For British persons of a certain age there can be few childhood memories more potent, haunting and downright sinister than those conjured up by the short TV series, “The Singing Ringing Tree.” It was a part of a bigger project collectively known as “Tales from Europe” that featured adaptations of fairy tales filmed by Hungarian, Czech and East German TV companies and broadcast by the BBC during 1964/65.
“The Singing Ringing Tree” was made by the East German TV company DEFA and it was by far the scariest thing I ever saw. More than Davros the Dalek, more than the freakishly silly Tiny Tim singing “Tip-toe Through the Tulips” to the accompaniment of his own ukulele; even more than Robert Helpmann as the kid-catcher in “Chitty-Chitty-Bang-Bang,” the dwarf in “The Singing Ringing Tree” struck terror into our hearts.
Nightmares, cold shivers in the daytime, tears and tantrums at bedtime, yes it was all that dwarf’s fault, not that the Ma was at all sympathetic. These days perhaps it wouldn’t be allowed at all. The children would have to be provided with counseling, and those of diminished stature would be up in arms, and perhaps rightly so. Then again, maybe they would choose to celebrate the fact that such a forceful and central character was drawn from their number. The fellow was no mere Santa’s helper, that’s for sure. I can’t recall any other production in which the dwarf has such a significant role, malignant or otherwise. However, as I was saying, the dwarf was the personification of everything that was wicked, warped and unpleasant. A thorough-born rotter with magical powers and a spiteful temper. Not the sort of fellow to fall foul of while you’re footloose in Fairyland, and no mistake.
There was also the big fish, the product of some strange, baroque mutation and, though a seemingly well-meaning and innocent creature, it was still an eerie thing to behold, gliding silently across the surface of Lake Fairyland. Its persistent lurking silence was what got to me in the end; when I closed my eyes at night it was there, waiting for me, goggle-eyed, trout-lipped, fins a-flapping seductively. The reindeer - an obvious cart horse with twigs attached to its ears - was a pretty risible counterbalance, but not enough to quell my nocturnal dread one iota.
As for the narrative, it is pretty archetypal fare:
Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, a beautiful and terribly spoiled Princess learns a few hard lessons and eventually becomes a kindly and beneficent queen. As you might expect it’s this period of personal development that the tale is concerned with.
True to type the Princess begins the tale a wicked-step-sisterly sour puss; as mean as they come and twice as nasty. But wasn’t that to be expected? As a five year old with his feet firmly planted in the clouds I was never sure what all the fuss was about in the first place. Even discounting the fixed vinegary expression and the Wagnerian bosoms the princess really didn’t seem like much of a looker to me. She reminded me somehow of Kathy Kirby, except she was even more brassy and probably couldn‘t have sung “Secret Love” for toffee. Nor did her Dad’s castle seem that much to get excited about compared with some real ones I’d seen along the Welsh border. They obviously weren’t in possession of riches beyond a young man’s dream. Why should any self-respecting Prince give the cowbag a moment’s thought?
The story itself began steadily enough however; right on cue a Prince/suitor comes to the castle a-courting-oh and is sent on an errand to prove his worth: “Off you pop, Droopy-Draws, and don‘t come back until you‘ve found the singing ringing tree…” But then, having ventured in to the forest of Fairyland the handsome young clot gets himself turned into a bear by that devil of a dwarf - before your very eyes! From here it all goes rapidly pear-shaped. It was as if overnight Fairyland had become New Fairyland; under the new management things are just the same as they used to be and yet somehow strangely, far, far worse. Dingly dells turned to dust bowls, bosky groves began to smell of stale wee, and all of New Fairyland grew as wintery as dastardly David Blunket's heart.
If only the singing ringing tree - actually nothing more prepossessing than a withered sapling - would sing and ring, dear reader. Then everything would return to normal, for that would signal to the world that the Princess has fallen in love. But she is vain and heartless, and first we must all endure some pretty tough travails lest we fail to take the moral of the story to heart. That’s the harsh reality of New Fairyland for you. Lessons are for learning.
Smugly the dwarf looked on, puffing out his chest with pride and smirking with malignant glee. In time the Princess was sent out to look for the Prince, perhaps because he was the only man oaf enough ever to have sought her hand in marriage. And so it came to pass that she too is captured by the dwarf and is made to work in New Fairyland like she’s never worked before, scivvying on her hands and knees to build a cave to live in, and consorting with the common fauna that she has always so despised, including this peculiar bear fellow who‘s always trying to give her unwanted advice and generally being a bit of a creep. Before she begins to mend her ways she even loses her looks, thanks to a nasty spell cast by a certain short party. Her nose grew long and warty, and her golden locks turn into a green and greasy haystack - a vast improvement on the ridiculous Valkyrian, suicide-blonde do she had been wearing, I‘ve always thought.
When everything has reached rock bottom, and the Princess is at last strangely content with her lot and sufficiently humbled to see the error of her ways, then, and only then, she yields to her true feelings and falls, pell-mell, helter-skelter and lickerty-split head over heels in love with the bear. He meanwhile has remained patient and kind throughout the entire episode, even if he was a bit of a busy-body, for in reality let us not forget that he is a Princely hero and not just some frightful yobo from The Land of Make Believe, or somewhere. This is far more than the bisom of a Princess has deserved you may think, but this is the stuff of Fairy Tale.
From here on we’re in the home straight, so it’s only a matter of time before the Princess plants a kiss on the grizzly snout of the bear, and so the singing ringing tree finally lives up to its name, though I seem to recall that it tinkled only perfunctorily and was actually something of a musical disappointment. The spell that has been cast over Fairyland is broken at last. As you can imagine dear reader, all that was bad suddenly returned to good. The dwarf, for his pains, is cast into a bottomless pit surrounded by flames. And let that be a lesson to you, Tony Blair, person of diminished moral stature.
Perhaps it was the east European aesthetic, which certainly gave the whole “Tales from Europe” series an otherworldly appeal that “Blue Peter” utterly lacked until John Noakes happened along. It also had an altogether darker take on the idea of the Fairy Tale than was the norm in Britain before Angela Carter set about reinventing and reinvigorating the tradition. I wonder now whether for the programme’s makers and their fellow east Germans, did the dwarf in fact symbolise the Stasi, or some other agents of state oppression? Another element that contributed to this foreignness was that the voice of the English narrator was recorded over the only slightly subdued soundtrack of the German speaking actors whose speech could still be clearly heard. It was my first sustained exposure to foreign languages and cultures, and perhaps the experience had a significant underlying long term effect. Although I did not always live happily ever after, and like the Princess I had to learn to take the rough with the smooth, I have done a lot of traveling in places sometimes far, far stranger than Fairyland could ever be.
As you may have guessed by now, this is a blog about music and, curiously given its title, “The Singing Ringing Tree,” bares no musical memories at all. Other than that it was a disappointment I have no recollection whatever of the climactic tintinnabulation of the supposedly musical shrub itself, nor do I remember any of the music that may or may not have enhanced the visuals throughout the tale. In truth I became side tracked from the programme I had intended to write about, which was “The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe” another European classic of 1960s children’s TV. It was made by Franco London Films (FLF TV) of Paris.
Of the programme itself I remember little, it was black and white, and Robinson Crusoe was played by a handsome young actor called Robert Hoffman. Back in the early 60s it seemed to be the only daytime TV that existed until the Banana Splits came along, followed by the appropriately titled, “Why Not Turn Off Your Television Set And Do Something More Interesting Instead”. There was, it was widely felt by parents in general and my mother in particular, something deeply immoral about watching television during daylight hours back then. I‘m now certain that there‘s something pretty iffy about the medium more generally, though mother has since revised her views extensively and has become a devotee of Richard Whitely. However, I should digress no further.
The greatest impact that “The Adventures of Robinson Crusoe” had came not from its story, which was already familiar to us all I suspect, nor anything to do with its visual production values, nor its very spare dialogue - it was clearly a pan-European production over which a narration in any language could be superimposed - but, for the English language version at least, the wonderful music that bound the whole thing together.
For those who are familiar with the series the name Robinson Crusoe cannot be heard without also instantly recalling Robert Mellin and Gian-Piero Reverberi’s gorgeous orchestral opening theme music. This theme is but the first, and arguably most sumptuous melody, of an entire suite the two composers created to illustrate the entire story.
http://www.amazon.com/Adventures-Robinson-Crusoe-Various/dp/B000003QRM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&s=music&qid=1280592381&sr=1-1
Mellin and Reverberi have both worked as jobbing musicians of note for decades. Robert Mellin is a music publisher too and also composed “Stranger on a Shore,” the late clarinetist, Acker Bilk's big hit from the 60s. Even his less well known songs have been recorded by the likes of Ella Fitzgerald, Frank Sinatra and Nat “King “ Cole. Gian Piero Reverberi, in addition to playing piano, composing, arranging and conducting, is also something of a musical entrepreneur and has led the light music ensemble Rondo Veneziano since founding it in 1979.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8vrQhsLZMG0&list=QL
