Stuart Millard
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The Experiment
🕑 Added 2024-01-08 22:34:55 +0000 UTC
When I started the Patreon in 2018 and begun listing things I wanted to cover, this series was top three, with one particular image seered into my brain as the most broken anyone has ever been by reality television; a statement I believe still holds true today, even given the untold thousands of hours of broadcasting since. Frustratingly, actual footage was elusive, outside of learning institutions, who use it as a source in psychological training, and it's a real curate's egg, unavailable on DVD, iPlayer or YouTube, but viewable if you're taking an A-Level psychology course, where it's used as a teaching module.
In 2002, reality TV was reaching the end of that brief era where it could truthfully label itself a social experiment. Big Brother was only two series in, with people still yet to start properly acting up in front of camera or consciously using it as a springboard to fame, while producers hadn't begun the sole casting of 'characters' who'd boost ratings with outrageous behaviour; a sea-change solidified in the headline-grabbing wake of Big Brother 5, after stinky reviews for the boring previous series. Still, none quite so lived up to their name – before or since – as BBC's The Experiment, whose brief run was enough to cement it, in my mind, as one of the great reality shows. Though perhaps only reality TV by modern definitions of 'real' people being put in a situation and filmed, warts 'n all, the premise had been done before, without cameras present, under its infamous title, The Stanford Prison Experiment.
The original 1971 psyche study saw a group of young male volunteers randomly divided into prisoners and guards, in a pretend prison down in Stanford university's basement, to test how people react when given power over somebody else. Meant to run for two weeks, it was ended after six days, when 'guards' became excessively violent and abusive, although it later turned out the guy who ran it mostly lied about what happened. There's been myriad narrative movies based on the given story, but the BBC were the only one to attempt a full, factual do-over, and theirs too – “a unique scientific experiment into power and rebellion” – would be halted early.
Filmed at the George Lucas Stage of Elstree Studios in December 2001, the resulting four one-hour programmes were broadcast on May of 2002. Applicants didn't know specifics, merely told there was no prize money, and that it was a “university-backed social science experiment to be shown on TV.” However, according to a YouTube comment from one of the guards (who now posts Sonic the Hedgehog speed-runs), word got out it was a remake of Stanford, and they all read up on it, becoming determined not to let themselves become a brutal guard like in '71. In hindsight, this may have been why things unfolded the way they did. Still, it must've been a shock for those selected as inmates, immediately put in jumpsuits and getting their heads buzzed, Full Metal Jacket style. The set feels more like Oz than Porridge; a futuristic fortress of grey stainless steel, inmates behind doors and wire fencing, with balcony levels and huge fluorescent lights on the walls and floor, bathing everything in perpetual glare.
The fifteen men, meant to “represent a cross section of modern Britain,” are split into four guards and eleven prisoners – supposedly randomly, but I'm not buying that. Despite being an academic study, there is a level of manipulation, with cellblock pairings obviously contrived for maximum mayhem, and there are frequent references to the heat of the prison set, which keeps everyone sweaty, mad and sleepless. Of these man, some will barely get a line of dialogue in the whole enterprise, as proceedings become dominated by the personalities – and actions – of four men. Two of these form an instant alliance, in new bunkmates of Cell 2, John Edwards and Paul Petken. Edwards is a reformed bad boy, now Christian evangelist youth minister, while Petken's a stringy ex-crack addict and unemployed brickie, clean seven years after puffing on the rock “big time” from 13-18. A shaven head and tat-filled arms, he resembles the bald one out of the East 17 lads who don't do anything. With mischief in their eyes, the pair seem to instantly recognise like with like.
Two university academics running things are set up in a nearby room – kept nice and cool with big fans – eating crisps and watching on a bank of monitors, sworn not to interfere with the process. There are strict guidelines in place to ensure no participant suffers “lasting damage,” overseen by a panel of seven independent experts who've got the power to shut things down at any time. There's also daily questionnaires, and urine and spit tests, to monitor everyone's stress levels. The guards have been given no training, and simply have to figure out between them how to keep control, over ten days of prison routine.
On Day One, meal one – badly-cooked small portions meant to stir bad feeling – Petken makes a theatre of throwing his plastic fork down in disgust; “ain't even cooked properly, mate!” Meanwhile, in the guard's mess, it's flank of beef and roast peppers, with enough for seconds. All this is engineered to emphasise the imbalance of power, preceding the first test; the promise of promotion for one prisoner to a guard position. Edwards is keenest, remarking in a video diary “I'd be fair, but I'd be firm,” but most existing guards are uneasy in their role and the privilege it brings. Guard Tom Quarry, another of the aforementioned notable foursome, and CEO of a multimillion pound tech company, is worried they'll drift into tyranny, going the way of Germany in 1935; “that wave swept the country, and it turned a nation mad!”
The first three days are so uneventful as to be covered in 20 minutes airtime. In Day Two's biggest drama, the guards' offer of leftover sausages from a big fry-up is refused by inmate Phillip Bimpson. Bimpson, last of the big four, is a physically imposing 40-something scouser; muscular, a karate black belt, and a self-styled alpha male. Fiercely anti-authority, he's not interested in the guard job, for which candidates are interviewed on Day Three. Edwards does not land the role, and makes a bad fist of hiding his disappointment. With the new guard a quiet lad who fades into the background, the only change in dynamic relates to who didn't get it.
On Day Four, with the promotion gone, prisoners have no incentive to behave, leading to taunting and the theft of a pencil, which results in a picture of guard Brendan Grennan – the oldest participant – being defaced with a Hitler haircut, tash, and swastika (complete with rub-out lines indicating it took the vandal a few attempts). Bimpson's chatting up Petken and Edwards about Hitler's rise, and a book “by a guy called George Orwell,” with a knowing glint while describing the pigs taking over the farm. In the guard quarters, Guard Ahmed perceptively brings up the scene in Jurassic Park where it's only a matter of time before the dinosaurs start thinking for themselves. There seems a looming sense of dread for the guards, too afraid to assert any power – perhaps due to that research on Stanford – and aware this will inevitably lead to trouble.
Anyone who's watched a prison movie knows the tension comes from population imbalance. Inmates outnumber guards, and if they decide to, could take the place at any time. Petken and Edwards see the route for this in targetting the weakest guard, “the most timid one,” singled out as Tom Quarry, with plans to corner him in the yard and take his keys. Quarry's well-meaning, but fatally lacking in nous, with the street smarts of a brick, and would be caught out by that 'point at a stain on their chest and touch their nose with your finger as they look down' gag 100% of the time. Coming from the office world, he believes conflict is revolved by meeting in the middle, never realising, in a prison environment, he's getting fucked every time. Cell 2's exchanges with Quarry are constant mind-games, unsettling him with aggression which is then turned friendly; “I'm only jokin' Mr. Quarry!” Third celly of block 2, a nervous 22-year-old called Kevin, warns such behaviour might push the guard into a breakdown. “Yeah, good,” says Petken.
One funny personality point of Edwards is how the constant talk of prison anarchy and tormenting his oppressors is filtered through a recent born-again conversion, meaning he can't swear – “I'll stand up and say 'I'm flippin' sick to death of this food'... just throw it down on the flippin' trolley!” His interactions with guards are petty back-and-forths, carrying himself with the manner of those people who stormed into hospitals during the pandemic, trying to arrest nurses by quoting from the Magna Carta. He batters guards with broken logic-traps and the need for proof, constantly using his catchphrase “I rest my case!”
The experiment seems like an exercise in how long it takes for prisoners to realise the guards are set up to fail. All they can offer as punishment is bread and water rations or solitary confinement; rarely suggested and even more rarely followed through, grinded away with Edwards' faux-lawyerly waffle, or by the guards themselves, divided by the psychological warfare, and so afraid of going Stanford they're unable to settle on a course of action. First real confrontation starts with Edwards swiping his plate against the wall – “I'm flippin' sick and tired of this crap!” Everyone's ordered into their cells, but Petken and Edwards refuse, leading to a scene which plays like a bloodless cover of every argument outside pubs of a Friday night. Both sides know they can't touch each other, resulting in posturing from the aggressors, and lost-face for the guards. In the end, there's no punishment, with Quarry, who just wants to make friends and have a quiet life, settling on handing out cigarettes, so long as they return to their cell. The naughty boys high five, while Ahmed concedes “now they can do whatever they want.”
Sure enough, minutes after the truce, Edwards and Bimpson taunt Quarry through their cell doors, inciting an unexpected outburst from Quarry in the guard room of “I'm not gonna give them the steam off my shit!” Ahmed joins in with; “they're nothing but piss, they're nothing but a bubble of your piss.” Over dinner, Edwards informs the other cells of his next plan, codename OPERATION MAYHEM, which involves putting blu tac over the magnets which lock the cell door, and then taking the prison until the experiment ends. Bimpson cites historical revolutions, seeing this as “a military junta to take over the ruling class,” remarking rather regretfully “we can't kill any of 'em or set fire to 'em.” Here there's a superb hard cut to the guard room where, over one of their lovely big dinners, Quarry talks about a carving class he went to in the Strand, where he was taught the best way to cook a Christmas turkey, “so that when you cut it, the knife squeaks.” Smash the system!
Day Five sees the arrival of a new inmate. Charles Manson?! No, of course not; a man whose entrance was delayed “because he has particular skills,” in retired trade union negotiator Derek McCabe. McCabe's tricked into handing over the pencil from his psyche questionnaire – contraband – which Edwards and Petken use to write out their new prison rules. Rule one, after earlier goading Quarry into swearing, is “no foul and abusive language.” They pull Quarry up on improper attire, as his badge is “a bit wonky” and state their desire to lead a morning inspection of the guards. After a brief chat with McCabe, Quarry's so rattled, he's suddenly pitching a utopian society with no roles, “a bloody commune,” but on broaching it to the psychiatrists, senses they aren't keen, so that's that.
While all this is going on, Bimpson's been secretly nicking various prison equipment – dustpan, bog roll, some towels – and when mopping an unattended guard station, swipes the master keys. Petken uses this as another excuse to torment Quarry, making out he's the thief, and will return them if allowed a cigarette. When Petken finishes the fag and breaks the news he's not got them, Quarry's crestfallen and betrayed – “I shook a man's hand there” – having to walk out under a rain of Spartacus cries from every cell of “I've got the keys!” “No, I've got the keys!” Inmates elect McCabe as spokesman for a sit-down with the guards, angering Bimpson who wants to use the keys as leverage, because democracy's “just arguin' about shite!” and just a few hours after his arrival, McCabe negotiates return of the keys in exchange for daily hot drinks, plus amnesty for all prior rule breaks.
Having served his purpose, and proven himself too powerful for a show which needs some chaos, McCabe is immediately removed from the experiment, announced to inmates as 'for health reasons' so's not to rouse suspicion. Bimpson is thrilled. Not so Quarry, who's nervously chewing on a pen whenever the cameras find him. Psyche tests show guards are depressed, stressed and demoralised, and inmates happy as Larry. Cell 2 once again plot to single out and destroy Tom Quarry, with more head games leaving him in the officer's mess suckling on a biro like a baby's dummy, thousand yard stare, and sharing fears the prisoners are somehow going to lock them all in. While everyone else is hot blooded with rebellion and OPERATION MAYHEM, the quiet lads of Cell 3 are compiling a list of 100 best movies, “The Sound of Music, Chitty Chitty Bang Bang...”
Via the one-way camera booth, Petken clears a potential night-time breakout with psychologists, who simply tell him no violence or getting out of the set. Earlier, he discovered ceiling light panels could be jimmied, and planned an after dark crawl up there, to drop down into the kitchen, but sadly this isn't Channel 5's Jailbreak with Craig Charles, and production put in a call to stop him getting electrocuted. In the run-up to MAYHEM, Petken's increasingly aggro, calling guards “muppets,” and implying they're getting erections from the power. “You lot make me sick to the back teef, mate... you lot wanna watch yourselves.”
His and Edwards' relentless bullying of Quarry becomes a genuinely uncomfortable watch, and starts to wind up other prisoners, with even Bimpson describing Edwards as “a fuckin' shit stirrer.” It's classic bad-faith behaviour we all recognise from school, where some kid's poking you with a pencil all day and when you finally react, they're all “Whoa, calm down, mate! What are you swearing for? That's very offensive!” As part of his efforts to integrate both groups, Quarry devises a joint rec time, and plays a “friendly” (in quote marks twenty feet high) game of chess with Edwards. Narrator David Suchet remarks “the underclass does not want to make friends with their masters, it wants to make fools of them,” and indeed, as Quarry concedes defeat, Edwards and Petken check (for no reason) if Quarry's on night-shift later, with Petken distracting him as Edwards slides an empty aspirin packet down the lock so it doesn't close.
We intercut between Quarry in the mess, talking up the nice game of chess he had with his pal Edwards, and Edwards mocking what a loser he is. “He's gonna have a breakdown!” laughs Petken. And so begins OPERATION MAYHEM, described by Suchet as “a sustained psychological assault” on Tom Quarry. After more mind games, telling Quarry they've heard a guard's being demoted to prisoner – “pray to God it is not you” – they force open the cell door, trying to gaslight Quarry into thinking he left it unlocked; calling him a liar in front of everyone. But it's a small set, and once they're out, all they can really do is go into the guard quarters and make a cup of tea, forcing open the adjoining door, faux-casually whistling as they wander in. “They ain't laughing at me now are they?” says Edwards, before realising they really are out of sugar. When the guards try to lock them in, Edwards lurches at the door and yanks it out of their hands, causing an emergency crisis meeting between the psychologists and the BBC's team of ethical advisors.
At morning roll-call on Day Seven, the rebellious pair are persona non-grata with most of the other inmates, who were kept awake by their titting about. Cell 3's Dave Dawson, practically invisible until now, yells at a still sleeping Edwards to get out of bed. “He has kept a low profile,” says Suchet, “but today, he is incensed.” With a sense that there's no going back from last night, a meeting's called, with Lord of the Flies rules; only whoever holds the ball of tinfoil may speak. Some want out, others want to continue, while Grennan is moved to tears about this “unforgettable experience” as a watching psychologist puts a hand on the other's shoulder with an awed “this is amazing.” But highlight is the angry Dawson, who perfectly calmly, perfectly measured, in a thick Sunderland accent, calls out the bullying; “...certain people couldn't give a flying rat fuck about anyone else... the people involved should be ashamed.”
There's a vote on how to continue, whether to end it all, or ditch the rules and live as one, commune style. The latter wins, and a joint mission statement to the psychologists lays out how they “aim to leave this place both as a group and as friends,” proposing a single self-governing society, with everyone pulling equal weight and with equal say. Two guards leave, before the remaining participants start this brave new world with a shared meal, guards in street clothes, and everyone taking their cleaning duties seriously for once. Almost everyone. Petken and Edwards refuse to do chores, playing pool rather than participate. “That,” says Dawson, “is why you're not part of the group.”
The commune are sat around nicely playing Jenga and Kerplunk, but Edwards, Petken and Bimpson find no fun in order and civility. The three commence winding the others up, pointedly eating communal biscuits and sparking up in the non-smoking area. Quarry relates the fact that, if you play chess when you're a bit pissed off, “apparently it accesses a part of your brain that you don't normally use, causing it to swell and kill you... it's a known fact.” Edwards and Petken laugh at him, and deem him “the next Michael Barrymore.” Later, they'll bemoan the new chilled-out atmos, and Edwards suggests locking the others in. “That ain't shit, is it?” says Petken. “I'm talking about causing a bit of distress to someone.”
With no leaders, there's a vacuum of power, and they float the idea of returning to the original premise, inmates and guards, only this time, with the pair of them in control. “No,” says Bimpson, “us three. Make them toe the line. I mean on the fuckin' line. Get on with your food and get the fuckin' hell back to your cell.” They seal the coup plan with a three-way fist bump, and stood in just his underpants, Bimpson addresses a camera – “Tomorrow, at first dawn, we're having a military take-over.” He demands military uniforms, black berets and sunglasses, and is up alone at 4am, scribbling a manifesto for the new regime, stashing it in a kitchen cupboard then sleeping in the mess with a tea towel over his face to guard it.
Day Eight. After an hour's sleep, Bimpson wakes everyone at six with a booming “RISE AND SHINE!” By now, he's recruited Grennan into their plan, and as they've scoffed most of the supplies, a breakfast of manky sugarless porridge is the touch-paper for Bimpson's coup – “controlled force works.” Through the whole experiment, Bimpson, Petken and Edwards, the largest men, have either subtly or not so subtly used physical intimidation, forever blocking passage, nose to nose, and now they're asserting themselves as the law; the others all seated while Bimpson and Edwards patrol the table, arms folded, Petken in the guard station with his feet up.
“I was almost a fuckin' pacifist,” barks Bimpson, “but I've gone back to the way I am. A predatory hunter.” He cites Edwards and Petken as fellow soldiers, comparing their plight as exiles in the commune to those who return from war and find themselves ostracised. “You've fucking nearly given your life there, and no-one gives a shit.” Mate, they jammed a door with a Nurofen box and made a cup of tea. Pacing like a tiger, Bimpson tells them they need a strong leader to “tread on a few of you fuckin' arseholes,” and nobody has the balls but those three. Amid this rant, the camera cuts to Tom Quarry, face down on the table, flicking the tip of his tongue at a sheet of A4, utterly broken. As Edwards notices, eyes wide with glee, he nods his mates over to the sight of Quarry, as he begins tenderly kissing the paper the way one might a lover. When someone finally speaks up, to cut off Bimpson's threats and posturing, it's from the most unexpected place; Dave Dawson.
I consider what happens next right up there with the great reality TV moments; Brackie, David's Dead, Dean Gaffney being sick on himself. The previously unassuming Dawson's speech is perfect, powerful, and most importantly, very, very funny in its surprising foul-mouthedness. “Anybody can sit round here and be a cunt, and I haven't, but from now, you're gonna find out what I'm like when I'm a cunt, when I'm the one who fucking walks in there, starts drinking fucking orange, not offering any fucker else anything, I'm the one that's gonna be fucking smoking all your tabs. Anybody around here can be the cunt, and not just you two, cos let's face it, you two are acting like a pair of fucking cunts.” Nothing more to say, Dawson saunters off. “I rest my case!” laughs Edwards.
Later, this will result in one last exhausting verbal-barracking from a furious Edwards, confronting Dawson in his cell while he's trying to sleep, after the humiliation of someone standing up to him. He's noticed a “funny” attitude from Dawson, “and I'm not having it!” and says he'd have given him a good hiding on the outside. So now, the Three Amigos – plus Grennan – are planning an autocratic state, starting with a midday raiding party (“not using force”) to commandeer the bedrooms and showers, supplies, pool table, and basketball court, creating a “new country” and imposing their regime regardless of what anyone else thinks. A watching psychologist notes that he isn't comparing Bimpson to Hitler, while doing exactly that; “I find it awful that we, perhaps inadvertently, have set up the conditions for the emergence of fascism.” They deem what they're watching, their creation, “fascinating but absolutely horrible.”
Bimpson has gone full Colonel Kurtz, telling others to fuck off out of communal areas, and is clearly a man at war. Had the show gone full Stanford with no restrictions on getting physical, you get a sense weaker members of the cast would've been cable-tied and used as urinals. But five minutes before Bimpson's axis sweep across the big house, psychologists come in to shut it down, 36 hours early. Contestants feel daylight for the first time in eight days, walking into the sun outside the George Lucas Stage, and in a classic example of 'what happens in a specially-constructed prison set stays on a specially-constructed prison set', everyone exchanges jubilant hugs, even Dawson and Edwards. The show's conclusion, voiced by Suchet, is that “if we really want to stop tyranny, we need to prevent the vacuum of power that feeds it.”
As soon as the credits rolled, The Experiment was condemned to exist in a bubble outside of television itself, and be merely a psyche study, and not that it isn't, but what else it is is a truly great piece of reality TV. Two years earlier, Nasty Nick was made a huge national villain for the crime (“very dirty plan”) of writing names down with a pencil, while Petken and Edwards slipped everyone by. Perhaps the most monstrous pairing in the genre's entire history – worse than Speidi, worse than (“get”) Grace (“out!”) or David Van Day or Player 432 – the duo set about mentally dismantling another man, just for something to do. In all the academic studies that followed those eight days, what The Experiment's really crying out for is a genre-compliant revisit; a 'where are they now?' filling in the gaps. Was there a clear-the-air meeting when it was all over, or did everyone just go home traumatised? Did Petken and Quarry ever go for that pint? Did any of the main antagonists end up in a real prison? The latter, I can partially answer, as Bimpson's now a film-maker/arts director, while Edwards qualified as a lawyer and went onto work in city finance.
It goes without saying you could not make this show today. With most modern reality contestants born after the self-aware line was crossed, within the first hour, you'd have some 20-year-old with calf implants and teeth like a nuclear blast taking hostages and livestreaming on a phone smuggled up his arse. Though the experiment had that shocking table-turning result which almost never happens, with those in power the ones demoralised and crushed, it was inevitable, given the selections of each group, and the total lack of options to enforce rules outside of blind compliance. Though it did achieve the impossible, in making the audience side with authority. At the very beginning, David Suchet describes the show's objective – “To discover whether this system will turn good men into evil.” As viewers, it's impossible to know whether or not, outside of the fake prison set, these were good men, nor is it our place to judge. But without a doubt, as reality TV contestants, they were absolutely superb.
Comments
Stuart Millard
I remember Shattered but didn't see it, but I did see the one from last year where a load of celebrities were shut in a completely dark room for a week. Chris Eubank came off very badly refusing to do any tasks because he was too intelligent, and Gazza told a story about when he met Thatcher and immediately ran to the Downing Street bogs for a wank.
RoBoTaLiEn MuSiC
Shit me I remember this. Fkin mental! Genuine, never to be repeated, reality gold. Something else I remembered recently and meant to ask if you'd ever watched, was a bizarre one off reality show called "Shattered" from 2004 where people tried to stay awake for as long as possible. All I can remember from it now is that some guy started to think he was his own grandfather or some mad shit...
Ewan
I watched this not long ago (within the last year) but I've no idea where if it's not readily available. But I definitely watched all 4 episodes recently and it was both pant wetting funny and terrifying at the same time.
