The Thomas Crown Affair (1968)

 "It's my funeral. You're just along for the ride..."

Well, I'll never think of chess in quite the same way again.

The concept seems simple. Thomas Crown, an awfully rich man, carries out a bank heist for kicks. Vicki, an insurance investigator, knows damn well he's the culprit but has to prove it by getting close to him... ending up in love with him and in quite the dilemma.

Despite the clockwork efficency of the heist itself, which is fascinating to behold, and the directorial flair that we see throughout, this is ALL about the chemistry between our two leads, upon which the film absolutely relies. And yes, Steve McQueen does his Steve McQueen thing with aplomb. But Faye Dunaway OWNS this film with a nuanced and delicious performance as a very clever, witty, predatory woman. In a world that likes to portray sex as something that men do to women, and in which female libido is still subtly frowned upon, even today, in a world that is more misogynistic than we like to think, she isn't afraid of being sexual... and getting what SHE wants.

And the end is awfully clever, as she realises not only that Crown got away but that his hopes for her had been real, and she could have spent the rest of her life in luxury with a man she fancies rotten.

Then again, would such a life ever have satisfied her...?

This song may be all about the intense sexual chemistry between these two, and little more. There's no depth, no message, no morality- Crown is a spoiled rich man getting his kicks, hardly a Robin Hood. But the film works, just through sheer plot structure and, yes, the incredible Faye Dunaway, who elevates this film to so much more than it should have been.

Carry On Up the Khyber (1968)

 "For the last time, stop calling it a dangler!"

Sometimes conventional opinion is conventional for a reason, and I strongly suspect that's the case here. This is widely regarded as the best Carry On film. I've seen it a number of times during my youth, and always casually thought of it as the best. Having seen it again, now, as part of my slow journey through the Carry On films in order, that opinion is very much confirmed. Carry On Up the Khyber is absolutely superb, easily the best so far. Is this peak Carry On, then? Is it all downhill from here?

I should mention, of course, that there are things in this film- the brownface, the Indian and Afghan stereotypes- that, shall we say, have not aged well, and that there are certainly moments that make the viewer wince in 2025. The world of fifty-seven years ago now looks startlingly alien to our own... although, compared to MAGA morons, they seem positively progressive.

Those issues acknowledged, then, what makes this film so good? Well, firstly, the script is superb. The central conceit- that the security of British rule of the North-West frontier depends on the continued belief that the Third Foot and Mouth wear nothing beneath their kilts is inspired. The scene, towards the end, as Sir Sidney and the other senior British wallahs calmly eat dinner as the residency is attacked, is rightly acknowledged as perhaps the finest Carry On scene ever. But it's more than that. There's a lot of innuendo, and it's so witty. But the film is full of brilliant jokes, such as when the Khazi of Kalabar expresses annoyance at the beating of a gong- "Rank stupidity", indeed.

We also have the full core cast on top form here. Sid James and Kenneth Williams impress, of course. But Charles Hawtrey, too- having seemed to be sidelined in recent films, he's back, on top form, in a prominent role. Joan Sims and Bernard Bresslaw also stand out. But guest stars Roy Castle and Terry Scott are also superb.

I hope I'll see a better Carry On film as my marathon continues... but perhaps I should just hope to get as close as possible.

Assignment to Kill (1968)

 "I'm just calling to say I loathe and despise you and everything you stand for, and what time are you taking me to dinner tonight?"

At first this little film seems to be ripping off James Bond, what with its vague spy theme, its protagonist's great chemistry with the female lead and love interest, and the time it was made, I suppose. But instead it's something very different and, despite the at times pedestrian direction and the low wattage of its stars- although Herbert Lom and John Gielgud, both excellent, provide some heft- very good indeed.

Patrick O'Neal plays Cutter, an investigator of fraudulent insurance claims who finds himself in Zurich and a web of rather deadly intrigue. There he meets Dominique, with whom he establishes a rather delightful little romantic rapport with lots of Steed-and-Mrs-Peel type wit between the two of them. O'Neal is fine, but Joan Hackett is utterly superb.

Great though the characters are, though, this is a clever, complex thriller which has a highly satisfying ending, fully paying off all the intricate twists and turns. And yet, despite the film being essentially a puzzle box, at no point is it difficult to follow and the characters, wthin the limits of the genre, feel like real people.

And it's a real revelation seeing John Gielgud as a crime lord.

This is an odd little film with B list actors for its stars, but the script and most of the performances are superb, and the location of Zurich and the Swiss Alps is perfect. Highly recommended.

The Final Programme by Michael Moorcock

This is a very different book from all the previous Michael Moorcock novels I’ve read, to understate hugely. 

There are some similarities and echoes with what I’ve already read, of course. I’m already aware that Jerry Cornelius I’d an aspect of the Eternal Champion, and the ending with the hermaphrodite is echoed, no doubt deliberately, in The City of the Autumn Stars.

Yet this feels different. It’s more light-hearted, and absolutely a product of the London of the part of the ‘60s where mod was yielding to psychedelia, and both drugs and sexuality were becoming more fluid, although there’s also more of a hint of James Bond. This novel very much evokes that age and, if it feels a little more tough and ready than other Moorcock novels, with as much in common with William S. Burroughs than science fiction, I enjoyed the ride.

Groovy, man. I have no idea what the other Jerry Cornelius novels are going to be like…

The Blood Beast Terror (1968)

 "They'll never believe this at the Yard!"

There were many non-Hammer, non-Amicus little horror films starring Peter Cushing in the late '60s, essentially because he needed the money to go private with the pressng mecical needs of his very ill wife, who was unfortunately to die a couple of years later. This is a fairly anonymous example and, objectively, you can't exactly say it's particularly good. But you can't help but enjoy it.

The plot is a mess, of course. It's not entirely clear why the professor's daughter ends up as a man-eating moth, why he so suddenly turns against her or, indeed, whether he's a professor or a doctor. Also, the moth costume is rubbish, but Vernon Sewell at least has the sense to only show it in glimpses.

Yet the Victorian sets are glorious- including a wonderful chemistry set. There's a play within the film, loosely based on Frankenstein, which lasts for quite a while and is gloriously bonkers. Peter Cushing, although clearly phoning it in, is incapable of being less than excellent. We have Kevin Stoney as a sinister butler, and a couple of splendid comic cameos from a shockingly young Roy Hudd as a cheerful morgue attendant..

And Victorian tropes and references abound. Cushing's daughter has her blood sucked and is mesmerised to remain under the baddies' control- all very Dracula. There's a colonial scene featuring a pith helmet. The police are splendidly Victorian, and the sergeant has a truly magnificent moustache. This may be a very silly film, and not intentionally so, but it's eminently watchable and rather good fun.

The Devil Rides Out (1968)

 "In magic, there is neither good nor evil."

It's been many years since I've seen this film, certainly a decade and a bit. I well remember being impressed with it, and this viewing has cemented its excellence for me. This is, without a doubt, the finest Hammer film I've seen, and the finest performance I’ve ever seen from a compellingly charismatic Christopher Lee. On the strength of this performance is staggering that he wasn’t asked do play more parts as the hero protagonist. He radiates authority and steadfastness as few actors can.

It’s not just the excellence of its leading man that elevates this film to greatness, though. For one thing Richard Matheson’s superb script, full of incident and tension and using up all the best occult tropes such as the chalk circle and sacrifice, adapts Dennis Wheatley’s novel superbly. I’ve never read any Wheatley and may never do so- occult-themed pulp fiction is not really my thing- but it’s clear that he’s a little vague in his definition of Satanism, conflating it with the worship of pagan deities and “magic” as it would presumably be understood by Aleister Crowley or, indeed, Alan Moore, and combining ritual with the kind of orgies that would be a nightmare for we introverts. But it certainly makes for a first class suspense-based horror film. And Charles Gray is a wonderfully urbane baddie.

More than that, though, this is Terence Fisher’s claim to greatness. Everything about the way this film is shot is magnificent- taut, terrifying, and deadly serious. This film shows him- and Hammer- to be capable of far more than the cheesiness for which we know them. A truly outstanding gem of a film.

Destroy All Monsters (1968)

"The Earth does not belong to you humans!"

I love me a very silly monster film, and this is the silliest yet. It's the unimaginably far future, the year 1999, and naturally the UN has a base on the Moon and regular space trips there by scientists. Even more naturally, it's all controlled from a Japanese island and absolutely everyone involved is Japanese barring one token speaking foreign scientist and a couple of extras. Oh, and the social mores and interior decor are very much of the late ‘60s, and everyone smokes. Well, the men at any rate.

Oh, and all the monsters from previous films (some of which I don’t recognise but the main ones like Mothra and Rodan are all there) are kept on that very same island, prevented by technology from wandering off for a spot of marauding. Minilla doesn’t seem to be any older at all in the far future, but let’s discreetly ignore that.

But along come some nasty alien conquerors, made of metal and immortal but appearing as women and doing a lot of exposition. These fiends are using all the monsters to attack major world cities, including a major set piece in which Tokyo is destroyed yet again. You can tell it’s coming as soon as you see the nice model monorail. I love how this is such a very ‘60s idea of the future.

Fortunately good old human ingenuity and heroism wins the day, and the monsters are used to attack the aliens- but not before a massive and rather fun climactic battle between all the monsters and King Ghidorah.

This is the sort of fun, undemanding, hugely entertaining film that they just don't make any more.

A Midsummer Night's Dream (1968)

"Lord, what fools these mortals be..."

I never knew before tonight's random looking through Amazon Prime that this odd little Peter Hall film existed- associated with the RSC although unconnected with the many screen Shakespeare plays made a decade later.

As a production it's... odd. There is much use of location and visuals, yet this is very much in the style (and with the necessary attitude to realism) of a stag play- I suspect the budget would not allow otherwise. The make-up for the fairies, in particular, I can imagine working well on stage, but their look falls very flat here.

The fun of this production, though, is not in the visuals; it's in seeing this splendid cast of unfeasible young actors (Helen Mirren is in her early twenties here, and none of the leads are over thirty- five) perform one of Shakespeare's plays with which I'm most familiar. And Ians Holm and Richardson, in particular, are truly sublime as Puck and Oberon respectively. Most striking though is a young, sensual Judi Dench as she frolics erotically with Paul Rogers' Bottom... and yes, I know: that's quite a sentence.

Even a flawed production of Shakespeare such as this can showcase some individual performances worth seeing, and this is the case here. And I must admit that this particular version of Pyramus and Thisbe is the funniest I've seen. On the whole, then, a mixed bag- but it was always going to be a joy to see this play with this cast.

Yellow Submarine (1968)

“How was it, Ringo?"

"Arrowing?"

 Wow. What to say about this after the experience of seeing it again after upwards of twenty years?

It's brilliant, obviously. It's gloriously, trippily weird and also both witty and weirdly erudite for good measure. The animation may be simple, the Beatles may only appear at the end and not even do their own voices- songs excepted, obviously- but, my God, this is good.

The songs are great, obviously, and its instructive to be reminded how many of them, including such classics as "Hey Bulldog" and "All Together Now", were new for the film. It's also instructive that John, Paul, George and Ringo are shown here in full-on late Sixties psychedelia mode, whereas Revolver was only the year before last.

The sheer surreality of not only the animation but also the plot- snapping Turks?- is at once druggy, psychedelic and the very essence of the period. Bizarre, then, that Dick Emery of all people plays such a large role. But the Fab Four always did have one foot in light entertainment.

It's short, it's bonkers, the music is great. This is probably the greatest rock 'n' roll film ever made because, well, come on. I can't help noticing there's not a single speaking role for a woman in the whole thing, mind!

Night of the Living Dead (1968)

"Well... the television said that's the right thing to do!

Yes, I know, you were expecting Kill Bill, Vol. 2. Over the weekend, I promise! In the meantime, this: the first modern zombie film, establishing all the tropes of the genre as we know it today. From this point onwards zombies are no longer portrayed in terms of their Haitian origins- no voodoo dolls here: compare this to Hammer’s The Plague of the Zombies from Just two years prior. Fitting, then, the film should have a black lead in Duane Jones, although his eventual fate is so depressingly 1968 America.

The film is superb, in spite of its cast of unknown; brilliantly shot in glorious monochrome with fantastic camera angles and magnificent use of shadows. The musical score is highly effective, too. This is a proper horror film that does that old-fashioned thing of making you jump. The whole thing reminds me of the base under siege stories that were being done in Doctor Who at the time, complete with the small cast of flawed characters.

But this film, of course, establishes the tropes of the newish genre it’s creating. Everybody dies, of course, although it isn’t made explicit that civilisation is doomed, with some semblance of state authority remaining at the end. I suspect it is indeed doomed, though, in a world where anyone who dies for any reason will be almost instantly reanimated. Interesting, though, that the plague is said to be caused by mysterious radiation from a returning probe to Venus; it’s all very atomic age.

I can understand why this film is seen as such a horror classic. It really is that good. I only regret that it took the unfortunate death of the great George A. Romero to drive me to watch it

Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968)

"It's a bit like one of those old houses in horror films."

"I see what you mean. It's like Boris Karloff's going to pop up any minute..."

Wow. A late '60s horror film with a very genre cast (what a cast though!) that manages to be not at all kitsch as its Hammer and Amicus cousins usually are but, in spite of being very much full of the usual cliched tropes, is actually a film of genuine quality. Then again, it's scripted by the two men behind The Web of Fear.

Christopher Lee and Boris Karloff both excel in roles that suit their perspective brands of silky, sinister charisma, although sadly Barbara Steele's role is too small to be worth much comment. Mark Eden does well as the hero, although it's a shame that Robert gets such a tiresomely and predictably rapey scene with Virginia Wetherell's Eve, something that dates the film every bit as much as the '60s fire engine at the end.

The true star is the script, though- this tale of a witch burned unjustly at the stake under Cromwell and seeking bloody revenge over the centuries involving violence, fear and, er, a fair bit of BDSM from the very start, and centred around an old house with a hidden past may be typically gothic fare with a huge number of horror film cliches all present and correct right down to the petrol pump attendant warning us off the house in question, but the execution is undeniably superb. Don't mistake it for one of the many films of a similar type with a similar cast at a similar time; this one is well worth watching.

Barbarella (1968)

"Decrucify the angel!"

"What?"

"Decrucify him. Or I'll melt your face!"

What the Hell have I just watched?

This is quite possibly the weirdest film I've ever seen, pleasant though Jane Fonda is to look at; a bizarrely kids' TV looking futuristic sci-fi sexual fantasy that features an angel, a villain called Duran Duran, a character called Professor Ping portrayed by Marcel Marceau, a pink girly spaceship, and a ship computer that says "confirmed" a lot and is a blatant influence on Zen from Blake's 7. That's a lot to take in. There's a sort of main plot but it's all very picaresque, moving from one set piece to another with our heroine managing increasingly random escapes from increasingly bizarre perils. Highlights include being pecked to death by budgies, death by orgasm and being bitten all over by creepy kids' dolls with sharp metal teeth. Ouch.

It's all exploitative stuff for the lads, of course, with Jane Fonda being somewhat comely, and you can hardly deny the blatant sexism that's everywhere, but it's hard to mind; it's all so good-natured, stoned and innocent.

There's little point in critiquing the acting, effects or decor and, not being stoned, I'm not sure I'm entirely qualified to give an opinion or, indeed, to know what to think. The music, the sparkliness, the clash of kids' TV and free love- wow. But what can you expect of a film featuring a major character called Duran Duran? I am bamboozled by Barbarella.

Witchfinder General (1968)

"They swim! The mark of Satan is upon them! They must hang!"

It's clear why this film by Michael Reeves, who sadly died so very young, has achieved cult status: it's so incredibly violent, even sadistic, with one very memorable scene showing a poor young lady being lowered into the fire and slowly burned. It's an unashamedly sensational take on Matthew Hopkins which deals with the legend, not historical accuracy (the real Hopkins was only about 27 when he died of natural causes) and is anchored by a splendidly evil and charismatic performance by the one and only Vincent Price.

The film, shot largely on location, looks gorgeous and convinces as the Suffolk of the late Civil War. The ubiquitous Ian Ogilvy is splendid as our hero, Richard. The plot is functional but exciting as we gaze somewhat titillatingly on to the cruelties perpetuated by Hopkins and his dimmer yet more evil sidekick, Stearns. There is, I think, something more than a little creepy in the film's voyeuristic glee at the torture and execution of comely young women, that can't be denied. But Price's sheer charisma draws you in as you watch agog at one of the most evil characters in cinema.

A violent and, at times, extremely disturbing and misogynistic film that it is impossible not to be riveted by. Dark, edgy, uncomfortable in its sadistic use of the male gaze, but no one can accuse this of failing to be compelling viewing.

if... (1968)

"Paradise is for the blessed. Not the sex-obsessed."

I wasn't privileged/unfortunate enough to go to a public school myself, being far too common: not for me the delights of fagging, chapel, cadets and assorted bizarre traditions. Most of what I know of the big public schools comes from Stephen Fry's Moab Is My Washpot, a certain episode of Ripping Yarns and, yes, this film. No doubt this gives me an entirely realistic impression.

The film is a triumph of direction, of the riveting central performance of Malcolm McDowell, and of the dreamlike, searing anger of the film. And yes, that's an unusual combination. 

We begin with introductions to the school, its arcane traditions, its loathsome "whips", corporal punishment, hypocritical staff, and the fact that new boys are called "scummy". It's a harsh introduction to a harsh life for kids who are already having to cope with the brutal separation from their families. What sort of parent can do that to s child? Worse, what sort of parents can do that to a child on full knowledge of what it must feel like? One can understand why ex-public schoolboys are often so repressed, cold and weird. Privilege comes at the cost of devastating psychological trauma. That's how we do things on this country. Lovely.

Of course, this being a closed environment with little in the way of oestrogen, the inevitable homoeroticism is simply accepted. Boys are accused by other boys of "tarting". Teachers are either soulless authoritarians or deeply eccentric. It's all profoundly weird.

Into all this comes Mick Travis, a decidedly not-very-'60s rebel, obsessed with war. We see a number of his brushes with authority and two big dream sequences. The first of these sees him and his mate nick a motorbike (without consequences) after which he proceeds to get his end away. The second consists of his shooting  loads of people.

At least, I assume this last bit is a dream sequence. It's certainly shocking to see, especially given recent events in Oregon, Connecticut, and other places which fetishise the "right" to bear arms.

All the boys we see are damaged, profoundly weird and entirely unable to interact with other human beings in a natural way. Travis is no worse than many, especially not the tyrannical "whips".

This is a brilliant, brilliant film which skewers public school culture superbly while also benefiting from some delightfully arty direction. One of the best films of the '60s and a film that simply could not have been made in any other year.

Planet of the Apes (1968)

"The vet's going to geld him."

Wow. I know this film is famous, but I wasn't expecting it to be so good. So good, in fact, that I'm going to ignore the awkward fact that all the apes speak English. I can be nice that way.

The opening of the film both sets up the premise and gives us a bit of misdirection; we expect the film to be about Taylor and the two surviving crew members, but in fact they both die early on- Dodge first, of course. We expect this: he's black.

Our three astronauts have travelled in an interstellar craft to another star system, it seems. Incredibly from our vantage point we have dialogue establishing that they're from the twentieth century: Landon graduated in the "class of '72". Still, although only eighteen months have passed for the crew, time dilation now means that the year is now 3978. Everything and everyone they ever knew or lived is dead, as Taylor delights in telling his crewmates.

I had to raise an eyebrow that the female character was essentially put there to be a brood mate(!), but both the set-up and the establishment of world are good. Taylor is a fascinatingly nuanced character, a cynic on the surface but with some high ideals hidden deep down.The real depths of his character are a real credit both to the script and to Charlton Heston's superb performance.

The plot unfolds slowly before the big reveal: this is a world where sentient apes rule and humans are mere beasts. Technology and social mores, it seems, are about a century behind the world which Taylor left. Powered flight remains unknown and theories of evolution are controversial. 

The ideological contrasts between the apes are shown through the characters of Zaius- a fundamentalist anti-evolutionist with a real contempt for human "beasts", the scientifically curious Zira and Cornelius, who holds heretical theories about humans being more advanced in the past. The big reveal at the end- and Heston's performance makes it pack a punch even though popular culture has long since spoiled it for all of us- is, of course, that this is Earth. Humans destroyed themselves in some sort of self-inflicted (nuclear?) disaster, and the senior apes know this. Zaius's speech to Taylor at the end is crushing: humans are warlike and murderous while apes are not,and paid a just price. Suddenly we can no longer see Zaius as straightforwardly prejudiced. This links back cruelly to Taylor's speech in the first scene as he speculates on whether humanity has become less warlike and cruel. This is a masterly piece of structuring.

Everyone should see this film. It's certainly the best I've seen this year.

The Year of the Sex Olympics

“Do you like to read?”

(Shakes head)

“Well, who does?”

There’s a certain narrative that we’ve all come to expect from reviews of this teleplay, isn’t there? We’re supposed to mention how prescient it is (to be fair, it gets there first at the very start with the caption “sooner than you think”, but...), in 1968, in predicting reality TV, tasteless sex programmes and crappy telly in general, and to fawn on how it’s a great piece of British dystopian sci-fi in the lineage of Nineteen Eighty-Four and (especially) Brave New World. Actually, though, well-made, well-acted and (objectionable subtext aside) well-written though this may be, it’s still a pile of reactionary crap. So much so that even the metatextual fun of its being a TV drama about TV production wasn’t even enough to placate me, and you know how much I love metatextual fun.

The expository dialogue we get fairly on from Ugo Priest (the excellent Leonard Rossiter) establishes the situation; overpopulation has led to a situation in which the masses (low-drives) do nothing all day but watch crap telly about food (to put them off eating) and sex (to put them off sex), the theory being “see, not do”. The theory seems a pile of crap to me, but let’s run with it. Even the elite (high-drives- this seems to be the first society in fiction where your place in society is determined by your sex drive!) don’t read, struggle to understand the concept of paintings as art, dress like hippies (it’s probably a mercy that only a monochrome version has survived; I’m sure the costumes would look garish and horrible in colour) and have very small vocabularies owing to a lack of any meaningful cultural or intellectual pastimes. Never mind how absurdly unrealistic it is for a managerial class to be so under-educated.

Let’s look at what Nigel Kneale is saying here. Everyone looks and shags like stereotypical hippies, so I think it’s fair to take this largely as a stab at youth culture and the “permissive society”. We’re essentially being told that the art and music of the baby boomer generation has no cultural value and is, without exception, a load of dumbed-down crap which will rot the minds of society. No one reads; they just watch telly, because it’s obviously an idiot box. Even the bizarre cod-northern accents are suspect in this context; are we being told that even the use of regional accents on TV constitutes part of this dumbing-down? Then there’s the apparent endorsement of traditional family values as Nat, Deanie and Keten (until outside agencies make everything go horribly wrong) are shown, as a family unit, to be truly happy in the way that makes everyone else, with their flighty, ridiculously exaggerated polyamorous ways, look incredibly shallow. Yes, I know: I’m probably not going to like The Quatermass Conclusion. But all this, as a subtext, is extremely nasty, mean-spirited and spoils the whole play for me. I happen to quite like sex, TV and youth culture.

That’s a shame; there’s a lot that’s good here. Perhaps the problem is partly that this is obviously in the tradition of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World. I quite like the novel, but it’s no Point Counter Point. And the whole concept of the Sex Olympics is just absurd to me, even aside from the fact that it looks just like It’s a Knockout. Now, I admit I may not be typical. After all, I’m a man who doesn’t watch porn. I just don’t get turned on by watching other people: do and not watch, so to speak. I’m no puritan- actually, I’m quite the libertine- but the thought of having sex for the pleasure, not of your partner, but the watching public, just horrifies me.

Oh, and I just don’t buy the sadism of the watching public at all. Yes, I know that cruel and evil talent shows like The X-Factor are fundamentally based on the general public’s ever-present sense of bastardry and schadenfreude, and seem to prove Lasar Opie (Brian Cox) right, but murder and death on the equivalent of live Big Brother on E4 is orders of magnitude different.

For balance, though, I ought to mention something I genuinely liked about this programme: the credits mention “custard pie experts”.