While on the subject of Will Hay, I was compelled to return to 'Ask a Policeman' - an old favourite of mine. Along with 'Where's that Fire' and 'Oh, Mr Porter', it is, in my opinion, one third of Hay's top triumvirate of film.
This time, Hay and his sidekicks (the old one - Moore Marriott and the fat lad - Graham Moffatt) are useless thieving policemen in a sleepy village. After they get mixed up with a smuggling ring the film finishes in a magnificent chase through the southern English countryside into London. It is really only during this chase that any potential history appears. Obviously, Hay and friends don't depict what it was really like to be in the police force in the 1930s. Having said that though, the famous speed trap scene does encourage you to think about how traffic crime was managed before speed cameras.
The chase begins in the depths of the Home Counties, in the middle of the night. The most notable thing about these scenes is the sheer darkness. I have never seen a road as dark as those depicted in this film. At one point the smugglers turn off the lights on their lorry in an attempt to shake the policemen off. Sure enough, the lorry disappears from sight. It's so hard to imagine this. I'm sure that there are still pockets of total darkness in the UK - but I can't say that I've ever seen one. Although I'm not a one for getting out and camping in the wilds. Center Parcs is the closest I get to the great outdoors. But you can see that there are no street lights and no glow from neighbouring towns. I'll bet that this is not the case at this location now - there will probably be a permanent orange glow in the sky from the direction of London.
When the chase reaches suburban London, Hay commandeers a Routemaster bus and pursues the villains along busy streets. Here we do get some old street views - but tantalisingly few. The finale takes place at Brooklands race track in the middle of a race. I'm guessing that this must be a golden scene for vintage racing car aficionados The cars certainly look very different to F1 versions. Not that I take much notice so I'm not really qualified to comment. I find motor racing the height of stupidity - all those resources wasted in driving round in circles - barmy! Why should I struggle back from the local shops on a Saturday morning trying to be 'green' by shopping locally and leaving my car at home when F1 is allowed to happen? But I suppose I feel a little bit affectionate towards Brooklands as a lost symbol of early 20th century leisure architecture. Well, here, again just a tantalising glimpse is offered of early modern life.
Wednesday, 26 September 2012
Thursday, 20 September 2012
The Science of Laughter
While recently reading Wes Butters' fascinating biography of Charles Hawtrey - http://www.amazon.co.uk/Whatshisname-Life-Death-Charles-Hawtrey/dp/0955767075/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1348141917&sr=1-1
- I was reminded of that classic Will Hay film 'Where's that Fire (1940).' Hawtrey had a part in this film, and, according to Butters, was in awe of Hay and his intelligence. He held a respect for Hay until his days were up - a respect that he didn't give out freely. It's easy to forget just how clever Hay was; he always played the buffoon on screen with conviction. But in life, he was a noted astronomer and linguist'. So we can therefore assume that he would have had a keen grasp of mathematics as this often goes hand in hand with astronomy.
However, in 'Where's that Fire', Hay leads a mockery at those with scientific or mathematical talents. He plays a fireman, who, rather than listening out for the alarm bell, spends his time tinkering around in the cellar of the fire station. He is searching for a fire extinguisher recipe that will make him pots of cash. He accidentally finds a formula - not by hard work or equasions - but with a bottle of beer which falls into the ingredients. Hawtrey meanwhile plays a precocious schoolboy, who buzzes around their achingly funny efforts to install a pole into the fire station. He offers various mathematical answers to the problem of the wedged pole, and is met with annoyed incomprehension from Hay.
This would seem rather strange - a scientist and mathematician making fun of boffins - if you didn't get this very British humour. Self depreciation is our thing; if Hay was building up his scientific learnings we would find him obnoxious. And this film also shows that the tendancy for both boffin-baiting and self depriciation is by no means anything new. I'm reminded of so many interviews given by comedians . Whenever they are asked about the catalyst for their careers the answer is often the same. It began in the classroom to deflect attention away from something else - a physical or learning attribute. I wonder now, did Will Hay become such a successful comedy act in film, and before that in music hall, to deflect unwelcome comments about his other talents? Was it only the comedy success that gave him the confidence to openly pursue his astronomy? Has there always been a tendency within us to poke fun at those whose knowledge far outstrips our own?
Hay was a true genius who excelled in both his entertainment and scientific careers. Unfortunately, Hawtrey died a bitter man, who felt completely unfilfilled and that his true talents had been ignored. He did have talent but never took it to its potential. The reason? I think that it is because he was unable to laugh at himself - whereas Hay succeeded because he could see situations from other angles - not just the self.
- I was reminded of that classic Will Hay film 'Where's that Fire (1940).' Hawtrey had a part in this film, and, according to Butters, was in awe of Hay and his intelligence. He held a respect for Hay until his days were up - a respect that he didn't give out freely. It's easy to forget just how clever Hay was; he always played the buffoon on screen with conviction. But in life, he was a noted astronomer and linguist'. So we can therefore assume that he would have had a keen grasp of mathematics as this often goes hand in hand with astronomy.
However, in 'Where's that Fire', Hay leads a mockery at those with scientific or mathematical talents. He plays a fireman, who, rather than listening out for the alarm bell, spends his time tinkering around in the cellar of the fire station. He is searching for a fire extinguisher recipe that will make him pots of cash. He accidentally finds a formula - not by hard work or equasions - but with a bottle of beer which falls into the ingredients. Hawtrey meanwhile plays a precocious schoolboy, who buzzes around their achingly funny efforts to install a pole into the fire station. He offers various mathematical answers to the problem of the wedged pole, and is met with annoyed incomprehension from Hay.
This would seem rather strange - a scientist and mathematician making fun of boffins - if you didn't get this very British humour. Self depreciation is our thing; if Hay was building up his scientific learnings we would find him obnoxious. And this film also shows that the tendancy for both boffin-baiting and self depriciation is by no means anything new. I'm reminded of so many interviews given by comedians . Whenever they are asked about the catalyst for their careers the answer is often the same. It began in the classroom to deflect attention away from something else - a physical or learning attribute. I wonder now, did Will Hay become such a successful comedy act in film, and before that in music hall, to deflect unwelcome comments about his other talents? Was it only the comedy success that gave him the confidence to openly pursue his astronomy? Has there always been a tendency within us to poke fun at those whose knowledge far outstrips our own?
Hay was a true genius who excelled in both his entertainment and scientific careers. Unfortunately, Hawtrey died a bitter man, who felt completely unfilfilled and that his true talents had been ignored. He did have talent but never took it to its potential. The reason? I think that it is because he was unable to laugh at himself - whereas Hay succeeded because he could see situations from other angles - not just the self.
Monday, 10 September 2012
The Sleepers Sleep
A recent trawl of You Tube brought up an ancient film called 'The Ghost Train' (1941). Based on a play by Arnold Ridley (better known as Dad's Army's Private Godfrey, he of the sister Dolly) the film stars Arthur Askey in a particularly irritating turn as a music hall comedian en route to the summer season in Newquay. After Askey's character pulls the communication cord in order to retrieve a lost hat; a handful of passengers miss a connection at a lonely Cornish junction. They face an overnight wait for the next train that will enable them to complete their journeys . The sinister looking Stationmaster (who seems vaguely familiar, I think from one of Will Hay's films) tells them that there is nowhere to stay for the night. The nearest village is apparently four miles away and the only option is to walk.
Anyone familiar with the modern UK rail system might find this a little far-fetched - a station four miles from where anyone lives? This is virtually unknown today, perhaps with a couple of exceptions on the West Highland or Settle and Carlisle line. But, in the pre-Beeching era, stations like this did exist more regularly. Quite often, they would take the name of the nearest settlement and follow it up with 'Road', to signify that a further journey would be needed to get there.
To find the reason why these lonely stations existed, you could do worse than refer to a small volume called 'John Betjeman on Trains'. Edited and commentated by architectural critic, rail enthusiast and posh boy totty Jonathan Glancey, the book contains a small selection of letters written by Betjeman about trains.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/John-Betjeman-Trains-Jonathan-Glancey/dp/0413776123
It can be gleaned from this little treasure trove of information that there were two reasons why a railway station might exist in such a neglected spot. The third letter published was written in 1962 and concerns the Somerset and Dorset railway, perhaps one the most delightful lines that I have never seen. How I long to change trains at Evercreech Junction. I have such a soft spot for the S&D - not only did Betjeman love it, it joins two most glorious counties. Somerset, land of my forebears. And then Dorset, the county with the most delightfully silly village names in Britain - the entertainment value of which are only surpassed by the beauty of the landscape. I've passed many a happy time poring over OS maps of the county and having a good laugh. Anyway, Betjeman's letter makes clear that the S&D was built 'speculatively, hoping to build up passenger and freight traffic that never materialised.' The letter states:
'And no doubt the S&D directors thought, when they built their stations alone on Sedgemoor - Shapwick, Bason Bridge and the like - that there would grow up around them thriving communities.' (p28)
But the communities never came. The S&D was a calculated risk, that just didn't come off. So when railway mania hit Britain, many lines and stations were built that never made any money. Most went either under Dr Beeching, or even before he weilded his scythe.
The other reason for these underused stations is simply landowner opposition. In a Victorian Version of Farmer Palmer, many snobbish and insular local gentry called out "Get orf my laand" when the surveyors came calling. They didn't want anything so common as a steam engine spoiling the view, rattling the china and curdling the milk. So the railway engineers had no choice but to divert around the boundaries of the gentry's estates. (Contrast this with all those poor people's dwellings which were swept away in the cities without a second thought.) To support this, the final letter in 'John Betjeman on Trains' concerns Bodmin Road, which has mercifully survived as Bodmin Parkway (we still have out of town stations called Parkways, but these now generally connect with some other form of transport such as airports). In his letter, Betjeman dreams about an alternative life at the station. Glancey provides us with more information in his commentary. He tells us that:
'Such was the snobbery concerning railways coming to town - coupled to a real fear of the smoking, snorting train - that local land owners refused to allow tracks into Bodmin itself.' (pp109-110)
These are the quirks that make the history of our railways so appealing, but also I'm afraid sent us down the Beeching route. Unfortunately, he pruned the branches far harder then he should have done, and I think that only in recent years have the blooms showed any signs of coming back. Closed routes are starting to open again. I'd like to add my voice here to the call for the Woodhead route to be re-opened across the Pennines, if only for freight. There's recently been a very interesting series on the campaign for Woodhead in recent issues of the Great Central Railway Society's journal.
'The Ghost Train' is an apt title for a film about an underused station, because so many of them are now only visited by the ghosts of people's memories and imaginations. Lets' replace some of these with real trains again.
Anyone familiar with the modern UK rail system might find this a little far-fetched - a station four miles from where anyone lives? This is virtually unknown today, perhaps with a couple of exceptions on the West Highland or Settle and Carlisle line. But, in the pre-Beeching era, stations like this did exist more regularly. Quite often, they would take the name of the nearest settlement and follow it up with 'Road', to signify that a further journey would be needed to get there.
To find the reason why these lonely stations existed, you could do worse than refer to a small volume called 'John Betjeman on Trains'. Edited and commentated by architectural critic, rail enthusiast and posh boy totty Jonathan Glancey, the book contains a small selection of letters written by Betjeman about trains.
http://www.amazon.co.uk/John-Betjeman-Trains-Jonathan-Glancey/dp/0413776123
It can be gleaned from this little treasure trove of information that there were two reasons why a railway station might exist in such a neglected spot. The third letter published was written in 1962 and concerns the Somerset and Dorset railway, perhaps one the most delightful lines that I have never seen. How I long to change trains at Evercreech Junction. I have such a soft spot for the S&D - not only did Betjeman love it, it joins two most glorious counties. Somerset, land of my forebears. And then Dorset, the county with the most delightfully silly village names in Britain - the entertainment value of which are only surpassed by the beauty of the landscape. I've passed many a happy time poring over OS maps of the county and having a good laugh. Anyway, Betjeman's letter makes clear that the S&D was built 'speculatively, hoping to build up passenger and freight traffic that never materialised.' The letter states:
'And no doubt the S&D directors thought, when they built their stations alone on Sedgemoor - Shapwick, Bason Bridge and the like - that there would grow up around them thriving communities.' (p28)
But the communities never came. The S&D was a calculated risk, that just didn't come off. So when railway mania hit Britain, many lines and stations were built that never made any money. Most went either under Dr Beeching, or even before he weilded his scythe.
The other reason for these underused stations is simply landowner opposition. In a Victorian Version of Farmer Palmer, many snobbish and insular local gentry called out "Get orf my laand" when the surveyors came calling. They didn't want anything so common as a steam engine spoiling the view, rattling the china and curdling the milk. So the railway engineers had no choice but to divert around the boundaries of the gentry's estates. (Contrast this with all those poor people's dwellings which were swept away in the cities without a second thought.) To support this, the final letter in 'John Betjeman on Trains' concerns Bodmin Road, which has mercifully survived as Bodmin Parkway (we still have out of town stations called Parkways, but these now generally connect with some other form of transport such as airports). In his letter, Betjeman dreams about an alternative life at the station. Glancey provides us with more information in his commentary. He tells us that:
'Such was the snobbery concerning railways coming to town - coupled to a real fear of the smoking, snorting train - that local land owners refused to allow tracks into Bodmin itself.' (pp109-110)
These are the quirks that make the history of our railways so appealing, but also I'm afraid sent us down the Beeching route. Unfortunately, he pruned the branches far harder then he should have done, and I think that only in recent years have the blooms showed any signs of coming back. Closed routes are starting to open again. I'd like to add my voice here to the call for the Woodhead route to be re-opened across the Pennines, if only for freight. There's recently been a very interesting series on the campaign for Woodhead in recent issues of the Great Central Railway Society's journal.
'The Ghost Train' is an apt title for a film about an underused station, because so many of them are now only visited by the ghosts of people's memories and imaginations. Lets' replace some of these with real trains again.
Tuesday, 28 August 2012
A High Rise Tale
In
my previous post I mentioned Battersea Power Station. I’m a fan of this building and in general I
find 20th Century architecture appealing. I don’t know if this is in any way connected
with my appreciation for John Betjeman, one of the last century’s most famous
architectural enthusiasts. Did his
poetry inspire me, or do I like his poetry because he writes about buildings so
well? Who knows? We do disagree on some things. I actually rather like the 1930s “Tudorbethan”
houses that he so often rails against. I
think that they demonstrate the mentality of the time when they were built – as
the country spiralled its way into World War Two and battled through
depression, people needed to hark back to English supremacy and daring knights
and their castles.
Betjeman
was a founder member of the Thirties Society, which later became the 20th
Century Society. I am a member of the
society, although I just hang around the periphery, not quite confident enough
to join in. I’d like to study the
subject academically, but unfortunately time does not permit me such frivolous
pursuits. Instead I have to learn what I
can from the 20th Century Society journal and those wonderful
information-tardis books from Shire Publications.
To
finally get around to the subject of this blog, you can also get a good look at
architecture in some old films. Those
set in contemporary London – such as ‘Up the Junction’ – often give some good
panoramic shots of the capital with iconic buildings and bridges to help you
get your bearings. Some early films give
you a glimpse of what the capital looked like before the Luftwaffe did their
work, some show you what streets were like before some equally damaging post
war redevelopment.
One
aspect of 20th century architecture that I am increasingly drawn to
looking at on film is the high rise flat.
This is probably because my life started out in one; it is where my
earliest memories are. I spent five or
six years living near the top of a block on one of Sheffield’s several high
rise developments. Unfortunately, I didn’t
live in Park Hill – that famous set of flats now listed by English Heritage and
the subject of many an academic article and documentary. What an architectural claim to fame that
would be. Our block was further along
that same hillside, and looked out over a similar panorama. Our flats were demolished around twelve years
ago to make way for an estate of two storey houses – it is strange to think
that my first memories took place in what is now a patch of sky. This whole replacing of the streets in the
sky with ‘normal’ houses, after a working life of less than half a century, is
a sure indication that such developments were a failure. I agree- despite my nostalgic tendencies to
look for them on film. I remember the lifts
that stank – and sometimes didn’t work leaving my Mum to get toddler me and the
shopping up thirteen flights of stairs.
I also remember having no other children of my age on our landing to play
with, and a trip to the playground being such a hassle from so far up. But I also have little nostalgic memories of
seeing a magnificent thunderstorm rage across the city from the best vantage
point, and watching Dad’s car weave its way home from work.
I
can think of two films that show high rise living from a contemporary view. Firstly, I remember watching ‘The Likely Lads’
film one lazy evening a few months ago.
A spin off from the TV series of the same name, it was filmed around
Tyneside in 1976 – the same time that I was living the high rise life. It stars James Bolam as Terry, a “bit of a
lad” and his middle class aspirational friend Bob (Rodney Bewes). While Bob lives in suburbia, Terry lives in a
flat. While Terry enjoys his home as
being better than the slums that they replaced, it is clear that his abode is a
step down from Bob’s proper house. Bob
moves in with Terry for a while – a definite step down. Bob’s loss of privacy is emphasised with even
the milkman watching the comings and goings and drawing his own
conclusions. One of the most difficult
things that the British found with flat-life is the lack of a sense of
ownership and privacy. Without a garden
and a fence to delineate our boundaries we are just not comfortable. We don’t even like sharing our driveways,
never mind walkways, lifts and balconies – often poorly designed ones at
that. In this film I’m reminded of how
we aspired to a proper house, and were elated when the council offered us a brand
new one on a new estate.
Another
spin off film from this period is ‘Steptoe and Son’ (1972). During the course of this, Harold (Harry H
Corbett) enters a block of flats while on his rag and bone rounds in
London. The fact that he is shunned by residents
serves to emphasise just how low he has sunk at this point of the film. Even high rise dwellers don’t want him. It is also interesting to compare different
styles of architecture between the two films – one with covered walkways and
the other with the street in the sky open to the elements.
I
shall be looking out for more high rise films to compare and contrast with
these two.
Friday, 10 August 2012
A Thirst For Knowledge
From Waterloo, lets have a chug down the line to Clapham Junction. I've been watching the 1968 film 'Up the Junction' which is available on You Tube. I don't think that I have ever seen this film before but I was interested to see it, what with the railway reference and it being the inspiration behind a song by one of my favourite lyricists - Squeeze's Chris Difford. I also presume that the content of the film had some influence over the Pulp anthem 'Common People', Jarvis Cocker being another fine example of a lyricist who can spin a good story during the course of a short pop song. In fact, listen to their sublime album 'Different Class' and you can hear shades of 'Up the Junction' spun throughout it.
The film has a lot to recommend it: starring roles from 1980s TV favourites Dennis Waterman and Maureen Lipman; images of 1960s Southern Region suburban stock; and a view of the now sterile Battersea Power Station puthering smoke from its iconic chimneys. The story focuses on Polly, a posh girl from over the river who wants to live like common people, to borrow one of Jarvis' phrases. For some reason, that we are not really given any insight into, she's unhappy being a member of the monied classes. She thinks that that they are not "real." So, she gets a job packing lollies in Battersea, makes some new friends, rents a hovel of a flat and gets mixed up with local boy Pete. Polly is given a dose of reality alright - she helps one of her new friends through a back street abortion, witnesses a fatal motorbike collision, gets a taste of domestic violence as street entertainment and experiences the daily grind of life in a factory with some rather rowdy work colleagues.
While watching on You Tube, I had a scroll down to some of the comments. I don't always like reading internet comments because it can temporarily destroy my faith in human nature. The comments under this film were no exception. The first comment was a mini polemic about how the film showed how wonderful London used to be before modern life took hold. Really? It seems that if some people had their way then we would return to a life that may have some nice imagery for us to look back on, but in reality was nasty, brutish and short for most of us. Oh yes, I thought, do lets go back to marrying the first person that you like the look of, then finding out that they're abusive and you can't afford to divorce them so you're stuck with them. Lets go back to marriage being almost compulsory, such were the pressures of society. And please please let's go back to a lack of sex education/female empowerment leading to pregnancy leading to an illegal abortion and nearly dying in agony. Sounds marvellous. Of course, that old chestnut immigration came up on the You Tube comments - as it always seems to. Apparently immigrants have changed everything that was good in London. So, it transpires, we need to send everyone back from whence they came. As anyone with a passing interest in history would realise, if we followed that idea to the letter then we would be left with, ooh, a bloke on a Welsh mountain somewhere. I'd have to move back to Hanover I think. Now, I like their nice reliable cars, but I can't speak much German. It could be tricky.
Any road up. These comments, in a way, support the overall message of the film. And that is simply the old saying that the grass always seems greener on the other side. But in reality, life is never without its problems. These internet trolls are harking back to an imagined world which they never knew and in doing so are missing the point of the film completely. Polly is the embodiment of the greener grass seeker by physically crossing the Thames and trying to work for her living, using only her factory wages instead of Daddy's money. But in the end, it's not much fun. The most telling scene is when she shows her new friends her flat, which she has furnished from a second hand shop. They can barely contain their disgust and amusement as they tell her that their mother threw stuff like that out. Their mother replaced it with modern furniture on the never-never and they tell Polly where she might find some. They all want what Polly can so easily have, and they can't understand whey she doesn't want it. Meanwhile, Pete's attempts to lead a richer life land him in prison. He tells Polly the reason why everyone with no money do the football pools. Money appears to be the answer to all their troubles, yet she thinks that it is the cause of all hers.
This is proof that our aspirations have always been thus. It is a lesson in human nature, the reason why poor people spend their last pound on a lottery ticket, while rich people furnish their houses in the "shabby chic farm labourers cottage" style. Personally, I watched 'Up the Junction' and came away quite satisfied with my 21st Century lifestyle...though if I could just pay off the mortgage I'd be able to watch more old films...
The film has a lot to recommend it: starring roles from 1980s TV favourites Dennis Waterman and Maureen Lipman; images of 1960s Southern Region suburban stock; and a view of the now sterile Battersea Power Station puthering smoke from its iconic chimneys. The story focuses on Polly, a posh girl from over the river who wants to live like common people, to borrow one of Jarvis' phrases. For some reason, that we are not really given any insight into, she's unhappy being a member of the monied classes. She thinks that that they are not "real." So, she gets a job packing lollies in Battersea, makes some new friends, rents a hovel of a flat and gets mixed up with local boy Pete. Polly is given a dose of reality alright - she helps one of her new friends through a back street abortion, witnesses a fatal motorbike collision, gets a taste of domestic violence as street entertainment and experiences the daily grind of life in a factory with some rather rowdy work colleagues.
While watching on You Tube, I had a scroll down to some of the comments. I don't always like reading internet comments because it can temporarily destroy my faith in human nature. The comments under this film were no exception. The first comment was a mini polemic about how the film showed how wonderful London used to be before modern life took hold. Really? It seems that if some people had their way then we would return to a life that may have some nice imagery for us to look back on, but in reality was nasty, brutish and short for most of us. Oh yes, I thought, do lets go back to marrying the first person that you like the look of, then finding out that they're abusive and you can't afford to divorce them so you're stuck with them. Lets go back to marriage being almost compulsory, such were the pressures of society. And please please let's go back to a lack of sex education/female empowerment leading to pregnancy leading to an illegal abortion and nearly dying in agony. Sounds marvellous. Of course, that old chestnut immigration came up on the You Tube comments - as it always seems to. Apparently immigrants have changed everything that was good in London. So, it transpires, we need to send everyone back from whence they came. As anyone with a passing interest in history would realise, if we followed that idea to the letter then we would be left with, ooh, a bloke on a Welsh mountain somewhere. I'd have to move back to Hanover I think. Now, I like their nice reliable cars, but I can't speak much German. It could be tricky.
Any road up. These comments, in a way, support the overall message of the film. And that is simply the old saying that the grass always seems greener on the other side. But in reality, life is never without its problems. These internet trolls are harking back to an imagined world which they never knew and in doing so are missing the point of the film completely. Polly is the embodiment of the greener grass seeker by physically crossing the Thames and trying to work for her living, using only her factory wages instead of Daddy's money. But in the end, it's not much fun. The most telling scene is when she shows her new friends her flat, which she has furnished from a second hand shop. They can barely contain their disgust and amusement as they tell her that their mother threw stuff like that out. Their mother replaced it with modern furniture on the never-never and they tell Polly where she might find some. They all want what Polly can so easily have, and they can't understand whey she doesn't want it. Meanwhile, Pete's attempts to lead a richer life land him in prison. He tells Polly the reason why everyone with no money do the football pools. Money appears to be the answer to all their troubles, yet she thinks that it is the cause of all hers.
This is proof that our aspirations have always been thus. It is a lesson in human nature, the reason why poor people spend their last pound on a lottery ticket, while rich people furnish their houses in the "shabby chic farm labourers cottage" style. Personally, I watched 'Up the Junction' and came away quite satisfied with my 21st Century lifestyle...though if I could just pay off the mortgage I'd be able to watch more old films...
Thursday, 2 August 2012
Second Class (citizen) Return to Waterloo
After my little sojourn with Sykes, I'm just popping back to 'Waterloo Road' with John Mills. Reading Jessica Mann's book, "The Fifties Mystique" just after watching this film highlighted its role in the propaganda of the time. Tilly (Joy Shelton) is verging on straying from her husband (John Mills). We are given a reason for her dissatisfaction with her marriage. Her husband has failed to fulfil her desire to have a family before going off to war. She has, apparently, nothing to focus on. It is implicit that if she were fulfilling her natural maternal urges, then she wouldn't be threatening to do unnatural things with Stewart Granger. And towards the end of the film, she has been forgiven and there is a baby in a pram. This is the happy ending. The final scene sees the doctor (Alistair Sim) delivering a speech in support of children.
From our perspective this is old fashioned and sentimental. But there is more to it than sentiment. Jessica Mann tells us on pp 28-30 of her book:
Women had worked during the war whether they liked it or not...(But when it was all over) Not only did society need jobs for the boys on their return from war service, but the economy needed women to have time to go shopping.
And how to get them back into the home? Play on their maternal instincts that lead to such readiness to accept guilt and to do what everyone else says is for the best.
The biological imperative seemed unanswerable...and if there is to be a nation in the future, there must be children and children mean homes and endless chores.
Running a family and working were seen as completely incompatible. If any women out there were wavering, hankering after wages and freedom, this film is patently designed to tell them where their place is and their true vocation. Men are being warned that if they don't go home and impregnate their wives (or marry their girlfriends and then go straight on to fulfilling that obligation) then their women will doubtless do something wicked and it will be all their own fault! Worrying about bringing more cannon fodder into the world, or feeding another mouth on the meagre post war rations could not be countenanced.
Alistair Sim's final speech pretty much lays it on the line. He might as well turn to the camera and say "Come on ladies! Fertilise an egg today!" Unfortunately, Mann also tells us that a large proportion of this film's 1945 audience would be a bit hazy on how they should fulfil this obligation. I doubt that particular sort of film was on the Gaumont circuit that week.
From our perspective this is old fashioned and sentimental. But there is more to it than sentiment. Jessica Mann tells us on pp 28-30 of her book:
Women had worked during the war whether they liked it or not...(But when it was all over) Not only did society need jobs for the boys on their return from war service, but the economy needed women to have time to go shopping.
And how to get them back into the home? Play on their maternal instincts that lead to such readiness to accept guilt and to do what everyone else says is for the best.
The biological imperative seemed unanswerable...and if there is to be a nation in the future, there must be children and children mean homes and endless chores.
Running a family and working were seen as completely incompatible. If any women out there were wavering, hankering after wages and freedom, this film is patently designed to tell them where their place is and their true vocation. Men are being warned that if they don't go home and impregnate their wives (or marry their girlfriends and then go straight on to fulfilling that obligation) then their women will doubtless do something wicked and it will be all their own fault! Worrying about bringing more cannon fodder into the world, or feeding another mouth on the meagre post war rations could not be countenanced.
Alistair Sim's final speech pretty much lays it on the line. He might as well turn to the camera and say "Come on ladies! Fertilise an egg today!" Unfortunately, Mann also tells us that a large proportion of this film's 1945 audience would be a bit hazy on how they should fulfil this obligation. I doubt that particular sort of film was on the Gaumont circuit that week.
Saturday, 21 July 2012
Bin and Gone
The passing of Eric Sykes earlier this month was a melancholy day. Sykes is an integral part of British comedy heritage. He had a hand in many of the best loved radio and television comedies of the mid 20th Century. For me, it was his partnership with Hattie Jacques in his eponymous television programme that stood out as the best of his work. Particularly the episode guest starring Peter Sellers. But on hearing of his death, my thoughts turned to 'The Plank', a short film that once seemed to be a Saturday afternoon staple. I hoped that the BBC would show it as a tribute, but if they did it passed me by. So, I presume along with many others, I turned to You Tube to watch him in action again.
This almost silent film shows Sykes' blend of scholarly comedy at its best. By scholarly I mean that he put a great deal of thought and theory into his work. It wasn't, as it could easily have been, plain old slapstick with reams of people being smacked over the head with a length of wood. I think that I read in his autobiography ("If I don't write it, nobody else will" - a title which never fails to make me smile) that he believed that true comedy was not man slips on banana skin and falls over. That's just too obvious. Rather, comedy is when man steps to one side to avoid banana skin and then walks confidently on straight into a lamppost. So, all kinds of scenarios ensue in 'The Plank' as the piece of wood takes a journey through London streets in the late 1960s.
Watching the film again was a real trip down the back alleys of my memory, taking me back to Saturday afternoons in the 1980s, when it would be used as a filler, or a replacement when the sport was called off due to bad weather. Being on the look out for snippets of history I was also taken back by the car types, many of which were still on the road when I was young. One particular vehicle and its operators opened up a whole avenue of reminiscence - and that was the dustbin lorry. How things have changed in the collection of household refuse in the past 40 years. Before wheelie bins and their myriad rules and regulations about when to put it out, where to leave it, what should be in it etc we had proper collections. I remember the round metal bin with black rubber lid that was emptied weekly. The binmen would come to your back yard, pick the bin up on their shoulder and carry it to be emptied into the lorry. This service was more human and flexible - especially near Christmas when there was chance of a tip! But we don't even know our binmen anymore. I never even see my bin being emptied, never mind knowing the people who do it. That's when I can get my head round when I should be putting it out.
I presume that the main reason for this change is the increase in rubbish. In the 1960s there wasn't nearly so much packaging on our foods. Or on anything else for that matter. Whatever you buy now comes wrapped in cellophane, cardboard, polystyrene and bubble wrap. Binmen simply couldn't carry a modern binful. But it's a shame that we have lost the human contact element - one more move towards isolation of the individual.
I could go on about how 'The Plank' portrays late 1960s society. What a legacy Sykes has left us with that short film, indeed with all his work. He was a national treasure, and an undervalued one. I hope to look at more of his work again in the future and to remember this comedy great - and apparently very nice man too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2RoudtrVv8
This almost silent film shows Sykes' blend of scholarly comedy at its best. By scholarly I mean that he put a great deal of thought and theory into his work. It wasn't, as it could easily have been, plain old slapstick with reams of people being smacked over the head with a length of wood. I think that I read in his autobiography ("If I don't write it, nobody else will" - a title which never fails to make me smile) that he believed that true comedy was not man slips on banana skin and falls over. That's just too obvious. Rather, comedy is when man steps to one side to avoid banana skin and then walks confidently on straight into a lamppost. So, all kinds of scenarios ensue in 'The Plank' as the piece of wood takes a journey through London streets in the late 1960s.
Watching the film again was a real trip down the back alleys of my memory, taking me back to Saturday afternoons in the 1980s, when it would be used as a filler, or a replacement when the sport was called off due to bad weather. Being on the look out for snippets of history I was also taken back by the car types, many of which were still on the road when I was young. One particular vehicle and its operators opened up a whole avenue of reminiscence - and that was the dustbin lorry. How things have changed in the collection of household refuse in the past 40 years. Before wheelie bins and their myriad rules and regulations about when to put it out, where to leave it, what should be in it etc we had proper collections. I remember the round metal bin with black rubber lid that was emptied weekly. The binmen would come to your back yard, pick the bin up on their shoulder and carry it to be emptied into the lorry. This service was more human and flexible - especially near Christmas when there was chance of a tip! But we don't even know our binmen anymore. I never even see my bin being emptied, never mind knowing the people who do it. That's when I can get my head round when I should be putting it out.
I presume that the main reason for this change is the increase in rubbish. In the 1960s there wasn't nearly so much packaging on our foods. Or on anything else for that matter. Whatever you buy now comes wrapped in cellophane, cardboard, polystyrene and bubble wrap. Binmen simply couldn't carry a modern binful. But it's a shame that we have lost the human contact element - one more move towards isolation of the individual.
I could go on about how 'The Plank' portrays late 1960s society. What a legacy Sykes has left us with that short film, indeed with all his work. He was a national treasure, and an undervalued one. I hope to look at more of his work again in the future and to remember this comedy great - and apparently very nice man too.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H2RoudtrVv8
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