The Kingdom: I&II – Original Broadcast Edition

No stranger to controversy, Lars von Trier has been delighting, appalling and surprising cinema goers for well over twenty years. He pioneered the Dogme 95 school of filmmaking, brought Bjork to the big screen and allowed his production company to produce hardcore porn. Mainstream success has not been easy to come by for von Trier, with even his biggest UK successes remaining largely ‘arthouse’. So it’s little wonder that his early career in Danish television has received little attention over here. But the release of a boxed set of supernatural hospital drama The Kingdom could be about to change that.

The Kingdom is a cutting-edge hospital staffed by an offbeat cast of characters, including a new-age director, an egotistical Swedish neurosurgeon and a reckless medical student. And their faith in science is tested as a series of supernatural episodes occurs: a ghostly young girl appears in a lift shaft; a phantom ambulance appears every night; an unnatural pregnancy affects one of the nurses and all the while a malingering patient attempts to communicate with those on the ‘other side’…

The opening credits create an instantaneous sense of intrigue. At odds with the modern hospital setting, the start of every episode features a prologue set in the misty and mysterious ‘bleaching pools’ upon which the hospital would later be built. A solemn voice narrates as the sepia toned action unfolds on screen, describing the ancient marshlands where cloth workers bleached their wares, enveloped by thick clouds of fog. It’s a simple enough scene, but slow pan of the camera and the deliberate movement of the workers on screen add certain gravity to proceedings. An air of menace and unpredictably is also evident as we are told that the building of the hospital was designed to help eradicate ignorance and superstition in favour of science. Clearly this will not be the case: the old world is literally breaking into the new.

Sadly, the impact of the credits as almost undone by the dreadful theme music which blares from the screen immediately aftermath. Perhaps a product of their time, they have not dated well at all. Like a mid-90s cop drama, they thud from the screen with the word ‘Kingdom’ repeated ad infinitum over cheesy background action. It’s woefully out of place in the midst of such an atmospherically spooky drama.

Thankfully, the director proves that he is capable of producing excellent credit sequences at the end of each episode. In an obvious homage to Alfred Hitchcock, von Trier himself appears as a presenter in dinner jacket and bow-tie as the end credits role to offer a summation of the plot and a hint at what will come in the next show. His language is quaint and antiquated as he poses rhetorical questions to the audience and occasionally mocks the actions of the characters. It’s completely unnecessary yet utterly charming – not only for von Trier’s determination to appear on the other side of the camera, but also for his geeky hand gestures, as he implores the audience to “be prepared to take the good with the evil.”

Just as The Kingdom is filed with ideas of good and evil, so it is filled with morally ambiguous (or often dubious) characters. Chief among these is Swedish neurosurgeon Stig Helmer (Ernst-Hugo Järegård). He’s a man with a whole collection of enormous chips on his shoulders – not least his utter disdain for all things Danish. Despite that, he’s played with some charm by Järegård. His aged face manages to convey just enough rumpled dissatisfaction with his incompetent colleagues to convince you that his heart is in the right place – some of the time. Despite being a fierce critic of malingerers and timewasters, he has secrets and faults of his own – not least a malpractice case arising from a botched operation which left a young girl brain-damaged.

It’s testament to the excellent writing that The Kingdom’s characters are so well-developed. It would have been very easy to rely on clichéd stereotypes in a series such as this, but each character is given room to breathe and time to develop. Some, like Helmer, arrive fully formed, others, such as his nemesis Jørgen Krogshøj (Søren Pilmark) develop more steadily. Initially, he’s little more than a sniping pedant, but he reveals himself as being rather more warm-hearted and ‘resourceful’ than he seems.

Whether the same credit can be extended as far as Sigrid Drusse (Kirsten Rolffes) is less clear. She’s the malingerer in question, inventing reasons to stay in the hospital as an excuse to carry out her paranormal investigations. Initially, she seems easy to dismiss, but as the plot unfolds her snooping becomes increasingly credible. She, however, remains irritating. Despite that, Rolffes gives a brilliant performance as the irritating old woman. One scene in particular, as Drusse attempts to speak to a ghost is an acting masterclass. With only a candle flame foregrounded and her face in the background of the frame, Drusse asks yes/no questions of the spirit world. How the flame reacts to her questioning determines what answer she has received. It’s a beautifully lit and wonderfully acted monologue – and completely compelling.

There are a whole host of other fascinating characters engaged in all manner of hare-brained schemes and storylines. A Masonic lodge rules behind the scenes, the happy-clappy hospital director attempts to introduce his hapless methods of motivation and a medical student uses a severed head to seduce a nurse. With workplace drug-dealing, a doctor transplanting a cancerous liver into himself and a pair of Down’s Syndrome sufferers acting as a Greek chorus, it’s a wonder that the plot makes any sense whatsoever.

Somehow, however, it does. Von Trier has been extremely brave in throwing so many characters and so many story-strands into the mix from the very outset. Much of the success of the show lies in not underestimating its audience – each storyline is distinct and unusual enough to hold the attention and every character is interesting enough to sustain the interest. The hand-held camerawork also ensures that the viewer is constantly kept in the midst of the action. And if things ever do flag, an injection of humour is never far away.

The Kingdom is very funny – in a number of ways. There is out and out slapstick, humorous dialogue and enough absurd action to ensure that it appeals on numerous levels – and every episode contains an anti-Danish speech from Helmer (which often ends with him screaming “Danish scum” into the night sky). Often the more humorous scenes are effectively cut with the more supernatural elements to create a cohesive whole which never becomes bogged down in one particular element of the story.

Season one becomes increasingly interested in the supernatural elements of the story as it nears its conclusion, culminating in a series of cliff-hangers which are partly addressed as season two begins to unfold. It would be churlish to give too much away here about the happenings of the second series, but it’s fair to say that there are also plot points which remain unresolved as it ends. Sadly, they will remain that way. Following the climax to the series, both Ernst-Hugo Järegård and Kirsten Rolffes passed away. Shorn of arguably two of the most important characters, there was no way The Kingdom could continue and plans for a third series were shelved.

Despite the slightly unsatisfactory conclusion, The Kingdom is a simply brilliant series. It wears its influences on its sleeve proudly – clearly owing a debt to Twin Peaks and the X Files – features memorable characters and situations, and combines drama and comedy to great effect. Of course, it’s no surprise that a Danish series about the supernatural was never likely to be broadcast on TV in Britain. Instead, an inferior series (written by Steven King) attempted to replicate the appeal. Don’t bother with the remake – search out the original instead.

My Top 5 TV Characters

This is, of course, an entirely subjective list. It would have been very easy to chuck half the cast of The Wire into it, but I’ve decided to limit myself to one character per show. Sadly that means that Bubbles, Bunk and Bell miss the cut. Others who missed the grade by a whisker include 24’s Jack Bauer, Blackadder, Raphael from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Jay from the Inbetweeners and Peep Show’s Superhans. Those that are included on the list are presented in no particular order. Despite that, Omar Little is my undisputed number one.

Omar Little, The Wire
In an ensemble cast of convincingly created characters, it was always Omar who stood out. Announcing his presence with his menacing whistle, toting his shotgun and ripping off dealers, he was – surprisingly – one of the moral centres of the series. Complex but never contradictory, Omar’s insistence on playing ‘the game’ according to his strict ethical code made him one of the show’s good guys and he stole every single scene he appeared in. And he was overtly gay. And has a cool scar.



Gareth Keenan, The Office
The Office reinvigorated British sitcoms and launched Ricky Gervais into global stardom. But David Brent was never the star of the show. Instead that honour fell to Gareth Keenan. A pedantic little jobsworth with his nose wedged deeply into Brent’s bottom, he was irritating and sanctimonious but also strangely vulnerable. Watching Gareth react to the series of pranks played on him by co-worker Tim (encasing his stapler in jelly being a particular highlight) was one of the greatest joys of a truly great series.



Papa Lazarou, The League of Gentlemen
Of all the grotesque creations featured in The League of Gentlemen, Lazarou is the one who sticks most in the mind. He featured in only a few episodes but made in impact far out of proportion with his screen time. A hideous hybrid of ringmaster and black-and-white minstrel, he stalked around Royston Vasey stealing wives and talking ‘gippog’. And he gave the world his amazing catchphrase: “Hello, Dave!!”



Al Swearengen, Deadwood
Swearengen by name, Swearengen by nature. Rarely has a TV character used profanity as efficiently and prolifically as Ian McShane’s memorable saloon owner. He’s a murdering pimp who is at the heart of all that is corrupt in Deadwood, keeps a severed head in a box and regularly has corpses fed to pigs. But he’s a lovably irascible old bastard and that’s testament to McShane’s masterly performance.




Egg, This Life
Egg was/is me. A fanatical Manchester United supporter (with framed Steve Bruce shirt on his wall), a failure in his preferred profession, an aspiring writer and a bit of a shambles. I couldn’t say I modelled my life on Andrew Lincoln’s character, but it’s alarming how similarly our lives turned out given the passage of time.

This Is England 86: The Verdict

Three years on from the searing drama of This Is England, Shane Meadows returned to Grimsby and his familiar cast of skinheads and outcasts as Channel 4 broadcast the televisual follow up to the Bafta winning film. It was highly anticipated and much talked about... did it cut the mustard or prove that the old adage about ‘never going back’ is true?

Set during World Cup 86, the focus has shifted from turbulent teen Shaun (the wonderful Thomas Turgoose) to the shifting dynamics in the relationship between Woody (Joe Gilgun) and Lol (Vicky McClure). Thankfully Milky (Andrew Shim) seems to have survived his savage beating at the hands of Combo (Stephen Graham) and takes his place in a full complement of characters from the original movie.

Revisiting familiar characters ought to be fraught with danger, but here it’s accomplished with aplomb. Thankfully there has been emotional and physical development in everyone – although, as a unit, the characters are still as ridiculous and over the top as the audience would expect. For some, early eighties skinhead culture has given way to gothic chic or New Romantic haircuts, but it’s all believably done.

That the ensemble cast functions so well as a unit can be attributed to the working method which Meadows has instilled in his talented cast and crew and the bond which has clearly grown between them. Promotional interviews with Meadows & McClure and Gilgun & Turgoose revealed a group of friends with enormous respect and admiration for each others’ strengths and abilities. In joking and out-and-out fawning over each other demonstrated that the love shown on camera extends far beyond the edges of the TV screen.

Much of the dialogue on the series (as with al Meadows productions) was heavily improvised. In a scene where banter and friendly insults fly around at a hundred miles an hour this kind of approach yields a far more naturalistic style of speaking – the experience of having played the characters means that the language of the gang drips easily from the actors’ lips from the outset.

The first two episodes of the series demonstrated a deftness of touch and some fine comic set pieces – not least a rag-tag journey to the ‘church’ for the aborted wedding of Woody and Lol and a bullying gang of moped riders forcing Shaun to call the object of their desire a ‘fat dog’. But as is often the case with Shane Meadows, these scenes are undercut with an affecting poignancy. Meggy’s (Perry Benson) heart attack on the toilet as Woody fails to deliver his vows was the first time the heartstrings were tugged in this way – and certainly would not be the last.

The themes of This Is England 86 have obvious parallels with society today: recession, widespread unemployment and disaffected youth. But the thread which ties these themes together and draws the audience in is the spirit of friendship and love which the protagonists have for one another. Without it, the series would fall apart – belief in the characters underpins everything and allows the story to take us from almost farcical comedy to harrowing emotion and back again remarkably quickly. This is most notable in the relationship between Woody and Lol – it’s built on absolute love but flounders on the rocks of insecurity, financial hardship, infidelity and family secrets. It’s a far more realistic representation of a young couple in love than most TV series can hope to portray and for that much of the credit can be attributed to Joe Gilgun – an extremely charismatic actor with a real flair for naturalistic comedy.

After drawing the audience back into the world of 1986, the tension and emotion were ramped up in the second two episodes. The return of Lol’s father Mick (Jonny Harris) brought a broodingly menacing presence to proceedings and as the character assumed a larger role in proceedings, it became more and more obvious that a dark secret was festering at the heart of his relationship with Lol. Sensitively played between Harris and McClure, their confrontations became more intense throughout the series, culminating in the inevitably tragic eruption which drew the series to a close.

With multiple narratives running across each episode, one of the techniques Meadows employs is to juxtapose action and emotions across multiple scenes. It’s jarring and confusing for the audience as the focus switches from gritty scenes of sexual violence to a happy crowd downing beers as Gary Lineker smashes a hat-trick past Poland. And that’s exactly how it’s intended. Every sense is heightened and just as you laugh the loudest an icy cold blade is pushed into your guts. Powerful stuff indeed.

Framed beautifully, exterior shots revealed a grey town and a lack of hope. But within the greyscale landscapes of high-rises and boarded up terraces live a colourful cast of characters who make their own fun as they dream their dreams and refuse to worry about the future. It’s something that anyone from a similar town or satellite suburb can relate to. And beneath all of that lurks something darker still – the suppressed secret which festers, waiting to reveal itself and derail the lives of everyone involved. That the secret here is sexual abuse and rape makes it all the more powerful when the slow-burning fuse finally ignites and blows up in the faces of Lol, her family, Woody and, ultimately, the returning Combo.

The most powerful scene of the series started with an enormously long take as Lol confronted her father. Without the breaks provided by conventional cutting, the tension was allowed to build slowly. Lol’s cigarette disappeared in real time and with it came the sense that once the smouldering butt was crushed, Lol’s bravado would be similarly extinguished. And so it proved - the breathy dialogue replaced by an amateurishly wielded hammer. As Lol was thrown to the floor, the long take broke to be replaced by a handheld camera focusing tightly on the characters, moving in and out of focus as if to give a view from the eyes of the participants. It was a visceral piece of film-making, undercut by a simple piano score and almost unbearably tense. It was an acting masterclass from the two protagonists and must’ve been extremely physically and mentally gruelling for all involved. Unflinchingly realistic, it was the first time in the series that such a scene hadn’t been intercut with happenings elsewhere and this gave it a singularity and depth of emotion which rightly marked it out as the watershed moment.

The bravery of all involved in this scene and many others in This Is England 86, along with the magnificent ensemble cast, impeccably selected music and universal themes made it the finest British production to be seen on television in years. We can only hope that many of the cast go onto achieve similar success elsewhere and that Shane Meadows continues to produce thought-provoking and powerful dramas such as this – for cinema or television – for years to come.

The Specials

The Specials is part of the much maligned tradition of cheaply produced docusoaps, a television genre which seems to have lost its way over the last few years. So we should be thankful that this wonderful show has bucked the trend by daring to be different.

The show is centred on five housemates living the classic student life in Brighton. So far, so Hollyoaks-On-Sea. But what makes The Specials stand out is that all five housemates have learning disabilities.

There is no earnest hand-wringing and no worthy attempt to explain the problems which beset Lucy, Sam, Megan and Hilly who all have Down’s syndrome and Lewis who suffers from Williams syndrome, a disorder characterised by unusual language skills. Instead, the show focuses purely on the characters as they grow up, fall in love and go shopping at Tesco.

The main focus of the series is on the changing dynamics of the friends’ relationships as Lewis’ girlfriend Megan moves in and their relationship begins to unravel. It’s not all angst though, with surf lessons, interviewing popstars, gold medals at the Special Olympics and some extraordinary singing and dancing.

The undoubted star of the show is Sam, a man who wears his heart on his sleeve, falls in love at the drop of the hat and simply cannot comprehend that the Ladyboys of Bangkok are not actually female: “They are real girls – trust me,” he tells his support worker.

The level of independence and maturity that the housemates demonstrate is heartwarming to see as they live together in their family unit, but it’s the love and affection they have for each other which makes this series truly shine.

After funding for the initial television run fell through, producer Katy Lock decided to launch the show on the internet: the only place this wonderful series has been available until now. That is set to change with the upcoming release of all ten episodes on DVD.

Meet the amazing cast, watch the series and buy the DVD here:
http://www.the-specials.com/home.