Posts Tagged ‘Southbank’

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!

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!

The BFI Dwoskin season continues with even more cinematic sadism & absolutely the most disturbing movie you’ve ever seen about strippers….

Sunday, May 10th, 2009

You can forget Zombie Strippers (2008), nothing quite equals Dyn Amo (1972) as a burlesque horror show! I caught a screening of the movie on Thursday  7 May 2009 as part of the BFI’s Stephen Dwoskin season. The film is disturbing and quite a few audience members walked out before the end. I lost count of how many once the numbers reached double figures.

Although the Dwoskin movie is based on the play Dynamo by Chris Wilkinson, the original narrative is stripped away and the focus of the film is the emotions of the cast; these are mainly revealed through facial close-ups. In the earlier parts of the movie, three actresses playing strippers run half-heartedly through their routines. They are not meant to be convincing or arousing. It is the director’s intention that they are seen as what they are, actresses standing in for strippers, rather than genuine burlesque artists. The first girl (Jenny Runacre)  strips to three pop tunes, but her act and this music is interrupted by the film titles (which are accompanied by an ambient Gavin Bryars soundtrack). Bryars then provides the deliberately inappropriate music to which a second girl (Pat Ford) strips with the assistance of a punter (John Grillo). A third desultory burlesque routine is performed by Catherine Kessler, once again to incidental music by Bryars. The constantly flowing camerawork and cutting was very trippy and made me lose all sense of time. Adding to these psychedelic effects were the exaggerated pouts of the actresses pretending to be strippers, who had an androgynous appearance thanks to both their moves and bad make-up. At times they looked remarkably similar to second-rate male rock singers like Mick Jagger and David Johansen.

The introduction of a fourth girl, Linda Marlowe, was the cue for Dwoskin’s trade mark visual sadism to really kick in. Marlowe was made-up to look prettier than the previous three actresses, so obviously something ‘bad’ was going to happen to her. Four males with wonderful early seventies hair (including some truly groovy sideburns) and clothes, proceeded to strip, torture and rape Marlowe. This was done at great length and very slowly, with the camera playing a leading role in the rape. Marlowe was blindfolded, gagged and bound with red and blue strips of material, that sometimes matched – at other times contrasted – with the clothes worn by the male actors. Despite its colour-coded visual beauty, this sequence was extremely unpleasant to watch; so I wasn’t surprised it caused some audience members to get up from their seats and walk out. As the sequence progressed, the Bryars soundtrack became increasingly industrial in tone. Marlowe’s onscreen rape and torture was followed by a long shot of her twitching face in extreme close-up; as I’ve said, I lose all sense of time watching Dwoskin films, I’ve seen this close-up described as lasting 30 minutes, but it felt shorter to me. That said, it sent yet more audience members scurrying home, while one of those who stayed complained at its conclusion that it was the longest close-up in the history of cinema. Dwoskin’s depiction of women is widely viewed as problematic and I certainly find it unpleasant at times. He aims for an alienation effect and he is perhaps too successful at this.

After eventually pulling back from the close-up of Marlowe’s face, Dwoskin cut to a shot of the actress in a crucifixion pose, with his four male actors arranged in front of her brandishing burning sparklers. Aside from Grillo who I’ve already mentioned, the other male players were Derek Paget, Andrew Carr and Malcolm Kaye. Dwoskin is an amazing film-maker, and at the end of Dyn Amo I found it hard to believe I’d sat through a two hour film. The time seemed to pass in the blink of an eye. While Dyn Amo is available on DVD, to get its full visceral effect you really do need to see it in a cinema. On the night I went, there was not only an introduction from Jackie Holt, but Linda Marlowe sat right in front of me. It was reassuring to see Marlowe hadn’t been permanently traumatised by appearing in Dyn Amo; she was alive and well and looked very sprightly for someone in their late-sixties.

When the film finished, one of Marlowe’s friends asked her if she found it difficult watching herself in Dyn Amo. She replied that her younger self was so different to how she is now, that it was like watching someone else. She quickly became very animated talking about the film, and eventually an usher had to come into the theatre and chuck Marlowe and her companions out; alongside the odd eavesdropper on their conversation, including yours truly. Before we were thrown out, Marlowe explained that in the original stage version of the film, the rape and torture scenes formed part of a psychological interrogation; while during the long close up that followed, her character talked obsessively about her life. Dwoskin, of course, had eliminated virtually all the dialogue from the original work!

The Dwoskin season at the BFI continues until the end of May, so there is still plenty of time to catch some of it, if you haven’t done so already.

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