Press Gang: Page One (AKA: The First One)

I grew up on Press Gang and it is - to this day - the show I hold the fondest memories of and I am most likely to squee over. And rewatching it as an adult proves that it is still totally awesome - if a little silly at times. As such, there's nothing I'd rather recap over the next forty-three weeks (eep) than this fine piece of young adult viewing. So pull up a pew, get out your notepad and your pencil and your swearbox and travel back in time with me ... to 1989. When TV was good.

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We open on the Junior Gazette newsroom - it’s messy and dingy and grungy and full of badly-but-boringly dresses young journos. The walls are half-painted, probably because the set guys ran out of money or time or both. I’m guessing they sold it to the powers that be by using the word ‘atomsphere’ a lot – and, you know, it kind of works.

And setting the tone for the entire series, a girl in a huuuge tomato red t-shirt and teeny little skirt barks orders at a chubby geeky type with a clipboard who takes them with minimal eye-rolling. A stoned-looking guy deadpans something amusing but nonsensical about horoscopes and a funny-looking blonde girl is yelling about … something. An ‘arty looking’ (read: huge hair, rolled up sleeves, accessories) girl presents what I can only describe as a rather average masthead design.

Tomato doesn’t like it. Arty pulls a bitchface and skulks off.

A woman with an awesome helmet-come-afro-come-sculpted-mullet pokes her hair - er, head through the front door and there is some talking about graphics teams and tours of the print room. I don’t catch it because I’m just in awe of the hair. It’s … beyond recapping.

Some guy named Danny is asleep on the chair and gets a rude awakening as Tomato (or as the others call her: Lynda) wakes him with an abrupt and slightly smarmy ‘Five days to the first edition, Danny! Five days!’

And then there’s a kerfuffle as chubby geeky Kenny has been trying to tell Lynda it’s 8.30, and when he succeeds she seems surprised that they’ve been going for three hours, quietens the room and shoos them all off with ‘time for school’.

We’re meant to be surprised that these are school kids, but I’ve seen this show a hundred times and the only surprising thing about that whole thing is that it’s 8.30 and they’ve been there for three hours – so, from 5.30. In the AM. Because, like, um, so many teenagers – even super keen, swatty type teenagers – are doing anything at 5.30 in the am other than sleeping? I think not.

Cue the credits. They deserve a recap all of their own but this one is looking rather long already so that may have to come in with the second edition. Suffice to say: lots of turning to camera, and smiling/smirking to some delightfully cheesy music. There’s a few faces we’re yet to see … And no Danny. Dum. Dum. Dum.

The show proper (because all that was just ‘setting the scene’) opens with a set of oft used ‘newspaper clippings of exposition’. As the camera pans across the wall of clippings, we learn that some mullet named Matt Kerr quit a whole bunch of high-powered papers to edit a local paper, and started a junior version of it. Ah. Is it all falling into place for you too?

The exposition done, the camera pans to the Mullet himself … and it’s a ginger one. Ginger mullet is having an adult-type chat with a tubby, bald man with a ’stashe right out of the 70’s porn industry. Apparently the the ’stashe is using the mullet’s kiddy paper as a dumping ground for his more ‘energetic’ students – a charge which the ’stashe denies – pointing out that in actual fact he’s sent equal numbers or swats and ruffians. And with that, the ’stashe pulls out a Bart-Simpson-thick school file and dares the mullet to take this one on.

James Thompson.

Spike.

Spike’s mug fills the screen. He looks delightfully pouty – it’s an expression those lips are made for, and we are flashing back to a school board meeting. Spike is being reminded of his various misdemeanours and suspensions and his latest indiscretion at the school dance. He continues to pout as he is given his last chance: the Junior Gazette.

And then through some clever editing, Spike is suddenly outside the newspaper building with the same pout, watching as the Arty blonde bitches about geing told off for leaving the ‘i’ out of junior on the front page. She’s all awhinge but really – dude, that’s totally reasonable. Where I come from a typo in the front page gets you paid out for months. Months!

From Spike’s facial expression we can only assume that Arty blonde farts as she walks off. And that Spike is the kind of guy that finds farts both smelly and funny. I love him already.

He puts on a pair of huge sunnies and now he’s all black plastic, brown leather and pink rubber lips. He does a bit of ‘where’s the escape hatch’ acting and goes in, running straight into the yelly blonde – who Lynda once referred to as Sarah. She’s practically drooling over his wisecracking bad-guy persona, and straight up suggesting an interview (oo-er!). Kenny interrupts her fun and tells her that Spike’s joining the team. Sarah looks him up and down in a very very dirty kinda way, and promptly runs off to sit in a puddle of her own Spike-drool.

Spike continues with the wisecracking and I start to want to marry him. And Fraz (the stoned-looking one on horoscopes). They’re so punny it hurts.

Spike is all about putting his feet up and getting through his required hours with his hear in dreamland, which is making Kenny all scowly. Even scowlier than usual. For a supposed ‘nice guy’ he’s certainly scowly.

Enter Lynda: screen left.

Music starts. Birds and flowers start appearing. The sun shines through the windows in the manner of a million religious experiences. Somewhere, a choir launches into song.

Oh, wait. No. That’s another show.

But Spike does drop his glasses, rise from his chair and saunter toward her, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. It’s – erm – hot.

There’s some witty to-and-fro. Spike does dumb. Lynda does bitchy. Sarah interrupts (she’s going to do a LOT of that over the next four years ….). Kenny looks amused (but still scowly) and contributes little, which is fine really, given they’re yet to write him a personality.

Kenny wonders if Spike is a KD. Lynda says he’s a KD plus. Spike wonders what a KD is. Lynda just wants her precious form filled out. And it’s on.

Lynda: We need to know a bit about you
Spike: Yeah well you could try asking.
Lynda: We ask on the form.
Spike: Do you always make friends by questionnaire?
Lynda: I’m not making friends.
Spike: Yeah I can believe that.

There’s a lot of eyebrow raising and attitude and lovely lovely lovely snark. It’s getting kind of hot in here.

Lynda: Spike Thomson. Of course. The American.
Spike: Well, an American. There is more than one of us you know.
Lynda: Staying long or is this a flying visit?
Spike: I’ve been here four years.
Lynda: Really, you’ll have learnt the language soon.
Spike: Well this may come as surprise to you but some Americans, they do speak English too.
Lynda: Then why don’t you?

I can’t recap the magic happening on my tv screen right now but suffice to say that TV producers should take note: that ‘chemistry’ thing you keep going on about – this is it. Forget Ross and Rachel. Forget Brenda and Dylan. Forget Xander and Cordelia. Spike and Lynda are putting them all to shame. I’m simultaneously giggling like a mad woman and melting into a gooey mess of squee.

Spike goes on to comment that he has to watch a lot of American cop shows to keep up with his accent – which is cute given that Dexter Fletcher is a brit and Spike’s accent is waaaay dodgy (and yet – fooled me as a kid). Lynda’s had enough and walks away. Spike follows her and announced that if this were the olden days, he’d slay a dragon for her.

Lynda just looks stunned. And … really really young. It’s almost ooky, but never fear, both actors were well into pervable age-brackets when this was filmed. I checked.

In fact, he goes on, if she agrees to go out with him, he’ll make a commitment to slay the first dragon they meet.

It’s freaking adorable and I kind of hate the fact that she’s staring at him like he’s mad. I don’t care if they just met. I don’t care if they’re meant to be 16. I’m wanting the jumping of bones right there on the desk, and she’s just not complying.

Arty interrupts this time – sparing Sarah the trouble - and the magic is broken. Lynda has to go see the Mullet, and she’s none to happy about it. As she gets up to go, she tells spike that was the worst pick-up like she’s ever heard.

‘What, out of both of them?’ Smartarse. Spike gets the attention of ‘you with no personality’ – patience, Spike, they’ll write Kenny some personality over the next few weeks; he even gets mildly adorable – and tells him he’s going to find the Gazette a story. Kenny just looks amused and annoyed (and scowly), but gets Danny to follow him – in case it’s not all talk.

Meanwhile at the big paper office, Lynda has just been bollocked for expecting someone else to find her stories for her. She sees the afro-come-mullet-come-helmet, Chrissie – who I’m guessing is a ‘real journalist’ – shunning a man that is claiming to have a major news story of grave importance to kids everywhere. Me and you and everyone with a brain assume he’s a nutcase. Lynda assumes he’s her lead story. She’s really not as smart as she thinks she is.

We cut to Spike and Danny standing against a wall speculating about three guys across the road looking at a very 80’s disco. One of them is the owner and there’s speculation he’s selling. It’s all kind of dull but I know they have to put something ‘newspapery’ into this episode or else it would all seem a little soapy.

Doesn’t mean I have to care though.

A car pulls up and a mop-haired kid jumps out. Spike identifies him as Colin and tries to buy himself some math homework. I recognize Colin from the credits, so figure he’s going to have more lines in the future – unlike poor Danny, who must have pissed someone off somewhere, gven he’s in this episode more than anyone but NOT in the credits – and sure enough he’s selling advertising on the Junior Gazette as punishment for trying to sell blank report cards.

While Spike and Colin are talking, Danny is at the edge of the frame playing with his nose. Methinks that’s why he didn’t make the credits.

Spike suggests the best way to get to the bottom of the whole disco story is to ask the owner so off they go. The owner is a balding, scowly looking man, and you just know he’s evil by the way he denies the accusation that he’s selling off the disco. He’s like a non-cartoon version of every Scoopy Doo villain, and you can just imagine him lamenting that ‘he would have gotten away with it too if it wasn’t for those meddling kids …’.

Spike’s onto him too. Because Spike does have a brain … unlike Lynda, who just gloated to Chrissie that she’s poached her very important story. If nothing else, shouldn’t the fact that Chrissie doesn’t even care be ringing alarm bells?

So the nutcase is going on about lethal toys. Lynda can barely contain her glee which is – on the one hand, really cold, and on the other, to be expected. She gets Fraz to take the man out to his car to get the evil evil toys, which results in some cute banter about astrology and horoscopes. Fraz doesn’t do much this episode, but he does this shtick with aplomb.

Conveniently, Spike chooses now to walk in and announce he’s got a story. Lynda is well unimpressed. In fact, she’s kind of a bitch in this scene – and I say that as someone who loves Lynda dearly. She declared that she doesn’t need a KD finding her stories and this time when Spike asks what a KD is she tells him - a knuckle dragger. It’s not the most impressive expression ever, but you know … nerds in the 80’s.

Spike looks actually hurt, and I’m totally on his side. He tells Lynda he is no longer willing to go out with her. She retorts that that’s going to make a dragon very happy, and he – of course – implies that she is the dragon in the equation. Which she kind of is.

And besides Lynda – shut up. Your efforts to find a story on your own are woeful and you’re the only one who doesn’t know it yet. The guy is saving your skin.

And leaving – which I also totally support.

There’s this whole cut-scene thing going on here between Spike outside and Lynda inside. It was giving me a recapping headache so I’m writing it straight. Shoot me.

Outside, Spike is standing around and fuming and bumps straight into the mullet, who drives a vintage car and wears cowboy boots. There’s some chatter about why Spike is out there what a so-and-so Lynda is and how the paper is his last chance and the mullet gives him two choices: get back inside and get to work, or … ‘else’.

It made me giggle, ok.

Inside, the nutcase is going on and on about the dangerous toys and how they breach trade regulations and threaten national security and how America’s latest defence technology is on sale in shops all over England and maybe even the world. And Lynda and Kenny are just standing there getting all excited – until he pulls out a model of that big ship from Star Wars.

America’s latest defence technology, as it turns out, is the Star Wars program.

And now she gets it.

Now.

Yeah, I know. I’m starting to think she’s a little slow as well.

But not as slow as Kenny. Who’s still looking confused.

Lynda has Kenny show the man (Mr … ‘Vader’ *guffaw*) out and slowly comes to the realization that she no longer has a story. She grabs her jacket – blazer, really – and goes out to find Spike.

She finds him on his way back in and pretends to be all ‘you need the paper so come back’, which is bullshit because she just want his story and – again with the Spike being smart – he totally calls her on it. And she fesses up and admits that she needs his story, but he does need the paper, and an uneasy truce is reached in which she’s not a dragon and he’s not a KD. It’s kind of sweet.

And roll credits.

Oh, wait. Credit talkies. Todays credit talkies are Spike and Lynda and more witty banter. Spike asks Lynda how long till they’re an item and I’m jumping out of my seat with the answer to that question: eighteen weeks!!! Thankfully, it gets a lot better sooner than that …

Grade: C for the whole thing. A+++++ for the Spike/Lynda exchanges in the middle. Squeeeee!