Reviews

I always thought this was a particularly odd little film. It seems to be filled with the most ill- mannered cast of any movie I have ever seen. It opens with the Royal Artillery survey unit on Salisbury Plain ignoring a arrival of the UFO. The officer protests and the NCO ignores him and carries on reading his magazine. The officer stomps off in disgust. The action then moves to a cottage hospital where all the staff are permanently at daggers drawn: "I'm in charge here!!.... Mind your own business, etc etc." "How dare you!!!" I couldn't help thinking there was some emotional back-story that had ended up on the cutting room floor. That might account for the way everybody kept overreacting at the slightest provocation. Or have I got it all wrong and that's how British people behaved in the mid 1960s. The aliens must have thought they had landed in an insane asylum.

This had the potential to be a great little series. The producers had the opportunity to present the works of little known, private film makers of the 1930's in context. Sadly they became carried away by projecting their own values on the period works. They needed to try and remember that it was not, perhaps, surprising that bourgeois home movies were unlikely to include the kind of social polemic of the modern, revisionist historian.

So what we ended up with, cut into the gorgeous images, was a procession of talking heads making wise pronouncements well after the events in question. There was a lot of smug superiority that left a sour taste in the mouth. Add to that the splicing in of a lot of irrelevant black and white stock footage of Nazis goose-stepping in Nuremburg. Personally, I didn't need such a grossly tabloid reminder that the world was teetering on the brink.

The Baby is a fairly audacious exploitation movie covering one of the more obscure areas of sexual fetishism. That is to say male infantilism. It is not particularly pornographic but is certainly designed to appeal to the fantasies of the fem-dom enthusiast. The production qualities are high enough to take it out of the schlocky, Ed-Wood, B-movie genre. But the overall feel is of a sad, lonely man in a raincoat, thumbing his way through the pages of a paperback in a Soho basement.

If we accept that then we can celebrate this curious little film for it's triumph. It has managed to transcend the limitations of bourgeois taste and provokes us into a new paradigm. If it had been directed by Peter Greenaway it would have been showered with awards. God rot it!!

I guess there are a lot of Lyndsay Anderson fans out there who are prepared to forgive their hero. Although, why they should forgive him for dropping the ball with this turkey I can't imagine. Personally, I thought this slice of "satire" was a dreadful crock of brown, smelly stuff. Coming on the heels of "O Lucky Man" I was fully in tune with all the surreality. Sadly the thing was painfully let down by all those bolt-on, tokenistic and grand-standing waves to the liberal gallery. I thought the scene where the pretty little protester offered the riot cop a flower was particularly risible. The implication being that the rioters were all a bunch of peace-niks and definitely not inclined to get down and medieval with the fuzz. As for Mick Travis' snogging scene with the nurse, well....... I've never seen a less convincing affair-de-coeur, Carry-on films included.

Now, that would be an idea for a subtle satire: "Carry On Anderson"

I was 17 when I saw this movie. I so identified with the character of Martin that I wasn't able to view the film objectively. I absolutely lived his disengagement with the rest of the world. Although, in my defence, I did manage to restrain myself from performing any of the more extreme forms of behaviour. But essentially that was my life. I seemed to be surrounded by grim old people who didn't understand me. Like no teenager has ever experienced that!!!

It's funny what scenes stayed with me through the years. Apart from all the sex and violence, I clearly remember the Shriners parade and the ghastly brown and orange interior decor (Yeeuurgh!)

I recently had a chance to see it again, but this time viewed through the eyes of a fat, bald, middle-aged man who has lost interest in cheesy horror-flicks. I am astounded at what a good film it is. Romero managed to challenge all our perceptions of what a vampire should be. Instead of a sophisticated, intelligent but driven aristocrat here was a stupid, callow youth with no social skills. Was that really me?

I saw this film in the Cinecenta in Panton Street when it was first released. I was so surprised that I went back in to watch it a second time. That was probably not the best use of £3.25 but I didn't regret the spending of it. I have seen it many times since and am still filled with that original sense of awe and mystification. And I love to share it. The sheer poetry and feeling of Theatre de Absurdisme. The unpredictability and blunt refusal to genuflect at the altar of political correctness (gone mad).

I recently had the opportunity of watching it with an American film buff. At the end he turned to me and asked "Can you tell me what that was about?" From this I gathered that American film buffs need to know about things like themes and analysis. Anyway, the answer still is that I don't know what this film is "about", any more than I know what my son's haircut is "about".

Some years ago I had the chance to ask Vernon Dudley Bowhay-Nowell (the ukulele player who gets stabbed with the bison horn) what it was all about. He didn't know either.

You can call it a "re-imagining" if you like but that doesn't make it any better. The truth is that it sits uncomfortably in the shadow of the original series and will always be found wanting by comparison. The original series had gaping wide holes in it, to be sure. Plots that went nowhere, major continuity dis-junctures and non-sequiturs. Really Bad fight scenes. But they were forgivable in the light of the joyous eccentricity of the whole production. The mad formality/informality of the Village civic society, the cohesive design work, the hilariously bogus technology and the puckish humour. Alas, all of these are sadly lacking in this tedious little apology of a series. In the original series we were with Number Six all the way. We cheered at his successes and groaned in sympathy whenever he was caught out. In this mangled-up remake I don't really give a damn what happens to "Six". He may escape or rot. It is all One to me.