Posts Tagged ‘Flipside’

Secret Rites: witchcraft night at BFI Flipside

Sunday, November 1st, 2009

Shortly after I’d settled into my seat at BFI Screen 1 for the Flipside Halloween shindig, a ‘real-life witch’ came and sat next to me. I figured this woman was a Wiccan because she looked completely out of place among hordes of trash film fans. A few minutes later Geraldine Beskin from the Atlantis Bookshop joined her. Among many other things, I overheard the pagan immediately to my left make the following observation to her occult book dealing friend:

“A lot of people said they would have come any other night of the year but not tonight because they need to be alone to communicate with the spirits. It’s a shame. I’ll get my brazier out when I get home and I’ll still have plenty of time to see who’s running about…”

Eventually, Flipside’s mainstays Vic Pratt and Will Fowler did their comedy act. After this short introduction, it was straight into the films, starting with a ten minutes segment about witches from a BBC programme called Twenty-Four Hours. In this, Bernard Falk introduced Alex and Maxine Sanders in sky-clad action (i.e. ritual nudity) with their coven. Sanders was treated as a comedy item in this 1970 production and deadpan observations along the lines of him being ‘a former chemical worker from Chorlton in Manchester’ got plenty of laughs. At the time this was made, Sanders had perfected a piercing stare but otherwise appears somewhat lacking in the necessary charisma to be a really successful cult leader.

Next was a 25 minute TV programme from 1957 directed by Geoffrey Hughes entitled Out of Step: Witchcraft. This was presented by Daniel Farson, a Soho drinking legend in his own ‘rite’ (oops, I mean ‘right’)… as well as a TV personality of yesteryear, and an almost iconic gay figure to boot. First up, he interviewed an elderly Margaret Murray, whose unreliable and extremely far-fetched book The Witch Cult In Western Europe (1921) is the source of much modern paganism. She was followed by the hugely entertaining Gerald Gardner, whose bulging eyes and maniacal laugh when asked in a slightly veiled manner about nudity at his Wiccan ceremonies, were particularly pleasing. It was, of course, Gardner and his circle who synthesised Murray’s highly speculative claims with rituals cribbed from Aleister Crowley and freemasonry (and a few other things, including Gardner’s business and leisure interests in nudism) to create witchcraft as we know it today. Thus there is no reason to give any credence to the spurious assertions of modern witches – including Gardner and Alex Sanders – that their practices are the continuation of a pre-Christian tradition. The last of Farson’s interviewees was the writer Louis Wilkinson (AKA Louis Marlow), who was presented as a relatively sensible secular friend of Aleister Crowley with little sympathy for occult ritual or belief, but a deep personal knowledge of its most famous practitioner.

However, the highlight of the night was undoubtedly the screening of Derek Ford’s mockumentary Secret Rites (1971). The print from the BFI archives runs to 47 minutes, and while there are rumours of a longer cut, I have no idea whether a feature length version of the film actually exists. Ford is probably best known as the director of ultra-low budget British sexploitation flicks such as Groupie Girl (1970) and The Wife Swappers (1970): and while I love scenes in both these movies, they would definitely have benefited from being trimmed in terms of running time. In Secret Rites, Ford appears to have teamed Sanders up with some professional actresses, put them on a movie set (in Film House Studios) and run them through cinematic variations on some spurious Wiccan rites. As long as you are happy to accept everything is utterly fake, and Alex Sanders is the biggest flake of them all, then Secret Rites is a groove sensation (including the assertion at the end of the film that what you have just seen is completely ‘authentic’). As the rites get going and the robes come off, we are treated to some particularly trippy mirror distortions and a glorious soundtrack of psychedelic funk from the Spindle (as well as possibly the worst faked orgasm ever committed to celluloid). If you liked Luigi Batzella’s Nude For Satan, and I know I did, then you’ll love Secret Rites!

For the record, the credited ‘coven’ consists of Jane Spearing, Penny Beeching, Shirley Harmer, Tony Barton and Wendy Tomlinson. The narration is handled by Lee Peters – whose other credits include appearances in Michael Reeves’s Witchfinder General (1968) and the English TV series Dixon of Dock Green. I suspect that Penny Beeching is the early-seventies starlet of that name who can be seen in various episodes of Up Pompeii and The Morecambe and Wise Show. If anyone can pin this down for me, I’d appreciate it if they can add their information to the comments section below. The intonation of some of the ‘coven’, not to mention their suntanned breasts, certainly suggest to me that they are more likely to be actresses or models than ‘real-life witches’.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Miss Leslie’s Dolls at BFI Flipside

Friday, October 2nd, 2009

Just when you think the monthly Flipside untamed cinema screenings at the BFI (Belvedere Road, Southbank, London, SE1 8XT) can’t get any more entertaining and deranged, that’s just what happens. Wednesday’s session began as always with the hardcore comedy double-act of Will Fowler and Vic Pratt. Next, Julian Marsh III rolled out of the audience to explain that contrary to blog rumour, Miss Leslie’s Dolls was not a lost movie – because he had a 35mm copy at home (and while Marsh didn’t mention it, there are also two prints in the BFI archive). Marsh also played back a recording of a conversation with Charles W. Pitt (Roy Sanders), the male co-lead in Miss Leslie’s Dolls. Pitt provided a good humoured account of his very short career as a film actor, and expressed his regret that he couldn’t be in London for what was apparently the first public screening of Miss Leslie’s Dolls in 30 years. Thus when Pitt referred to one of his female co-stars as ‘a pro’, I assumed he was talking about her non-movie career, since this woman’s acting was as stiff as the clients would have been in that other profession.

The screening kicked off with a rather wistful animated short by Bob Godfrey and Zlatko Grgic called Dream Doll (1979). It told the story of a middle-aged London man who escapes the drudgery of his everyday life with a great deal of help from some sex dolls. After that we went straight into Joseph C. Prieto’s Miss Leslie’s Dolls (1972). The screening was from one of the two prints in the BFI archive, and the film showed distinct signs of deterioration especially at the beginning, but the quality improved and at times the colours were even bright!

The ‘narrative’ begins with Miss Leslie (Salvador Ugarte playing a woman trapped inside a man’s body) messing around in a ‘graveyard’ that somehow manages to be less convincing than the cardboard cut-out tombstones in Ed Wood’s Plan 9 From Outer Space (1959). When a car comes into view and splutters to a stop because it is out of gas, Miss Leslie scuttles off into some undergrowth carrying a nubile looking corpse. The occupants of the motor, three students and their teacher, decide to brave the storm raging around them and soon end up at Miss Leslie’s isolated house.

Miss Leslie offers to put up the stranded travellers. Ugarte is lip-synced with a female voice but you’d have to be blind not to realise he’s a geezer wearing make-up and a dress! The two female students Lily (Marcelle Bichette) and Martha (Kitty Lewis) are both trying to bed Roy, while their teacher Alma Frost (Terry Juston) is a lesbian fox with her eye on the first girl. Miss Leslie is, as most film-fans will clock very quickly, an axe-wielding and mother-fixated psychopathic transvestite. He’s killed at least half-a-dozen girls over a twenty-year period, in a series of vain attempts to banish their souls and then put his own ‘metaphysical’ being inside a female body. He also murdered his own mother soon after bumping off his first nubile victim, but he still has regular conversations with ma’s skull. Likewise, his collection of life-size dolls are not made of wax but are, in fact, preserved human corpses! Miss Leslie’s guests are far too interested in copping off with each other to notice any of this – until it is, of course, too late!

Lily and Martha are murdered by Miss Leslie, but only after Roy has succeeded in bedding both of them, and Alma Fox has had a lesbian romp with the first girl. Roy is locked in a cell by Miss Leslie, who obviously doesn’t want to kill the object of his gay transvestite lust. After one of the most ridiculous through-the-woods chases in cinematic history, Miss Leslie catches up with Alma Frost in the ‘graveyard’ and succeeds in forcing her soul out of her body and occupying the still living flesh (meanwhile his own hideously scarred body disintegrates). Now looking like Miss Frost, but still speaking like Miss Leslie, the psychopathic cross-dresser enters Roy’s prison cell where he gets it on with the hunky young man. Roy is a little puzzled by Miss Frost’s changed voice, but doesn’t think too much about it because he obviously can’t believe his luck in getting off with a teacher who’d previously rejected his amorous advances. As the Miss Leslie/Alma Frost amalgam and Roy Sanders make the-beast-with-two-backs, the cell door closes of its own accord, the key turns in the lock and flies away, and the film cuts to the credits.

If Edward D. Wood had made Thundercrack it would look like Miss Leslie’s Dolls. The anti-moral of Joesph Prieto’s movie seems to be that inside the body of every uptight man or woman who has boxed themselves into a single sexual identity (gay, straight, monogamous or otherwise), there is a polymorphous pervert struggling to get out! And if you think that sounds good, then make sure you don’t miss Flipside’s upcoming Halloween witchcraft special featuring Derek Ford’s ultra-rare 1971 documentary Secret Rites, which stars the notorious sado-masochist and self-styled ‘King of the Witches’ Alex Sanders. It’ll be an almost totally nude groove sensation!

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

Antony Balch Night at the BFI

Friday, June 26th, 2009

I try to catch as many of the BFI’s Flipside nights as I can, since this monthly delve into the wilder side of British cinema should not be taken for granted. It is sobering to think that only a few years ago the BFI was an incredibly stuffy and conservative institution that haughtily ignored the film culture it now highlights in its Flipside programming. So big up to Vic Pratt, Will Fowler and the current BFI management for being forward thinking and in the groove! The days of tossers like Colin McCabe passing-off their tiresome taste in bourgeois snore fests as somehow representing everything that is ‘progressive’ in cinematic culture are thankfully over!

First up at Flipside last night was Towers Open Fire (1963, directed by Antony Balch). This was a clean 35mm print from the BFI archive, and you could actually see where Balch had deliberately degraded the film stock to create contrasts between different passages. Towers Open Fire was written by and stars beat novelist William Burroughs. It condenses his literary obsessions and cut-up techniques into a dozen minutes of screen time. The world disintegrates, the stock exchange crashes, and some strange things happen in the old BFI boardroom on Dean Street. Magic is performed over cans of film, the director lies on a bed and jerks off, there are shots of a Brion Gysin dream machine, cameos by BFI luminary Liam O’Leary and junkie novelist Alexander Trocchi, and things more or less end with Ian Sommerville doing a comic dance. I’ve seen this short many times, but never from such a good print.

Next up was the legendary Kronhausen’s Psychomontage No. 1 (1963, originated and executed by Phyllis and Eberhard Kronhausen), a short I’d never seen before. Antony Balch did some of the cinematography for this movie, the rest is by the Granada Zoological Unit and Harold Keene. The film cuts between shots of animal sexual activity and amorous human subjects. Towards the end, the Kronhausen’s up-the-ante with some almost explicit scenes of a woman getting fresh with a dog. This short is very hard to source and the BFI screened it from a video copy supplied by Mark Pilkington of Stranger Attractor. By chance, Mark had the seat next to me in BFI Screen 1. We said hello but the programme had just started when he came in, and he rushed off at the end of this Flipside session, so I didn’t get a chance to quiz him about the Kronhausen movie. I’m still trying to get my head around it, and would like to see it again.

The main feature was Horror Hospital (1973, directed by Antony Balch). This is essentially a parody of a Bela Lugosi-style b-movie. The plot revolves around a mad scientist called Dr Storm (Michael Gough), who is performing brain surgery on victims he lures to his Gothic mansion, turning them into mindless slaves (who he sexually abuses). Inevitably one of Dr Storm’s assistants is a dwarf (Skip Martin), and the flick also features iconic 1970s British sex-comedy star Robin Askwith. Balch plays with old dark house and horror tropes but keeps the campy parody reigned in just enough to maintain audience interest in the slight plot, which concludes with the mansion going up in flames. The overall vibe is similar to movies such as Thundercrack (1975, directed by Curt McDowell) and Flesh For Frankenstein (1973, directed by Paul Morrissey), but Balch gives the proceedings a uniquely English twist and does so with considerably more aplomb than the Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975, directed by Jim Sharman). The audience at the BFI was in stitches throughout Horror Hospital.

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!

London, the world’s greatest city laid bare on BFI Flipside!

Saturday, May 23rd, 2009

On Thursday night I went to the launch of the British Film Institutes’s first 3 Flipside releases of neglected and off-beat British cinema. These DVD and Blu-ray reissues are an extension of the monthly Flipside screenings at BFI Southbank. The launch consisted of both a public screening of Richard Lester’s The Bed Sitting Room (1969), and a private party afterwards. Aside from The Bed Sitting Room, the other two disks being promoted were the fabulous London In The Raw (1964) and Primitive London (1965), both directed by Arnold L. Miller. The Miller titles are mondo movies about London and its nightlife in the 1960s.

I’m not a fan of director and producer Richard Lester but I’ll sit through anything with Rita Tushingham in it at least once – with The Leather Boys (1964, directed by Sidney J. Furie) being my favourite film featuring this actress, since among other things her character Dot gets to deliver the immortal line: ‘Do you like me hair?’ By way of contrast, The Bed Sitting Room is merely a curious sixties period piece greatly lifted by the presence of Tushingham, but nonetheless a movie that is ultimately a vehicle for Spike Milligan. It is based upon his Cuban missile crisis inspired play of the same name, and is imbued with a pre-Beatles and pre-permissive society mind-set.

The Bed Sitting Room takes place in the ruins of post-nuclear apocalypse London, and I guess the humour is supposed to be zany and surreal, but I found it very old-fashioned. The best joke comes during the credits where the cast are listed by height from shortest to tallest; a device that fortuitously provides Tushingham with top billing. Among the other famous names featured in this film are Peter Cook, Dudley Moore, Marty Feldman, Harry Secombe, Jimmy Edwards and Arthur Lowe. During a panel talk after the screening, Lester said that while he had no issues with the cast when making the film, their respective agents proved rather argumentative about billings and thus listing the actors by height was his means of resolving this problem.

Lester dominated the panel talk although he’d been joined for it by Rita Tushingham, with BFI curators Will Fowler and Vic Pratt moderating. Lester mixed some entertaining anecdotes with an unbelievably superficial take on events in Paris in May 1968. He seemed to view the entire year – and in particular the occupations movement in France – as a bit of a downer, largely because these political events disrupted his travel plans. Unfortunately Rita didn’t get to say much, but she’s an old pro and having known Lester for around forty-five years appeared both used to and unflustered by his habit of hogging the conversation.

Tushingham is in incredibly good shape for a 67 year-old, and while she now appears a little older than in her 1960s prime, her distinctive looks are still very much with her. At the BFI she adroitly deployed her exaggerated feminine moves of the sixties, with several big arm swings to keep her legion of fans happy. Afterwards in the corridor as I was making my way towards the private party, I was nearly knocked over by a group of men who were mobbing Rita for autographs. I haven’t seen a celebrity creating that amount of havoc at the BFI since Jane Fonda was in the building signing copies of her autobiography My Life So Far back in 2006.

At the party I exchanged brief greetings with BFI luminaries Eddie Berg and Vic Pratt, spent a little longer speaking to Will Fowler about the Flipside releases, and managed a proper conversation with my fellow-freelancer Kim Newman; this latter exchange covered everything from Lester’s films to our shared family connections to Elgin Crescent in west London. The BFI had provided crisps and peanuts for revelers, but I wanted to eat something more substantial and so left after a couple of drinks. While I had a curry on my mind, of more interest to everyone else will be the viewing menu on offer to those that grab hold of the current and upcoming BFI Flipside releases. Of the future releases I’m particularly looking forward to Privilege (1967, directed by Peter Watkins), coz it must be coming on for 30 years since I last saw this very curious flick about the corporate control and political manipulation of a rock star. As already mentioned, out next week are two of the most important films of the mondo movie genre: London In The Raw and Primitive London. There are variant versions of each film on the disks plus a host of extras, including two great documentary shorts about London strip clubs – Strip (1966) is served up alongside London In The Raw, while Carousella (1966) acts as a side-dish to Primitive London.

And now it’s time to declare my personal interest in all this. I contributed an essay to the London In The Raw booklet, while Iain Sinclair provides a companion-piece to my text for Primitive London. I got quite carried with this engagement, since it was an opportunity to write about London clubs in the 1960s… and very quickly my composition became too long to accompany a film release. Therefore, I chopped out a lot of material before I emailed the text to the BFI and reformatted some of that into an earlier blog (the opening and closing paragraphs were written to make this material work as an online post, the rest is unrevised material I’d cut from my BFI essay). I find the subject of London clubs of the 1960s endlessly fascinating, which is why I ran way over the word count the BFI provided and had to take rather a lot out. Originally, I’d wanted to conclude with a paragraph or three of contextualising remarks, but in the end this also had to go. One of those ‘lost’ paragraphs read as follows:

“The fascination with strip and hostess clubs evident in the work of both sets of film-makers represented on this disk reflects the fact that such establishments proliferated in London during the sixties as a direct consequence of the 1959 Street Offences Act, which attempted to sweep prostitution off the city’s pavements in line with the desires of the Wolfenden Committee. It should go without saying that the sex industry didn’t disappear, although large parts of it did relocate to both dank basements and apparently swanky clubs. When strip clubs spread to the vast bulk of cities in the United States in the 1980s and 1990s, a similar cinematic obsession with such establishments was evident in many North American movies. That said, to my eyes and ears, London in the sixties is infinitely preferable to the American mid-west of the nineteen-nineties; the girls were more varied in those largely pre-plastic surgery days and the music was better. The British pop-cultural obsession with strippers was still very much in evidence a few years after the films gathered here were made; one example being the song The Girls Are Naked issued by top London mod act The Creation as the b-side to their May 1968 Polydor single Midway Down.”

And while you’re at it don’t forget to check – www.stewarthomesociety.org – you know it makes (no) sense!