It's 102 years since Thomas Edison's film company released the first screen serial. What Happened to Mary? was produced in conjunction with McClure's Ladies' World magazine in 1912. But it was The Adventures of Kathlyn (1913) that instigated the silent serial boom by melding the sensationalism of dime novels, 10-20-30 theatre and movie melodrama into an episodic format that pitted feisty heroines against fiendish villains and their infernal machines. The plots relied more on contrivance, coincidence and convolution than continuity and character. But each instalment promised copious action and a cliffhanging climax, and serial queens like Kathlyn Williams, Grace Cunard, Ruth Roland and Pearl White became so popular that production rose from six titles in 1914 to 28 in 1920.

Coinciding with the nascent feature, American serials exploited forces of nature, technology, chase sequences and last-minute rescues to create spectacle across the generic range. Cut-price imitations were produced in Britain, Norway, Denmark, Germany, Italy and Spain. But nothing could match Louis Feuillade's Fantômas (1913), Les Vampires (1915) and Judex (1916), which introduced a sophistication and psychological depth that Hollywood made little attempt to emulate, as sound turned the chapterplay into an escapist format that was aimed primarily at Saturday matinee audiences and saw the plucky heroine being replaced by action men in jungle, aviation, espionage and crime adventures, as well as Western, science-fiction and superhero sagas.

Minor majors like Columbia and Universal and Poverty Row outfits like Republic dominated the scene. With Roy Rogers and Gene Autry among its stars and William Witney and John English as its principal directors, Republic could also call upon the services of SFX wizards Howard and Theodore Lydecker and stuntmen like Yakima Canutt to keep titles thrilling, on deadline and within budget. By contrast, Universal could splash out $250,000 on Flash Gordon (1936) and cash in by re-editing it and its sequels as features.

During the 1930s, troubleshooters like Buster Crabbe, Ralph Byrd, Tom Tyler and Kane Richmond took their roles as seriously as such cowboys as Buck Jones, Johnny Mack Brown, Ken Maynard and John Wayne. But once serialdom had finished battling the wartime Axis, brawn replaced brain and an element of camp began creeping into action increasingly dependent upon clichéd situations and stock footage. An attempt was even made to revive the imperilled heroine rubric with Frances Gifford, Kay Aldridge and Linda Sterling. But the Paramount Decrees impacted as heavily upon the serial as television and studio production ceased with Columbia's Blazing the Overland Trail (1956).

Yet the influence that chapterplays exerted on directors like George Lucas and Steven Spielberg is readily evident in the similarity between Darth Vader and The Lightning in The Fighting Devil Dogs (1938) and Indiana Jones and the eponymous hero of Don Winslow of the Navy (1942). Moreover, corporate Hollywood's enduring fixation with superheroes also has its antecedents in serials featuring Superman, Batman, Captain America, The Green Hornet, Buck Rogers and The Lone Ranger.

Over 470 serials were made in the United States between 1912-56. But production continued elsewhere in the world and the BFI has released two latterday serials aimed at younger audiences. Adapted from the much-loved books by Enid Blyton, the Famous Five twosome were sponsored by British Lion and distributed by the Children's Film Foundation.

Directed in eight episodes by Gerald Landau, Five on a Treasure Island (1957) takes several liberties with Blyton's book in order to pep up the action. However, the author thoroughly approved of the changes and even assisted in the casting of the children and witnessed some of the shooting around Corfe Castle and Lulworth Cove in Dorset.

The gist of the story remains the same. Unable to go on their usual summer holiday, Julian (Richard Palmer), Anne (Gillian Harrison) and Dick (John Baily) are packed off to Kirrin Bay to stay with their cousin Georgina (Rel Grainer) and her parents, Quentin (Peter Burton) and Margaret (Iris Russell). They are initially taken aback by their tomboyish cousin, who insists on being called George. But they are soon exploring the environs with her dog Timmy and, when the tide floats an old wreck, they discover a map indicating the whereabouts of the gold cargo that was long thought to have been lost.

Despite George being fiercely proud of Kirrin Island, Uncle Quentin has received an offer to sell it and the cousins realise they will have to work quickly if they are to find the treasure before the sale goes through. However, antique dealer Luke Undown (Robert Cawdron) has learned of the loot and joins forces with Jim (Nicholas Bruce) and Captain Zachary (Rufus Cruikshank) to thwart the Five and their fisher boy ally, Jan (John Charlesworth).

After many chases, rescues and moments of underwater derring-do, the Five win the day - with a little help from Commodore Mainbridge (Robert Dean) and his ship, The Gay Viking. No one would expect anything else. But modern audiences may be surprised by the pace of the action and the risks to which the children subjected themselves in order to vanquish the villains. Health and safety fanatics will probably blench at the pursuits along the highest points of a crumbling castle. But younger viewers may well find them exhilarating, if they can get past the rather stilted slang.

Despite the serial's success with the matinee crowd, seven years elapsed before the Children's Film Foundation returned to Kirrin Bay for Five Have a Mystery to Solve (1964), which was based on the twentieth and penultimate book in the series. This time directed in six episodes by Ernest Morris, it boasted a completely new cast (as the previous stars had grown too old - although that didn't stop the Comic Strip team from following Five Go Mad in Dorset with Five Go Mad on Mescalin in the early 1980s).

Julian (David Palmer), Anne (Paula Boyd) and Dick (Darryl Read) seem to have moved south to be nearer George (Amanda Coxell) and Timmy and they are happy to oblige family friend Mrs Layman in helping Sally the cook look after nine year-old Wilfred (Michael Wennink) in a hilltop house with a magnificent view of Whispering Island. The children learn from a sceptical Sally that there might be a stash of Crusader treasure on the island and the inquisitive Wilfred takes Timmy on a boat ride across the bay to explore.

The cousins follow when they realise their charge is missing and quickly discover that a sinister pair named Emilio (Michael Balfour) and Carlo (Robin Hunter) are up to no good. An iron door halfway down a well leads to a secret passage that pitches the children into Blaize Castle, which is owned by the irascible Sir Hugo Blaize (Keith Pyott), who refuses to believe that his servants are engaged in smuggling. However, he is soon persuaded and teams up with the intrepid visitors to nab the ne'er-do-wells who have left them to drown in the castle dungeon.

While lacking the originality and brio of its predecessor, this still makes for lively entertainment. Balfour and Hunter make particularly menacing villains, while Pyott and his minah bird, The Duke of Wellington, strike up a friendship with Wilfred, who has a rare ability to tame animals. The newcomers playing the cousins acquit themselves admirably. But even contemporary audiences might have found this a touch formulaic and bloodless compared to the 1961 Hergé adventure, Tintin and the Golden Fleece.

Scripted by André Barret and Rémio Forlani with the express support of Georges Remy - the Belgian artist who used Hergé as his nom de plume - this exciting live-action tale is directed with a sure sense of pace and place by Jean-Jacques Vierne. In terms of budget and effects, it may not be able to hold a candle to Steven Spielberg's 3-D feature, The Adventures of Tintin: The Secret of the Unicorn. But this still makes for rousing entertainment and is played with a knowing gravitas by a cast that looks as though it has stepped out of the pages of a graphic novel.

On learning that he's been left a bequest by former shipmate Paparanic, Captain Haddock (Georges Wilson) travels to Turkey with reporter Tintin (Jean-Pierre Talbot) and his faithful dog Snowy. But no sooner has Haddock taken charge of a rusty old tub named The Golden Fleece than he receives an offer from businessman Anton Karabine (Demetrios Yra) that is so generous that Haddock suspects he wants the boat for more than sentimental reasons. Undeterred by a couple of assassination attempts, Haddock and Tintin set sail for Greece to deliver the consignment of carpets that Paparanic had made a condition of the inheritance. But Tintin catches crew member Angorapoulos (Marcel Bozzuffi) rifling through Paparanic's papers and he follows the pair when they make their delivery to carpet seller Midas Papos (Darío Moreno).

Haddock and Tintin are arrested when Papos is shot. But they are sprung from prison by Interpol detectives Thomson and Thompson (who are not identified in the cast list) and uncover an old newspaper article, which reveals that Paparanic, Karabine and Papos were once involved in a coup in the Central American republic of Tetaragua. On following Angorapoulos into the hills, the friends prevent a bid to kidnap Scoubidouvitch (Dimos Starenios), the fourth member of the provisional government, who sends Haddock and Tintin to the mountain monastery where the final member of the cabal, Father Alexandre (Charles Vanel), tells them all about the gold they swindled from the Tetaraguan coffers and a map on a wine bottle label sets the pair in a desperate race against Karabine and his thugs.

The action becomes a touch more fantastical when Professor Calculus (Georges Loriot) arrives to assista Tintin and Haddock with his Super-Cuthbertoleum fuel tablets and an all-purpose pendulum that locates the gold after Tintin battles Karabine in a helicopter finale. But Vienne keeps it rattling along and not only makes the most of a neat twist, but also demonstrates the virtue of honesty in an Order of the Scarlet Cheetah ceremony in Tetaragua. Moreover, he coaxes bullish performances out of a splendid cast, in which the kung-fu kicking Talbot sets a high standard for Jamie Bell to follow next year.

Philippe Condroyer took the helm for Tintin and the Blue Oranges (1964), which included Asterix the Gaul scribe René Goscinny among its screenwriters. But while Talbot returned, the remaining principals were recast and neither Jean Bouise's Haddock nor Félix Fernández's Calculus were up to the mark. The story also falls short, but still provides enough thrills and spills to keep die-hard fans entertained.

Following a television broadcast appealing for means to end world hunger, Calculus is inundated with suggestion from across the world. However, he is most intrigued by a blue orange devised by Professor Zalamea (Ángel Álvarez), which is promptly stolen from Marlinspike Hall and Calculus, Tintin, Haddock and Snowy head for the Spanish city of Valencia to investigate.

Calculus is abducted soon after their arrival in order to work with Zalamea on a neutron bombarding device that can even ripen the blue fruit in desert conditions. However, Tintin latches onto Fernando, a sinister-looking character with a dragon tattoo, and he and Haddock follow him to a rendezvous with his boss. Unfortunately, their presence is detected and they are deposited in a grain silo and only manage to escape when Snowy throws down a rope.

Aided by opera singer Bianca Castafiore (Jenny Orléans) and a gang of street kids, Tintin and Haddock discover that Zalamea's manservant Esposito is in cahoots with the rogues and they track him down to the Emir of Sakali's yacht, which is moored in the port while Zalamea and Calculus complete their research. However, the scientists accidentally sabotage their own rescue and it's up to Snowy and Pablito (Pedro Mari Sánchez), Francesito (Salvador Beguería) and their pals to save the day.

With Franky François and André Marié providing some comic relief as Thomson and Thompson, this is always highly enjoyable. But, by confining much of the action within a single location, it lacks the exotic spectacle of most Tintin adventures. Moreover, Talbot's gung-ho heroics feel a little laboured and it's easy to see why Tintin was only seen in cartoon form for the next four decades.

Some will dispute whether the digital technology available to the makers of The Secret of the Unicorn enabled them to recapture the allure of the original source. After all, Dave Borthwick, Jean Duval and Frank Passingham seriously came a cropper with their 2005 CGI reworking of The Magic Roundabout. Yet, before dismissing all revisions, it should be remembered that Eric Thompson re-scripted Serge Danot's French-language show for the BBC and it is now possible to compare both Dougal and the Blue Cat and Pollux et le Chat Bleu in a restored version of the 1972 feature that has long been a cult favourite.

The Thompson version has Dougal waking from a troubled night and taking a ride on the Train to meet Florence. Along the way, he meets Ermintrude (the cow who blocks the track), Brian (the snail who overtakes the Train) and Dylan (the rabbit who falls asleep watching mushrooms grow). He also sees Zebedee conducting a choir of French lollipop girls, who hop on the Train and disappear to Middlesbrough, as Dougal goes in search of Florence.

She is watching Rosalie, Paul and Basil riding on Mr Rusty's roundabout and trying to make friends with Buxton, a blue cat who has found his way into their magic garden. Dougal takes an instant dislike to the stranger, who realises that Dougal had overheard his conversation in the deserted treacle factory the previous night with the Blue Voice, who has chosen Buxton to realise her dream of world domination. So, having passed the test of the seven doors in the Voice's lair, Buxton sets about imprisoning Florence and her friends in a deep dungeon and filling the garden with blue cacti.

Dougal evades capture, however, and dyes himself in order to pose as Blue Peter. He even manages to resist a trial by sugar and is rewarded with the title of prime minister. But Dougal has to survive a Mélièsian trip to the Moon before he can conquer the blue army and bring Buxton back to his senses in a winter wonderland finale.

Complete with some enchanting songs, this is an absolute delight for children of all ages - from tots to totterers. Eric Thompson's script and voice-over work are exemplary, with jokes for both adults and children. Fenella Fielding also excels as the villainously velvety Voice, while Serge Danot's visuals range from the magical to the malevolent - particularly during Buxton's passage through chambers filled with contraptions geared towards turning everyone and everything blue.

Beatle fans may question the originality of this conceit after witnessing the onslaught of the Blue Meanies in George Dunning's Yellow Submarine (1968). But both films promote togetherness regardless of colour and have a timeless faith in love and peace that should make this a hit with kids, parents and students all over again - en deux langues, aussi!

Finally this week, there's a treat for all fortysomethings in the release of all 17 episodes of Here Come the Double Deckers, which ran on the BBC from 1970-71. Following the adventures of a gang whose den was a red double-decker London bus abandoned in a disused junkyard, this had all the hallmarks of a Children's Film Foundation production, as the seven kids confounded various villains and learned lessons about life along the way. But it also had a brio and an authenticity that made it irresistible to tweenagers convinced that what Scooper (Peter Firth), Billie (Gillian Bailey), Brains (Michael Anderson), Spring (Brinsley Forde), Sticks (Bruce Clark), Doughnut (Douglas Simmonds) and Tiger (Debbie Russ) most needed was someone like them to make up the numbers.

Seen now, it's perhaps understandable why the series stopped nine episodes short of the slated 26, as the humour is decidedly lame and the performances don't always have the polish to match their enthusiasm. But some of the storylines are wonderfully inventive. In `The Case of the Missing Doughnut', the ever-hungry Doughnut becomes invisible after testing Brains's secret formula, while `Scooper Strikes Out' sees the leader of the pack dreaming he's in Wonderland with Alice (Jane Seymour) after being knocked out. The septet attempt to win a film contest in `Get a Movie On', while `The Pop Singer' sees them strive to launch The Cool Cavalier's career with a disco.

Visits to stately homes, chases round Elstree Studios and an encounter with a camping couple also have their moments, as does `Invaders from Space', in which the Double Deckers mistake an advertising stunt for an alien attack. With Melvyn Hayes acting as the gang's street-sweeping stooge, much of the fun is somewhat old-fashioned, with episodes like `Man's Best Friend' - in which they stage a charity concert to aid Guide Dogs for the Blind - harking back to the `putting on a show' musicals that MGM produced for Judy Garland and Mickey Rooney. Indeed, several instalments contain songs, as well as guest turns from such showbiz stalwarts as Clive Dunn, Betty Marsden, Hugh Paddick, Graham Stark, Pat Coombs, Sam Kydd, David Lodge and Julian Orchard.

So, while this may not have worn particularly well, it's still fascinating to see what passed for must-see children's television four decades ago. And who can resist a trip down memory lane every now and then?