From an edition of Radio Times in late October 1992 I have an interview celebrating the advent of the 1992 series.
It celebrates 21 ACTUAL years of the series from 1972 to 1992, though I think most here would refer to that as 20 years rather than 21.
Anyhow, it is;
It was a good vintage, 1972 - and the Last of the Summer Wine is still flowing. Colin Dunne raises a glass to the terrible trio - but Foggy isn't partying...
In a caravan perched on a damp Pennine hillside, the three stars of Last of the Summer Wine present a tableu that is obligingly true to character. Compo, the raggedy scamp, scratches his white whiskers and chats cheerfully away. Clegg, wry, dry and sly, is dropping those oblique asides into the conversation. And Foggy, lips clamped in a face stamped with stricken pride, gazes fixedly out of the window. It's a scrne I feel I have watched a dozen times: this time, however, it is unscripted and off camera.
I am in Yorkshire to mark the 21st year in production of that most durable of TV comedies (filming began in 1972, although the first episode wasn't screened till November 1973). But Brian Wilde, who plays Foggy, is miffed. He is miffed because Radio Times omits to bill his name on the repeats of Porridge. (In fact Radio Times does bill his name, but in the cast list.) Now you may think that not having your name in bold type at the start of a description made 20 years ago is a trivial matter, but you would be quite wrong. Wilde is hurt. Wilde is not speaking. It is a particularly flamboyant silence, not easy to ignore in a five-acre field, let alone a caravan, and it makes you think of that clever combination of petulance and pomposity with which he brings Foggy to life.
It celebrates 21 ACTUAL years of the series from 1972 to 1992, though I think most here would refer to that as 20 years rather than 21.
Anyhow, it is;
It was a good vintage, 1972 - and the Last of the Summer Wine is still flowing. Colin Dunne raises a glass to the terrible trio - but Foggy isn't partying...
In a caravan perched on a damp Pennine hillside, the three stars of Last of the Summer Wine present a tableu that is obligingly true to character. Compo, the raggedy scamp, scratches his white whiskers and chats cheerfully away. Clegg, wry, dry and sly, is dropping those oblique asides into the conversation. And Foggy, lips clamped in a face stamped with stricken pride, gazes fixedly out of the window. It's a scrne I feel I have watched a dozen times: this time, however, it is unscripted and off camera.
I am in Yorkshire to mark the 21st year in production of that most durable of TV comedies (filming began in 1972, although the first episode wasn't screened till November 1973). But Brian Wilde, who plays Foggy, is miffed. He is miffed because Radio Times omits to bill his name on the repeats of Porridge. (In fact Radio Times does bill his name, but in the cast list.) Now you may think that not having your name in bold type at the start of a description made 20 years ago is a trivial matter, but you would be quite wrong. Wilde is hurt. Wilde is not speaking. It is a particularly flamboyant silence, not easy to ignore in a five-acre field, let alone a caravan, and it makes you think of that clever combination of petulance and pomposity with which he brings Foggy to life.