The getting of soap wisdom … revisiting Number 96
It was the show that stole Australia’s television virginity and now Number 96 can be viewed on Brollie – for those who dare.
“Tonight at 8.30 television loses its virginity!” trumpeted early ads for Number 96, in one of history’s more effective pieces of copywriting.
Within a year of its 1972 premiere, this Australian serial – about the lives and loves of various residents of an inner-city apartment block – had become not just the number one show in the country, but a cultural phenomenon.
It lead to tie-in paperbacks, T-shirts, cookbooks, music albums, imitations on rival networks (The Box, The Unisexers), real-life hair salons and wine bars inspired by those on the show. There were package tours to Europe with the cast, a feature film version, satirisation by Paul Hogan and Norman Gunston, and the ultimate tribute for an Aussie series – a flop American remake.
Few Australian shows were more notorious, impactful or are as fondly remembered, a fact since confirmed by the streaming service Brollie, which has made some Number 96 episodes available, so viewers in 2025 can see what the fuss was about. Myself included.
I’ve worked in soap for almost two decades (Neighbours, Home and Away, Out of the Blue) and have always been aware of the Number 96 legend, with its tales of nudity, pantyhose strangling, knicker snipping, Abigail, rescuing Channel Ten, cast-trimming explosions and sexual progressivism.
I’d seen the 1974 movie (great fun) but not the show itself, so was curious to see how it held up, particularly the early episodes (numbers 1-15 and 31-35 that is, as the rest from those initial months were thrown away).
The following summary of the storylines will give you a guide of what initially attracted viewers:
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Married couple Mark and Helen are having trouble because the heavily pregnant Helen won’t sleep with Mark, so he sleeps with the virginal Rose, who loves Mark, in part because he saved her from being raped by a bikie. But when Rose and Mark are in bed together they are busted by Helen, who falls down the stairs in shock, and loses the baby, after which Mark rejects Rose for Helen, who’s gone mad thinking the baby is still alive.
Meanwhile, their hot-mess neighbour, Vera, who runs a fortune-telling racket, is being stalked by her ex-husband Harry, who sexually assaults her, but she forgives him, because Vera’s like that.
it’s clear Number 96 had all the basics right from its inception
Aspiring actress Janie tries to impress a lecherous producer, who assaults her flatmate Bev, who is rescued by nice lawyer Joe, who shares a flat with Bruce that’s being paid for by Bruce’s elder married female lover. Bev tries to seduce Joe, who reveals he’s gay, and has a thing with Bruce, who’s bi …
There’s also a Greek chorus of commentary from Dorrie and Herb, the married couple who manage the building, plus some whinging Poms, Rose’s Hungarian Jewish dad, a black man, “siblings” who are actually lovers and …
Anyway, there’s a lot going on in that building. Yes, the sets were basic, the photography primitive and the dialogue often ripe enough to pluck from a tree, but it’s clear Number 96 had all the basics right from its inception – a well-rounded cast of different character types (troublesome kids, worried dads, unlucky-in-love grand dames, sex bombs, comedy relief gossips, bickering couples, vixens, insane mothers, trouble-making matriarchs) – plus solid, page-turning stories and an excellent cast.
The series never had the reputation of a well-acted show – soaps rarely do – but although there is a clear mix of acting styles (ex-vaudevillians, legitimate stage veterans, newbies fresh out of NIDA), everyone seems ideally suited for their roles.
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Most of the attention went to Abigail, whose character Bev was forever changing clothes in the living room, and Joe Hasham, with his world-pioneering depiction of Don, a gay man allowed to have some dignity, and the comic antics of Pat MacDonald (Dorrie) and Ron Shand (Herb).
But for me the MVP of those early episodes was Vivienne Garrett, whose character Rose runs the gamut of unrequited love, sexual assault, on-screen nudity, paternal disapproval, drug addiction and bikies, without ever once losing audience sympathy. Mind you, everyone makes a contribution.
There was, admittedly, a strong whiff of camp throughout Number 96, even from the beginning, with several storylines and characters feeling cribbed from Joan Crawford movies (Crawford’s name is even referenced in dialogue).
The show was also surprisingly English for such an iconic Australian series: there were several English characters and actors, and half the cast used posh, received pronunciation – though this was not untypical of Australian popular culture at the time.
But for all these things – the accelerated drama, racy subject matter(s), broad comedy, epigrammatical dialogue, etc – the bulk of early storylines were based on real, universal problems: unrequited love, the generation gap, foreigners assimilating to a new country, marital strains, financial pressures, domestic abuse and mental illness, along with sexual harassment, assault or insecurity.
And the actual apartment block is depicted as a place where (most of) the characters care about each other, and rally around during times of trauma. I think that’s what audiences responded to as much as the stars, murders, sex and comedy. Although it’s the latter four that received all the attention.
In later years, the stories and characters apparently became broader and less grounded, going for gags and shock factor rather than verisimilitude, with too many plots inspired by old Hollywood movies and a desire to be “back door pilots” for a spin-off series, rather than something true and relevant.
the show achieved, from its inception, a legendary status few other Australian shows have ever matched
Number 96 couldn’t find a way to successfully reinvent itself, ratings went into decline, key stake holders had other ambitions and a program that could and should have run for decades was axed in 1977 after 1218 episodes. This was still a lot of episodes, but not as much as it could have been, especially with Home and Away currently clocking in at more than 8500 instalments.
Number 96 was, incidentally, promptly replaced on Channel Ten by another soap, The Restless Years – but that was in a different time, when Australian drama was protected by quotas, unlike now, thanks to the lobbying of streamers and the apathy of politicians.
So, when a show like Neighbours gets the chop, it isn’t instantly superseded by something else locally made. Incidentally, the makers of Number 96 tried a few spin-offs that weren’t picked up, and their other attempts at serials (Unisexers, Arcade) did not work. It’s hard to recapture lightning in a bottle.
Still, it’s surprising that in a world that has rebooted Wake in Fright, Prisoner, Picnic at Hanging Rock and My Brilliant Career, no one’s had another go at Number 96. Because the show achieved, from its inception, a legendary status few other Australian shows have ever matched.
At least, thanks to Brollie, you can watch Australian television lose its virginity time and time again at your own leisure.
Stephen Vagg is a screenwriter whose credits include Neighbours, Darby and Joan and All My Friends Are Back in Brisbane.