BY TIM GREAVES
The
British sex film was a truly unique beast. Finding its feet at the back end of
the 1950s, proliferating throughout the 60s and 70s, and all but gone the way
of the dodo by the early 80s, sex may have been the selling point but scarcely
was it delivered upon. Usually depicting the act itself as a bit of a lark and
something to be sniggered at, due to restrictive British laws at the time the
menu in this country was mostly comprised of light titillation as opposed to
the more, er... shall we say ‘gratifying’ material being served up to European
and Stateside audiences. With little to see beyond pert pink posteriors and
bountiful bare bosoms, visuals whose stimulation value was already negligible were
often further quashed by the wince-inducing sound of a slide-whistle.
The
films that general audiences probably think of in regard to this period of time
– if indeed they think of them at all – are the likes of the Confessions
comedies, which is hardly surprising, for their appeal was unprecedented and
the first in the series, Val Guest’s Confessions of a Window Cleaner, was the
highest grossing British film of 1974. Yet looking at the 70s alone it’s
remarkable just how many light-hearted boobs’n’bums films were birthed. I
should know, I saw a fair few of them at a crummy, long-gone little cinema in
Winchester. Most of them were excruciatingly awful too, albeit in an inexplicably
endearing way.
In
1992 ‘Doing Rude Things’ by David McGillivray was published and at that point
was the only book of its kind. An assembly – and expansion upon – a series of
articles that had originally appeared in the short-lived ‘Cinema’ magazine 10
years earlier, it chronicled the highs and lows of almost a quarter of a
century’s worth of British sex films, from 1957’s Nudist Paradise to 1981’s
last gasp, Emmanuelle in Soho.
Now,
to those with a passion for British exploitation cinema the name David
McGillivray will be a familiar one. A former writer for, among others, the
BFI’s lamentably deceased ‘Monthly Film Bulletin’, he would go on to pen
scripts for such cinematic schlockers as House of Whipcord, Satan’s Slave and Schizo,
several of which also found him lurking on-screen in some minor capacity.
Associated in the main with the ilk of those aforementioned terrors, David’s single
foray into the arena of the 1970s sex film was the amusingly monikered comedy I’m
Not Feeling Myself Tonight, a frothy brew awash with familiar thespian talent
of the era. [Oh, yes, it should be mentioned that a plethora of household names
populated these critically dismissed but publicly embraced oddities. From
Bernard Lee and Arthur Askey to Irene Handl and Jon Pertwee, from Brian Murphy
and Barry Evans to Windsor Davies and Richard O’Sullivan, dozens of ‘respectable’
actors shelved their pride to participate in these movies. But then in the
clime of widespread unemployment that plagued the industry back then – and is regrettably
still rife – work was work and beggars couldn’t afford to be choosers.]
‘Doing
Rude Things’, which I picked up on launch day at the Scala cinema in London, has
long been out of print. But early in 2017 I received an email from David, who’d
become aware of my enthusiasm for the 1974 cult favourite Vampyres. He informed
me he was working on a new edition of the book and wondered if I might be able
to supply a photo of one of that film’s actresses. A small flurry of correspondence
ensued and I ended up submitting for consideration several dozen stills (of
which only a handful ultimately made the cut), spanning a number of films
referenced in the book. Some six months later, that slender but oft-thumbed 1992
paperback (published by Sun Tavern Fields) was joined on the shelf by a revised
and expanded hardcover edition from Wolfbait, a division of Korero Press.
The
book opens with the original volume’s foreword by Pamela Green – one of the
most famous nude models to emerge from the late 1950s, a mainstay in saucy 8mm
home movie product and who cineastes will also know from her small but
memorable role in Michael Powell’s infamous Peeping Tom. There follow two
introductions, a tweaked version of the original and a new one in which the
author outlines the reasons behind the book’s resurrection (not least of which
is the unpredictable surge of fresh interest in these inimitable films of yesteryear),
and David offers due praise to his ‘successors’, author and film-maker Simon
Sheridan (whose book ‘Keeping the British End Up’ makes for a worthy companion
to ‘Doing Rude Things’) and ace blogger Gavin Whitaker (whose affable YouTube
reviews, presented under the name Gavcrimson, are a must-watch).
Proceeding
through the early years of ‘naughty’ cinema, which delves into the work of pioneers
such as Harrison Marks, Stanley Long and Derek Ford, the story moves onward
into the 70s – discussing among others Pete Walker, Norman J Warren and David
Sullivan – and goes on to study the manner in which home video changed the
landscape during the 80s, allowing film-makers to capitalise on the thriving
new format. The fact that the author worked with some – and encountered many more
– of these folk back in the day adds considerable worth to the information
documented here. Although possibly less absorbing for those whose interest resides
solely with the films themselves, there’s also invaluable historical material
relating the sorry demise of the many adult cinemas, strip clubs and bookshops
whose presence once made a stroll through London’s Soho such an illicitly
thrilling experience. The final third of the book is entitled ‘The Main
Instigators and What Became of Them’ and comprises an illuminating collection
of bios; readers unfamiliar with the genre may be surprised to find names such
as director Martin Campbell and producer Michael Klinger among them, both of
whom started out doing…well, rude things.
The
book itself is beautifully designed, although as with the original all the
photo content is black & white and not as generous in quantity as it might
have been. Numerically there are only a few more photos here than in the
original version, although several lacklustre inclusions in that have been
dropped and replaced with something superior. If it sounds unnecessarily prurient
to remark upon this, I make no apology; the value of plentiful saucy visuals in
a book whose very business is prurience shouldn’t be underestimated.
Additionally on the downside, the choice of paper stock is disappointing,
resulting in frequent show-through. I have a couple of other books from Korero which
boast quality stock and end to end colour for a similar price-tag, so one can’t
help but feel the opportunity to upgrade to something really special has been
missed.
But
don’t let these quibbles dissuade you. Even had there not been a single
photograph within, for David McGillivray’s sharp, informative writing alone
‘Doing Rude Things’ is an essential read, serving as either a smile-raising
trip down memory lane for those with a fondness for an era that time refuses to
forget, or a curiosity-kindler for newbies who feel inclined to dip a tentative
toe into its enticingly grubby cinematic waters.
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