Two Heads Are Better Than One?

Just over ten years after ‘Sir Gawain & The Green Knight’, Stephen Weeks got a second bite at the Arthurian cherry and, with the help of Israeli producers Menahem Golen and Yoram Globus, cranked out ‘Sword of the Valiant’, a sleeker, more expensive, more fantastical version of his earlier film.

For all the improved special effects and more elaborate sets, however, ‘Sword of the Valiant’ is a lesser effort. At least ‘Gawain’ had grit – this just has gloss – eighties gloss – but on a budget, which shows up its pretensions and proves to be a constant distraction. Sir Gawain is played by Miles O’Keefe, a man who had played Tarzan opposite Bo Derek and is less an actor than a nicely marbled side of beef. Weeks had wanted Mark Hamill, but the producers had their own ideas, so Weeks got his own back by giving O’Keefe the most ridiculous wig possible.

Sean Connery plays The Green Knight, and gives a performance which doesn’t bear much analysis other than wondering how much he got paid. Much more than Wilfred Brambell, I would have thought, who makes his last fleeting screen appearance here.

On the plus side, the wizard is played by David Rappaport, who was never a great thespian but is always a welcome presence. He doesn’t save this tripe, by any means, but he makes bits of it easier to swallow, and it’s always nice to see Peter Cushing and Trevor Howard doing stuff, even if it is beneath them. Ronald Lacey repeats his earlier role, and is more odious than ever (being creepy looking is a great gift for a character actor, one that intensifies with age).    

Director Weeks never made another film, although he is still with us, presumably working on his next production. I’ll bet I can guess what it might be.

W Is For Wyngarde

Peter Wyngarde could have been Doctor Who, you know. He has presence, authority and eccentricity. He is obviously intelligent, and looks fantastic in Edwardian costume. I can imagine that he would have been acerbic, snappy, sometimes cruel - fond of eloquent speeches, merciless in his contempt for evil, camp as hell. That never came to pass, unfortunately, but in 1984 he did finally turn up in the programme as Timanov, the religious leader of a group of people called the Sarns who live on a volcanic 'Planet Of Fire'. i.e. Lanzarote.  

To be honest, 1984 is two years beyond my cut off date* for Doctor Who, so I only remember this story from seeing a bit with a young woman in a bikini (pervy fan fave Peri)and thinking 'well, she's a bit better looking than Adric'. Having watched it again in its entirety for this post, I have little to add to my earlier assessment.  Not a good or even coherent story, the tedium / confusion is relieved by Mr. Wyngarde, of course, who isn't onscreen much but still gives a typically assured performance, even though he has a load of rubbish to work with. The thing is that Peter is a proper actor, so it doesn't matter whether he's wearing a keffiyeh, a pirate hat or a gorilla suit - you're always going to get a performance out of him. He's a Genius.  

* I stopped watching the show in 1982 for several reasons, not least because the BBC had moved it to twice a week (on Tuesdays and Wednesday evenings) and I was doing other stuff (girls, riding my bike, riding my bike to girls) and I just lost track. My defection coincided with a particularly poor period for the show (although it would get much worse) and a new Doctor (Peter Davison) I didn't in any way dislike but just couldn't quite believe or get excited about. The passage of time has not changed my mind.  

Don't Open Till Christmas

Right. Wow. Okay. 'Don't Open Till Christmas' looks like it was made on the hoof with borrowed equipment in about two days. The script is full of holes; scenes are either too short, too long or missing entirely; the performances are inept; the settings a succession of deserted alleys, rented halls, borrowed flats and a couple of London landmarks after the tourists have pissed off home. But where else can you see Father Christmas get his cock cut off?

Written by exploitation serial offender Derek Ford, this tawdry concoction was directed by Edmund Purdom, a British actor of the fifties who was once a household name without ever really being in anything successful. Purdom is an awful director, the sort who points his camera at the New Scotland Yard sign to establish where we are and that it is day, then holds the shot for a very long time before arbitarily cutting to an office that is clearly not New Scotland Yard and, somehow, it's now night.

As well as 'directing' Purdom also stars as the police inspector trying to track down a psycho who really has it in for blokes in Santa suits. One gets knifed, one gets speared through the mouth, one selling chestnuts has his face pressed against the hot plate then is garroted and left to catch fire. Eyes are detached, arteries spurt, guts drop out and, yes, cocks get cut off. It's a hoot. When the killer is asked just why he hates men dressed up like Saint Nick he simply replies 'because they remind me of Christmas'. Fair enough, Sir, you're free to go.

Other notable elements include a look at how the London Dungeon used to look in the olden days, the usually sexy Caroline Munro and her awful band performing a really shitty song, and lots of snatched / stolen footage of Londoners getting ready for Xmas. It's cheap, it's gory, it's sexist, it's trashy - it's recommended.     

MERRY CHRISTMAS!

F**** Me, It's Freddie

FMIF as Thufir Hawat in David Lynch's adaptation of 'Dune'. As you will know, Thufir Hawat is the Mentat Master of Assassins serving the House Atreides. He also has massive eyebrows.