The Year of the Sex Olympics and other TV Plays by Nigel Kneale

Author:Nigel Kneale [Kneale, Nigel]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 090499709X
Publisher: Ferret Fantasy
Published: 1976-03-12T08:00:00+00:00

THE

YEAR

OF THE

SEX OLYMPICS

THE YEAR OF THE SEX OLYMPICS

CAST OF CHARACTERS

UGO PRIEST, (Co-ordinator) ... Leonard Rossiter

NAT MENDER ... Tony Vogel

DEANIE WEBB ... Suzanne Neve

KETEN, (their child) ... Lesley Roach

LASAR OPIE ... Brian Cox

MISCH ... Vickery Turner

KIN HODDER ... Martin Potter

GRELS ... George Murcell

BETTY ... Hira Talfrey

NURSE ... Patricia Maynard

PRODUCER ... Ronald Travers

DIRECTOR ... Michael Elliott

Produced on BBC Television, July 29, 1969

INSIDE SPORTSEX STUDIO

A young man and a girl in close shot. Both are nude, as far as can be seen, and he is crouching passionately over her. It is the stock scene of any successful film of the 1960’s.

But it is followed immediately by another very similar shot—of a different couple, blond instead of dark.

And then a third couple, identifiably different but locked in the same embrace.

A magnified voice booms:

NAT’S VOICE: Right, studio. That’ll do for the warm-up. Thank you.

The couple in shot break a little. The man moistens his lips. The girl licks a finger and straightens an eyebrow. Their attention is vaguely elsewhere.

NAT’S VOICE: Now stand by, please.

They glance up. Above them looms a shape that at first sight suggests a lunar probe. It is the studio’s control pod, with bristling antennae, lamp stalks and holographic laser pickups. Stencilled beneath its belly is “Output, Area 27”.

NAT’S VOICE: Stand by, studio.

INSIDE THE PRODUCTION POD

Inside, the pod has a family resemblance to a present-day control gallery. There is a moulded desk with the highly individuated controls that are typical of this tactile society. Facing it is a single big monitor screen, with a blurred, twisting image on it as holographic beams range the studio below to assemble the desired image. Cameras and booms are things of the past, but a certain amount of de-focussed ranging and shock zooming may give the approximate effect.

There are other miniature zooming screens set in the desk face. We do not see the images on them, but their flickering glow lights up the faces of the two men watching them. Both are under 30. Nat Mender is the senior, a high-drive man who has always enjoyed his work. Yet his very vigour has pulled him slightly out of shape. He is still far from being a square peg in a round hole—say, a decahedral peg in a nonahedral hole. Lasar Opie, on the other hand, fits his perfectly.

Between them and the monitor screen sits a pretty girl with a plastic dome suspended just above her head. This is Misch, the introducer and Nat’s current girl.

These three are the only occupants of the pod. All other functions are automated. Their clothing, in this totally weather-conditioned environment, is not worn for warmth or decency but only as a sort of cosmetic, to reflect the wearer’s mood. It is a harmless diversion in an age that values stability above all else . . . a playing at identity where identities no longer matter much.

The whole of Output has a vague feeling of being indoors but nowhere in particular. One place blurs into another to form a worldwide long-house for this retribalised, McLuhanised society.

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