Fragment #13: 1967 - Cliff Richard versus Paul Jones

James F. Collier's 1967 film Two a Penny stars Cliff Richard as Jamie, a troubled soul whose experience of his increasingly 'dangerous' world causes him to question the meaning of his own existence. Steven Shorter, the character played by Paul Jones in Privilege, directed by Peter Watkins and released the same year, is another troubled soul living in an equally 'dangerous' but very different world and is someone else finally forced to question the meaning of his own existence. In terms of intellectual intention and directorial desire, the two films are obviously worlds, poles and systems apart but a closer, more detailed viewing of each allows the case to be made for them to be viewed as deliciously inverted versions of each other - two sides of the same cinematic coin. That this may be true is in no small part due to the various ways in which both films present the performance of each crisis as it unfolds, as well as the more obvious questions that both Two a Penny and Privilege raise in relation to ideas (and fears) of organised religion, the cult of celebrity and the various forms of manipulation that inform, design and decide both of these things.

Cool It Carol! (Pete Walker, 1970)

Cool it Carol! contrasts two images of London belonging to two different generic representations – the ‘Swinging’ London of 1960s British cinema (‘This is what I thought it would be like,’ says Carol as they nearly get run over by a London bus) and the vice-ridden London of sexploitation. Carol and Joe (Robin Askwith) travel to London in search of the former and, instead, find the latter.

Leon Hunt, British Low Culture: From Safari Suits to Sexploitation (London, Routledge, 1998), p. 101.

[Cool it Carol!] develops an ambiguous and unsettling moral vision. Aptly described by David McGillivray as ‘a glossy and entertaining morality tale’ and a ‘stylish and attractively witty film of our times,’ the film simultaneously exploits and exposes the commodification of sexuality.

Jim Leach, British Film (Cambridge University Press, 2004), p. 134.

The final section of Cool it Carol! doesn’t quite know where to go, dissolving in a sea of jokey Keeler/Profumo references and retreating from its extraordinary middle section. […] This lack of a punitive or morally educative ending annoyed the The Daily Mirror’s Dick Richards: ‘Mr Walker, do you really believe that this ‘happy’ ending pays off for all the nudity, sex and trashy innuendo in your film? Who are you trying to kid?’ (19 November 1970).

Leon Hunt, p. 103

On Boots, Suits and Being Bored: Fragments 4 and 5

Fragment 4
As Bronco Bullfrog unfolds Del meets Irene and they begin to go out together. There is a wonderful sequence where Del comes to Irene's block of flats on his motorbike to take her out for the evening. The early steps of this sequence are beautifully lit in a natural way and the frames are filled with sunlight. Del and Irene walk out of the shadows and into this light. Whilst I can make no claims for this very simple movement from darkness to light to be suggesting that something life-changing is about to happen but I do read it in terms of hope and optimism. If nothing else, this simple movement is at least suggestive of something positive. (There is also a connection between this movement and the white coat Irene is wearing, a garment that also hints at something possibly hopeful or hopefully possible. The coat is too plain to be glamorous and in any case glamorous would not be appropriate here. Nevertheless, its angled front pocket, large buttons and v-neck front mark the garment as something more than simply functional. It is a date after all).
Fragment 5
'Where we going?' Irene asks. 'Up the West End', Del replies. 'That your bike?' 'Yeah'. The dialogue here is simple but beautifully balanced, expressing the awkwardness of a first date capably within the limits of the actors' abilities whilst also sounding deliberately underwhelmed. The idea of being underwhelmed is significant here because it plays its part in the remarkable way in which the whole film manages to sustain and somehow celebrate this idea across its entire length. The lives of these characters are extremely underwhelming and as a consequence the film itself can appear to be similar. Yet, a form of cinema that celebrates the notmuchness of life is applauded elsewhere so why shouldn't this film be similarly lauded for exploring the boring and the unexciting. For most of us the world turns just too slowly and tightly and allows only simple glimpses of situations and circumstances instead of providing extended views of our own lives. Bronco Bullfrog is a simple glimpse in a similar way.

Bronco Bullfrog - Sam Shepard

  

Bronco Bullfrog himself, played by Sam Shepard, a petty criminal idolised by the other boys, turns out to be little more than an inept and contact-less criminal who cannot sell the goods he has stolen - ‘a beefy borstal escapee’, according to Alexander Walker, ‘whose room bulges with loot from hijack jobs that he hasn’t a notion how to convert into ready cash.’

Alexander Walker, National Heroes: British Cinema in the Seventies and Eighties (London, Harrap, 1985), p. 221

Robin Askwith, The Confessions of Robin Askwith (London, Ebury Press, 1999)

Friday 1^st May 1981

I have been offered a considerable amount of money to do 16 weeks in Jersey, UK with ‘Confessions from a Health Farm’, as a summer season. I have also been offered considerably less to appear in Lindsay Anderson’s new film, ‘Britannia Hospital’, playing the same character I played in ‘If …’.

     I phoned Lindsay up. He was most amused.

     ‘Jersey sounds interesting, Robin, what’s the play?’

     Knowing full well what the bloody play was.

     ‘Er … well, it’s ‘Confessions from a Health Farm’, actually.’

     ‘Who wrote that? I can’t remember.’

     ‘Well I did.’

‘I see … now you do know that some people shop at Harrods and some at Woolworths.’

Robin Askwith, The Confessions of Robin Askwith (London, Ebury Press, 1999), pp. 166-167

Alexander Walker on Stardust (Michael Apted, 1974)

[Stardust] acted as a purgative for the Sixties: out came all the hard home-truths in dialogue as briskly paced as it was deeply scathing. There was not a jot of sympathy for any particular devil. For this reason, and against these times, it was a much more important picture than That’ll Be the Day. The earlier film had been about innocence and temptation: this one was about manipulation and exorcism.

Alexander Walker, National Heroes: British Cinema in the Seventies and Eighties (London, Harrap, 1985), p. 76

Robin Wood 1931-2009

As a tribute to one of the key influences on my writing about film to date and the major source of inspiration for my next project I want to say something about Robin Wood. Rather than write a lengthy post I simply want to list a few words that I will always associate with the man and his writing:

Responsibility - Critic - Explore - Value - Personal - Experience - Engagement - Vital - Contact - Questioning - Response