Big Breadwinner Hog

There are television dramas that court controversy, and then there’s Big Breadwinner Hog, a series that barged through the doors of polite broadcasting with a bottle of acid in one hand and a clenched fist in the other. First aired in 1969, and never repeated on British television, this brutal and audacious crime saga by writer Robin Chapman built upon the grit of his earlier effort, Spindoe, but this time pushed the boundaries so far that Granada Television found themselves issuing an official apology before episode two had even aired.

The plot centres around Hogarth, chillingly played by a young, razor-sharp Peter Egan, an ambitious and utterly remorseless small-time hoodlum determined to claw his way to the top of London’s criminal underworld. Hogarth has no time for rules, loyalty, or even a basic moral code. Whether you’re a copper or a kingpin, you’re in his way. And from the very first episode, it’s clear Hog isn’t bluffing. His violent climb to power includes a robbery spree that earns him unwanted attention from the local mob, led by Ryan (Godfrey Quigley), who responds with a public beating in his own nightclub. Hogarth’s revenge is swift and stomach-churning: he returns and hurls acid into the face of one of Ryan’s lieutenants - a scene so graphic and prolonged it triggered an avalanche of complaints and is still talked about today.

Granada’s response was to tone down the violence in subsequent episodes and shunt the series to a later time slot in some regions. Even that wasn’t enough for several ITV companies, who pulled the show from their schedules altogether. But for all its infamy, Big Breadwinner Hog wasn’t merely sensationalist. It was stylishly directed by future BAFTA-winners Mike Newell and Michael Apted, and Chapman’s writing delved into the cold machinery of power, criminal hierarchy, and manipulation with a sharp eye for moral decay.

As the story unfolds, Hog’s ambitions draw the attention of “Scot-Yanks,” a shadowy law firm that’s little more than a mafia-style clearing house for organised crime. With its imprisoned founder in absentia, control falls to the coldly calculating Lennox (a steely turn from Timothy West), who wants Hog’s muscle to spring the boss from prison - only to have him killed immediately after. But Hogarth is nobody’s pawn. He uncovers a hidden witness to a previous murder, a bitter ex-private eye named Ackerman (Donald Burton), and plots to seize the reins of Scot-Yanks himself.

Condemned in its day for its amorality and shocking violence (a later episode involving the shooting of a woman in police custody added further fuel to the fire), the series has since gained something of a legendary status. Big Breadwinner Hog may have been too far ahead of its time - or simply too much for it. But what’s undeniable is its legacy. Hogarth himself ranked number nine in a 2002 Radio Times poll of television’s nastiest villains, a testament to just how deeply the character bored into the collective memory.

Though never rebroadcast, Big Breadwinner Hog finally resurfaced via the now-defunct Network DVD, packaged alongside Spindoe and even including an early Bob Hoskins appearance in an episode of Villains. If you can track down a copy, this set is well worth seeking out. For those with a taste for uncompromising storytelling and the darker recesses of British television history, Hog is a brutal, brilliant gem that still bites hard over fifty years on.