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Tales of the Unexpected (1979–1988) started off with a foundation of Roald Dahl-based stories, but over time, this classic television anthology sought out other inspirations. One such source was Elizabeth Taylor, an esteemed English author whose short piece of fiction, “The Flypaper,” was adapted in 1980.
Fans of the show will often cite this episode as one of the best, not to mention the scariest. In the troubling episode, a schoolgirl is hounded by a stranger, only to then realize her peril is greater than first imagined. Now, Tales of the Unexpected did not always live up to its title; some stories were more foreseeable than others. “The Flypaper,” however, caught everyone off guard, including the young and unfortunate protagonist who, despite her efforts, could not escape harm.
“She stared up at a flypaper hanging in the window — the only disconcerting thing in the room. Some of the flies were still half alive, and striving hopelessly to free themselves. But they were caught forever.”
An admiring Dahl wished he had written Taylor’s short story himself. And during the adaptation’s introduction, the host went on to tell viewers to watch carefully, for the episode does not give anything away until the very end. That preface, while enticing, is not quite true when comparing the two versions of “The Flypaper”; Taylor kept a tighter lip, whereas the teleplay, written by Unexpected regular Robin Chapman, was more forthcoming. The conclusion is identical in both forms, but the dramatization gives the audience a substantial preview of what awaits poor Sylvia (Lorna Yabsley).
In the episode’s outset, the local police are seen hunting for a 12-year-old named Elaine, who has been missing for five days. Coppers, frogmen and dogs all explore the Northwood Marshes. The story then moves on to the next victim: Sylvia, a similarly aged girl whose misery could be seen from space. “Rotten piano, rotten music, rotten Beethoven, I hate it, I hate it,” Sylvia thinks to herself. She resents her daily piano lessons as much as the piano teacher, Miss Harrison (Stephanie Cole). Sylvia’s half-hearted performance is ample evidence of unhappiness, but neither her instructor nor her grandmother seem to care about such matters.
Pictured: Lorna Yabsley in “The Flypaper” (1980) from Tales of the Unexpected.
Toward the end of her piano lesson, Sylvia gets her first whiff of trouble; another of Miss Harrison’s pupils, the precocious and more well-liked Louise (Bernadette Windsor), arrives with news of the strange man lurking outside. Miss Harrison is uneasy and even mentions calling the police, but the girl brushes the encounter off. Yet, had Louise or Miss Harrison been more insistent about alerting the authorities, perhaps Sylvia might have avoided her horrendous fate. Nevertheless, Sylvia is much too preoccupied with her loathing of Louise to actually absorb anything she overheard just now.
With Taylor’s story being so short, the adaptation added more scenes as well as characters. For example, Louise is unique to the episode, and her presence serves a greater purpose than to annoy Sylvia or foreshadow the villain. The girls’ one shared scene highlights their disparate approaches to both piano and danger. Sylvia, unprepared and blasé, is a far cry from Louise, an apparent prodigy who also possesses street-smarts. Louise hurries along when she spies a possibly predatory man in public and then informs a trustworthy adult. Meanwhile, Sylvia is revealed to be less equipped in matters of personal safety.
Before getting to Sylvia’s most urgent predicament, “The Flypaper” introduces Sylvia’s one remaining relative, her paternal grandmother (Peggy Thorpe-Bates). Mrs. Wilkinson is only referenced in the short story, seeing as Sylvia never makes it home after leaving Miss Harrison’s place. In the episode though, Sylvia is spared, at least for another day. Having successfully evaded the man (Alfred Burke) Louise mentioned earlier, Sylvia arrives unscathed at her grandma’s house. There she finds Mrs. Wilkinson — a woman who so clearly dislikes being a full-time grandparent — talking to a nameless vicar played by Anthony Smee. The two had just been discussing Sylvia, who the vicar feels for, on account of her orphanhood. Mrs. Wilkinson, on the other hand, is quick to say her son and daughter-in-law died two years ago, implying Sylvia should be over her parents’ deaths by now.
Pictured: Anthony Smee in “The Flypaper” (1980) from Tales of the Unexpected.
Like Louise, the vicar is exclusive to the TV adaptation. And out of everyone here, Smee’s character is the most sympathetic toward Sylvia. On second thought, however, is his consideration for the orphan sincere or sinister? Young and pleasant, the vicar could have very well been a wolf in sheep’s clothing; he might have had ulterior motives for visiting Mrs. Wilkinson’s house that day. After all, Burke’s character, an older creep who pursues girls all over town, is much too obvious of a threat. Having a trim and respected man of the cloth turn out to be a child predator would be more profitable from a storytelling perspective. At last, the vicar is nothing more than a diversion.
Sylvia’s complicated relationship with adults ends up being her downfall. She has visible trouble talking to grownups, although in the cases of Miss Harrison and the grandma, the women in Sylvia’s life are not in the business of heart-to-hearts, much less any conversation free of put-downs and criticisms. The piano teacher had zero words of encouragement for her struggling student, and Mrs. Wilkinson cannot go a minute without insulting anyone, including Sylvia’s dead mother. And when Sylvia tries to open a dialogue with her grandmother — Yabsley’s character dramatically leaps into Thorpe-Bates’ arms as she brings up her pursuer — the woman is more confused than concerned. So at that point, it was too late for Sylvia to get the adults to care about her; they had written her off long ago.
There is no mistaking the intentions of Burke’s character, Herbert. He watches Sylvia sleep through her bedroom window, and he follows her on the bus home the next day. To be fair though, Sylvia does attempt to shake off her stalker; she refuses to tell Herbert her real name on the bus, and she tries to minimize chatting. Be that as it may, the man is relentless in his methods. Herbert continues to pester Sylvia on the ride, and no one, apart from the older female passenger (Pat Keen) whose tsk-tsks are more for her own benefit than Sylvia, steps in to help the child.
Pictured: Alfred Burke in “The Flypaper” (1980) from Tales of the Unexpected.
Out of the blue, Herbert confirms his heinous behavior without flinching. He slides right next to his latest mark and tells her he is very fond of children, even if that raises suspicions. So going forward, there is no doubt that Herbert is, in fact, a pedophile. This disturbing admission does not go unnoticed, however, because Keen’s disapproving character, Vera, is sure to tell Sylvia’s harasser she knows his sort. The tense scene on the double-decker comes to an end soon after, but Sylvia’s attempt to flee and then call the police at the nearest payphone is all for nothing; the phone is broken. Even worse, Herbert has gotten off the bus as well.
There are major spoilers from here on out.
When Sylvia’s doom seems to be set in stone, Vera suddenly returns to scare off Herbert and escort the girl to a safer setting. The relief is short-lived though, because Herbert has picked up the scent again; he is spotted trailing the do-gooder and child from afar. Finally, at Vera’s house, both Sylvia and the audience are in for the rudest surprise once Herbert shows up not as an intruder but as a guest. “You’re just in time.” Vera’s welcoming words to Herbert are downright chilling. Adding to the shock is the realization that Sylvia herself put out three teacups as Vera pretended to phone the police. It was as if her mind was trying to warn her that something was rather wrong about this situation.
There is this knee-jerk reaction to blame Sylvia for her own ruin, yet as a reminder, the girl did her best in a tricky scenario that even some grownups would have a tough time navigating. On top of Herbert and Vera’s craftiness, Sylvia was failed by all the adults around her. Miss Harrison gave up too easily when asking Louise, of all people, if they should report Herbert to the police. And with a grandmother as neglectful and apathetic as Mrs. Wilkinson, it is no wonder that Sylvia took to Vera’s kindness act. As for the bus driver and other passengers, surely they could have also intervened when Herbert was anything but inconspicuous. So yes, if there was anyone at fault here, other than the direct perpetrators, it was most assuredly not the girl who was left to fend for herself.
Classic British television wore no kid gloves when it came to warning little ones of potential risks and threats out in the real world. Indeed, a certain generation grew up with alarming safety videos, including the notoriously tragicomical Apaches, that led to incidental frights. “The Flypaper” is cut from a similar cloth, however, its messaging is confusing, if the episode is treated as edutainment. That is to say, the main character heeded safety precautions found in every society, but she was still punished as though she did not care about her survival. Nevertheless, this story is effective as a simple tale of cruel fate. One so considerable that it would make anyone, regardless of their age, a bit warier whenever talking to strangers.
“The Flypaper” is currently streaming on Prime Video.
Pictured: Alfred Burke in “The Flypaper” (1980) from Tales of the Unexpected.
