Hot Metal: A Warning From History

I spent some time this cold and dreary Easter weekend rewatching an old 1980s ITV sitcom on DVD. Which, on the face of it, doesn't seem like a great prospect entertainment-wise. However, back in the 1980s ITV still made decent programmes and the one in question - Hot Metal - is only nominally a sitcom, having more in common with contemporary satires like Spitting Image. Written by Andrew Marshall and David Renwick and first broadcast in 1986 the series, which concerns the antics of a newly downmarket tabloid newspaper, seems more relevant than ever. Many of the story lines and characters could have come straight from the Levenson enquiry. It's all there - the spurious public interest defences for outrageous stories, the claims that restricting tabloid's invasions of individuals' privacy would somehow threaten the freedom of the press, and much, much more. Indeed, in the very first episode, tabloid reporter Reg Kettle is found hiding in a woman's wardrobe and when she challenges him as to what gives him the right to spy on women as they get undressed, he replies imperiously: "I think you'll find that it's called 'freedom of the press'!"

Kettle is a magnificent personification of all that is wrong with tabloid hacks; a man who can turn the most straightforward assignment into a piece of scandal-mongering sensationalism. In series two, for instance, he's sent to report on educational standards at a local primary school and returns with a story about children being subjected to classes in S&M, sexual perversity and prostitution. Of course, it isn't completely fabricated - Kettle merely twists every fact to fit his 'story'. A field trip by a class of children becomes a 'lesson in prostitution as their teacher takes them to the notorious red light district of King's Cross to practice street walking', and a six year old's innocent answer to a loaded question becomes further evidence of impropriety: 'when asked if she'd done French yet, she replied "No, but my fourteen year old sister does it regularly".' My favourite Kettle 'exclusive' comes in the first series, when an attempt to smear a hapless local priest as a left-wing extremist because of his campaign to stop his church from being closed, escalates into branding him a werewolf.

Entertaining though Kettle's antics are, he's only a supporting character. The main thrust of the plot concerns the efforts of millionaire Terence 'Twiggy' Rathbone (played by Robert Hardy) to take the Daily Crucible, a respectable but dull and failing newspaper he has just bought, downmarket as a rival to The Sun, Star and Mirror. Retaining former editor Harry Stringer (Geoffrey Palmer) as a figurehead 'Managing Editor', in order to retain a pretence of respectability, Rathbone installs Russell Spam (Hardy again) as editor. Spam is a pure tabloid man, able to spin the most fantastical headlines out of next to nothing. He is completely amoral, caring only about readership figures. Whether or not stories are true is immaterial to Spam. "We can't be sued for printing malicious rumours in good faith," he declares when Stringer raises the issue of libel, before going on to create the 'malicious rumour' the story in question is based on, himself. People, like the priest, are smeared simply because Spam believes the paper needs a new hate figure to boost circulation and bizarre stunts, such as 'wobble vision' (a pair of glasses that appear to make the paper's page three girls' breasts, well, wobble), become commonplace.

Sadly, Hot Metal only lasted two series, broadcast two years apart. The first series is the stronger, with a supporting cast which included John Gordon Sinclair as cub reporter Bill Tytla, focusing on Stringer's desperate attempts to curb Spam's worst excesses. Series two saw Stringer replaced by a new figurehead managing editor, Dicky Lipton, played by Richard Wilson, who gives a magnificent performance, suffering various humiliations and a nervous breakdown as he tries to control Spam. Interestingly, the second series eerily prefigures Rupert Murdoch's conversion to the cause of New Labour, with Rathbone - whose business interests include all manner of dubious enterprises based in places like Libya - declaring himself a 'lifelong socialist' after the election of a (fictional) Labour government.

Interestingly, Marshall and Renwick don't condemn tabloid journalism out of hand. Both series feature an ongoing story arc in which an apparently insignificant story turns out to be the key to uncovering a huge conspiracy with far-reaching consequences, but whose revelation is in the public interest. In both cases the reporters investigating this story (Bill Tytla in series one, Maggie Troon in series two), are often shown using similar techniques to Kettle, the. Moreover, the conspiracies themselves, when outlined, sound more bizarre than any of Russell Spam's fabrications. They simply have the virtue of being true.

There's no doubt that Hot Metal was a series ahead of its time. In subject matter, at least. Whilst I'd urge you to go out and beg, borrow or steal a copy of the DVD to watch, I'd also caution that its production values are typical of their time. Over lit sets, clunky camerawork and poor acoustics, made worse by recording on video tape, were the norm for 1980s TV series. But if you can look past these, Hot Metal is still a very funny and perceptive comedy. It is also graced by some terrific performances from Geoffrey Palmer, Richard Wilson, Richard Kane (as Reg Kettle) and, in particular, Robert Hardy, who plays both of his reprehensible characters with true relish. The only danger is that, in view of the phone hacking scandal, you might end up thinking that Hot Metal is a documentary.