Mooning About

If you are ever in need of a cinematic example of how the British have a tendency to not take themselves seriously, then ‘Man in the Moon’ is for you. This 1960 film stars Kenneth More and Michael Hordern, among several others whose faces may be more familiar than their names. The landscape too is one that you will recognise, much of it being filmed in the Buckinghamshire villages around Pinewood.  It is gently humorous - all in all very comforting stuff.  Well, to us British, at any rate.  I suspect a native of any other country would be bemused and bewildered by the whole thing.

The premise is that Britain needs an astronaut to enable us to win the space race.  The men from the ministry are on the look-out for a suitable victim to launch up to the moon. Kenneth More turns out to be their perfect man. He has been earning a living selling his body to medical research because he is seemingly incapable of developing a disease. They (and we) first discover him at the common cold research establishment, being all bouncy and chipper while all those around him wallow in mucus-induced misery. He boasts that he survived everything that the School of Tropical Medicine threw at him.  He is lured to the space centre, where he barely notices being thrust into extremes of temperature and G-force.

More’s character is the epitome of the British hero, as viewed from the first half of the 20^th Century.  He all but stands with legs wide apart, pipe sticking out from his jutting chin and his thumbs in his tailored tweed suit. This in itself is probably a bit of gentle mockery of how we used to be.  But then of course it all goes wrong.  When they finally launch him off to the moon, he ends up landing within a short distance from the Australian launch pad.  More goes back to the cold research establishment, where the scientists continue to be generally baffled.  The British, this film yells out, are clever but rubbish at a lot of stuff.

Of course, we know that the main two contenders in the space race were the USA and the USSR.  Two countries that take themselves and their space very seriously indeed.  I suspect that if this film had been made and released in either of those countries, there would have been an enquiry. Let’s face it, if a Russian had so much as even thought up a storyline that mocked their comrades in this way, Siberia would have beckoned. Would there have been demonstrations outside the cinemas of small town America?  Maybe.  But not only did we make the film, we sat and chuckled at it over our Kia-Oras and bars of fruit and nut.

I’m glad. Who wants space hardware when you can have Kenneth More being thrown off an ejector seat at full tilt.  Marvellous.

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Rock On 1940s Style

In terms of its storyline, ‘Interrupted Journey’ (1949) is possibly the worst film I have ever seen. I can’t bring myself to describe it to you, it’s so laborious. It starts off right enough, but towards the end, it really does go to pot.  The film stars Valerie Hobson and Richard Todd.  Valerie is stunningly beautiful throughout, but I’m afraid that this doesn’t rescue the utter shambles.

The one bright moment is an appearance by Dora Bryan. She never puts in a bad performance and I always like to see her. She plays a waitress in the Paddington Station buffet, where she flogs Richard and his mistress a coffee and a rock cake each. This was the end of Dora’s delightfully distracted cameo, and so there was no more to do than to fall into a rock cake reverie. I began to wonder why the rock cake is so ubiquitous in 1940s culture. Were there a plate of them on offer in Joyce Carey’s ‘Brief Encounter’ buffet? I feel sure there must have been.  They certainly appear in my favourite book ‘One Fine Day’ by Mollie Panter-Downes (1947).  Here they are referred to as “rock keeks” by the snooty bakery assistant – and this is how I always pronounce them to myself after reading that (using Joyce Carey’s 1940s voice).

I followed up my viewing of ‘Interrupted Journey’ with a baking session – having found a rock keek recipe in my old 1950s Good Housekeeping cookbook. The recipe was simple:

7 oz Self Raising Flour

3 oz Butter or Marg

3oz Sugar

3oz Dried Mixed Fruit

Small egg

Drop of milk

Sprinkle of nutmeg/mixed spice

Just mix it all up, stick a few splats on a flat baking tray and shove them in a hot oven for 15 minutes.

Bit too much milk, should be a bit rockier shaped, but you get the idea

The verdict was a good one.  My notoriously picky children, who drive me to distraction with their weird food attitudes (I’ve got one that doesn’t like custard and ice cream, for pity’s sake), shovelled them down like there was no tomorrow. I was able to take one to work for my morning snack for a few days after they were baked. They were so easy to make and they were plain but filling. So I suppose that the answer to the question of why the rock cake was a rationing era stalwart is as follows:

·        Quick and easy to do, no matter how long you’ve been awake fire-watching and queueing for dried eggs you won’t go wrong.

·        Low on ingredients – nothing fancy.  These things are mostly flour and you can probably get away with dried egg and water in them with enough flavouring

·        They can be shoved in the oven with something else and then last for quite a few days afterwards (I made another batch that was still fine 3 days later)

I will be baking more rock keeks. They are very suitable for our new modern day frugality.

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When the Archers Missed a Target

‘The Small Back Room’ (1949) is a Powell and Pressburger film, made in association with Alexander Korda’s London Films. It has a marvellous pedigree – following on from such Archers’ classics as ‘A Canterbury Tale’ and ‘Black Narcissus’, the latter sharing Kathleen Byron and David Farrar in lead roles.  There is a good solid supporting cast too, including Cyril Cusack, Sid James and Jack Hawkins. A noir atmosphere comfortably envelopes the viewer, the film wraps itself around you like a heavy blanket.  Then there is the Powell and Pressburger attention to detail, the highlighting of sights, sounds or figures of speech that really make their films come to life.  My favourite thing in this film is towards the end, when Farrar’s character has to go and diffuse a bomb on Chesil Bank.  The crunching of pebbles and Farrar’s struggle to walk over them, coupled with the wheeling cries of the gulls.  This is a moment of bliss, this juxtaposition of the mundane and the tension of a bomb that could blow at any second. This is one fantastic film – so why isn’t it up there with ‘A Canterbury Tale’ or ‘…Colonel Blimp’?

Although ‘The Small Back Room’ was critically well received at the time, and the internet is full of appreciative reviews, contemporary audiences didn’t take to it and it flopped at the box office. The reason for this can only be that the subject matter put people off from going to see it. Although filmed in 1949, the story is set in 1943, and the back room in the title references so called “back room boys.”  It looks at the scientists involved in the study and development of weaponry. One sub plot covers the discussions around a new gun, while the main story involves Farrar’s character (Rice) tackling a new, unknown bomb that has been appearing at various locations. The serious tone is enhanced further by Rice suffering with his prosthetic foot and battling with the only thing that really helps him to handle the pain – Whisky. It seems that it is this that put people off – guns, bombs, bravery and personal misery. When you’re only just getting over suffering the same thing yourself, the last thing you want to see at the cinema is more of the same.

It perhaps shows us an anomalous period in cinema. These days we can’t get enough of the 1940s.  We will take any opportunity to commemorate events from this period, and films and books from or covering this era remain popular.  When the war itself raged, many films boosted morale by showing the British at their fighting best, whether this be ‘In Which We Serve’  at sea or ‘Millions Like Us’ in the factories. I think that if ‘The Small Back Room’ had actually been released in 1943 it may well have fared a lot better as a dramatic look at how our brave scientists were cleverer than the Nazi ones. But instead, it was released when the wartime adrenaline had stopped pumping, and we were left with piles of rubble and worse rationing than ever. If film was to reference any of this, it had better be aimed at cheering people up. Another 1949 film was ‘Passport to Pimlico’, a story about rationing that delivered a humorous look at why we should continue to put up with it – focusing on the end result.  It was just time to look forward and not back for a while.

Due to bad timing alone, ‘The Small Back Room’ is a forgotten classic. Please revisit it and give it a little love.

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Stop Press

‘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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