association of Teachers in
Colleges and Departments of Education and the
British Film Institute).
It is easy to predict many objections to
establishing courses of critical appreciation within
formal education. For one thing, it would be
argued that curricula are already overcrowded
and that it would be intolerable to add to them.
This argument will persist as long as education is
seen primarily as a method, first of instruction in
the three R’s and, later, of cramming people with
as many facts as are necessary to enable them to
“get on” in life. Yet surely one of the essential
roles of education is to train people to be res-
ponsible, discriminating citizens and to evaluate
experience. In any event, such courses should be
planned, not as separate items in the over-
crowded curricula, but as links between separate
subjects and disciplines.
Our recommendations are as follows:
(1) Courses in critical appreciation of the mass
media should be established, if possible in all
branches of education but certainly in
training colleges and secondary schools.
(2) The Ministry of Education and county
authorities should provide for the following:
(a) training of teachers and lecturers in the
field of popular communications;
(b) provision of film, television and other
material for study.
(3) There is a need for text books in the
subject. If commercial publishers cannot
provide them, they should be sponsored by
professional bodies.
(4) An institute of communications research
should be established. It should be entirely
independent of any of the existing TV
providers and should be devoted to cultural
and technological studies of interest and
practical help to those teachers and lecturers
in popular communications subjects and also
to the creative workers in television.
45
SOME
PROPOSALS
IT IS difficult, without specialised knowledge of the
more technical aspects, to make proposals about
the future structure of Television and Broad-
casting. The Pilkington Committee will be
required to sift through an impressive mountain
of evidence which has long been in preparation.
Some of these proposals will be useful: many of
them will be special pleading on the part of
groups with a stake or a hope.
It is, perhaps, more useful to state what, in our
view, are the main considerations which should
govern the Committee’s thinking, when they
make their specific recommendations.
1. In the first place, is there a need for an
extension of Broadcasting and Television services
at all? If extension implies more of what we have
at the moment, then the case is very weak.
Whether it is the fault of the present structure or
not, there is not a surfeit of new talent in the
BBC or the contracting companies, waiting to be
tapped. Endless repetition of poor-quality material
has already had a deadening effect. If there is to
be no change in tone, quality and variety, then
there is everything to be said for putting a ceiling
on present output until a more convincing case
can be made. This may sound a restrictionist view,
but it is one way of registering our strong feeling
that the issue which faces the Pilkington Com-
mittee is not one of volume but of quality.
2. First of all, the existing structure. The
crucial conflict of interest in commercial tele-
vision lies between the pressure to obtain enor-
mous mass-viewing figures, in order to satisfy
the demand of advertisers, and the need, on the
other hand, to experiment and to raise the general
quality of the material offered. These two interests
appear to us fundamentally irreconcilable. Two
totally different conceptions of responsibility in
communication are at work here, and the attempts
of ITA to effect a compromise have, on the whole,
been disastrous. Is it, then, too late for the
Pilkington Committee to admit that the access
of commercial advertising to the field of television
was a mistake in the first instance? And to go on
to propose such steps as would transform ITA
into a second public broadcasting corporation?
In that event, the Pilkington Committee would
also have to say how it proposed to ensure that
this second public service would be different in
tone and approach to the BBC.
3. If such a reversal of present trends is too
sweeping, then the only other possibility is to
drive some effective wedge between commercial
advertising and the production of programmes.
It would be far preferable for firms to purchase
advertising time direct from the Independent
Television Authority, allowing the contracting
companies to concentrate on the provision of
consistently high-quality programmes.
Such a proposal would throw the full weight
of responsibility upon producers, directors,
journalists, actors and technicians, but remove
from them the overiding tyranny of the adver-
tising executive and the Tam rating.
4. In the second place, BBC Television must
be confirmed in its present definition of broad-
casting as a public service. It should, if necessary,
be sustained by the full proceeds of a £5 combined
licence fee. All is not right with the BBC: time
and again it has given way under pressure. But it
has had to compete with the aggressive image of
television, established in the public mind by ITV,
with its single-minded search for the high viewing
figure.
5. It follows from what has been said that it
would be disastrous for the Pilkington Committee
to give the Third Channel to another group of
contracting companies, financed by commercial
groups with considerably more know-how about
making money than producing programmes, and
dependent upon commercial advertising. Four
principles should be applied here:
(i) Television is a public service, and its
structure should embody and reflect this
approach.
(ii) The present structure is dominated, either
by the “commercial” voice of advertising,
or the “official” voice of a public institu-
tion. What is needed is other voices, other
faces, other interests, other interpretations
of “entertainment”, other approaches to
“seriousness”, other aspects of our com-
munity life.
(iii) A community cannot legislate creative
talent into existence: what it can and must
do is to open the channels for creativity
to flow through.
(iv) A Third Channel has the opportunity to
do what neither ITA nor BBC has been
able to do: create a genuinely “popular”
channel and trust the people who produce
the programmes.
6. The means for producing and transmitting
programmes must, therefore, be publicly owned,
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as is the BBC. But a Third Channel could draw
upon two hitherto untested sources.
It could contract time, through regional public
corporations, and encourage local groups of all
kinds to participate, with the technical team of
the companies, in the production of programmes.
This would draw into television many institutions
and groups—local councils, libraries, local
orchestras, universities and art colleges, profes-
sional and trade associations, voluntary and
community-service groups, dramatic societies and
theatres. There is a wealth of untapped talent and
initiative here, but, at the moment, they are too
small or too unorthodox to catch the official eye
of the BBC, too uncommercial to purchase time
on ITV, and they could not scrape together
enough money to buy ten of, say, Mr. Roy
Thompson’s shares in Scottish Television (once
described as “a licence to print your own money”).
7. At the same time, producers, script-writers,
actors and technicians could be encouraged to
form co-operative teams which, together with the
resident staff, could contract for time at certain
hours. Such groups would be given the freedom
to experiment with different ideas and uses for this
potentially rich but narrowly exploited medium.
A regional service of this kind would, of course,
be free to network programmes of quality, but
it should be discouraged from overweighting
its programmes in this way. The Third Channel
would then be free from many of the restrictions,
pressures and inhibitions which had been so
damaging over the last decade. It would go,
neither for safety nor for slickness, but for
liveliness and vigour.
8. Such a scheme could not be created over-
night. In that event, it would be possible to place
an independently-constituted Third Channel
under the general sponsorship of the BBC for a
stated and limited time. It would then be neces-
sary to take every safeguard to ensure that the
BBC did not build into the regional corporations
replicas-in-miniature of itself.
confronts us now is a more difficult and challeng-
ing one: to provide a common service of high
quality for the community as a whole.
10. Finally, it would be a disaster if commer-
cial advertising, which has had such a corrupting
effect upon television, were to be allowed to
extend into Sound Broadcasting. If expansion is
needed here, it should be along the lines of the
Third Channel proposal outlined above, reflecting
much more closely the community life of a region
or area.
Challenge To The Committee
The task of the Pilkington Committee is, first
to define a philosophy of communication in
modern society, and then to apply it, with vigour
and skill, to the particular problems which face
us now. But it must be added that no reshaping
of the present structure, by itself, will suffice. In
the end, the quality of the service provided will
depend upon the critical awareness of the
audience, the sense of responsibility on the part
of those who serve that public, the conditions in
which the service is received and the cultural life
of the society as a whole. Each of these has its
roots deep in the educational structure of our
society and the Pilkington Committee should not
be inhibited from making these wider connections
in its Report, because of its terms of reference.
A society will get the television it deserves,
according to the standards it demands and is
prepared to insist upon. If that is true, then there
is every justification, at the present time, for the
most serious alarm and concern, and the most
far-reaching reforms.

9. A word about Coin-in-the-Slot Television.

This system may have much, technically, to
commend it, but it is, culturally, a dangerous
formula. The contracting companies would then
be encouraged to produce serious and educational
programmes for intellectuals, who could pay-as-
they-viewed, and the quality of their general
transmissions would decline even further. This
would be another step in the direction of the
grading and streaming of audiences according to
their assumed cultural level. The problem which

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