Puppets

 

 

Who hates ventriloquists dummies? Everyone? Yes, that's what I thought. With this in mind, I was greatly creeped out by this episode of The Avengers from 1969, i.e. 'the Tara King year'.

I fully intended to cover this period of 'The Avengers' in some detail, but I've never really decided what I really think about it.

Feathery

Hutch.

Hermione.

David.

The sixties super group that never, ever was: Feathers. Never mind, Dave, you'll be fine.

Oh, Norman!

Have you ever wondered what Norman Wisdom's arse looks like? Want to see him frugging and fugging along to a group called The Electric Banana (The Pretty Things) in a swinging nightclub called The Screaming Apple? Check. Want to see him dressed as Austin Powers? Check. Want to see him cop up with a promiscuous dolly bird half his age? Check. And you want to see all of this take place against a backdrop of swinging Southport? KER-CHING! 'What's Good For The Goose' has it all, and so much more besides.

Little Norman plays Timothy Bartlett, a London assistant bank manager who has a home in the suburbs, a wife, three kids and a tank full of tropical fish. He seems to like the fish best, perhaps because they're the most exotic thing in his life. When his boss dies suddenly, Timothy is expected to attend the annual conference at the Grand Hotel in Southport (it must be a fairly minor bank, there's only about ten of them there). Before he even gets there he has been accosted by two teenage hitch-hikers who spend the drive down messing about with his bowler hat, eating his sandwiches, licking his fingers and getting him done for speeding. He takes a shine to Nikki (Sally Geeson, in her film debut), especially when she shoves her bare leg inbetween his and pumps his accelerator.

When they get to Southport, they go their separate ways but Timothy finds himself thinking about Nikki throughout the day. In the evening, bored by the load of bankers he's supposed to be socialising with, he goes out to find her, eventually walking voluntarily into a psychedelic seaside world of free love, loud music, double whiskies and dancing like a monkey on a psychotropic banana diet. Little Norman looks so small and sweet and old as he jigs and jumps about, but then his most endearing qualities were always his total enthusiasm and the physical abandon he brought to every task. Nikki can't help but be impressed by Timothy's sudden dedication to the cause of 'in' and the fact that he has a hotel room rather than a sleeping bag under the pier, so she decides to go back with him and, after quite a lot of unfunny messing about, including a flash of the Wisdom pubes, they finally have sex. Probably: we don't see any of that, it's not quite that sort of film.

The following day, Norman claims to be ill so he can spend the day with Nikki. They do pretty much everything Southport has to offer, from amusement rides to having it off on the sands to skinny dipping (cue arse). The whole sequence seems to prove what I had surmised it would be like to have an affair with a much younger woman: exciting, but extremely tiring. Give me a woman who appreciates the value of a sit down and a nice cup of tea any day. Timothy thinks it's love, of course, and goes out and buys a load of mod gear and rents a flat for him and Nikki to live in, only for him to quickly realise that the free and easy attitude to sex that led her to sleep with him also means that she will sleep with others. Crushed, he calls his wife and asks her to join him.

When Mrs. Bartlett arrives he basically takes her through a whirlwind induction to what's happening, baby, kitting her out in hot pants and groovy sunglasses and doing all the things he did with Nikki (although the pants stay on during the swimming this time, which is a relief). His wife is, of course, pretty surprised at his behaviour but strangely unsuspicious. Timothy's a lot more fun this way, and Mrs. B scrubs up pretty well, so they're both happy. As they head home, it's clear that life will go on in much the same way for them, but with far more sex and a hipper wardrobe. Result!

'What's Good For the Goose' is a fairly harmless film, although a moderately more explicit version was released on (ulp) 'The Continent'. Much of its appeal, of course, depends on whether you like Norman Wisdom or not. Personally, I think he's great, although I prefer him with his kit on. Already playing against type as a banker, Norman goes fairly off piste here, although he does it in his usual guileless, gormless, 'gumpy' way. It takes him literally five minutes to decide to cheat on his wife, for instance, but he never comes across as immoral or self-serving - it's just Little Norman getting his end away and, as long as most of it is left to the imagination, who could object to that?*

* The British public objected to it. Norman didn't appear in another feature film for 21 years.

What's Good For The Goose



Milton!

Milton Reid appears briefly at the very beginning of the 1969 black comedy 'The Assassination Bureau', playing a circus performer who is murdered when the fake TNT he uses to fire his fake cannon is replaced with the real thing. He flies through the air with the greatest of ease, and leaves a considerable hole in the roof of the tent. God speed, Milton and R.I.P.

Valerie Leon, Show Girl

Valerie Leon has a small but pivotal role as a showgirl in the Randall & Hopkirk (Deceased) episode 'That's How Murder Snowballs'. She's a fine looking woman. I'd pay money to see her standing around in a feather head dress.

Minikillers

Despite her phenomenal success in the role of Mrs. Emma Peel, Diana Rigg did not particularly enjoy her time in 'The Avengers'. Not only did she dislike the relentless attention of the media, she also found out that, initially, at least, she was earning far less than some members of the crew. Also, of course, she had a desire to stretch herself as an actress - Shakespeare, Chekov, Shaw, Brecht, Wise - and wanted to leave all the karate and cat suits behind her. No wonder she doesn't answer questions about 'Minikillers'.

'Minikillers' is a 1969 German production made in Spain, comprising of four seven minute episodes. There's no dialogue, but the music is exceptionally groovy. The story, such as it is, revolves around a criminal network that uses creepy walking dolls to both smuggle heroin and to knock off members of the Interpol team investigating them. The dolls do this in a very novel way: their tiny tears are deadly poison.

Dame Diana gets involved purely by chance, but soon settles their hash with some unarmed combat and a selection of killer outfits. It's a pleasure to see her in action, even though the majority of her time is just spent looking gorgeous and smiling wryly to herself. But that's okay, that's two of the things she does  very well.

Ms Rigg has never discussed exactly why she made such an obviously cobbled together oddity, especially as she was an established film presence by this time. It may be presumptious, but I think I might be able to work it out: she was offered a shit load of money, a few days work in an exotic locale and they said she could keep the costumes after the production wrapped. Sounds okay, doesn't? No need to be embarrassed, Diana, I'd have done it just for the holiday - if anybody had ever wanted to see me in a bikini, that is.

Real Wolves

The story of The Process Church is a strange, fascinating, scary one, but one told extremely well elsewhere, and from an insider’s perspective.  

A recent publication gathers together some of the Church’s quite astounding literature / propaganda, magazines that they hawked on the streets of London to raise funds. Brilliantly designed, philosophically challenging (to say the least), the publications were themed around the big questions of the day (indeed, of any day): Sex, Fear, Death…

The ‘Sex’ issue contains an interview with Jimmy Savile conducted in 1969, a little of which I’d like to reproduce here.

Q. Are you moral?

A. I would say that I am moral during the day, and even higherly moral during the evening but of course we won't say anything about the night time, because that is when all real wolves like myself rise from the darkness and leap about causing chaos left and right.

Q. What do you feel most strongly about?

A. Girls. I feel that they don't realise that I am here and available. When I see lovely young ladies walking about that don't take advantage of me, I think they are missing a great thing in their lives. This is why I keep getting my face slapped. Other than that I feel most strongly about getting back to nature, and I'm all for getting back to nature and my case comes up next Thursday.

His case, of course, didn't come up for another forty three years, at which point he was already dead.

Angels vs. Skins

'What's The Truth About Hells Angels and Skinheads' is a BBC 'Man Alive' documentary from 1969. With Angels and Skins neck and neck in the contemporary Folk Devil stakes, presenter Harold Williamson decides to meet and talk with members of each group and, crucially, to speak to their parents, in order to find out what they're really like. He does, and it makes for interesting viewing. 

THE TRUTH ABOUT HELLS ANGELS   

Williamson's first job is to spend some time with a chapter of Hell's Angels from Oldbury in the Midlands. The leader is called Hasser, and is inordinately proud of his Nazi regalia. When asked what it represents, he readily admits that it is purely to set himself against the older generation, to align himself with something they fought against. Just as the Angels cultivate a scruffy, sleazy image, they take a direct route to alienating their elders by adopting the symbols of opposition - a taboo that the Punks would latch onto a few years later. In Williamson's assessment, for the Angels, 'to disgust is to win'.

Hasser, like the Captain of a ship, is able to conduct marriage services although, unlike the Captain of a ship, these are not actually legal. Still, the Angels don't care about little things like that. The ceremony is simple: swear on the Motorbike Manual, exchange oil lock rings and get sprayed with beer by your fellows.

A divorce is even simpler, the husband simply rips up the motorbike manual - but this must be done in one go. The Motorcycle Manual is their Bible, so this feat of strength is not to be taken lightly.

At this point, it's worth introducing the happy couple, Sylvia and Hitler.   

SYLVIA AND HITLER

Sylvia is nearly eighteen; Hitler isn't much older. They're not really married, of course, but they are 'in the eyes of the Angels' which is all that seems to matter to them. Sylvia is scatty, chatty and likeable, and says 'am' instead of 'are' (as in 'we're happy as we am') and 'them' instead of 'they' (as in 'them think we barmy'); Hitler is a gangly, gormless boy with an almost impenetrable Black Country accent and a tendency to make comments that highlight just how tough he is: 'I like to beat a skinhead up, that's great. If it were legal, we'd go about hanging skinheads'. 'If it were legal', Hitler? What sort of outlaw attitude is that?

When asked whether he'd ever divorce Sylvia he says: 'if she's a bad girl I'll thump her head in. I could slit her throat or hang her - depends what mood I'm in' (and, presumably, what's legal).

Through all this, Sylvia looks on at him adoringly. It's hard to believe, but she thinks he's brilliant. When she says 'give us a kiss' he says 'what for?' before grabbing her and sticking his tongue down her throat. He's a real catch. Sylvia has no interest in the conventional idea of marriage, anyway, turning up her nose at the idea of a gold ring rather than one taken from a motorbike. At this point, Hitler chips in with: 'You get two things with them brass rings: a ring, and a green finger'. It's the most sensible thing he's said so far.    

Sylvia's parents simply have no idea what their daughter is doing with her life, although they concede that she has never been in trouble. They seem to know Hitler quite well, perhaps even liking him, but clearly not liking what he represents.

Mr. Gough soon gets onto the subject of his sort-of son in law's name. Funnily enough, as a war veteran, he doesn't like it and recognises it for what it is, a cheap attempt to shock.  Hitler comes back with a rather pathetic 'it ain't done anybody any harm' before Mr. Gough delivers the killer blow:

'Is that a clever name, do you think, PAUL?'.

THE TRUTH ABOUT SKINHEADS

There are, according to Williamson, 8,000 Skinheads in Britain. A Youth Cult in the most fundamental sense, very few of them are much older than eighteen. 'If you're feeling sad and need cheering up' says Williamson, the sarky devil, 'you're never too young to be a skinhead'.

Williamson first meets with a gang from the East End. Chelsea fans, all around 16, they have some things to say, not least about 'Pakis'. Greasers are their natural enemy, one says, Pakistanis 'a pastime'. Eager to clarify, he says: 'It's not their colour because, you know, the Jamaicans are alright. They don't like Pakis either. Anyway, sometimes we hit 'em, sometimes we just leave 'em'. 

On their 'natural enemy' the Skins are quite clear: 'There ain't no Hells Angels in this country, just old greasers like we used to have'. Comparing the exploits of the UK bikers to their American counterparts one says: 'What they do is mouse like (I love that phrase) compared to what they do out there, innit? They smash up whole towns and get away with it. A band of grease couldn't even smash up a club over here and get away with it. Well, maybe once or twice, but not a third time'.   

Wiliamson asks how long will they be Skinheads:'About 18. We've got nothing to lose now. After 20, 25  you've got yer wife to think about'. There it is, then, the trajectory of a working class youth - a brief, wild hurrah, then domesticity and conformity.    

STEVE THOMPSON

Steve is 16, and works as an assistant at a Printers. He doesn't really care about his job, he just likes the money it gives him to spend at the weekend.

Steve's Mum doesn't like him being a skinhead because of his appearance. He just doesn't look like her little boy, anymore.

Steve's father is one of those great working class armchair philosophers that programmes like this often turn up. Master of his own home, he maintains a sense of sang froid throughout the interview, ultimately making Williamson sound like a hysterical old biddy. An ex-Teddy Boy, he can relate to Steve's desire to 'be trendy, be one of the crowd', recalling his old uniform of 'midnight blue drape suit, pink shirt and a big stetson hat'. 

It's a phase, he says, a short-lived craze and Steve agrees (it would be interesting to pinpoint the moment when youth cults went from being a short, intense experience to being something some people adhere to their whole lives. It was definitely some time after the original event: revivals tend to breed fanatics, eager to prove themselves equal to the originals). Williamson asks: 'But what about him not being able to go into cinemas and certain dance halls, being banned from these places?'. Dad thinks for a moment then replies 'I can't really blame him for that, though, that's the old Authorities'.

When Steve is interviewed he seems a thoughtful, soft spoken boy, light years away from one of the crowd talking about 'rolling Pakis' (on this, Dad says he thinks this is exaggerated - merely bravado - Steve agrees it is - for the most part). Steve says that he wanted to be a Journalist but, when he went for an interview, his East End background went against him. After that he couldn't be bothered, and got the first job that came along. He says something very telling about the class system that absolutely pinpoints why he is a Skinhead:

'I thought I could get out of it (his class), but I've come to my senses and realised I can't. If you can't get noticed at work, you get noticed on the streets. They notice us, and that's what we want'. 

Steve tells a story about how a thousand Skinheads converged on Southend and went looking for Greasers. In the crowd, all dressed the same, all shorn the same, all with the same aim, he felt security - a common cause - comradeship - a sense of belonging that nearly brought tears to his eyes.

'There you go' says Dad 'that sums it up, that's what they are: they're sentimental boys'.