The workplace fly-on-the-wall has been a collectors' item ever since the channels started to multiply. The economics of embedding a film crew in a specific milieu, sometimes for years, became unsustainable. Proper observation dwindled into the formulaic flotsam of the docusoap, set in airports or hotels or department stores, staffed by "characters" whose "narratives" were sculpted in the edit suite like hedgerow topiary. But unless I’ve had a memory malfunction, the cameras were never allowed to nose around the prison service. Some things are beyond triviality.
Within current parameters, Wormwood Scrubs feels like a responsible piece of television. Its snapshot of contemporary prison life makes a reasonable effort not to tart itself up as entertainment. With less than two hours of broadcast time to play with, it does have a lot to pack in - everything from CC TV footage of yard scraps and drug drops to aria recitals in the prison chapel. The misleading result is that the Scrubs doesn't feel like a place where crushing boredom rules. Here on primetime it's kicking off all the time.
Last night's episode focused on two difficult prisoners, both in their 20s. One was a cell-wrecking troublemaker, always in and out of solitary – “non-compliant”, in the jargon - whose petty complaints and threats of self-harm were an extreme form of attention-seeking, and a huge drain on human resources. The other was a “poor coper”, a homesick felon who periodically chopped up his forearms for real: he pulled up his sleeve to exhibit the latticed flesh. Both in their own ways were profoundly infantilised. The guards had the measure of them, but had no choice but to respond to their manipulative behaviour. “You save one person from doing it then it’s worth it, isn’t it?” said one officer.
Why they work here is a question for a programme with more time to kill. The staff who do their best to keep order are either born with the patience of Job, or have it carefully trained into them. It’s a thankless task cuffing and lugging miscreants from cell to cell, negotiating over toiletries with the mentally ill, or checking rectal passages for secreted mobiles - crucial tools in a drug trade that is so lucrative, claimed one prisoner, that people are committing crimes just so they can do a stretch and boost their income.
Names and job descriptions flashed up on the screen: diversity officer, first night centre officer, security governor. The senior seg officer – seg for segregation – was captioned as “Diana Officer”, her surname presumably changed thanks to a death threat she mentioned with a wry shake of the head. If the programme came close to fielding a figure from a docusoap, it was this crook-toothed television natural. Her tolerance for misbehaviour bordered on the maternal. “He weren’t a bad kid,” she said of the demented troublemaker after he was transferred. “He was daft.”
Whether prison works is a question Wormwood Scrubs does not quite get round to asking. “In a very small minority,” said the governor of the most damaged prisoners, “it becomes exceedingly difficult to do anything.” This being modern television, the very small minority were naturally the ones who made it on screen.
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