Black Zoo

Postcards Of Longleat

'In the spring of 1966 the Marquess of Bath and Mr. Jimmy Chipperfield established the first lion reserve outside Africa. One hundred acres of Longleat Park, Wiltshire, is set aside exclusively for a very large number of lions to live in conditions as near as possible to those of their natural habitat. From 10.00 am to sunset every day of the year you can go 'on safari', in your own vehicle, driving amongst and photographing the animals at your leisure'.  

The East African Game Park, Longleat.

'Adjoining the world famous Lion Reserve, another 100 acres of Longleat Park is now the home of the largest herd of giraffe outside Africa together with zebras, antelopes, baby elephants, ostriches and many other African animals and birds. Visitors may get out of their vehicles to photograph, picnic or simply walk about near the animals in this picturesque park which is open every day of the year from 10 am to sunset'.

'One of the most fascinating attractions at Longleat is the new 'Monkey jungle'. Hundreds of African baboons live together in huge family troops just as they do in their native Africa. To have one of these ugly, yet attractive creatures sitting on the bonnet of your car, peering through the windscreen, is a novel and exciting experience and a completely new way to see these animals'.

Marquess of Bath with Marquis the Lion.

Some slightly surreal safari park postcards from Longleat Park in Wiltshire. I like the second one, with the animals gathering at the waterhole, as it seems so staged and unnatural, although, of course, the photographer could have just captured a meeting of the escape committee. The third picture makes my skin crawl (I'm not fond of baboons) and the fourth just makes me laugh.

Portrait Of A People

002: A speccy swot swots up.

Portrait Of A People

A new series in which I will undertake a comprehensive and definitive visual study of the British people through screenshots of them looking gormless taken from old documentaries and news reels.

001: A Scouser plays Snooker.

Valerie Leon, Zetan

The luminous Valerie Leon as Apropos in Michael Cort's mind boggling sci fi comedy smutter 'Zeta One' (1969). I think this is the most skimpily dressed I have ever seen her, hence the slightly worn out quality of the screen grabs. She's a fine figure of a woman, alien or otherwise.

I will review 'Zeta One' at some point, but I'll have to build up to it.

Time Out Of Mind

'Time Out Of Mind' is an interesting and instructive short film about mental health directed by Eric Marquis. It uses all narrative devices to try and show how illnesses of the mind are 'made', how they manifest themselves and, most importantly, how they can can often be cured (time, tablets, talking - oh, and hypnotic suggestion). 

Starting with a shocking sequence where a middle aged woman commits suicide in a public convenience, the film shows us a high achiever who is so frazzled he goes into a fugue at the prospect of eating in public. and an unhappy young woman who is bullied by her family, ignored by everyone else and has a violent breakdown in a stuck lift. 

The main 'story' is about a poor man who is subconsciously haunted by his illegitimacy and has become neurotic about churches and having his hair cut. During a trip to the supermarket with his wife, he loses it completely in the clamour and crush of the busy shop, ditches the missus and runs out screaming, jumping into his car and speeding sweatily away. When he hits a red light, he abandons the car and heads off on foot, so eager is he to get home, to reach a safe haven far away from all those bloody people shuffling around with their pointless purchases. Christ, we've all been there, haven't we? 

You'll Have Someone's Eye Out

The thing I like most about this short PIF is the emphasis on personal grooming, especially as everyone still looks shit. Happy Guy Fawkes and all that, but let's be careful out there, okay?

The Prisoner: Change Of Mind

It's not easy being Number Six, but he clearly finds some degree of comfort and self-satisfaction in his refusal to conform, achieving Village superstar status by virtue of being so difficult to break. In ‘Change Of Mind’, Number Six is officially declared ‘unmutual’ and, funnily enough, he doesn’t like it. Ignored by the other Villagers, and scheduled for ‘conversion’ (something like a lobotomy) Six finds life in the Village increasingly difficult, especially when he is grabbed by a mob and forcibly taken for surgery. The ‘unmutual’ thing is all a ploy, however, by which the new Number Two (the creepy and insidious John Sharp) hopes to soften him up by pretending to mess about with his brain box. It doesn’t work, of course, and Number Two is forced to move his little fat legs rather quickly when Six uses a bit of manipulation of his own to turn the tables on him.

A good but slightly frenzied episode, ‘Change of Mind’ builds on previous stories like ‘Hammer Into Anvil’ and ‘It’s Your Funeral’ by showing The Village not as a whimsical (albeit very sinister) holiday camp, but as a seething cauldron of hatred and resentment, a place of mental and physical violence and, when it suits the powers that be, mob rule. There is perhaps a study to be done on the REST of the inhabitants, the garishly dressed non-entities that aren’t staff or Number Six, the ones that attend the parades and enter the art shows and shuffle interminably about in Mini Mokes from boundary to boundary: what are they all about, and why are they so easy to manipulate? Are they irreparably broken, or just indifferent? And don’t they ever get sick of brass band music?

Pitch: how about a show based on the perspective another Prisoner, one who has long since given in and now just sits and watches Number Six rush about all day long, shouting and failing to escape. In this world, Number Six is a bit of a dickhead, and rude with it.    

George Of George Hall

Ardleigh in Essex is a place I'm very fond of, having grown up in very near by Colchester. It's a quiet, rural place, far removed from what some people will tell you what Essex is all about (Mary Whitehouse used to live there, ffs). It's a big county, after all, and this corner, not far from the Suffolk border, is not part of the semi-legendary hinterland of fake tan, fake tits, fake fur and decorated genitals that apparently stretches west of Chelmsford all the way into the East End of London. Ardleigh is, for the most part, entirely free of flash and vulgarity. I say 'for the most part' because Bobby George lives there.

Bobby George is perhaps the most famous darts player never to win a World Championship (although he's been a runner up twice). Where he has triumphed, however, is in making himself a media favourite - the walking, talking embodiment of the game: Cockney accent, brash demeanour, mangled vowels and piled up with more dodgy gold than the floor of a Swiss bank vault. His home in Ardleigh is the self-styled George Hall, a more or less brand new ancestral pile, a triumph of self-determination.

The house, which Bobby claims he has mostly built himself, is an oddly shaped mock-mock Georgian affair, which looks rather like a piece of bent styrofoam packing. He has surrounded the house with a random series of plastic sheds and dog kennels. The pillared porch is a nice touch, as is the half dartboard which tops the door instead of a fanned pane of glass. Bobby is also one of the few people in Britain to have recently installed an analogue TV aerial. 

The inside, unfortunately, is hugely disappointing. Where is the gold? The monogrammed walls? The two feet deep shag carpet? The diamond encrusted chaise longues? Bobby, who likes to think of himself as 'the Elvis of Darts', lets us all down rather badly by sticking with decor that resembles the interior design of a mid-budget private care home, or a once decent but now very tired hotel. B & Q chandeliers and heavy velvet curtains do not a mansion make.

Let's take a look through the keyhole, rather unfairly comparing what we see to its counterpart room in Graceland, the world famous domicile of Elvis Presley, 'the Bobby George of Rock 'n' Roll'...

Bobby's front room

Elvis' front room

Bobby's dining room. What time does the regional sales conference start?

Elvis' dining room. Fried peanut butter sandwiches for eight, please

Perhaps the most successful room in George House is the full size pub, successful in the sense that at least pubs are supposed to look impersonal and unoccupied when empty. Same carpet as in the front room, too, there must have been a sale on. Elvis' leisure complex, the infamous Jungle Room, is far more intimate and compact and relaxed, although you'd have to be careful not to lose your shoes in the carpet.

The George Arms

The Jungle Room. Lawdy, it's gaudy

In case you were wondering, I'm not sneering at  Bobby or Elvis for their taste. I admire Elvis immensely for many things, not least his showmanship and excess. Bobby's okay, too, but I wish he'd gone all out on the inside of his ugly house, making it a suitably grandiose stage set for his outsize, gleefully brash persona. Bobby may himself feel that his vision was compromised, as he put the house up for sale last September. No takers as yet, but then he has priced the house (and the grounds with their fully stocked fishing lakes) at a cool £3.5 million pounds. That's Bobby for you, though, always a trier.

The Seven Ages Of Britain

I work in an eleven storey office block built in 1966. It's all doors and corridors. One day I noticed that the door hinges came in a variety of styles, and I became slightly obsessed with them and the story they had to tell.

The Empire.

The Commonwealth.

Austerity.

Modernism.

Treading Water.

Cheap Foreign Import.

Basil Scores

Occasionally revolting visuals accompanied by Basil Kirchin's otherworldly muzak. Check out that bass line. I also like the brief transition into the avant garde scrapings of the body building sequence. From 'Primitive London' (1965).

For The Rest Of Your Life

'Nightwatch' is, I think, the only horror film Elizabeth Taylor ever made*. Well, it's as much a thriller / whodunnit as a horror, but there's quite a few bloody murders, a gothic setting and some great looking nightmare sequences so it's okay with me.

Taylor plays a neurotic drama queen (as ever) who thinks she has seen a murder. She can't prove it, of course, and, since she has a traumatic history (her first husband was knocking off Linda Hayden and they died together in a car crash) and a track record of making stuff up and taking too many prescription pills, no-one rushes to look too deeply into it, not even Harry Cross from 'Brookside' (playing a copper) or her shifty looking new husband, played by cadaverous smoothie Laurence Harvey (in his last role). Is she going insane, or are those around her trying to make her think she's going insane?

Well, the answer is neither as, in an interesting twist, it turns out that she is already a psychotic nutter and serial killer and, in a wonderfully over the top finale, she exacts her revenge on the supporting cast with a huge knife and a look of uncontrollable malice in those famous violet eyes. 

Well made, well set up and well executed, 'Night Watch' is one of those films which you expect very little from but are pleasantly surprised with how it twists and turns away from the path you thought it would take. Special props to Ms Taylor - I think she was a much better actress when she was 'just' a film star (i.e she got delusions of grandeur when she hooked up with Burton and started giving consciously 'great' performances), but she does brilliantly here - and when she kicks off, she really kicks off.     

* I haven't bothered to check this fact. I just feel it may be true.