Fabtastic cause: Comic Relief 2011 (Mar 18)
Help!: imagery of The Beatles was used to publicise Red Nose Day in 2009, the appeal that year raising the enormously impressive sum of £80 million for good causes in both Africa and the UK
Contrary to, well, some people’s opinion, doctors swear by it – yes, laughter is apparently a fine form of medicine. All right, it may not, as the saying goes, be the best, but for many projects of goodwill – and, ultimately, for people – throughout Africa and in the UK, laughter has been very important since way back in 1988, when the first Comic Relief appeal televised on the BBC turned the currency of humour and laughter into hard cash.
And tonight, the biennial event is back once more. Nowadays, of course, it’s huge. Already in the name of this year’s effort, David Walliams has experienced the ‘ardour’ of participating in 24 hours of panel shows, Blue Peter presenter Helen Skelton has walked a high-wire between the towers of London’s Battersea Power Station and a group of – let’s be honest – mostly annoying celebrities have trekked across a Kenyan desert. But it’s tonight when the real hard-sell happens and the several-hours-long marathon of televisual funnybone-exercising takes place and the raising of the real reddies is realised.
Just like the BBC’s other charity-athon Children In Need, Comic Relief manages to make the Great British public part with a staggering amount of dosh – so far, the charity has raised around £650 million. All in all then, given so many dig deep and, of course, given the importance of the different causes it helps out, methinks Comic Relief is a most worthy and significant event to support. So, yes, this post is me doing my bit – and, inevitably, it has a retro slant to it too in the form of a quartet of classic clips I’ve included to tickle your collective sense of humour.
The first is from (probably) the first Comic Relief event held at the Shaftesbury Theatre, London, on April 4 1986 and features Rowan Atkinson and, yes, Kate Bush performing a duet of the – once heard, never forgotten – song Do Bears…?
The second is from the same event and features Stephen Fry as a merchant banker struggling to get to grips with a couple of Comic Relief money-raisers – Band/ Live Aid organisers Bob Geldof and Midge Ure no less – asking him for a charity contribution (oh, how topical)…
The third is no doubt from the same night and features Atkinson again as an Elizabethan literary editor and Hugh Laurie as William Shakespeare with the two discussing what to keep in and – mostly – out of his new play entitled Hamlet…
And, finally, the fourth comes from Red Nose Night 1989 as the brilliant Atkinson (yet again) pastiches a fast-talking Peter Snow-like figure asking memorable politicians of the day questions in a Newsnight-cum-panel show sketch…
And if you enjoyed all of that then do give tonight’s TV event a view and give some money, or at least just give some money, won’t you? I guarantee you’ll feel better for it – after all, laughter’s good for you. 
Comic Relief is on BBC1 tonight from 7pm (UK and Northern Ireland only)
Further reading
Birthday bonanza: rare images of Hollywood’s greatest stars
The playboy (and girl) of the western world: legendary lovers and Hollywood stars Anjelica Huston and Jack Nicholson captured by photographer Klaus Lucka von Zelberschwecht
A birthday? Whose birthday? Whose do you think, my dear readers – why, this very blog’s! Yes, that’s right, a full year ago today, the often fun-loving and insightful, other times rather goofy and eccentric, but always retro George’s Journal traversed out into the blogosphere and began its journey down through the decades with this, it’s very first post.
And so, to celebrate, this latest post offers up you, my (hopefully) loyal and pleased followers, something of a present, or even – if you prefer – a ‘thank you’… yes, it’s a post featuring rarely seen piccies of some of Hollywood’s best loved stars. A mixture of images in which their subjects are on-set, off-guard, funny or, in some cases, downright cool, this is a collection I hope you all enjoy as we blow out the, well, single candle on this blog’s birthday cup-cake – for here at George’s Journal now, indeed, we are one…
CLICK on the images to see them full-size
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Heaven’s missing two angels: it isn’t, of course, as Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly are no longer with us, but here they both are checking on their radiance backstage at the 1956 Oscars
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Close-up: Sammy Davis Jr. goofing around with James Dean, most likely, in the mid-’50s
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Hoop dream: Marilyn Monroe toasts us in the pool, most likely from the late ’50s or early ’60s
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Poker faces: Frank Sinatra with a faithful friend during the filming of 1955’s The Tender Trap
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Man and wife: happily married for decades until his recent death, Paul Newman and Joanne Woodward shortly after her Academy Award win in 1958 – with her Oscar and his ‘Noscar’
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Holding the key: À Bout de Souffle’s Jean Seberg posing oh-so sexily in these snaps most likely from the mid- or late ’60s, looking so blissfully unaware of the tragic future that awaited her
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So close to me: Steve McQueen and Natalie Wood in 1963’s Love With The Proper Stranger
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The three stooges: Woody Allen, Peter O’Toole and Peter Sellers on the set of 1965’s madcap What’s New Pussycat?, all three at the beginning of what would be stellar cinematic careers
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Double exposure: Charlie’s daughter Geraldine Chaplin and Swinging Sixties ‘It’ girl Julie Christie artily caught in costume and on-set of 1965’s blockbuster epic Doctor Zhivago
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From stage to screen: director Fred Zinneman (with pipe) adjusts the costume of star Paul Schofield during the filming of 1966’s multi Oscar-winning A Man For All Seasons
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Paris when it sizzles: co-stars Audrey Hepburn and Peter O’Toole between takes during filming at the Parisian location of 1966 heist-cum-romantic comedy How To Steal A Million
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That face: Italian screen goddess Sophia Loren photographed most likely in the 1960s
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Francophilia: Jane Fonda with saucy cult director Roger Vadim, most probably in the mid-’60s
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Winter wonderland: Alfred Hitchcock on a sleigh-ride with his grandchildren
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Three’s a crowd?: siblings Shirley Maclaine and Warren Beatty in deep conversation, while the latter’s girlfriend at the time Joan Collins looks on, seemingly happy to sit this one out
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Hardy boy and his girl: iconic lovers Terence Stamp and Julie Christie in a promotional shot for John Schlesinger’s 1967 cinematic adaptation of Thomas Hardy’s Far From The Madding Crowd
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Hippie chic: Natalie Wood defining late-’60s beauty on-set of 1969’s Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice
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À ma sœur!: Catherine Deneuve and her fellow actress sister Francoise Dorleac photographed together most likely in the mid- or late ’60s, shortly before the latter’s untimely death
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Getting ahead: Sean Connery has Brigitte Bardot right where he wants her during a break in filming of 1968 western Shalako – the latter was almost a Bond Girl a few years before
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Naked ambition?: Robert Redford and Paul Newman look like they mean business as they play a game of table tennis during a break in filming of 1969’s Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid
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Tattoo you: Goldie Hawn sporting psychedelic bodypaint in the late ’60s
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Unhappy ending: Roman Polanski and Sharon Tate in 1969, the year of her murder
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Alpine schnaps break?: Clint Eastwood, Ingrid Pitt and Richard Burton are joined by the latter’s then wife Elizabeth Taylor in a break during filming of 1969 WWII actioner Where Eagles Dare
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Famous faces: megastars Michael Caine, Roger Moore and Burt Reynolds on a 1973 TV show
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Kiss and tell: golden girls Brigitte Bardot and Jane Birkin on-set of the Roger Vadim 1973 film Don Juan ou Si Don Juan était une femme… (Don Juan, or If Don Juan Were A Woman…)
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Golden boy: Robert Redford captured candidly and defining cool in the early 1970s
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Stepping out: Steve McQueen, Robert Wagner, Faye Dunaway, William Holden, Jennifer Jones, Fred Astaire, Paul Newman, Richard Chamberlain, Robert Vaughn and, er, OJ Simpson – aka the stars of 1974’s blockbusting disaster movie extraordinaire The Towering Inferno
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Jeet Kune Do-ing it: Bruce Lee in the early ’70s looking every bit an icon for all times
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Hot stuff: Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in a personal and passionate moment
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Friends in high places: Jill St. John, then girlfriend of US Secretary of State Henry Kissinger, snapped in the presence of Russian premier Leonid Brezhnev and US President Richard Nixon
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Clowning around: Dustin Hoffman creeps up on his co-star Lord Olivier on the set of 1976’s Marathon Man and plays up for the camera – the latter doesn’t exactly look happy as Larry
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Saturday sly fever: John Travolta and Sylvester Stallone snapped together in the late ’70s
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Three’s company: on the verge of superstardom, Star Wars’ young leads Harrison Ford, Carrie Fisher and Mark Hamill looking fresh-faced, light and relaxed at the movie’s 1977 premiere
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Football crazy: Michael Caine and England’s 1966 World Cup winning captain Bobby Moore promote John Huston’s unlikely but delightful 1981 football caper Escape To Victory
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Two of a kind: Al Pacino and Robert De Niro pose as if caught in headlights in this 1982 shot
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Bon-d viveurs: former 007 stars (and good friends in real life) Roger Moore and Sean Connery enjoy a drink, a smoke and a laugh for the camera, most likely in the late ’70s or early ’80s
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Double take: another shot of Huston and Nicholson by Klaus Lucka von Zelberschwecht
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Record artists: Nicholson and Huston again – is a change of record all Jack’s requesting here…?
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Into the groove: Rosanna Arquette and Madonna on-set of 1985’s Desperately Seeking Susan
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Who ya gonna call (for a sequel)?: Bill Murray, Sigourney Weaver and Dan Aykroyd looking all smiles as they team up again to star in (and publicise) 1989 megabucks comedy Ghostbusters II
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Take off: or is it? The Thunderbirds films should have been the icing on Gerry Anderson’s 1960s, but like others of his projects they helped forge a creative career of as many downs as ups
5… First there was Thunderbirds… 4… Then we had Captain Scarlet… 3… Next it was Joe 90… 2… After that came Space 1999… 1… And finally we got Terrahawks. Back in the day, Gerry Anderson was go!
Yes, from the mid-’60s through to the mid-’80s, that man ruled puppetry-driven family adventure drama on the gogglebox like no other. In fact, so unique and impressive a genre was it that nobody else really attempted it. In their day, Anderson’s amply entertaining and enormously inventive TV efforts were undeniably popular and nowadays have become utterly iconic and thus the stuff of warm, wonderful nostalgia. So much so, in fact, that this winter Royal Mail launched a special series of stamps to commemorate the fiftieth anniversary of Anderson’s first, top, truly popular show, Supercar.
Mind you, if you’re being pedantic, it actually all started long before Lady Penelope was even a pretty little twinkle in old Gerry’s eye. Unlikely it may seem (given the ‘Boy’s Own’ nature and titles of most of his TV escapades), but Anderson’s first foray on telly came in 1957 with a series named The Adventures Of Twizzle for former ITV company, Granada. Dreamt up by romance author Roberta Leigh, its title character was a pixie hat-wearing doll with extending (or ‘twizzling’) limbs. Its episodes mostly directed by Anderson, the series was the first venture of his brand new TV production company, AP Films. Boasting 52 episodes, Twizzle was a success and Gerry was on his way.
At first, puppetry had never been on Anderson’s radar, though. Born in London in 1929, he was of Russian-Jewish ancestry (his original family name was ‘Bieloglovski’, which was altered to ‘Abrahams’ by an immigration official upon his grandfather’s entrance to the UK in 1895 and then this was changed to ‘Anderson’ by his mother in 1939). When World War Two broke out that same year, Gerry’s older brother was conscripted into the RAF and stationed in the US at an airbase named Thunderbird Field – a moniker that Gerry remembered and, yes, would later make good use of.
Toy story and cover stars: Torchy The Battery Boy (left); Four Feather Falls on the cover of TV Times magazine from late February 1960 (middle) and its puppets in performance (right)
Before entering the RAF himself for national service, the young Anderson kick-started a planned career in photography by joining the British Colonial Film Unit on a traineeship, which led to a job with film studio Gainsborough Pictures. Following his time in the military, he returned to Gainsborough Pictures, where he stayed until its closure in 1950. Next, after freelancing as a director, he joined Polytechnic Studios, only for the latter, unfortunately, to fold quickly after his move there too. However, it was while with Polytechnic that Anderson made an important acquaintance, namely with cameraman Arthur Provis.
Tired of freelance work, Anderson – together with Provis and fellow film/TV professionals Reg Hill and John Read, founded Pentagon Films. Pentagon wound up quickly, but the four men’s next venture certainly didn’t – it was now that AP Films was founded (whose full title thus was Anderson-Provis Films). With its success with Twizzle, AP Films was off and running and, eager to collaborate futher with new creative colleagues puppeter Christine Glanville, special effects whizz Derek Meddings and composer Barry Gray, Anderson was looking to his next TV project.
This came in the shape of Torchy The Battery Boy (1958-59), which itself was swiftly followed by western adventure series Four Feather Falls (1959-60). Both were popular with UK children, but – as would be the case throughout his career – Anderson was ambitious and immediately wanted to move on to the next thing: something bigger and better that would strive to be more popular, memorable and successful. The result was the first of his genuinely well-recalled puppetry efforts, Supercar (1960-61).
Those magnificent men (and woman) and their flying machine: Gerry and Sylvia Anderson and cohorts at work during the production of Supercar, the hit that really got them off and running
The progression to this new series hadn’t been easy, however. Not only was there a break between AP Films and Granada, as Lord Lew Grade (one of British television’s most powerful figures of the day) ensured his company ATV became AP’s new partner, but also Anderson’s personal life had become a mite complicated. Around 1950, he had married, only to begin an affair during the production of Twizzle with AP Films’ attractive secretary Sylvia Thamm; by which time he also had two children. Inevitably, he and his wife divorced, freeing him to marry Thamm in 1960.
As planned, though, Supercar was a bigger success than anything Anderson had tried before, so much so that it became the first of his series to break America, being shown in syndication in the States. It featured, yes, a ‘supercar’, a vehicle that – thanks to its rockets – both hovered when travelling on the ground and flew like a jet through the air. Boasting a total of 39 episodes, Supercar also featured two elements that were to become Anderson staples – a ‘launch sequence’ of the series’ eponymous vehicle over the opening titles and, perhaps more importantly, the ever so clever puppetry-performing technique that he loftily entitled ‘Supermarionation’ (the use of which would be boasted in the credits of all the shows in which it featured).
Make no mistake, though, Supermarionation was groundbreaking – and was critical to the effectiveness and success of all of Anderson’s puppet-based series from Supercar onwards. The technique worked by means of a puppet’s movements being controlled via thin metal wires connected to its head and limbs. These wires, however, doubled as conductors for an electric current, which on reaching a puppet’s head would activate a device contained therein that synchronised the puppet’s lip movements with its pre-recorded voice as the latter was played live on-set. Simple glove-puppet ventriloquism this most definitely was not.
Anderson followed up the success of Supercar with the spaceship-featuring Fireball XL5 (1962). Still very fondly recalled, XL5 excelled specifically in two respects; it was the first Anderson show to feature a hummable and chart-entering theme tune and was the first – and only – to have been shown properly on a network in the US, rather than in syndication. NBC broadcast it during its Saturday morning block of children’s shows between 1963 and ’65.
Hot on the heels of this latest success came Stingray (1964). With this combat-submarine fuelled adventure, AP Films upped the ante further. Not only was it the first children’s show in British TV history to be filmed in colour, it also saw notable improvements over the last two Anderson efforts in terms of special effects (explosions and, in particular, underwater sequences) and puppet acting – each major puppet now had interchangeable heads so a variety of facial expressions could be achieved. Much of this was facilitated by the buy-out of AP Films by Grade’s ATV, ensuring the team moved to larger studios in Slough, Berkshire.
Stingray, though, is perhaps best remembered for its truly stonking opening theme tune, which featured the unforgettable line ‘Anything can happen in the next half-hour!’. Indeed, Anderson’s 25-minute-long marionette capers had now become unmissable slices of weekly TV for masses of kids on both sides of the pond. And this was never more true than with his next show – the big one. With Thunderbirds (1964-66), Anderson truly hit the jackpot. How big was Thunderbirds? Well, it may not be exaggerating it to say that with the kids of the day it was bigger than both Doctor Who – an unquestioned family TV triumph – and James Bond – an unquestioned king of cinema.
Flying high and diving for treasure: both Colonel Steve Zodiac of Fireball XL5 (left) and James Garner look-alike Troy Tempest of Stingray (right) were big hits with kids everywhere
In fact, it’s maybe impossible to imagine retro culture without it. It featured, of course, the exploits of the tropical island-based Tracy family, which, under the banner of ‘International Rescue’, used spectacular vehicles to save people around the world from terrible disasters. Headed up by former astronaut dad Jeff, there was Scott (Thunderbird 1 – rocket), Virgil (Thunderbird 2 – big green plane), Alan (Thunderbird 3 – space rocket), Gordon (Thunderbird 4 – miniature submarine despached from Thunderbird 2) and John (Thunderbird 5 – spacestation); all of whom were actually named after astronauts from NASA’s ’50s Mercury program.
Joining them, of course, were engineer extraordinaire ‘Brains’, evil saboteur The Hood and ‘London agent’ the oddly (for a puppet) sexy Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward with her Cockney butler Aloysius ‘Nosey’ Parker, whom also chauffered his employer around in her futuristic-looking, James Bond-like gadget laden, pink Rolls Royce that bore the number plate ‘FAB 1’. Ah yes, and then was ‘F.A.B.’ – who could forget the Tracys’ inimitable radio call-sign? In actual fact, it wasn’t supposed to be an acronym for anything; it merely was an attempt to be down with the kids by referencing that oh-so ’60s word ‘fab’.
But, as said, Thunderbirds was definitely down with the kids. In fact, it’s one of those children’s shows that thanks to hours and hours of repeats always seems to have been. Perhaps surprisingly, just 32 one-hour (or, without adverts, 50-minute) episodes were made. This was because, although a huge hit in the UK, the series wasn’t taken on by any of the three major US networks owing to Lew Grade playing each off against the other to get the highest possible price; his gamble didn’t work and the show was instead shown in syndication, resulting in Grade calling time on the costly programme before its time. Yet it was obviously costly; compared to Anderson’s previous efforts, the improved models, sets and special effects (in addition to the increased running time) ensured that each episode felt like a feature film.
Much credit for this must go to effects supervisor and chief model-builder Derek Meddings. Not only did Meddings master much improved explosions (filmed at double-speed so when slowed to normal-speed the look was even more impressive), vehicle take-offs and landings and road- and air-travel shots, he also created fantastic but credible-looking models that would imprint themselves on the masses’ minds for decades to come. Proof of his achievements lies in the fact his team was poached by Stanley Kubrick to work on the forthcoming sci-fi spectacular 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). Meddings himself would go on to a highly successful career in Hollywood, contributing to many a Bond film and winning an Oscar for making audiences ‘believe a man can fly’ in Superman (1978).
Living doll: the original Lady Penelope in the Thunderbirds TV series (left) and the updated m’lady as played by the very much live-action Sophia Myles in the 2004 movie version (right)
Indeed, Meddings’ model work on Thunderbirds so captured the public’s imagination that Dinky- and Matchbox-produced replica toys and other paraphernalia based on the show sold like hotcakes during the ’60s. Nowadays Thunderbirds-related merchandise of the period is among the most collectable toys in existence. And, as he did for both XL5 and Stingray, Meddings’ fellow mainstay at AP Films (or Century 21 Productions, as it was now renamed) Barry Gray composed another classic theme for Thunderbirds.
In fact, it’s surely fair to say the Thunderbirds March is the classic Gerry Anderson theme. Instantly recognisable, especially when heard over the opening credits of each episode with the melodramatically marvellous ‘5-4-3-2-1’ countdown (see video above), it’s a favourite with brass bands the world over and became a staple ingredient of the live shows for both British band Level 42 and New York rappers The Beastie Boys.
Mind you, perhaps the most famous pop culture reference – or, to be precise, parody – of Thunderbirds came at the height of its popularity when, in a 1966 episode of their popular BBC show Not Only… But Also, legendary comedians Peter Cook and Dudley Moore delivered a thinly veiled parody of all-things-Anderson in the shape of the sketch Superthunderstingcar. A marvellous and utterly classic TV comedy moment, Pete and Dud hammed it up as wobbling puppets with wonky accents assisted by wonkier special effects (see video below). Hey, they say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, right?
For the highly ambitious Gerry and his wife Sylvia (now an important member of the creative team), the natural progression for Thunderbirds was into cinemas – if its future didn’t lie on TV surely it must lie in the movies? But, for the first time, the gods weren’t on Anderson’s side; in fact, this time they seemed to find him guilty of hubris. Perhaps he’d forgotten that the reason Thunderbirds had to move on from TV was because moneyman Lew Grade had decided it wasn’t financially viable anymore, not because it had become too big for the small screen – as it turned out, Thunderbirds definitely wasn’t big enough for the big screen.
There were two films; the first Thunderbirds Are Go was released at Christmas 1966. Running at 93 minutes, it featured all the usual impressive hardware and pyrotechnics, but was hampered by a frankly daft plot involving Martians and a psychedelic dream sequence that featured ‘Cliff Richard Jr and The Shadows’ (yes, Cliff and co. all had their own puppets). Still, the movie studio that financed it, United Artists, were expectant and delighted with the preview they saw. Indeed, according to Anderson, at the premiere the head of UA apparently said: “I don’t know whether it’s going to make more money than Bond or not, I can’t decide”. It didn’t; it bombed.
As Anderson puts it: “the next day, The Dominion at Tottenham Court Road had about ten people in it [watching the film].” Ultimately, both he and Sylvia put the movie’s lack of success down to the fact that punters looked upon Thunderbirds as a television phenomenon – they watched it on TV, why would they go and watch the same thing in a cinema? Seemingly confused by Thunderbirds Are Go‘s failure, UA commisioned a sequel that was duly produced and released, but the oddly Tiger Moth byplane-featuring Thunderbird 6 (1968) fared no better than its predecessor – although, fair do’s, like the latter it did boast a spiffing poster.
The puppet master: Captain Scarlet – a lean, admittedly not green but red fighting machine
Somewhat chastened by their cinematic experiences, Gerry, Sylvia and their team returned to the terra firma of TV for their next project – but not entirely to earth. Captain Scarlet And The Mysterons (1967-68) went back to the idea of Martians as tried out in Thunderbirds Are Go. This time, though, they got it right. Set a hundred years into the future, as Thunderbirds more or less had been, this show centred around the eponymous Captain Scarlet, a freakishly unkillable agent of Spectrum, the international organisation that countered the moves of the evil Mysterons from Mars who had started a war with Earth.
Now, I have to admit, Captain Scarlet is definitely my favourite Anderson venture. Compared to Thunderbirds and many of his other efforts, it was more serious, sombre, eerie and simply cooler. With the enigmatic but heroic Scarlet, the faux glamorous female Angel jet pilots and a genuinely threatening villain, you could describe it as Intergalactic James Bond stuff. It’s as if Thunderbirds had grown up. Sort of. It was also more naturalistic, as the model makers painstakingly – and successfully – populated the adventures with less cartoonish, more human-looking puppets, both in terms of head and facial features and body dimensions. Plus, of all the Anderson shows, this one surely contained the greatest Barry Gray theme, replete with its irresistible staccato drum motif, of course.
Sadly, in some respects, but far from surprisingly, Captain Scarlet couldn’t match Thunderbirds‘ ginormous popularity and success (could anything?) and lasted one series. Plus, it was admittedly somewhat criticised for its darker tone, ‘violence’ and increased action and explosions. Gerry and Sylvia responded by grounding their next venture in far more character-driven stories. Joe 90 (1968) featured a nine-year-old hero, who when hooked up to his inventor dad’s clever-clever apparatus could take on the knowledge and capacities’ of others’ minds, ensuring him a career as an international spy (as it obviously would). As cult-friendly and wonderfully whimsically ’60s-silly as any of Anderson’s efforts, Joe 90 had definitely more ‘kid-appeal’ than Captain Scarlet, but with its emphasis on characters and plotting maybe went too far the other way – audiences and critics weren’t that crazy on its less-is-more style.
The final Anderson puppet-driven series of this period was The Secret Service (1969), a series that nowadays is almost forgotten. Like Joe 90, it too was strongly plot-driven, slightly bizarrely focusing on the espionage adventures of a countryside Church minister and his assistant. With its emphasis on increased naturalism – as with Joe 90, it contained puppets like those introduced in Captain Scarlet, while it also used human actors in long shots – it was a long way from the carefree fantasy of Stingray and Thunderbirds.
No strings attached: Ed Bishop in UFO (left); Vaughn and Porter in The Protectors (right)
As the ’60s slid into the ’70s, the Andersons were at a crossroads. Sensing that TV puppet action adventures may have had their time, they didn’t blink and went in totally the opposite direction. Century 21’s first project of its new era was a live-action, entirely human actor-populated feature film, Doppelgänger (1969). Known as Journey To The Far Side Of The Sun outside Europe, it was pretty typical-for-the-time sci-fi fare and didn’t exactly pull up trees at the box-office. More successful was the next venture, which re-used several actors and props from the movie. UFO (1970-71) was a return to the small-screen for the Andersons, but a continuation of live-action filming and, although only moderately popular back in the day, is nowadays very fondly recalled.
It memorably featured minor James Bond actor Ed Bishop (who had also voiced a major character in Captain Scarlet) sporting a peroxide mop as Commander Ed Straker, star member of the near-future SHADO organisation, whose aim was to thwart aliens looking to extract humans’ organs. As the premise suggests, despite featuring the usual Anderson-friendly sci-fi hardware, UFO was much more adult than previous Century 21 efforts; in fact, it explored themes such as adultery, divorce and drug use.
Talking of grown-up things, by this time the Anderson’s marriage was in trouble; so much so, that Sylvia wasn’t involved in Gerry’s next series at all. She may have kicked herself, she may not, for The Protectors (1972-74) was easily her husband’s most successful project since Thunderbirds (ironically, he didn’t come up with the concept, though). Live-action again, it was an adventure drama boasting Man From U.N.C.L.E. Robert Vaughn and The Forsyte Saga star Nyree Dawn Porter as a pair of intenational trouble-shooters. Featuring the ever popular Tony Christie tune Avenues And Alleyways over its end credits, it ran for two series and was widely watched on both sides of the Atlantic; rumours persist the reason there wasn’t a third was because the ‘difficult’ Vaughn couldn’t get on with either his fellow actors or Anderson and Grade.
By now it was the mid-’70s and you’d be forgiven for thinking Gerry Anderson may have slowed down, but nothing like it – in his latest project, he really went for the jugular. Why? He’d taken up an offer from legendary film producer Harry Saltzman to write the next Bond film, that’s why. As it turned out, though, it was one of the characters of the next 007 epic, Jaws, who went for the jugular; Gerry was left barely leaving a tooth-mark – although he claimed otherwise. Shortly after accepting Saltzman’s offer, the latter parted company with fellow Bond producer Albert R ‘Cubby’ Broccoli owing to financial problems and Anderson’s involvement in the writing process was no longer wanted. When the movie itself, The Spy Who Loved Me (1977), came out though, rightly or wrongly, Anderson was apoplectic, claiming Broccoli’s Eon Productions had used ideas from his script in the flick without his consent. He started legal proceedings against them, but realising the considerably larger legal clout Broccoli had mustered up, dropped the case and accepted a mere £3,000 in compensation.
His brush with Bond no doubt leaving a sour taste in the mouth, Gerry went back to the familiar, namely TV and his wife. Working elements intended for the abandoned second series of UFO into a new show, the Andersons’ next offering then was Space: 1999 (1975-78). Nowadays looked upon as an iconic ’70s sci-fi series – everything from its music to its characters’ togs ache of that decade’s love-it-or-hate-it style (see video above) – this drama about a space base on a knocked-out-of-orbit Moon starring Mission: Impossible‘s husband-and-wife team Martin Landau and Barbara Bain didn’t fare quite so brilliantly as it might have when originally broadcast.
Indeed, owing to the first series’ disappointing viewing figures on American syndicated TV, Lew Grade needed convincing a second series was worthwhile. Oddly, despite the presence of delectable former Bond Girl and Return Of The Pink Panther (1975) co-star Catherine Schell, series two originally did better in Canada than anywhere else. Still, geeks the world over quietly lapped up each episode and, as mentioned, even more of them do so today.
Space – ’70s style: The Andersons and the Landaus on set – wonder if they ever had a key party? (l); the cast of Space: 1999 pose for Kay’s catalogue’s casual Moonbase-wear section (r)
Space: 1999, though, was the last straw for Gerry and Sylvia Anderson’s professional and personal relationships. Halfway through the show’s run they split; indeed, another producer had to be found to replace Sylvia’s role for its second series. Newly divorced, Gerry now found the going tough – not only was he estranged from his son with Sylvia (and would remain so for another 20 years), but he had also run into financial trouble, what with Grade pulling the plug on a third series of Space: 1999 because, it seemed, the latter wanted instead to finance a return to TV of classic hero The Saint (in what turned out to be the risible The Return Of The Saint) and a big screen adaptation of bestselling novel Raise The Titanic (the resultant movie, released in 1980, would actually go down in history as one of cinema’s greatest ever flops).
It was now the 1980s and, like it or not, Anderson found himself going back to the future. Forming a new production company with businessman Christopher Burr (Anderson Burr Pictures), he decided to return to Thunderbirds territory by coming up with a new series populated by cartoonish-like puppet characters reminiscent of his most popular show. Indeed, the smart recognised Terrahawks (1983-86) as something of a ‘black comedy’ version of Thunderbirds, rather than simply the re-hash of the heroic-human-combat-force-protect-Earth-from-aliens ground Anderson had trod more than once before. Having been a child of the ’80s, I must confess Terrahawks was my introduction to all things Anderson and, at the time, I thought it great fun – and many still do, it’s garnered quite the cult following over the years. As Barry Norman had a wont to ask, and why not?
Anderson spent much of the rest of the decade trying to get new puppet-themed shows off the ground, but to little avail – yet he did find success in providing special effects direction for the popular ’50s sci-fi-themed rock ‘n’ roll stage musical Return To The Forbidden Planet. Mind you, if he’d pulled off a moderate return to form in the ’80s with Terrahawks, it was in the ’90s (the decade that wallowed in such warm nostalgia for the better aspects of the ’60s) that he enjoyed a genuine renaissance.
Fifty not out: Royal Mail’s limited edition collection of stamps featuring Gerry Anderson’s classic marionette action adventures to celebrate the fiftieth anniversary of Supercar
Sure, his Supermarionation-fuelled shows had been popular ever since they were first shown, but never were they more popular since then than in the ’90s, when Thunderbirds, especially, and the others enjoyed weekday teatime showings once more and new toys were produced to feed kids’ hunger for Scott, Virgil, Brains et al. Indeed, in 1993, beacon of children’s TV Blue Peter even demonstrated to its young viewers how they might construct their own version of Tracy Island in case the shops sold out of the proper toy – and many did.
The truth, I suppose, is that Gerry Anderson and the majority of his TV projects have always been popular. And, excepting their huge following when originally conceived and broadcast in the ’60s and the somewhat mirroring of that fanaticism in the ’90s, they’re still undeniably popular now. There’s something about the likes of Captain Scarlet, Joe 90 and Stingray that does and no doubt always will appeal to kids little and old. Is it the cool hardware, the comfy sci-fi fantasy, the funkily brilliant music or the puppets themselves? Perhaps it’s all of them that mix together into concocting an Anderson ‘x-factor’ that for so many is simply irresistible.
Indeed, the Gerry Anderson story goes on. Take the 2004 live-action Hollywood movie version of Thunderbirds – it was terrible, sure, but it was made and turned something of a profit. A CGI-re-invention of Captain Scarlet (Gerry Anderson’s New Captain Scarlet) emerged on TVs in 2005 too. And now, with the release this January of Royal Mail’s sleek looking ‘The Genius Of Gerry Anderson’ stamp collection, came the news from the man himself that he’s finally negotiated the rights to bring back Thunderbirds on his own terms. Parker, I’m sure, would be delighted at that news – and Penelope? Yes, m’lady, indeed. In fact, perhaps we all can toast a cup of her favourite tipple (tea, of course) to that.
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Further reading
Royal Mail ~ Gerry Anderson stamps
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Playlist: Listen, my friends! ~ March 2011
In the words of Moby Grape… listen, my friends! Yes, it’s the (hopefully) monthly playlist presented by George’s Journal just for you good people.
There may be one or two classics to be found here dotted in among different tunes you’re unfamiliar with or never heard before – or, of course, you may’ve heard them all before. All the same, why not sit back, listen away and enjoy…
CLICK on the song titles to hear them
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Bob Asklöf ~ Bons Baisers de Russie (From Russia With Love)
Nico ~ I’m Not Sayin’
Randy Newman ~ I Think It’s Going To Rain Today
The Doors ~ Touch Me
Quincy Jones ~ Walking In Space
Mike Oldfield ~ Tubular Bells Part 1 (Opening)
Peters and Lee ~ Welcome Home
Lynyrd Skynyrd ~ Tuesday’s Gone
Nicky Hopkins ~ Edward
Electric Light Orchestra ~ Livin’ Thing
Thin Lizzy ~ Sarah
Stephanie Mills ~ Bit By Bit (Theme From Fletch)
The Dream Academy ~ Please Please Let Me Get What I Want
‘And the winner is…?’: Oscar’s top 10 shocks
Bare-faced cheek: Niv sees the funny side as a chap in his birthday suit joins 74’s Oscar party
Love it or loathe it, it’s the Academy Awards again on Sunday night. Will The King’s Speech reign supreme or will The Social Network connect most with voters? Who knows and – you may ask – who cares? Indeed, when it comes down to it, aside from observing the silver screen’s glitterati all in one place at once and checking out what they’re all wearing, why do we actually watch the Oscars? I’ll tell you why, for exactly the same reason we watch any major sporting or news event – in case anything exciting, nay surprising, happens.
Yes, folks, we’re talking Oscar shocks. But what do I mean by that? Small-scale family drama Ordinary People beating Raging ‘the greatest movie of the ’80s’ Bull to Best Picture in ’81? No, the Academy always goes for the emotionally satisfying over the emotionally challenging. Halle Berry and Denzel Washington being named Best Actor and Actress on the same night in ’02? Nah, it was simply ‘their’ time. Crash, well, crashing Brokeback Mountain‘s party back in ’05? Definitely not – I mean, be fair, were the conservative-with-a-small-‘c’ Academy ever going to give Best Picture to a flick about gay cowboys?
Nopes, you see, I’m talking the big, proper – sometimes surreal, often downright weird – surprises the Oscars have given us down through the decades that truly make the whole farago worthwhile. So, if you’ll take your seats, my very welcome VIP guests, this is my top 10 run-down…
(Oh, and do CLICK on the entry titles for video clips of the moments themselves – they’re well worth it)
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10. The Oscars that almost weren’t (1967)
So, where better to start a countdown of Oscar shocks than with the one that very nearly trumped all the others? Yes, but for a last-minute intervention, the 39th Academy Awards may have proved the most memorable Oscars of all – by not actually happening. Just like anywhere else, Hollywood in the late ’60s and ’70s was a politically energised place, with its annual big night out far from immune (see the next entry on the list) – and thanks to the attempts of the American Federation of Television and Radio Artists (AFTRA), 1967’s show is a prime example. AFTRA – a union of performers and broadcasters – aimed to hold a strike that would smartly/ cynically (delete as appropriate) coincide with the ceremony, ensuring its members couldn’t broadcast it. In the end, just three hours before the thing was due to air, whatever dispute the organisation had with the Academy was settled. Perhaps fittingly, one of the big winners on the night was Who’s Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? (1966) – a movie most memorable for its characters arguing with and shouting at each other throughout.
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As referred to above, Oscar has certainly known its fair share of protest speeches – award winners taking the opportunity to sprinkle those that have rewarded them with the ultimate honour in their profession not just (or even not all) with thanks, but with a harangue on their favourite political bête noire. Take for instance the wonderfully talented British actress Vanessa Redgrave, who when picking up her Best Supporting Actress stauette for Julia in 1978 (and in perhaps the most memorable Oscar ‘rant’) applauded the Academy for not being intimidated by “a small bunch of Zionist hoodlums, whose behavior is an insult to the stature of Jews all over the world, and to their great and heroic record of struggle against facism and oppression.” Why did she say this? Well, that year’s Oscars had been picketed by members of the Jewish Defence League, burning effigies of Redgrave, in protest to her backing Palestine’s cause and, in turn, to the Academy for nominating her for an award (she’d narrated a pro-Palestine documentary the same year). So did Vanessa get the last laugh? Well, she got cheers but boos too – and a ticking off for her behaviour from Julia‘s writer later on in the night. Hollywood rebels, eh?
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8. WTF? (1986)
Ah, Oscar frocks. It’s fair to say there’s definitely been some howlers down through the years. Who could forget Bjork’s totally surreal swan-dress in ’01 0r Gwyneth Paltrow’s revealing grey goth get-up in ’02? One year Diane Keaton came dressed in a Charlie Chaplin-inspired suit with tails. No, really. But the one that takes the biscuit for me is the, well… thing that the inimitable Cher wore in ’86 when she presented the Best Supporting Actor Oscar to Don Ameche. Quite frankly, the moment in which she sweeps on-stage looking like some sort of crow-dominatrix channelling Tina Turner in Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome (1985) and gives the award to the old-school, amiably conservative Ameche for his role in the gentle geriatric sci-fi drama Cocoon (1985) is simply the Oscars at its ill-fitting, awkwardly brilliant best (or worst, depending on your opinion). Sonny’s (once) other half actually won the Best Actress statuette two years later for Moonstruck (1987), but don’t worry she looked less ridiculous then. Well, slightly. She merely wore a highly slinky number that was way more naughty nightee than glammed-up night-out.
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1969. It was the end of the ’60s, the end of a dream really; the innocence of hippiedom had arguably collapsed and been replaced by… what? The Doors were right, the times were ‘strange days’, indeed. And strange, it’s probably fair to say, sum up the Oscars held that year. Oddly, the Academy hadn’t nominated 2001: A Space Odyssey, Rosemary’s Baby, Bullit, Planet Of The Apes or The Odd Couple for ’68’s Best Picture, instead preferring the likes of Franco Zeffirelli’s Romeo And Juliet and Paul Newman’s directorial debut Rachel, Rachel. And winning that prize on the night was not the outstanding historical drama The Lion In Winter, but stomping, escapist musical from another age Oliver! (admittedly, I love it). But things get stranger still, for there wasn’t a Best Actress award dished out that year – there were two. To the surprise of presenter Ingrid Bergman – and, frankly, everyone else – the result was a tie. Perhaps predictably, the imperious Katharine Hepburn won for her role in The Lion In Winter, but so too did newcomer Barbra Streisand for musical Funny Girl. And still it gets better. Like for all four of her Oscar wins, Hepburn didn’t actually turn up and, on the way to the stage, Barb managed to slip on the flared leg of her sheer, tuxedo-style trouser-suit. Classic stuff, indeed.
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6. An X-rated film wins Best Picture (1970)
So one year later at the Oscars and, well, the whole thing still very much mirrored the randomness, confusion, anger and chaos of the time. Take, for example, the five nominees for that year’s – or 1969’s – Best Picture: traditional historical epic Anne Of The Thousand Days; hugely popular comic, but revisionist western Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid; Barbra Streisand’s follow-up to Funny Girl (1968), the old-fashioned, rather out-of-date Hello, Dolly!; French-language, Algerian-made, Greek political thriller Z; and the X-rated gritty, brilliant New York-set drama Midnight Cowboy. Now, clearly the safe choice for the Academy would have been to give the award to either Anne Of The Thousand Days or – probably the public’s choice – Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid. Did they, though? Did they hell… they gave it to the X-rated flick. Yes, not only did the unfalteringly frank, homosexual- and homeless-themed Midnight Cowboy become the first film to be nominated for an Oscar with the least universal – and, arguably, most damning – film certificate possible, it also became the only one with that rating to land the big one (in actual fact, the X-rating no longer exists; its equivalent in the US today is the equally reviled NC-17). Not just that, but this upset ensured that the only ever X-rated movie to win Best Picture came just one year after the only ever G- (or U-) rated movie, Oliver!, achieved the same thing. Now that’s what you call an Oscar one-two.
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5. The ‘greatest film ever made’ doesn’t win Best Picture (1942)
Since 1962, Orson Welles’ awesome Citizen Kane (1941) has topped highbrow film magazine Sight & Sound‘s decennial Top 10 best movies list every single time. It topped the 1998 poll of the 100 greatest flicks published by the American Film Institute (AFI), as well as polls held by eight other notable movie organisations and magazines around the world. Of any film you care to name then, Citizen Kane may have the most legitimate claim as the ‘greatest ever made’. And yet, at the 1942 Oscars How Green Was My Valley, a film about Welsh coalminers (yes, seriously), won Best Picture. Ah, you may say, like 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Kane for some bizarre reason wasn’t nominated? But it was. And when truly outstanding flicks have been, they’ve usually gone on to win – Gone With The Wind (1939); Casablanca (1942); The Godfather Parts I (1972) and II (1974); One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest (1975); Schindler’s List (1993) etc. So why didn’t Kane? Well, the flick is actually a dark parody of pre-war US tycoon and press baron William Randolph Hearst, who was so dismayed at the film he effectively killed its chances of making a profit and threatened Academy members if they gave it any awards – it was nominated for nine (including for Director and Actor) and won only for its screenplay. Apparently, even the ceremony’s audience booed every time its name was mentioned. How Green Was My Valley? Pah, how lucky was that movie, more like.
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4. ‘A goddamn meat parade’ (1971)
In 1971 there was only one guy who was ever going to win the Best Actor Oscar. He was was the barnstorming thespian George C Scott, who in Patton (1970), the biopic of the infamous WWII US general, delivered arguably the best performance nominated for that award for several years. But he wasn’t a happy bunny – and, even if the world probably wouldn’t have, the Academy should have guessed what would happen. Nine years before, Scott had been nominated in the Supporting category for his role in The Hustler (1961), a move that hadn’t impressed him much – he’d sent a note to the Academy that said ‘No thanks’. Perhaps thankfully, he didn’t win that time. But, inevitably, he did for Patton. And not only didn’t he turn up, he also became the first person ever to reject an Oscar (the film’s producer Frank J McCarthy accepted it on the night; Scott had said he didn’t attend because he was watching an ice hockey game). But there are two accounts from Scott explaining his decision. The first quotes him as saying: “The whole thing is a goddamn meat parade. I don’t want any part of it”. In the second, from a 1986 interview, he states: “The [Oscar] ceremonies are a two-hour meat parade, a public display with contrived suspense for economic reasons. There is no question you get pumped up by the recognition. Then a self-loathing sets in when you realize you’re enjoying it.” You must admit, he may have a point there.
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3. Chariots beats Raiders (1982)
Now, in choosing an outrageous David-beats-Goliath win at the Academy Awards, the Oscar-versed among you may have suggested Driving Miss Daisy‘s ‘out-of-nowhere’ Best Picture win in 1990 over Born On The Fourth Of July, Dead Poets Society, Field Of Dreams and My Left Foot. After all, that quartet were all critically-acclaimed, big hits. Yet, Daisy actually was too – it ended up the eighth biggest flick at the US box-office in its year and, before the Oscars, won every award in sight. So, instead I’m going with Chariots Of Fire’s denial of Indy’s first escapade, Raiders Of The Lost Ark – the latter being Spielberg’s ginormously popular blockbuster, of course, the former being a tiny Brit drama about two runners at the 1924 Olympics. Erm, right. Chariots had no awards momentum (it hadn’t won at the Golden Globes or anything else). Moreover, it’s rather amazing the Academy had even heard of – let alone seen – it to choose it over Raiders and the other Best Picture nominees that year (including Katharine Hepburn and the Fondas in On Golden Pond and Warren Beatty’s epic Reds, which denied Chariots the usual double-whammy of Best Director too). You see, before the noms were announced Chariots had made $8m in the US; Raiders $188m. As the Yanks like to say, you do the math.
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This moment, quite wonderfully, was voted Oscar’s best ever in 2001. It’s not hard to understand why. The first ever recorded ‘streak’ was in London as far back as 1799, but it only really came to prominence, it seems, thanks to Californian students in the early 1970s disrobing and showing their all in public for the hell of it. By the time of the ’74 Oscars, the fad had spread to major public events on both sides of the pond, especially sports matches. At its height, even Snoopy streaked in a Peanuts, er, strip. However, the Oscars streak wasn’t quite the surprise many understandably assumed it was – it was actually pre-arranged in conjunction with the ceremony’s TV producer. Talk about embracing the flesh. The moment was magic, though. Just as urbane host David Niven was about to introduce Best Picture presenter Elizabeth Taylor, appearing in-shot behind him was the moustachioed photographer Robert Opel flashing a V-sign for ‘Peace’ (as well as his bits). Quite magnificently – and although not impromptu, as he knew what was going to happen – Niven quipped: “Isn’t it fascinating to think that probably the only laugh that man will ever get in his life is by stripping off and showing his shortcomings?”. Trust Niv not to make a big deal about such a little thing.
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1. Huh, that’s not Marlon Brando…? (1973)
So, this is Oscar’s biggest shock, eh – the one that leaves all the others behind mouthing an obscenity like Samuel L Jackson for missing out on the top prize? Yes, and it’s one as golden as the little feller on his plinth himself. As – I think it’s fair to say – I’ve pointed out, the years from the mid-’60s through to the mid-’70s were among the craziest and most entertaining at the Academy Awards (they rewarded some damn good films back then too, of course) and this moment in particular brilliantly sums up that period for the Oscars. The epic masterpiece that was The Godfather (1972) was adored by the public, lauded by the critics and awarded three Oscars by the Academy. Two of them were for Picture and Screenplay; the other for its lead, the legendary Marlon Brando in his iconic performance as Don Vito Corleone. But Brando decided to do ‘a George C Scott’ and didn’t accept his award. And what happened, following the funky pairing of Roger Moore and Liv Ullman announcing he’d won, was a diminutive young woman in Native American dress walked up to the stage and gestured to Moore she wouldn’t take the Oscar.
She went on to explain the absent Brando’s reasons for his no-show and non-acceptance: apparently it was a protest against Hollywood and US TV’s depiction of Native Americans and, especially, against the recent incident in South Dakota town Wounded Knee, which had been cordoned off by the FBI after being occupied by the American Indian Movement (AIM). To say the ceremony’s attendees were stunned by what was happening in front of them is an understatement – boos and applause both rang out – and that’s to say nothing for the reaction around the world. Unquestionably, the event did much to secure Brando a bizarre reputation in the public consciousness – later incidents, not least those on the set of the film Apocalypse Now (1979) would only fuel it further. Always a great talent, but without a doubt an eccentric individual. Shortly afterwards, it also emerged that the woman who had turned up on the night in his stead, named Sacheen Littlefeather, although a committed Native American activist, was also an actress and the winner of the ‘Miss American Vampire’ contest in 1970.
But, you may ask, given she hadn’t taken it, what happened to the Oscar? Well, the truth is that Roger Moore hung to it. According to his autobiography, the former 007 smoothly exited the venue still holding it and, arriving back at his hotel, mused on whether to give it to his pal Michael Caine, owing to the latter being nominated for it that year and, presumably unlike Marlon, only too happy to receive it. Eventually some charlies turned up the following morning and took it away in an armoured car – but not before Rog’s young daughter (as well as the crowds outside the venue) had assumed he’d won it himself. Yes, it’s just so unlikely and wonderful a tale, it must be true – and, like all the other great Oscar shocks listed here, I can assure you, peeps, it most definitely is. 
Carry on loving: Hattie (2011) ~ Review
Directed by: Dan Zeff
Starring: Ruth Jones, Robert Bathurst, Aidan Turner, Jeany Spark, Marcia Warren
Written by: Stephen Russell
UK; 85 minutes; Colour; Certificate: 12
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Hattie Jacques will be forever fixed in the British conciousness as the always loveably rotund, often stern and officious, sometimes warm and motherly star of 14 Carry On films. As she should be; she was a comedy actress par excellence and one of the finest artists to work on that much loved, so-long-running UK movie series.
Yet, thanks to a relatively recent biography of her, an episode in her life has come to light that – for the few who have read or heard about it – has cast her in an entirely different light. Namely that, shock horror, the matronly Hattie left and divorced her husband (Dad’s Army legend John Le Mesurier) over a passionate affair she had with another man – at the time, the media were made to believe Le Mesurier was the philanderer and therefore the guilty party, but this was a ruse concocted to save Jacques’ face and career.
Quite the revelation and, as the subject matter for the recent BBC4 film simply entitled Hattie, quite the story around which to create a drama. But does Hattie fulfil its potential and do the thing justice or just turn it into something of a smutty, nudge-nudge, wink-wink slapstick?
Well, thankfully, I’d say by and large it achieves the former. Fair dos, it’s neither breathtaking nor groundbreaking filmmaking, but as a TV movie that dramatises the real lives of two peeps who were once very much in the public eye (and are pretty much still a constant on our telly screens today), it certainly hits the spot. Indeed, it seems small-screen viewers agree – the first showing of Hattie, broadcast last month, pulled in the highest ever ratings for anything on the excellent, young BBC4 channel.
The story kicks-off in 1963 and all is as normal in the Le Mesurier/ Jacques household. Hattie’s in her prime, a household name about to start filming the latest Carry On film (Carry On Cabby – the seventh of the series), John’s career seems to be permanently stalled and he’s low on confidence; but both are colourful and charismatic characters in their middle class, actorly social circle and doting parents to their two young children.
It’s now that a complication arises in the shape of a driver Hattie meets named John Schofield. Immediately attracted to each other, the pair embark on an affair that, rather bizarrely, sees the latter move into Jacques’ home as the family’s new lodger. Even more bizarre is Le Mesurier’s reaction when he obviously becomes aware that something is afoot…
What primarily makes Hattie tick is its writing and the acting. Stephen Russell’s script may not necessarily contain the most sparkling dialogue imaginable, but smartly and believably recreates the well-to-do bohemian environment in the London suburbs that Hattie and the two Johns make for themselves – where their unusual ménage à trois takes place. At no point do any of the situations seem unconvincing; unlikely perhaps, unconvincing no.
Like the set and costume design too, he recreates the time and place of early ’60s Britain wonderfully. For instance, artsy John Le Mesurier not knowing what an ‘entrepreneur’ is when he enquires the occupation of his love rival makes for a nice moment. Plus, when the action switches to the filming of Cabby, one genuinely feels they’re catching a glimpse behind-the-scenes of a Carry On – the swearing-like-a-trooper of Marcia Warren’s Esma Cannon (so unlike the coy spinsters the character actress memorably portrayed) is a particular delight.
Acting-wise, the talented Ruth Jones (who, after the success of Gavin & Stacey, one may argue is on the way to becoming a household name herself) does a very good job as the unforgettable Ms Jacques. Her Hattie is fun, urbane, sexy and unquestionably sexual. And, in the face of her terribly put-upon husband, surprisingly empathethic too. Speaking of Le Mesurier, well, must admit, I’ve never been crazy about Robert Bathurst (the posh one from Cold Feet), but here he delivers a finely judged, balanced portrayal of the TV sitcom star as a thoroughly decent, but dandyish and effete chap – the script works to make him not come across as just a pathetic figure, but it’s Bathurst who really makes sure he doesn’t. Closing out the trio of leads is Aidan Turner (of Being Human and Desperate Romantics fame) as Hattie’s head-turner. While this character may not possess the richness or depth of the other two, its actor definitely does a decent job, hiding his Irish burr under an impressive Cockney accent, as he does.
So, while Hattie may not deliver its audience with anything truly great – unlike, say, Michael Sheen’s performance as Kenneth Williams in BBC4’s Fantabulosa! a few years back – it does deliver dashes of quality, doses of entertainment and definitely a more likely reality of Hattie Jacques’ life than that presented in the This Is Your Life episode devoted to her that it nicely recreates at one point. If only that programme’s loyal audience had known what their heroine Hattie was really getting up to – they’d have thought it a right carry on and no mistake.
You can purchase Hattie on DVD (Region 2 Format) here
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Worth the trip?: High Society exhibition ~ Wellcome Collection, London (until Feb 27)
Heroin heroics or caught out and cuffed?: Artist Richard Hamilton’s famous work Swingeing London, featuring Mick Jagger and art dealer Robert Fraser during arrest for heroin possession in 1967, currently on display as part of Wellcome Collection’s High Society exhibition
According to the official blurb for the latest exhibition at London’s Wellcome Collection, every society on Earth is a ‘high society’; an interesting point and one that this free exhibit does its utmost to make.
Indeed, if you’ve any interest in the drug-related counter-culture of the ’60s and ’70s or the history and realities of hallucinogenic drugs in general and have the means to visit this venue, then High Society could be something of a must for you. It sets itself a tough act in trying to reveal to peeps both the background and historical/ present use of mind-altering drugs, as well as the paraphenalia and controversies associated with them, but mostly through presenting a large and diverse collection of objects, images and artworks, it’s fair to say it succeeds.
Heroin, hashish, cocaine, ectasy, tobacco, alcohol and caffeine; they’re all covered here. And in a way that, while likely to reinforce some generally accepted opinions (drugs and their international trade are bad), may also make one think a little differently about one or two things (coffee was once illegal and Coca Cola originally contained cocaine). Smartly, the latter point is maybe most ensured by the exhibition’s dedication to displaying where the major drugs of today came from and how they got started with us.
Take, for example, heroin. An impressively comprehensive gathering of documents and images are on hand detailing 19th Century China’s growth in production of opium (the basis of heroin), the spread of opium addiction from there as Chinese immigrants moved to the US and Europe and, of course, the British Imperialist ambition of creating an opium-dependent population among the part of China it once controlled and the so-called Opium Wars with China this policy created (not exactly the UK’s finest hour). Yet, so much for a history lesson because in the same room a glass cabinet can be found containing objects that look like they were looted from a Victorian pharmacy, including heroin in a jar. Here’s a collision then of well documented, wide-sweeping history and lesser known, eyebrow-raising, far more domestic history.
Just (don’t) do it: a jar that once contained heroin and would have been available over the counter in Victorian Britain (l); a poster advocating the US alcohol prohibition in the 1920s (r)
And this unapologetically frank combination of objects, art and literature is to be found throughout High Society, as early copies of Lewis Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland (as well as footage of Jonathan Miller’s deliberately trippy 1966 film adaptation for the BBC), mingle with cocaine eye-drops, images of modern-day crack addicts, hashish and marijuana pipes of all shapes and sizes, photos of Native Americans consuming peyote (a mescaline-containing cactus), posters for and against alcohol temperance in the UK and US, essays on drug experimentation from 19th Century scholars and, thanks to a NASA project, prints of web patterns created by spiders while on benzedrine, caffeine and marijuana. You’ll be surprised by which of those three substances most intereferes with the arachnid web-spinners.
Maybe most interesting to readers of this blog, though, is the exhibition’s treatment of Western counter-culture drug usage. While photos and one or two drug-related artworks of the period (such as Richard Hamilton’s Swingeing Sixties above) are worthwhile, they’re most likely exactly the sort of thing you’ve seen before – probably on google, let’s be honest. What is far rarer and far more impressive is what’s maybe High Society‘s centrepiece, namely The Joshua Light Show.
Created by ‘visual musician’ Joshua White, it featured as a late ’60s and early ’70s backdrop at the Fillmore East venue in New York’s East Village while artists like The Doors, The Who, Grateful Dead, The Allman Brothers Band, Jimi Hendrix and Jefferson Airplane played. Sitting in front of it, as you can here, this psychedelic lumiere to those bands’ son gives you something of an idea of the trippy, hip atmosphere of such a place, with splattering and bubble-like vibrant colours and pop art-esque shapes crossing the screen before you. Behind the screen, you get to see how the thing works – whirring cameras create the continuously locomotive images with help from bottles of ink and plates containing film, magazine and photo shots. Mind you, this contribution to the exhibit was, in fact, recently created by White with Seth Kirby; it was intended, in the former’s words, as a ‘sculptural interpretation of a real 1960s psychedelic laboratory.’
Perhaps High Society‘s greatest success, however, is that it doesn’t make any judgments itself; it shows the visitor the origins of the drugs we’re familiar with, how they’ve been indulged in both illegally for a high and traditionally in communities for spiritual, medicinal and diplomatic purposes and how, in relatively modern society, they’ve become fetishised, demonised, regulated and the source of a $200bn a year business. In short, it makes you think – surely a perfectly acceptable and healthy addiction for us all.
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Further reading:
http://www.wellcomecollection.org/whats-on/exhibitions/high-society.aspx
Thanks to Wellcome Collection for the images.
Kiss & tell: George’s top 14 movie romances
Lovers in a cold climate: Omar Sharif and Julie Christie positively sizzled against the icy backdrop of revolutionary Russia as Doctor Zhivago’s all-time classic, star-crossed pair
So, next Monday is good old Valentine’s Day – the one day of the year when loved ones stress themselves out in finding and booking a table-for-two at a restaurant not already full to the brim with other couples doing exactly the same thing and then desperately try to finish work early so they can actually make it in time, while lonely hearts, well, wish the whole thing would just go away as soon as it starts. Still, like Crimbo, with each passing year the Valentine palaver seems no less popular when it swings around. Especially with card vendors and flower sellers, no doubt.
In which case then, there can surely be no better reason – nor a better time of year – for me to regale this very blog with my countdown of the greatest romances to have graced the silver screen. Admittedly, you’ll no doubt feel there’s one or two discrepencies here (no Brief Encounter?), but, may I stress, this is a list according to merely my tastes and take on quality amorous cinema.
So, without further ado, let’s let Cupid fire that fateful arrow of his and get this rundown of the 14 – for, yes, February 14 – greatest film romances underway (do click on each of the character/ film titles for something a little extra, won’t you?)…
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14. Oliver Barret IV and Jennifer Cavilleri (Ryan O’Neal and Ali McGraw) ~
Love Story (1970)
According to the tagline of the monster box-office hit that was Love Story, ‘love means never having to say you’re sorry’; well, folks, I’m not sorry for kicking-off the list with this shamelessly sentimental, as-mainstream-as-The-X-Factor tearjerker. Nopes, I’m not. And the reason why? Because, although I’d rather not admit it in civilised society, this tale of a beautiful little rich boy falling for a beautiful little poor girl only to lose her at the inevitable doomed denouement is, in fact, not the stuff of utter cliché one may expect or recall. O’Neal and McGraw were perfectly cast opposite one another and make for effective (for the time) thoroughly modern lovers, trading as many barbs as smooches. Francis Lai’s haunting theme (later put to lyrics to become the song Where Do I Begin?) helps too, of course. What can I say, every time I come across this one on the telly, I seem to end up watching it to the end.
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13. Benjamin Braddock and Elaine Robinson (Dustin Hoffman & Katharine Ross) ~
The Graduate (1967)
On the surface, this romance from the cast-iron classic The Graduate appears something of a retread of Oliver and Jenny’s from Love Story – its participants are both young, WASP-ish, recently graduated students of the late-’60s looking to make their way in the world. Yet, what I love about Benjamin and Elaine’s tale is its sheer, well, perversity. Growing out of the burning embers of the former’s affair with the latter’s mother – and, inevitably, crippled by it – this one was never going to be normal from the start. Like everything in this film, it’s a bit f*cked up. Indeed, the couple’s first date is in the company of a stripper whose jiggling bosoms Benjamin exclaims is ‘a great effect’. In spite of this mis-start and many highly amusing mis-steps, the two find a simple unspoken commonality in the face of the whirling confusion of the adult world they’re hurtling towards – and, with any amount of luck, they may just end up in it together…
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12. Cyrano de Bergerac and Roxane (Gérard Depardieu and Anne Brochet) ~
Cyrano de Bergerac (1990)
If you’re being pedantic, then it’s probably not exactly right to describe as a romance what happens between the two main protagonists of Jean-Paul Rappeneau’s adaptation of Edmond Rostand’s play about the real-life 17th Century French hero. For really this is a story of unrequited love – big time. Such a huge heart does the eponymous Cyrano with his enormous honker have that he hides his love for the delicate Roxane (in fear she would reject him for his appearance) and instead helps dashing new recruit to the regiment he captains, Christian de Neuvillette, to woo her using his words of poetry and impromptu genius. The sumptuous production and deliciously rich writing, directing and acting (especially from Depardieu) ensure this is an utterly entertaining, unforgettable romantic drama – and the ending is … well, if you don’t know the story or have never seen the film, let’s just say you’ll find out.
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11. Carl and Ellie Fredricksen ~ Up (2009)
The true genius of the romance featured in Pixar’s outstanding Up is underlined by how much of the film’s running-time it takes up – just the first 10 of its total 90 minutes. Yes, it’s small, but most perfectly formed. As the starter to the balloon-flight-fuelled feast that is Up, it’s the tale of old, crusty curmudgeon-to-be Carl and his wife Ellie’s lives together. Warm, witty, colourful, poignant and overfilling with charming and brilliant detail, this 10-minute sequence may just be the best Pixar’s ever come up with. And not least because it’s profoundly moving – genuinely so. Oh, and its wordless too. Yes, neither character speaks. Hats off indeed then to composer Michael Giacchino, whose music exquisitely fits with the animators’ oh-so impressive visuals. In short, romantic cinema rarely reaches these giddy heights.
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10. E.T. and Elliot (Henry Thomas) ~ E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982)
Strictly speaking, of course, E.T. doesn’t feature a romance; more a ‘bromance’ – and an intergalatic one at that. Yet, it would take a hard heart to deny that the relationship between 10-year-old Elliot and his podgy pal with the Stretch Armstrong-like neck is as – if not more – moving than any other you care to mention. Here’s an ordinary young boy from a ‘broken home’ in suburban America who finds a simple, unquestioned connection with a super-intelligent lifeform whose home is light-years away from Earth, but who also, critically, is lost, vulnerable and in need of a chum. The friendship – nay, near brotherhood – between little Elliot and this ugly-cute alien is innocent, sweet, delightful and rather beautiful. And that’s why it’s captivated and touched fellow lonely – and fulfilled – hearts across the globe for nigh-on three decades.
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9. Scarlett O’Hara and Rhett Butler (Vivian Leigh and Clark Gable) ~
Gone With The Wind (1939)
Ah, Scarlett and Rhett; one of Hollywood’s best loved couples. So why aren’t they higher on this list? After all, their romance had it all – caustic, terrific lines, tempestuous rows and passionate smooching? Yes, but there’s something that, given its status as one of the ‘great romances’, has always rankled with me when it comes to the O’Hara/ Butler hook-up. Namely, that it’s not the only romance in its film and, in fact, because of that it’s arguably not even a romance for the majority of the movie. Yes, it’s not until Scarlett gets the rather dippy Ashley out of her head that, for the flick’s last third, she realises she can’t live with(out) the blaggard Butler. Still, it is then, of course, that Gone With The Wind truly turns into The Scarlett and Rhett Show and the sparks between the awesome Vivien Leigh and perfectly cast Clark Gable turn to fireworks. And, for sure, they’re fireworks that’d grace any Bonfire Night – or the burning of Atlanta.
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8. Alvy Singer and Annie Hall (Woody Allen and Diane Keaton) ~
Annie Hall (1977)
Make no mistake, the relationship at the heart of Woody Allen’s signature picture is pretty much the standard for modern movie romances. Unlike those that graced many a Hollywood effort before the studio system’s break-up, its emphasis was much more on naturalism rather than, say, the empathetic drama or, if you prefer, melodrama of theirs. Sure, the story of nebbish paranoiac Alvy Singer and the titular Annie Hall features a lot of comedy, but much of it is rooted in the natural realities faced by two people coming together, living together and trying to stay together. Indeed, owing to Diane Keaton going stratospheric after winning the Best Actress Oscar for her wonderfully charming performance as the unfashionably chipper and, yes, unfashionably dressed title characer, she often finds herself the focus of acclaim for this flick nowadays, rather than its romance (or Allen’s writing, directing and own acting). Ah well, la-di-da, eh?
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7. Salvatore Di Vita and Elena Mendola (Marco Leonardi and Agnese Nano) ~
Nuovo cinema Paradiso (1988)
To my mind, Cinema Paradiso has to be one of the most romantic films ever made. Sure, one could say that much of its romance concerns filmmaking itself, as its plot focuses on the makeshift upbringing of young Salvatore/ Toto in an isolated but somewhat idyllic Sicilian town by father figure Alfredo, a gruff but loving cinema owner. As the boy grows up he falls in love with cinema, as so many of us do, and eventually becomes a big-time movie director. Yet, and importantly so for the plot, this isn’t the only love affair of the flick; just as captivating and moving is the teenage Salvatore’s discovery, incredibly patient but agonising pursuit and wonderful capture of the beautiful Elena. Throw in the picture’s off-the-scale nostalgia factor and Ennio Morricone’s extraodinarily romantic score and you’ve got a heart-melting love story here as moving as Romeo and Juliet and as Italian as, well, Romeo and Juliet.
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6. Harry Burns and Sally Albright (Billy Crystal and Meg Ryan) ~
When Harry Met Sally… (1989)
There’s no doubt there’s a lot of Woody Allen channelled in Rob Reiner’s (director) and Nora Ephron’s (screenwriter) When Harry Met Sally… Yet, I’d argue, so good does it do it that this iconic late-’80s rom-com actually manages to out-Annie Hall Annie Hall. Why? Because I find myself caring more for the plight of its two protagonists, the over-thinking, over-witty, over-motor-mouthed Harry Burns (a brilliant Billy Crystal) and the modern, charmy and a wee bit ditzy Sally Allbright (a delightful Meg Ryan), than I do for Alvy and Annie. Yes, perhaps they’re simply a more accessible and likeable couple; everybody loved When Harry Met Sally…, it seemed to be the floodgates for the saccharine-scented ocean that is the modern Hollywood rom-com genre. But as well as being an amusing and entertaining relationship, theirs is also honest and frank – friends first and (less successfully?) lovers later. Perhaps, in the end, Annie Hall is funny and very smart, but When Harry Met Sally… is smart and very funny.
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5. David Lean and The Desert ~ Lawrence Of Arabia (1962)
Ah, the love that dare not speak it’s name… man and, er, sand. Yes, this entry may not be what you expected to find on a run-down of the greatest film romances, let alone in its top five, but surely cinema knows few greater love affairs than that legendary Brit director David Lean enjoyed with the desert while making one of the great films, Lawrence Of Arabia. Although very much a one-way love affair (given that sand, well, is inanimate and not capable of emotions), it was big stuff for Big Dave. Yes, so obsessed with filming in the deserts of Jordan, Morocco and Spain was the usually reserved Lean that he spent nearly two years creating shots of dawns and sunsets, painstakingly combing back the sand so it looked pristine for re-take after re-take and, most obviously of all, capturing Omar Sharif’s movie entrance from what looks like a mile away. It’s said had he been able to stay out there and film forever he would have. Maybe that’s true; after all, he never seemed to find balance in his home life – he was married six times.
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4. Holly Golightly and Paul Varjak (Audrey Hepburn and George Peppard) ~
Breakfast At Tiffany’s (1961)
Surely no list of top cinematic romances would be complete without that of arguably the most adored rom-com of them all. The angelic Audrey Hepurn’s Holly Golightly is a dream of a creation – an awfully adventurous, ultimately lonely and utterly irresistble kook. She’s the unquestioned template for the modern rom-com heroine; so much so that that type of character is nowadays close to cliché. But this one’s the original and unequivocably the best. By contrast, although cool, caring and very handsome, Peppard’s Varjak is rather bland, but nonetheless an effective point of identification for the audience. When examining it closely, one may come to the conclusion that their romance – if not their attraction – is rather unlikely (surely Holly would inevitably dump Paul/ ‘Fred’ for one of her ‘rats’; indeed, in Truman Capote’s original novella he was a gay observer like Cabaret‘s Brian Roberts), yet if any film is the stuff of Tinseltown fairytale then it’s Breakfast At Tiffany’s. And like Holly Golightly, it does it with so much style, beauty, humour and humanity it could fill the whole of Fifth Avenue.
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3. Yuri Zhivago and Lara Antipova (Omar Sharif and Julie Christie) ~
Doctor Zhivago (1965)
Yes, it’s Lean again, but this time one of the most enduringly popular fictions of his films. And when you’re talking about Yuri and Lara in Doctor Zhivago you’re talking epic romance. Spanning several years and thousands of miles of the often snowy landscape of Russia and enduring the interferences and contrivances of revolution, war, other loved ones and powerful political brokers, their romance is undeniably difficult, arguably tortured. It’s probably fair to say both would be better off had they never met, but you can’t choose the one you fall in love with. Indeed, for all the obstacles like giant Soviet ice sculptures thrown in their way, their time together is actually – and rather wonderfully – brief, understated and melancholic. It’s doomed love then told intimately with tiny brushstrokes set against a gigantic backdrop, therefore terrifically illustrating how huge, radical, society-changing events toss about innocent, beautiful individuals who find themselves at the heart of them. And to think The Sound Of Music won the Best Picture Oscar that year – that’s certainly something to write a balalaika lament about.
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2. Rick Blaine and Ilsa Lund (Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman) ~
Casablanca (1942)
What on earth’s left to impart to a reader about Bogie and Bergman and Casablanca? They’ve been written about for years and years – and rightly so. Film fans must by now know all they’ll ever need to know about its production, reception and effect on wider filmmaking (its romance is surely the one by which all Hollywood – and maybe worldwide – cinema romances are measured). Even the fact that good old Humph had to wear platform shoes to appear taller than the oh-so lovely Ingrid in their shots together onscreen, like the one above, is pretty common knowledge. Yet, what’s perhaps less considered is that the love affair itself between hard-as-flint-on-the-outside/ soft-as-sponge-on-the-inside Rick and the delectable Ilsa actually doesn’t feature much in the film. Aside from the flashback scenes (‘We’ll always have Paris’), the romance is all about suppression; the protagonists’ feelings for each other being expressed through misty looks into the mid-distance, glaring stares and snappety sniping. Except, that is, for the ending. Ah, yes, it’s all about that ending really, isn’t it? Everything comes out and is resolved between our hero and his gal at the airport. And, although the sacrifice made is by now an enormous cliché, it’s still a sacrifice – a beautiful friendship is something, but it’s no substitute for true love.
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1. Joanna and Mark Wallace (Audrey Hepburn and Albert Finney) ~
Two For The Road (1967)
So, a surprise Number One? Well, to my mind, it shouldn’t be. That is to say, for me, many, many more film fans out there should be familiar with these two outstanding characters and Stanley Donen’s evergreen Swinging ’60s rom-com in which they appear. Never heard of it? Not that familiar with it? Haven’t seen it in yonks? Well, you should put that right as soon as possible. Seriously. Because this is a marvellous movie with a terrific romance at its heart. Indeed, a romance that’s so bittersweet it could be filed in a dictionary under the term ‘bittersweet’. It tells the tale of two young British lovers in the ’60s through the device of looking back and forth at their holidays together – and with others and eventually with their daugher – in the south of France. Tiffs, trifles, tribulations and turbulations come their way as young ‘uns meeting and falling in love, then as newlyweds and finally as young parents with wandering eyes. But, throughout, they’re a charming, beautiful, witty and winning couple that are as stylish, fun and funny as many of us would no doubt like to be and as foolish, natural and human as we all are. Rumours abound that stars Hepburn and Finney had an affair while filming this flick and, watching it, it’s easy to believe that’s true, for their chemistry is utterly electric. And the movie romance they created, thanks to Donen’s fine direction and Frederick ‘Darling‘ Raphael’s brilliant script, is one to treasure for all-time.
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So, there you go, peeps, that’s my pick of cinema’s top amorous associations. Hope it’s put you in the right mood for February 14, or at least made you consider giving one of those above movies a watch again. Either way, trust you all have a good Valentine’s Day – whatever you do and with whomever you spend it. 
Playlist: Listen, my Valentine friends! ~ February
In the words of Moby Grape… listen, my friends! Yes, it’s the (hopefully) monthly playlist presented by George’s Journal just for you good people.
There may be one or two classics to be found here dotted in among different tunes you’re unfamiliar with or never heard before – or, of course, you may’ve heard them all before. All the same, why not sit back, listen away and enjoy with your loved one this collection of ditties that’s ideal (well, probably ideal) for February 14th…
CLICK on the song titles to hear them
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Audrey Hepburn ~ Moon River
Doris Day ~ Move Over, Darling
The Mamas And The Papas ~ Dedicated To The One I Love
Delaney & Bonnie ~ Groupie (Superstar)
Bread ~ Everything I Own
The Rolling Stones ~ Angie
Ringo Starr ~ You’re Sixteen (video featuring Carrie Fisher!)*
Joy Division ~ Love Will Tear Us Apart
Dire Straits ~ Romeo And Juliet
ABC ~ Valentine’s Day
The Style Council ~ You’re The Best Thing
Kate Bush ~ Hounds Of Love
David Foster ~ Gazebo (The Secret Of My Success)
* And Paul McCartney on backing vocals and, yes, the gazoo…
The man with the midas touch: John Barry (1933-2011)
At the wheel: John Barry in the Swinging ’60s with his wife of the time, sex symbol Jane Birkin – a giant leader of film composing, his career spanned more than four decades and several genres
If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you may be familiar with the fact I’m rather a Bond fan. As such, must admit, I’ve been lucky enough to meet a few Bond alumni – among them Sir Roger Moore and George Lazenby – and one member of that esteemed company I’ve always wanted to shake the hand of has been John Barry. Sadly, however, that’s no longer possible. John Barry, legendary composer to the escapades of 007 and so many more films has died, aged 77.
He was born John Barry Prendergast in 1933 and grew up in York, England. The son of a cinema chain owner, Barry spent hour on hour of his youth immersing himself in the world of the movies and soon became hooked on the music they featured – early favourites were the scores from The Adventures Of Robin Hood (1933) and The Treasure Of The Sierra Madre (1949). His mother had harboured ambitions as a concert pianist, but not John; he gave up the piano and picked up the trumpet at the age of 15 and, having been turned on to jazz by his older brother, set up a dance band called The Modernaires after leaving school. Following a stint in the army, during which he played with military bands in Cyprus and Egypt, he returned to the UK and formed The John Barry Seven, a jazz combo of, yes, seven members.
With this new band, he produced hit tunes such as Hit And Miss and Walk Don’t Run, the latter performed by The Ventures and chosen as the theme for the BBC’s top light-entertainment show Juke Box Jury. He also composed songs for British rock ‘n’ roll star Adam Faith, both for the latter’s chart career and his films, as well as orchestral accompaniment for EMI’s recording artists. The combination of this work brought him to the attention of two anglo-American film producers, Albert R Broccoli and Harry Saltzman, who were making the film Dr No (1962), based on one of Ian Fleming’s popular novels featuring superspy James Bond. The two felt that the work composer Monty Norman had produced for said film required some extra oomph. What Barry came up with was a re-arrangement of a Norman composition, fusing jazz, rock and orchestra together in a two-minute sensation of excitement – it was the James Bond Theme.
Barry’s time in Bond-age truly made his name. Unsurprisingly, he was asked back by Broccoli and Saltzman to score the next 007 flick, and the next, and the next, and the next and so on (overall he would score 11 of the first 14 movies). He didn’t just play a critical creative role in the film series’ incredible success, but also by forging such a dynamically new musical style he arguably transformed film composing. Like the movies themselves, Barry’s Bond scores of the ’60s were thrilling, pacy, outlandish, tight and utter dynamite (the soundtracks themselves rightly sold like hot-cakes – Goldfinger‘s score knocked The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night LP off #1 in the States).
Mixing jazz sensibilities and rock ‘n’ roll rhythms together with show-style orchestral strings and brass, the ‘Bond sound’ was not quite like anything heard before or since, influencing scores of musicians to come – for instance, Quincy Jones would have been quite different if not for Barry; Mark Ronson simply wouldn’t exist (admittedly, you may see that as a good thing). Plus, let’s not forget that the Bond tunes of the ’60s, all of their music written by Barry, weren’t just among the most popular songs of the decade, but also helped push the careers of Shirley Bassey, Tom Jones and Nancy Sinatra into the stratosphere.
John Barry’s innovations didn’t stop there, however, nor did they with Bond. By the end of the ’60s, he was introducing Japanese influences into his scores (You Only Live Twice), synth-sounds (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service – perhaps his best 007 score) and pop (the beautifully, liltingly melancholic Midnight Cowboy). Indeed, melodic melancholia could be said to be a stong signature of Barry’s post-’60s work. His later Bond scores (Moonraker, Octopussy and The Living Daylights among them) featured slower, more sensuous orchestral movements compared to the spunky, funky stuff of From Russia With Love and Goldfinger. Moreover, his Oscar-winning scores for Out Of Africa (1985) and Dances With Wolves (1990) took melancholic melody to a new level. In 1998, he took this further still, at least to my mind, when his non-film score orchestral project The Beyondness Of Things was released. A collection of 12 exquisite compositions (each of them could have been the main theme from a movie – listen to two of them, The Fictionist and Dawn Chorus, in the video at the end of this post), it was followed up by another collection two years later entitled Eternal Echoes.
“He didn’t discuss or ask your opinion or anything [about his compositions]. He didn’t have to. He knew it was great.” ~ Michael Caine on his friend John Barry
Indeed, on the Out Of Africa score Barry himself said in a 2009 interview with Vanity Fair magazine: “I mean, if you [use the music to] just follow the action—that’s what you do with a Bond movie: you follow the action. That’s the glory of it. You go for the jugular on everything—you know, as I once remarked, subtlety is not a virtue on a Bond movie. But with other movies you break your ass trying to find out: What can I do that’s still going to really work for this, but add another dimension to it? It’s not about going with the action; it’s going with what the people in the movie are feeling. If you can capture the love story, like in Out of Africa—the feeling between those two people—that’s what I write about. And when they [Meryl Streep and Robert Redford] go in that plane and she puts her hand back, to me it was a golden moment, when it was just the communication between them. I mean, that broke my heart. That is what the whole movie is about.”
Across his career, Barry scored more than 80 movies and produced unforgettable TV themes such as for the Roger Moore-Tony Curtis adventure series The Persuaders! (1971-72) and the telly spin-off of the movie Born Free (1966), the latter possessing another terrific film score and song for which he won an Oscar. Actually, in total, he was nominated for seven Oscars, winning five, and won a clutch of Grammys, Emmys and BAFTAs. He was also awarded a BAFTA Fellowship in 2005.
Less known about him, perhaps, is that he was good friends with film stars and Swinging ’60s icons Michael Caine and Terence Stamp. In fact, according to Caine, back in the day the three of them were compadres about town, hitting London’s hippest night spots and trying to score with the ladies – which, apparently, the cool, smooth and always well tailored Barry did. Maybe proof of this can be found in the fact that in 1965 he married another icon of the age, the oh-so sexy Jane Birkin. He was married four times in total, had as many children children and finally settled in Long Island, New York, with his fourth wife Laurie.
John Barry’s last project was to provide a song for Shirley Bassey’s latest album released in 2009; co-written with former lyricist Don Black, a former Bond colleague, it was entitled Our Time Is Now. It’s a cliché to call a great artist a genius – indeed it’s a cliché itself to trot out that statement – but to my mind, as far as film scoring goes, Barry was a genius; they simply come no better than him. He’s passed and indeed the world is a lesser place for it, but owing to the great work he’s left us, John Barry’s time is forever; simply forever.
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John Barry ~ selected film scores
Dr No (1962)
From Russia With Love (1963)
Goldfinger (1964)
Zulu (1964)
The Knack… And How To Get It (1965)
Thunderball (1965)
Born Free (1966)
The Ipcress File (1966)
The Quiller Memorandum (1966)
You Only Live Twice (1967)
Petulia (1968)
Midnight Cowboy (1969)
On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969)
Diamonds Are Forever (1971)
Mary, Queen Of Scots (1971)
Walkabout (1971)
Alice’s Adventures In Wonderland (1972)
The Man With The Golden Gun (1974)
The Day Of The Locust (1975)
King Kong (1976)
Robin And Marian (1976)
The Deep (1977)
Moonraker (1979)
Somewhere In Time (1980)
Raise The Titanic (1980)
Body Heat (1981)
Octopussy (1983)
The Cotton Club (1984)
Jagged Edge (1985)
Out Of Africa (1985)
A View To A Kill (1985)
Peggy Sue Got Married (1986)
The Living Daylights (1987)
Dances With Wolves (1990)
Chaplin (1992)
Indecent Proposal (1993)
Enigma (2001)
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Further reading
http://www.vanityfair.com/culture/features/2009/02/john-barry200902?currentPage=1
http://doubleonothing.wordpress.com/2011/01/31/john-barry-films-greatest-composer-passes-away/
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George's Journal 