For me, Italian cinema is a film category bedecked with jewels. In my eyes, the Italians can do very little wrong with cinema. The war and post-war eras brought us hard-hitting, thought provoking neorealist drama in the form of Roberto Rossellini’s Rome, Open City (1945) and Vittorio de Sica’s undisputed classic, Bicycle Thieves (1948). Moving into an era of post-war recovery and prosperity, the maestro, Federico Fellini, showcased the nascent opulence of the 1960s with films such as La Dolce Vita (1960) and 8 ½ (1963), which are forever etched into the cinephile’s mind, not least because of the style icon which was the suave, besuited Marcello Mastroianni, or, in the former, the sensuous Anita Ekberg. Fellini’s contemporary, Pier Paolo Pasolini, sought to radicalise cinema and push the boundaries where possible. Even today his subversive take on The Gospel According To St. Matthew (1964) is as fresh as it imaginably was when it came out.
Fast forwarding through much of the cinematic dross of the 1970s which encompassed schlock horror and sexploitation flicks, Fellini’s treatment of decadence was somewhat restored with the filmmaking of Paolo Sorrentino with titles such as The Great Beauty (2013) and, latterly, Loro (2019), both starring the incomparable Toni Servillo. Modern Italian cinema is, indeed, opening itself up to other independent talent. A short while ago, Lincoln Film Society did an experimental showing of the coming-of-age drama, Imperfect Age (2018) by relative newcomer, Ulisse Lendaro, which featured as part of last year’s Indie Lincs Festival (an event which, incidentally, has just enjoyed its fifth successful year).
The recent Happy as Lazzaro (2018) by Tuscan director, Alice Rohrwacher, is a film which tells of the exploitation of an unwaveringly kind Italian peasant (Adriano Tardiolo) and his family by a tobacco baroness. The film deals more profoundly with the themes of the end of rural civilization and the migration to the city of those who knew nothing of modernity. Film critic Erika Balsom opines: “Alice Rorhwacher holds a holy mirror to the persistence of injustice”. Lazzaro was the recipient of Best Screenplay at the 2018 Cannes Film Festival, as well as a nominee for the coveted Palme d’Or. So, Italian cinema over the years deals alternately with the themes of affluence and servitude. Life itself might not always be roses but one cannot deny that when you’re a spectator of Italian cinema, it’s always la dolce vita.
Classically trained British actor Richard Johnson was allegedly Terence Young’s original choice for the role of James Bond and rumour has it that Johnson was, at one time, offered the part, before turning it down. Perhaps, therefore, it was fate that led him subsequently to the role of fictional hero, Hugh “Bulldog” Drummond, in two pseudo Bond films from the 1960s, Deadlier Than The Male (1967) and Some Girls Do (1969). Prior to these films, Drummond was a well-known character from literature, film, and radio, created by H.C. McNeile using the nom de plume, Sapper, for the original books. (Gerard Fairlie would continue writing the novels following McNeile’s death in 1937). The original Drummond character is a First World War veteran who, tired of his sedate lifestyle, becomes a gentleman adventurer on a quest for action, coming up against various nemeses, the most prominent of which is Carl Peterson.
(From left: Daliah Lavi; Richard Johnson; and Vanessa Howard (?)). A promotional shot for Some Girls Do (1969). Copyright: The Times/Rex Features
Released by British filmmaking institution, The Rank Organisation, the aforementioned films sport a reworked Drummond befitting the 1960s, a bon vivant who is also (somewhat humorously) an insurance underwriter. Like vintage Bond, he is something of a man of mystery who spends most of his time thrill and pleasure-seeking, whether he be relaxing in some exotic locale, practising karate, paragliding, or chasing beautiful women. Indeed, scantily-clad women are a prominent feature of the films (unsurprisingly given the titles – the scene at the beginning of Deadlier where “lethal lovelies” Elke Sommer and Sylvia Koscina come out of the sea with nothing but skimpy swimsuits and harpoon guns has undeniably embedded itself in pop culture history). The objectification of women would indeed give the contemporary so-called “woke” generation much to talk about. However, as with all things, I believe the films should be appraised with respect to the attitudes of the times in which they were made. Let’s not forget that the Connery and Moore Bond films were not without their share of “dolly bird” characters. Incidentally, considering Drummond’s rich appetites, perhaps we have a case of life imitating art as Johnson, the actor, is shown in an adventurous light water-skiing between takes in a featurette on the making of Deadlier (which can be viewed on the DVD/Blu-Ray of the film by Network Releasing) and was, reputedly, a ladies man, marrying several times, most notably to Hollywood actress, Kim Novak.
Firstly, Deadlier Than The Male tells of an oil tycoon, Henry Keller, who is killed by an explosion while journeying in his private company plane. Drummond (Johnson) is called in to investigate Keller’s mysterious death as his company was insured with Drummond’s firm. Drummond begins a quest to find out who would profit from Keller’s death and all tracks lead to the aforementioned Carl Peterson (reincarnated by British acting stalwart, Nigel Green) who is residing in a remote castle in Italy surrounded by a cohort of highly-trained female assassins, who try to derail Drummond at every opportunity. Deadlier has been wonderfully restored in high-definition for a Blu-Ray release by Network. The title itself has also embedded itself in popular culture, emanating from poet and novelist, Rudyard Kipling’s words: “The female of the species is more deadly than the male”, which had, in turn, inspired the fifth Bulldog Drummond novel, The Female Of The Species, published in 1928. Moreover, the film carries a Bondian opening sequence with a belter of a theme song by pop sensations, The Walker Brothers (the late Scott Walker would years later sing David Arnold and Don Black’s slow jazz number, Only Myself To Blame, on the soundtrack to The World Is Not Enough). Look out also for the cleverly constructed penultimate scene in which Drummond and Peterson, weapons cocked, chase each other through an electronically-operated life-size chess board.
Copyright: Amazon
If Deadlier Than The Male can be thought of as a pint of bitter, it is followed by the vodka chaser that is the euphemistically titled Some Girls Do, a headier film than its predecessor with hints towards the “sex comedy” which would become popular fare in the following decade. This time around, a more world-weary Johnson as Drummond is called into action to investigate the accidents befalling people connected to the development of the world’s first supersonic airliner (SST1). The man who seeks to gain financially from the project’s ruin turns out to be, predictably, Carl Peterson (played this time with considerably less aplomb by veteran British actor, James Villiers, who would go on to have a small role in For Your Eyes Only as M-substitute, Tanner).
Hot on his trail, Drummond eventually ends up at Peterson’s Bond-esque lair atop a cliff, which is surrounded by armed yet suggestively dressed female robots at his command. Peterson’s right hand woman is Helga (played by 60s film regular, Daliah Lavi, who also starred in the James Bond spoof, Casino Royale, as one of several iterations of “007”). It’s not hard to see where Mike Myers and co. got inspiration for Austin Powers years later. Despite the heavier tongue-in-cheek vibe of the sequel, the film does sport a catchy opening song by the relatively unknown Lee Vanderbilt sounding uncannily like Johnny Mathis, and penned by lyricist and Bond regular, the aforementioned Don Black (who wrote the themes for Thunderball, Diamonds Are Forever, The Man With The Golden Gun,Tomorrow Never Dies (Surrender) and The World Is Not Enough – copies of the original record release on the United Artists label are few and far between these days).
Copyright: Amazon
Furthermore, the film has some amusing and redemptive Bond-esque one-liners. While Drummond is sat having dinner with an elaborately costumed Peterson and his entourage, the latter says: “History repeats itself. Napoleon dreamt of the entire universe thronging to his door. Now I shall fulfil his dreams”, after which Drummond asks quizzically, “Dressed as the Duke Of Wellington?” Peterson replies: “Well of course, my dear fellow. Never back a loser”. This is only slightly funnier than the incident in Deadlier when one of the scheming women’s hair-pieces turns out to have an explosive device inside it, prompting Drummond to quip: “that’s what comes of letting success go to your head”. Some Girls Do has also been released by Network Releasing and still only exists, in moderately restored form, on a DVD double-bill with Deadlier. Let’s hope a Blu-Ray rerelease is in the pipeline. While considerably outmoded, I still believe Deadlier and Some Girls Do are both entertaining fare for any Bond fan and are something of a tribute to the liberal culture of the late 1960s and Connery-instigated Bond mania. (Trailers below).
It’s amazing how time can change a person. When I recently saw Renée Zellweger’s interview with Lorraine Kelly on ITV1, I was amazed how she had very much matured as a person and as an actress. In my view, she can no longer be associated with the ditsy Marilyn Monroe-esque parts that she played years ago in Chicago (2002) and Down With Love (2003). Nor, do I think, would she longer be quite right for the role which made her a household name, the romantically afflicted Bridget Jones.
it’s public knowledge that Zellweger took a substantial break from acting for personal reasons. And the decision to take this sabbatical is very much to her credit as she comes back refreshed and wonderfully uncanny in the part of Judy Garland in this year’s hotly anticipated biopic directed by Rupert Goold, known principally for his work in English theatre. Having seen Lorraine Kelly’s interview with Zellweger after the film, I observed that she still appeared to be articulating the idiosyncrasies of Judy which she pulls off so well in the film. So perhaps, if Zellwgger did indeed make some spiritual connection with her alter go in her research for the part, it seems clear that the spirit of Judy, powerful as it seems, has not yet left her…
The film begins slap bang in the swinging 60s with a world weary Garland and her two young kids travelling around as she tries to make what money she can performing different theatre shows in America. Facing great financial difficulties, she makes the heartbreaking decision to leave her children with their financially stable but stony father, Sidney (the always understated Rufus Sewell) and accept the offer of a season in London at the famous Talk Of The Town theatre under the direction of renowned British theatre impresario, Bernard Delfont (the ever faithful Michael Gambon) and his associate, Rosalyn (the brilliant rising star, Jessie Buckley, recently acclaimed in Wild Rose).
Arriving in London, the prescription drug-addled Judy struggles to keep it together, nearly missing her premiere performance completely, and thereafter turning up late and often incoherent to performances, to the disappointment of Belfont, and the horror of uncomprehending audience members (who, on one occasion, throw things at her on stage as if she were some pilloried criminal and not the beloved star of The Wizard Of Oz). Speaking of which, the film is cleverly peppered with flashbacks to her adolescence in which she was insidiously groomed by studio staff for her role in the classic film, suffering emotional blackmail at the hands of the imposing studio boss, Louis B. Mayer (a small but brilliant performance by Richard Cordery) and given countless pills instead of food to supposedly “keep her weight down” for the role, setting her lifelong addiction in motion.
Amongst the bleakness, there are true moments of joy, such as when Judy sings on stage (Zellweger’s actual voice, which can be both powerful and velvety, and can be heard anew on the film’s soundtrack) and her courtship with her eventual second husband, the hip, young, Mickey (Finn Wittrock). Though Judy’s was a largely sad life, the love for her children is clearly what gave her strength and purpose in later life, even while she was fighting back the tears. As she aptly says before performing her beloved standard, “Somewhere Over The Rainbow”, “This is a song about hope. And we all need that”.
Stu Phillips, known principally for his work on the soundtracks of American television shows in the ’70s and ’80s, delivers a suitably psychedelic and trippy soundtrack for one of the films that defines the hippy culture of the late ’60s and early ’70s, Russ Meyer’s cult classic, Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls (1970), a parody of Mark Robson’s film, Valley Of The Dolls (1967), based upon the best-selling novel by Jacqueline Susann. The film tells of an all-girl pop band who get caught up in the sex and drug-fuelled world that is Hollywood. While weird and self-consciously trashy, this is one of the more watchable and indeed, more cinematic, films by Meyer, the king of exploitation cinema. Perhaps the most interesting fact about the film is that the script was a joint effort between Meyer and the renowned film critic, Roger Ebert.
The soundtrack begins with Phillips’s beautiful, melodic compositions such as Beyond The Valley Of The Dolls – Theme, which is complemented by a vocalised version by folk group, The Sandpipers, in which the members sing in unison in a typically hippy, hypnotic fashion befitting the era. Following Phillips’s music are a series of pop and rock songs, the most notable of which are the love-in mover, Come With The Gentle People, by the film’s fictional band, The Carrie Nations, and their more sedate number, In The Long Run. One final piece of trivia – the song Incense and Peppermints by the group, Strawberry Alarm Clock, features in the Jay Roach/Mike Myers 60s spy pastiche, Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery (1997).
Finally, this soundtrack, while a classic in its own right, has been largely invisible for years and is now, thankfully, available for streaming, though tangible copies in different formats can still be found online. Sampled tracks below…
The 1960s, for want of a better word, “vomited” knock-off spy thrillers in the wake of the success of the James Bond films with Sean Connery. Such titles included: Daniel Mann’s Our Man Flint (1965); Ralph Thomas’s Deadlier Than The Male (1967); and David Miller’s Hammerhead (1968), to name but a few. However, this little number, A Dandy In Aspic (1968), based on the novel by Derek Marlowe, has passed through time relatively unnoticed, despite its direction by Anthony Mann, a filmmaker renowned for his work on Westerns and Film Noir thrillers. Moreover, this film boasts quite considerable acting talent of the day. The haunting Laurence Harvey plays the protagonist secret agent, Eberlin, who is given a mission to assassinate a KGB agent, and who is repeatedly haunted by past and present moral crises, very much in the tradition of the characters of John Le Carré and Ian Fleming. The love interest of the film is Caroline (in my opinion, the fairly talentless) Mia Farrow, playing the stereotypical role of a “swinging sixties” photographer, who, rather irritatingly, gets herself caught up in the spy game.
British acting stalwart, Tom Courtenay, plays the very understated character of Gatiss, a rival British spy who distrusts Eberlin. Look out for appearances by Richard O’ Sullivan, of ’70s televisual fame in the comedy series, Man About The House. The audience is also treated to a few guest appearances by British satirist, Peter Cook, for once unaccompanied by his partner-in-crime, Dudley Moore. Cook plays a comical womanising spy, Prentiss, who delivers such sexist lines they would make a millennial audience wince. Discussing with Eberlin the fact that his latest sexual conquest is “Eine kleine raver”, in her company, is one of them. Still, the film is, naturally, indicative of its time.
The action sequences in the film are gritty and the film has a suitably brooding atmosphere which is, ironically, sometimes offset by the rather vibrant costumes the characters wear, supplied by veteran stylist, Pierre Cardin. Furthermore, the cinematography by Christopher Challis is tactful and it is accompanied by the appropriately minimalist score by veteran Jazz musician, Quincy Jones, whose scoring work for Sidney Lumet’s adaptation of the Le Carré spy thriller, The Deadly Affair (1968), I equally enjoyed. After the film’s recent premiere on Blu-Ray by Powerhouse Films, I thought it was timely to unearth this nearly fifty-year-old curio. If anything, watch it for Harvey’s performance alone. That is, if you can simultaneously support Farrow’s frequently sickly and mopey character.
The 1960s as a decade represents perhaps one of the most transitory time periods in this last century. The youth of the day were beginning to think for themselves instead of toeing the line set down by their more conservative parents. Out of gloomy, post-war austerity was born sexual liberation, and an unprecedented and explosive pop and fashion culture. However, these new-found freedoms came at a great cost. While the year 1967 connoted “The Summer of Love”, it was a mere year later that rioting and restlessness became the order of the day. For many, the mention of 1968 conjures up images of Parisian streets awash with students fighting armoured police. However, my recent work as a researcher with Flatpack Projects, Digbeth, looking at a project entitled “Birmingham ’68”, has made me something of a revisionist. As a team our aim is to look intently at what 1968 meant to Birmingham, whose history from that time is greatly overshadowed by the likes of Paris, and, at best, is dominated by the infamous event of British politician, Enoch Powell, delivering his anti-immigration “Rivers of Blood” speech.
A scene from Paris, 1968. Copyright: The Magnum Photos Shop
Enoch Powell delivering his “Rivers of Blood” speech, Birmingham, 1968. Copyright: Emerson Kent
A scene from Paris, 1968. Copyright: The Magnum Photos Shop 2. Enoch Powell delivering his “Rivers of Blood” speech, Birmingham, 1968. Copyright: Emerson Kent
The focus of my research, along with my colleague Joe Georgiou, is exploring the “Double Zero” club, an organisation set up by Rev. David Collyer in 1966 at the still active St. Basil’s church in 1960s Deritend (next door to Digbeth). The aim of this organisation was to provide a place where the “unattached” of Birmingham, particularly youths facing various kinds of hardship, could meet in safety and security. The club was domesticated with the addition of various features such as a coffee bar, pinball machine, TV set, and music equipment. Collyer’s premise was that this be a place for Birmingham youth, run by Birmingham youth, with a focus on minimal intervention on his part and other people working in a religious capacity. The Double Zero club (so-called because its members felt that according to society, they were worth “less than a zero”) was given a bikers’ theme and became very much a place for lads and lasses to display their bikes and foster relationships through this common interest.
Bikers at the Double Zero Club. Copyright: Getty Images 2. Dancing at the Double Zero. Copyright: Birmingham Mail
That said, the Double Zero club was not completely secular, as attested to by Collyer in his own fascinating book, entitled Double Zero: Five Years With Rockers And Hell’s Angels In An English City (Fontana Books, 1973; republished in 1983 by Arthur James Limited, as pictured below). According to the book, Collyer would preach from time to time and, sadly, he would have to officiate at many biker funerals where they had met with terrible accidents on account of their speed and general daring. Collyer reports that indeed many of the young bikers who claimed to have no religious affiliation were quite overcome with emotion. If they did not have a religious experience, at the very least they felt a collective spirituality which came from their love of bikes and their kinship with other riders.
Christmas December 1967Rev. David Collyer (29) a Chaplin to the Bishop of Birmingham can’t send christmas cards to all his friends so he’s put the message on his collar.Xmas, 1960s Copyright: Alamy.com
David Collyer’s “Double Zero” (Reprinted Edition)
Despite bouts of trouble where rival biker groups tried to come in and upset the progress that had been achieved at St. Basil’s, the members of the Double Zero were frequently a force for good in the community, engaging in various fundraisers and charitable activities, and delivering blood supplies to local hospitals. Moreover, the club came to the attention of a Cultural Studies student at the University of Birmingham, Paul Willis, who later went on to achieve eminence in his field. He made the Double Zero one of the foci of his PhD thesis, which looked at the behaviours of the group, particularly their relationship with music.
Paul E. Willis. Copyright: Goodreads.com
Profane Culture (Paul E. Willis) Copyright: Goodreads.com
This is somewhat tangential, but it is interesting to look at the wider biker culture of the 1960s, a reaction to the perhaps more popular, more conservative “Mod culture”. There were a proliferation of so-called “biker movies” in the late 60s and early 70s, many of which were evidently made on a shoestring budget. Titles include: The Wild Angels (1966); Hell’s Angels on Wheels (1967); Hell’s Belles (1969), and that bizarre psychedelic film starring Marianne Faithful , The Girl On A Motorcycle (1968). However, the most emblematic biker film of that time is undoubtedly Easy Rider (1969), set to that liberating tune, Born To Be Wild by Steppenwolf. (Title sequence below).
Returning to the Double Zero – so signifcant were their actions that they also received media attention from such popular corporations as the B.B.C. and A.T.V., the latter of which produced footage which can still be viewed on the archival website, MACE (links at the bottom of the post). The Double Zero Club closed in 1970, with David Collyer going on to operate in various ancillary activities over the years. He still lives in Birmingham today, and it was our privilege that he came to the Flatpack Film Festival Double Zero retrospective at the MAC (Midlands Arts Centre) in April 2018, where he charismatically imparted his experiences to us, a mixed audience of festival volunteers, former DZ members, and general enthusiasts.
Double Zero event at the MAC, Birmingham. Copyright: Flatpack
Double Zero members at the MAC. Copyright: Flatpack
Although a number of original DZ members, now into their seventies, appeared to be shouting at and taunting David Collyer in the audience, I quickly realised that it was all in jest. The fact that so many turned up to listen and contribute, as well as to show off their bikes in the manner of yesteryear, was testament to the devotion and efforts of a singular man, David Collyer. Not in so many words, the bikers were saying this is “Our Dave” and we were grateful to be part of something special at a unique moment in time.
A further Flatpack celebration of the Double Zero club is taking place this September, 2018, details are at the following link:
As a fan of pure Bond, that is to say the “official” Bond film series under the direction of the Broccoli family, this is a film I usually would mention in hushed tones. Casino Royale (1967) is a rogue production, and, as a result, it fails to be taken seriously as true “Bond” matter. Produced by Charles K. Feldman, and directed by Val Guest, this is a film which features a top-billed cast, with names such as David Niven, Peter Sellers, William Holden, Orson Welles, and Woody Allen, to name but a few. It’s therefore all the more disappointing that this film was a critical flop.
The film sees our protagonist, “Sir” James Bond (played by David Niven) called out of retirement after the death of M, in order to stop the criminal organisation, SMERSH, and its big noise, “Le Chiffre” (played, bizarrely, by Orson Welles). The decision is made that, in order to stop SMERSH, every agent in the field should be called James Bond, in order to confuse, and, finally, thwart the enemy. One of the “Bond” recruits is Evelyn Tremble (played tactfully by Peter Sellers) who goes against Le Chiffre in a high-stakes baccarat game at Casino Royale. However, all does not go to plan, and everything reaches a messy and unforeseen conclusion.
Famously, the film’s production was taxing and tempers were considerably frayed, to the extent that the film was passed on to several directors throughout the course of filming. The film sells itself as a “spy comedy” or “spy spoof”. It certainly is that, but, sadly, the comedy is expendable. I originally thought that, being part of a modern film-going generation, I would be forgiven for not being able to understand some of the humour of that period. But it is safe to say, after several viewings, that some of it, unintentionally, is just not funny.
Not only is this film a marketed parody of 007, it also seems to be a parody of itself, giving more of an insight into the temperamental production than you would believe. With perhaps the exception of Sellers, none of the classic actors are on top form, clearly doing this film out of loyalty to money, rather than a good script. Perhaps the only element of the film that stands up (and, it certainly isn’t the cinematography) is the music by Burt Bacharach. Aided by the input of Herp Albert and the Tijuana Brass, this is a brassy, jazzy soundtrack that is not Bondian at all, and would have made John Barry weep, but it is, nonetheless, memorable. Let’s not forget that the Academy Award for Best Original song that year was given to Dusty Springfield’s song, “The Look of Love” on the soundtrack.
If you’re a British cultural historian of the 60s, this film is interesting to watch, but if you’re an average film buff, don’t raise your hopes for entertainment too high.
I’ve always felt nostalgic about the 1960s and 1970s as decades. The Italian Job was made at the tail end of the sixties, or, arguably, the cusp of the seventies and it was perhaps one of the last notable “swinging” films of that era. It concerns Charlie Croker, a Cockney gangster recently released from prison, who, with a faithful team of crooks, masterminds a plan to steal a large quantity of gold from Italy, all the while evading the Italian authorities, and the Mafia.
Our protagonist is played by boy wonder of the 60s, Michael Caine, who had had many successes, including Zulu (1964) and Alfie (1965). As an aficionado of spy thrillers, I particularly enjoyed him as Harry Palmer in the cold war thriller, The Ipcress File (1965). Paradoxically, while Caine is famous for that signature voice, which spurred on the quotable cockney slur of “My name is Michael Caine”, his talents are many. He treats this part with seriousness and also a generous helping of deadpan humour – who can forget the ever-quotable line; “You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!”. He is well-supported by a line-up of well known personalities from that time, such as Benny Hill as Professor Peach, and Noel Coward as Mr. Bridger, to name but a few.
The direction, by the little known Peter Collinson, is well-grounded, as is the cinematography by Douglas Slocombe. Both rapid editing and tracking shots highlight the intensity of the famous car chase featuring the Mini Coopers. What particularly sticks in my mind is the serene opening of the film, comprised mainly of a single point-of-view shot in criminal Beckerman’s sports car as he, (played by Rossano Brazzi), winds along the roads of the Italian Alps to the beautiful theme of “On Days Like These”by Matt Monro.
On the subject of music, legendary American composer, Quincy Jones, hits the nail on the head with a quintessentially “British” soundtrack for the film. It’s difficult to forget the choral closing theme; “Get A Bloomin’ Move On” (A.K.A. “The Self-Preservation Society”), which makes use of good old cockney rhyming slang. However. Jones’ music is also more discrete when he channels those “groovy” bossa nova-style vibes.
While The Italian Job is far removed from Oscar-worthy filmmaking, it is nevertheless a piece of British cinematic history. In fact, the film is a celebration of British culture, albeit one that, by today’s standards, is overly colourful and stylish, but also rather politically incorrect and comically xenophobic. It represents an England that I never knew, and one that perhaps never quite existed. This film is certainly up there with other British classics such as Get Carter (1971) and Alfie (1965), also starring the ever-resourceful Michael Caine.
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