F*** Me, It's Freddie!

FMIF as Philip Proudfoot in 'Otley' (1968).

We've actually done this film before, but it is well worth revisiting, especially with facial expressions this good. Freddie plays what is called in olden days parlance 'a flaming homosexual', i.e. he isn't scared of what you think of his sexuality. He's also quite a dandy, and at the centre of the intrigue, like a camp mod spider. It's a broad performance, but it works - after all, as you can see from the second screen shot, Freddie has his tongue firmly in its cheek.

Otley

'Otley' is about fifteen minutes too long, but it's a fun film about the rather shabby world of espionage that features a stellar cast of British character actors, led by the great Tom Courtenay as Gerald Arthur Otley, a shiftless moocher and compulsive pincher of ornaments who, by sheer idiocy, finds himself at the centre of a web of slightly incomprehensible intrigue.

A nice mix of comedy and drama, 'Otley' is very sixties (never a problem in my book - or on my blog, anyway), but gives us a glimpse of the 'real' London behind the swing: the markets and bedsits, cafes, pubs and tube stations, people in polo necks and socks that need darning. The grooviest person in it is Freddie Jones, who is so sharply dressed it makes Beau Brummel look like Worzel Gummidge.     

Tom Courtenay is excellent, as always. His light Yorkshire accent, bony face and slightly camp delivery are miles away from the usual leading man, and he's not afraid to appear cowardly and pathetic, which is probably why he never made it big in action films. He's also very funny and, at times, the self-obsessed, duplicitous Otley is reminiscent of a (slightly) more grown up Billy Liar, which makes you wonder sometimes if all the running around and gun play is simply part of some elaborate, extended fantasy. 

The rest of the cast is a veritable who’s who of contemporary character actors, including James Villiers, Alan Badel, Leonard Rossiter, James Cossins, Ronald Lacey, Frank Middlemass, Geoffrey Bayldon and, of course, our beloved Freddie Jones. The last two on the list are still with us (aged 91 and 87, respectively) and, I hope, will remain so for a good few years to come. Romy Schneider makes an attractive female lead, but then she always did, particularly when sporting thigh length white pvc go go boots as she does here.  

Light hearted and full of twists, it’s the sort of film that should be on TV right now but, for whatever reason, never is.  Bloody nowadays TV.

The Sandbaggers

What can one say about ‘The Sandbaggers’ that can adequately describe what a superlative programme it is? My friend and colleague, Fearlono, once called it ‘televisual heroin’, which comes very close, but still doesn’t convey all of its intelligent but savage genius.

Lasting three series from 1978 to 1980, ‘The Sandbaggers’ is about the British secret service. There are no James Bond type characters, no nights at the casino, no pointed bon mots, no arched eyebrows, no super villains with mountain retreats or space stations; nobody has sex. Instead, an agent dies in agony in a crummy bedsit in Poland, lying alone in his own mess with a bullet in his spine; an intelligence chief who has been passing secrets to the Russians apologises profusely to a colleague and then bites down on a cyanide capsule; the department head has his own fiancée assassinated rather than risk her giving away national secrets. It’s a tough, supremely unsentimental show – and utterly compelling.

The cast is superb, but Roy Marsden dominates as intelligence chief Neil Burnside. Burnside is a man possessed, willing to cut any corner, ignore any order, make any deal to achieve his goal. He drinks only coke and coffee and almost never goes home. His top man is Willie Kane (Ray Lonnen), an easy going, likeable guy who just happens to be a world class undercover man and assassin.  Kane is not a hero, and he hates violence, but he is supremely good at his job, even if he knows the best case scenario for his prospects is an obscure retirement on a pittance of a pension.

These spies are very much part of the Civil Service, and their work is complicated by departmental squabbling, uncomprehending superiors, complicated approval processes and penny pinching (they are allowed to fly to missions first class, to keep them fresh; coming back they are crammed into the cheap seats). Most of the time, their assignments, which are enormously dangerous, seem to be almost meaningless outside of the framework of the Cold War, a deadly comedy of manners; much of their work revolves around favours owed to other intelligence agencies. If they are caught they will be either imprisoned or put against a wall and shot and the UK government will deny all knowledge of them. Only now and again do we really feel that the missions matter, the rest is simply part of a chess game where half of the board is obscured.   

      

Halfway through the third series, creator and writer (and alleged former spy) Ian Mackintosh’s light aircraft disappeared somewhere in Alaska. No trace of him or the plane has ever been found. Writers were called in to complete the series (Mackintosh had already written the final episode), and the producers decided to call it a day without Mackintosh, leaving the narrative arc unresolved. It’s a real shame, as it’s an incredible series that could have gone on twisting and turning for years.  

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.

Marked For Torture

'Man Of Violence' (aka 'Moon') presents us with a domestic (and international) criminal world that is both swinging and sleazy, an underworld milieu of smuggling and double crosses, crooks pretending to be cops, cops pretending to be crooks, pop music, loose women, torture and casual murder.

Michael Latimer plays Moon, an amoral, bisexual, sharp dressed hustler who is quick with a gun and makes a living by playing both ends against the middle. He seems to only work for crooks, who expect him to be on the make and, to compensate, try to rip him off and kill at every turn. It’s a pretty tiring way to earn a crust, really, but there are compensations: lots of blonde women in their underwear (and out of it), the occasional pretty boy and, in this particular instance, a trip to North Africa and a shot at nicking thirty million quid in gold bullion.

Directed by Pete Walker, ‘Moon’ is too long and too slow to be quite the pop art pulp thriller it wants to be but, when it’s good, it’s excellent. Luan Peters gives an good and thoughtful  performance as Angel, but her future career was more or less dictated by her comeliness, i.e. 'no dramatic roles for you, my girl, just stand around in just your pants'.  

There are lots of scenes in which something genuinely surprising happens, or there’s a burst of violence or suggestion of sadism that reminds the viewer of James Hadley Chase at his nastiest and most prurient. Most of all, I kept thinking of a mod James Bond on a budget, although it is far grittier and dirtier and serious than, say, the twinkly, self-parodying ‘Diamonds Are Forever’, released in the same year. 

As it is it’s a fascinating curio, but with a bit more money and a few more takes (maybe a few songs) it could have been the British equivalent of one of Seijun Suzuki’s manic psychedelic yakuza films. Be warned, however, watching this film will make you wonder if you could get away with a bright orange shirt and a red and black neckerchief. The answer is 'NO'.

Man Of Violence

Milton!

'Ooops, wrong arm. Keep filming, I'll sort it...' 

'That's better'

Milton Reid as he appears in no budget Bond rip off No. 1 Of The Secret Service' (1977). Milton plays a bad ass with an earring and an eye patch and a bare chest, although later he dons his familiar brown jerkin, trousers and cowboy boots.

I wonder if he charged for supplying his own costume, or whether he put the saving forward as a reason to employ him?

Derren Nesbitt, Actor

Our old pal Derren Nesbitt turns up in under-rated 1972 espionage thriller 'Innocent Bystanders' as Andrew Royce, a British spy intent on giving colleague Stanley Baker a kicking.

Stanley Baker beats him up, of course, he's Stanley Baker.

The Corridor People

‘The Corridor People’ is a curious little show which only ran for four episodes on Granada TV in late 1966. Ostensibly cut from the same cloth as ‘The Avengers’ and ‘Adam Adamant Lives!’ the show was quirky in the extreme, and makes for interesting viewing today.  Kronk (John Sharp) is in charge of Department K, a government agency charged with protecting national security. The thorn in his portly side is Syrie Van Epp, a beautiful Persian millionairess who basically seems to spend her life stirring shit and causing problems, Phil Scrotty, a Bogart obsessed private eye is also involved, although he is killed in the first episode (don’t be sad, he is brought back to life in the second).

The storylines are consciously bizarre, involving knock out perfume, reanimated corpses, black power, kidnapping, espionage and international intrigue, all filmed very cheaply and on a few flimsy looking sets. The production is extremely stylised, and the dialogue a mix of the Pinter-esque and panto. The performers occasionally break the third wall and make ironic reference to the conventions of the spy genre, or directly address the audience. It’s pretty weird, quite slow, but it’s very watchable.

A clip is required, really, so here’s the opening few minutes of the first episode ‘Victim As Birdwatcher’. The music is by Derek Hilton, who also did the theme for ‘Big Breadwinner Hog’.