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‘Vote for Huggett’ (1949) picks up where ‘Here Come The Huggetts’ left off. Britain’s favourite post war family are continuing to live happily in their suburban semi.  Mr Huggett (Jack Warner) has a good job.  Mrs Huggett (Kathleen Harrison) continues to muddle her way cheerily through life, taking care and pride in her family. The eldest daughter and the flighty niece (Diana Dors) are married off.  The second daughter is gainfully employed and the baby of the family is still Petula Clark, thank goodness.

Before I go any further, I must say how much I adore Kathleen Harrison in this film. As in ‘Here Come the Huggetts’ I believe that it is her talent rather than Jack’s that carries the film. She is side-splitting, and as with any actress of her calibre it is all done in a deceptively easy looking way. Just an expression at the right moment is enough to set you off.  Just watch the scene with the knickers near the beginning.

Jack by @aitchteee

Kathleen by @aitchteee

‘Vote for Huggett’ charts Mr Huggett’s foray into local politics. The adventure begins with a simple letter. Mr H decides that he wishes to share his opinion that their home town needs a lido (which they all pronounce “lee-doh” throughout – is this an old way of pronounciation or have I been saying it wrong? I always thought it was “lie-doh”) so he writes a letter to the local newspaper. They publish it, and it all kicks off.  The whole town sees it and comments on it – to each member of the family. People are in agreement, and the next thing you know, Mr H is being cajoled to stand for councillor.

If you are into politics, there is probably quite a lot of historical stuff that you could get out of this.  But the stand out thing for me was the power of a letter to the local newspaper, and the numbers of people who see it. Local papers are dying now.  We have seen them lose their grip in this generation. I used to buy them – but I no longer see them as something worth spending so much money on.  Prices have rocketed up and content has shrunk – and we already know much of it anyway through various internet portals. I even baulk at accessing the websites of our local papers – they are so weighed down with the advertising that they need to cover their costs that the pages take about a month to load and then jump all over the place. Local papers are obviously fighting for life- and who would see a letter that was printed in one these days?

In this respect, this film is a hark back to slower times, when information trickled out into the community rather than vomited a technicolour-headache- inducing mix of rumours, gossip and incident.  There is no going back, except in a Huggett induced reverie.

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Wicked Women

‘The Weak and the Wicked’ (1954) has joined my list of must-see films. It stars Glynis Johns as a well-heeled lady who comes a-cropper due to her addiction to gambling. Her debts land her with a prison sentence of 12 months, and it is her journey through the prison system that forms the foundation of the film.  She meets a range of women, and we learn about their stories in a series of asides.

These small roles for some very familiar faces are wonderful vignettes.  Diana Dors plays the naïve young bombshell who has been dropped in it by her boyfriend – whom she pines after with tear filled doe eyes.  Jane Hilton plays the lonely single mother, desperate for love and approval. But best of all, Athene Seyler and Sybil Thorndike play a pair of friends who plot to poison Thorndike’s husband.  I so desperately wanted to see more of these two dotty old devils!  To say that this film is about prison and the desperation and frailty that leads people there, it is quite lighthearted. I never expected to laugh as much as I did – there are also small roles for the likes of Irene Handl and Sid James, bringing their own comic personas to the mix.

This film was another glimpse into 1950s attitudes to women.  All of the characters appear to have been led astray by men – it is their wickedness that puts the women in prison in the first place.  Their view of the prison system is sympathetic towards the women – they suffer separation from their children and even give birth there and it is awful.  Their future prospects are under threat.  When Glynis is moved to an open prison it suggests that this is what the prisoners need – not punishment, not sympathy, just training and trust.

It looks like it could be a case of “dear me, these poor little women led astray by man’s wickedness, we must not be too harsh on the dear things.”  They are not capable of thinking themselves into crime! I’m not sure whether this view is insulting or not!  But I suspect that it is a very romanticised view and not that true to real life. Take the film with a pinch of salt, and enjoy a cosy look at crime and punishment 1950s style.

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Hanging Around With Eric

Being an Eric Portman fan, I recently allowed myself the luxury of watching two of his films back-to-back. Unbeknownst to me at the outset, these two films have a rather macabre connection. The first of my double bill was ‘Wanted For Murder’ (1946).  Eric stars as a hangman’s grandson, who claims that his grandfather possesses him and makes him go out befriending and then strangling young women.  Dulcie Grey co-stars as the woman whom he loves and is trying desperately not to murder. The tension is ramped up when he lures her onto an island in the Serpentine (this film is an excellent guide to the necking hotspots of ‘40s London).  Faced with the police and Dulcie’s new bloke, he drowns himself and in this way puts himself out of his own misery.  Special mention must be made of the comic relief in all this – Stanley Holloway’s policeman is an absolute gem.

The second film was much darker and heavier – even the presence of Bill Owen couldn’t lift the spirits.  In ‘Daybreak’ (1948) Eric plays a hangman who inherits his estranged father’s barge business.  He marries, but keeps his prison visits from his wife, telling her that he goes away on barge business. His nights away allow a young Danish bargee to force his attentions on Eric’s wife, with devastating results.

A capital picture of Eric by @aitchteee

Both films explore the consequences of capital punishment on those who had to execute it.  ‘Wanted For Murder’ is perhaps more of a populist murder story – but the idea is still there – how did the children and grandchildren of hangmen cope with the knowledge that their loved one was a legal murderer?  Is the ability to calmly end a life in the genes? 

Hangmen themselves were only human too…the continual despatch of other human beings no matter what their crimes must have had consequences on their mental health.  In ‘Daybreak’ it leads to a life of deception and secrecy – something else to maintain alongside the other concerns that might have disturbed the sleep. ‘Daybreak’ also highlights another issue with capital punishment – when the Danish bargee is condemned to hang for the murder of the hangman – who is in fact still living, simply having reverted back to this other identity. Olaf isn’t innocent – but he didn’t actually commit a murder.

Hanging would continue to be used as a punishment until 1964 – but these films show that concerns were beginning to be felt, that would eventually lead to the end of capital punishment in the UK.

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On Location

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A little while back, I did some film location research, and it led me down rather a strange alley.  While looking up a West London location shown in ‘Alfie’, I decided to see if this was close to the infamous Rillington Place.  I thought that this might give some context to the West London area pre-gentrification.  As it turned out, the two streets were not as geographically close as I had thought they might be.  However, the act of looking up Rillington Place led me down this other path.

The events that occurred in Rillington Place in the 1950s were famously made into a film – ’10 Rillington Place’ (1971) starring Richard Attenborough.  I have seen this film once, many years ago, and it disturbed me so much that I never want to watch it again.  Attenborough was such a skilled actor that his portrayal of serial killer Reginald Christie was superbly horrible.  The murder of the innocents – especially the hanging of an innocent man – gave me a restless sleep that night. I can picture the film clearly, despite having seen it possibly two decades ago now.  Typing the phrase “10 Rillington Place” into Google first brought up the interesting fact that the street itself was used as a location in the film.  This was just before its demolition – but after its renaming as Ruston Close.  In order to find out how close it was to the ‘Alfie’ location, I had to seek out the most recent name.  This is when I found out that there are many people out there that have made big efforts to find the now hidden location of the murders. Arguments take place in online forums as to where exactly the house stood.  Some are determined that there is a bit of old wall remaining and that they have stood in the back yard of the house.  Others argue (plausibly) that the street alignment was changed on rebuilding, making a drain cover the location. The dedication that people have given to their search is quite astonishing and quite frankly bizarre.

Attenborough as Christie by @aitchteee

A film such as ’10 Rillington Place’, which aims to depict a real-life event, should not be taken as a historical document. Films are required to have some drama.  Scripting or character description may rely on hearsay or potentially exaggerated newspaper reports.  But taken alongside my internet findings its very existence throws an interesting light on some attitudes to the phenomenon of a serial killer.  It shows that there is a distinct section of people who want to know every detail of a horrific event, who find pleasure in seeking out relics and in seeing the location.  They do not condone the murders, but they attach a significance to them.  The modern age has tended to give celebrity to some who really do not deserve it.  There is perhaps some merit in the film in the demonstration of the tragedy of a miscarriage of justice that ends in capital punishment.  But there is certainly no enjoyment to be had. It simply tells the story that many people obviously want to see.  This is a genre of film that tells people of the future about 20^th century society and its foibles simply by existing.

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Festival of Film

Also published on my Festival of Britain 1951 blogspot (see link at foot of post)

Before the opening credits of ‘The Magic Box’ (1951), the Festival of Britain logo flashes onto the screen. The film was shown at the Festival, before it went on general release. We can therefore assume that it was meant to fit in with the ethos of the Festival – a celebration of British achievement. It certainly showcases the best of contemporary acting talent, with a long list of stars performing in tiny cameo roles. Some parts are so tiny, it is literally a case of blink and you will miss them.  I certainly missed seeing Googie Withers, Sheila Sim and Marius Goring. Others have slightly more prominent five-minute pieces, giving us a taste of the kind of role that they were famous for. Margaret Rutherford as a bossy yet coquettish dame, Laurence Olivier as an incredulous policeman, Joyce Grenfell as a fussy spinster and Eric Portman as an angry businessman.  I could go on. It is a veritable pageant of drama skills. 

The talent is a literal celebration of British film-making. But the storyline also looks at the life of film pioneer William Friese-Greene (played by Robert Donat).  Fitting in with the Festival’s celebration of British science, it seems to say – ‘Look! It was us that invented film! But we are so modest with our achievements while other nationalities blow their own trumpets so loudly that they drown us out!’

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Having watched the film myself, I wasn’t impressed with the character of Friese-Greene. He is portrayed as a very selfish man, who puts his inventing before his wives and his children. His first wife dies of ill health – the film suggests that this was exacerbated by the debts that her husband ran up by eschewing proper work. He marries again and his six sons are all shown as suffering from his single minded attitude. In the end, three of them join World War One as under age soldiers in order to stop becoming a financial burden on their parents. This second marriage ends when his wife can take no more.  He apparently destroyed the opportunity to become a rich society photographer because of his obsession with developing a moving picture.  I was flabbergasted at this – surely he could have invented at evenings and weekends?  This is how the rest of us have to follow our dreams!

I wonder if the 1951 audience took a different  attitude?  Were they meant to view him with sympathy as a man who gave up everything and got no recognition for his ground breaking work?  This would sit more comfortably with the Festival ethos. Does ‘The Magic Box’ depict a long gone set of values, when it was understandable to put genius before family? When a man could get away more easily with neglecting his sons? A fascinating question of 1950s morals and mores. 

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Make Do and Die

Being something of a sewing fan, the wartime catchphrase “make do and mend” makes me immediately think of clothing.  This is what the phrase was often referring to in its everyday use.  Make do with your old clothes, patch them up, transform your curtains into a frock etc.  But then a film that I watched recently broadened my make-do-mend horizons.    The film was called ‘Bang! You’re Dead.’ It was made in 1954 and stars Jack Warner.  Warner plays a woodsman who lives with his seven year old son.  As he works in the woods, his son is left free to roam.  Inevitably, the boy is drawn to an abandoned U.S. military base, where he plays in the huts and on the old jeeps scattered around the yard. One day, while rummaging around his playground, the boy finds a revolver. He uses it to play highwaymen with a man on a bicycle, and unwittingly shoots the cyclist dead.  An innocent man is then accused of murder and the rest of the film is taken up with the investigations.

My “make do and mend” moment concerned the housing depicted in the film. Warner and his son live in a Nissen hut, a large semi-circular, corrugated iron construction. They form a row of such dwellings; the inhabitants having done their best to transform them into cosy cottages.  They keep hens in their gardens, grow their own vegetables and hang out their washing to dry among the bushes and trees.  At a glance, filmed in the summertime, it all looks quite idyllic.  Surely this wouldn’t have been so cosy in the wintertime when the wind howled across bare gardens and through the gaps in the corrugated sheets.  Not really somewhere that you’d want to live all year round.  Possibly these huts depicted in the film were meant to have been connected with the U.S. base.  There were many of these Nissen huts sprouting up throughout World War Two – they were cheap preformed structures that were quick to get into place. They were used in many wartime developments such as military bases and prisoner of war camps. When their original use was no longer necessary, then the “make do and mend” mentality meant that they were often put to varied peacetime uses, from homes to playgrounds to pigsties.

Jack Warner by @aitchteee

Coincidentally, another use for Nissen huts was brought to my attention just a day or two after watching the film.  I work for a charity that supports people who have become ill as a result of asbestos exposure.  I was given a case study of a teacher who had developed Mesothelioma as a result of working in Nissen huts that had been converted into school classrooms.  The insides of the huts had been coated in an asbestos impregnated material.  The pinning and stapling of work to walls had released the deadly fibres into his lungs. Unbeknownst to Jack Warner, those huts on the abandoned base held something more deadly that the abandoned revolver with a single bullet left in it.  This is, of course, aside from other diseases linked to living in damp and unsanitary conditions.  One suspects that the wife and mother of the woodsman and his boy succumbed to pneumonia or something similar.

So it transpires that there were two kinds of “make do and mend”.  A good sort, where materials were looked after, reused and resources preserved.  One that some are now trying to return to in response to our throwaway culture.  But there was a side that we would not want to return to, one which forced people into makeshift homes and workplaces.  We are still feeling the consequences of this.

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Hysterical Historical

To transport people away from the misery of the present day, they need to be taken to an unfamiliar location.  This location can be based on fantasy, or it can be based on history. The historical film was very popular during World War Two.  The opportunity to cocoon oneself at the cinema in a world far removed from the bomb damaged and chaotic one outside was all too tempting.  Possibly the most famous example is Olivier’s Henry V (1944) – a pageant of patriotism delivered as a deliberate morale booster for the war weary. But there were many other films that set out to provide a light slice of escapism via ripped bodices and glossy galloping steeds.

You can always pick out a popular genre in film, because sooner or later somebody will come along and satirise it. The wartime historical escapism film got its satirical version in a film that outstrips them all for sheer entertainment value.  ‘On Approval’ (1944) stars Clive Brook, Googie Withers, Beatrice Lillie and Roland Culver. The story is set in 1890, and concerns two impoverished aristocratic gentlemen exploring the possibility of marriage to two wealthy widows.  There are shades of Oscar Wilde in some of the witty one-liners, while Withers and Lillie are hilariously sharp as two women with modern values living in an old fashioned world.  

Googie Withers by @aitchteee

I can honestly say that this is one of the funniest films that I have ever seen, and I have to thank @MissElvey on Twitter for recommending this to me.  The opening scenes, which serve to introduce the film, are both achingly funny and informative.  These scenes are voiced over by E.V.H. Emmett, that familiar voice from newsreels and Carry on Cleo. We begin with scenes of war, of guns being fired from ships.  Emmett suggests that we leave these behind and go back to 1939, when everyone was enjoying themselves.  Scenes then follow of noisy motorbike races, watersports and a countryside littered by hikers. No so peaceful in 1939 either then was it? Emmett then suggests that we go back even further, to Grandmamma’s day, the 1890s.  A time when ladies dressed demurely and knew their place; a time when entertainment consisted of sing- songs at the piano, needlework and cricket. And so the story begins, with Brook’s Duke of Bristol being invited to a party at his own London townhouse, which he has had to rent out to Withers’ American heiress due to chronic lack of funds.

Why begin the film with this direct comparison between life in the 1940s and the 1890s?  This is where it sets its stall out as a satire. With brilliant use of facial expression and knowing exaggeration, it reminds the audience – who was perhaps only the week before spellbound by Phyllis Calvert in ‘Fanny By Gaslight’ – that the past wasn’t all melodrama. On the whole, we are told, to be a woman in the 1890s was terribly dull.  All the strict social conventions kept everyone trapped in a boring and repetitive life.  The story shows that only the monied people (irrespective of class) had any kind of freedom; but even then they could be held to ransom by servants who morally disapproved of their actions.

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Despite its sending up all of the morale boosting historical themed films, there is a hint of it in ‘On Approval’. I found it to be something of a feminist film, patently demonstrating to women just how far they had progressed over the previous 50 years. There seems to be an underlying message to women in the audience that despite war, they now had more control over their lives and more freedom – to express themselves through their leisure and their dress.  “Let us keep moving forward” it hints “away from forces that would stamp on our ability to choose.”

The film was released as preparations were being made for D Day. Surely it must have given viewers a breath of that second wind that they now needed to secure freedom and a better future; to remove the need to look for a past that probably never existed anyway.

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