Category Archives: Film, TV, and Theatre

Sidney Lumet’s 12 Angry Men (1957)

Classics night at Cottage Road cinema is proving to be the gift that keeps on giving! Just as the dust settles on my recent blog about Bad Day at Black Rock, this month’s feature compelled me to write about another classic from the fifties, Sidney Lumet’s legal drama 12 Angry Men (1957). The film was Sidney Lumet’s directorial debut, so not a bad start given that it’s regarded by many as one of the greatest films of all time and that he was nominated for Best Director at the Academy Awards (he would go on to be nominated for three other films, Dog Day Afternoon (1975), the satirical drama Network (1976) and the legal thriller The Verdict (1982)).

12 Angry Men was adapted from a 1954 teleplay of the same name by Reginald Rose and tells the story of a jury of twelve men as they deliberate over whether the teenager that they have just seen charged with the murder of his father should be convicted or acquitted on the basis of reasonable doubt. As they troop into the jurors’ room it soon becomes clear that they all regard the case as open-and-shut: the accused is clearly guilty. They anticipate a quick unanimous agreement to a ‘guilty’ verdict after which they can return to their lives. However, when they conduct a preliminary tally of the jurors’ positions and the ‘guilty’ votes pile in, they are somewhat irritated to find that the twelfth man, played brilliantly by Henry Fonda, cannot in good conscience vote guilty. What ensues is a tour de force of psychodrama as every man is forced to question his morals, values and assumptions.

Almost the entire film is shot in the jurors’ room in which they are ensconced. It’s a hot summer’s night, the heat is sweat-inducing, the fan isn’t working, and most of the chaps are smoking, and it all adds to the claustrophobic, stifling tension of the scene. Fonda’s character, Juror 8, begins to calmly dismantle the assumptions that his co-jurors have so readily accepted. He outlines alternative feasible scenarios to the ones pressed by the prosecution and remains adamant that reasonable doubt exists. His arguments don’t at first find favour, but gradually, one by one, the other jurors come around to his point of view.

There’s some great acting talent on display here, with terrific performances from Martin Balsam, Ed Begley, Jack Klugman, Jack Warden, and Lee J Cobb. The dialogue is electric and the cinematography is in the realist style courtesy of Boris Kaufman who had recently won an Academy Award for On The Waterfront. The camera work contributes to the claustrophobia by gradually increasing the focal length as the film progresses, going from above eye-level, wide-angle lens at the beginning to lower angle, telephoto lens close-ups at the end.

Let’s watch juror 3, the hot-tempered and most passionate advocate of a ‘guilty verdict’, played mesmerizingly by Lee J Cobb, as his defiance as last man standing finally crumbles.

Henry Fonda as Juror 8
Sidney Lumet

 

Spencer Tracy in Bad Day At Black Rock (1955)

The Cottage Road Cinema in Headingley is the oldest indie cinema in Leeds and has been continuously showing films since 1912. As such it is regarded with fondness by much of the north Leeds community and long may it continue. Anyway, it has a classics night every month, where viewers can watch a series of nostalgic ads and previews from back in the day, prior to settling back with a fairly-priced box of popcorn to enjoy a classic movie, selected for its historical, cultural or aesthetic significance. Last month, for example, I went to see Hitchcock’s Rear Window; next month I’m tempted by Irving Rapper’s Now, Voyager; and this month I went to see the subject of this blog, John Sturges’ Bad Day at Black Rock.

Bad Day at Black Rock is a 1955 American neo-Western film starring Spencer Tracy and Robert Ryan with support from Walter Brennan, Anne Francis, John Ericson, Ernest Borgnine and Lee Marvin. The term “neo-Western” does not signify a western movie as such, and instead implies the use of certain themes and motifs redolent of westerns but set in more modern times (in this case, 1945). Really, it’s a crime drama but it contains the wide, open plains and desert landscapes of the western, and Spencer Tracy’s “stranger comes to town and is met with unfriendly suspicion” persona is top-drawer Clint Eastwood.

Tracy plays a one-armed stranger, John Macreedy, who disembarks from the train that rarely stops in the isolated desert hamlet of Black Rock and is soon put under hostile scrutiny from the locals who lounge on the wooden verandas of the saloon and bar-and-grill and wonder who the hell this new guy is and what the hell does he want? At this point I should say that if I were harbouring a dark secret – which you can be sure these Black Rock locals certainly are – and a stranger comes to town asking questions, I would put on a friendly and cooperative façade to deflect suspicion. This lot, however, opt for the acute hostility and evasiveness approach and thus come across as guilty as sin from the get-go, with Borgnine and Marvin in particular pushing the envelope in the “I’ve clearly got something to hide” department.

Still, Macreedy’s been asking questions about a certain Japanese-American gentleman named Komoko, but nobody seems to want to engage. Robert Ryan’s character Reno Smith is clearly in charge and holds the rest of the town in his thrall, including the ineffectual, alcoholic sheriff. Smith claims that Komoko was simply interned during World War II but also reveals his virulent anti-Japanese sentiment developed after Pearl Harbor – we the audience are only too aware that something dodgy has gone down and not only that but Macreedy himself needs to be in fear for his own life. Macreedy gradually breaks down the omerta of the townsfolk and begins to separate the real culprits from the simply scared, some of whom are inspired by Macreedy to step up. It’s a tour de force of psychological drama, with great tough-guy dialogue and the stunning backdrop of the Mohave desert, and well worth my punt in venturing out on a Wednesday night!

Let’s watch Macreedy, despite his one arm, getting the better of thug Coley Trimble (Ernest Borgnine), in this tense encounter.

Spencer Tracy and John Ericson in Bad Day at Black Rock

Phil Cornwell and John Sessions in Stella Street (1997)

A British TV comedy series that perhaps fell under the radar a little bit (you can actually find people who never saw or heard of it), Stella Street was nonetheless a great find when it began airing in 1997 and continued over four series to 2001. Its somewhat bizarre premise is that an ordinary street in suburban Surbiton is peopled by a group of bigtime celebrities going about their lives in ordinary, suburban fashion, but adhering to some well-known and exaggerated stereotypes pertaining to said celebs.

The show was conceived and written by John Sessions, Phil Cornwell and Peter Richardson, with the main characters played by Sessions and Cornwell (and Ronni Ancona for some episodes). The celebrities chosen to live in Stella Street were presumably influenced by the performers’ ability to do great impressions of them and whose personas lent themselves to some great send-up comedy. The programme takes the form of a mockumentary with filming done on a handheld camera and Cornwell as Michael Caine talking directly to the camera to introduce characters and situations (just as he does in the 1966 film Alfie).

Jack Nicholson is portrayed as the inveterate womanising bad-ass of his stereotype (or his real personality?) complete with bad taste Hawaiian shirts not exactly suited to the British climate. Michael Caine is full-on Sixties’ Michael Caine with the trademark laconic vocal delivery, shock of ginger hair and horn-rimmed glasses. Roger Moore is the quintessential English gentleman with impeccable manners, and with a loneliness theme ruthlessly exploited by Sessions. David Bowie is the self-effacing and slightly awkward superstar staying true to his Bromley roots. Mick Jagger and Keith Richards run the local grocery store, Mick with massive enthusiasm, Keith with time-worn, devil-may-care cynicism and a gleam in his eye.

Let’s enjoy a montage of Cornwell and Sessions bringing these characters to life: the mayhem of Mick and Keef’s corner shop, and then a glorious vignette of David Bowie and Roger Moore exchanging spectacularly mundane Christmas presents (with Roger Moore taking politeness to the next level when gifted an underwhelming £10 book token).

Mick and Keef

Fritz Lang’s Metropolis (1927)

A few months ago I went to a screening of the 1920 silent horror film The Cabinet of Dr Caligari at local venue the Old Woollen in Farsley. The film is a quintessential piece of German Expressionist cinema from over a century ago and a fascinating insight into celluloid creativity during the era of the Weimar Republic. As fun as it is, with its story of a mad hypnotist inducing a brainwashed somnambulist to commit murders, I wanted to look at an even more quintessential movie from the era, one that most people have come across at some point, the great 1927 science-fiction masterpiece, Metropolis, directed by Fritz Lang (1890-1976).

Lang has been cited as one of the most influential of filmmakers of all time, and he is credited with pioneering both the sci-fi genre (Metropolis, Woman in the Moon) and film noir (M). He didn’t shy away from producing epically long films, either, like the 4.5 hour Dr Mabuse the Gambler or the two-part Die Nibelungen based on the epic poem Nibelungenlied, but the one film that captures the zeitgeist of the auteur’s work is undoubtedly Metropolis.

It was written in collaboration with Lang’s wife Thea von Harbou and based on her 1925 novel of the same name. Metropolis is set in a futuristic urban dystopia prefiguring Blade Runner and bringing to mind themes from Orwell and indeed Mary Shelley with its own Frankenstein’s monster in the form of the scientist Rotwang’s iconic robot the Maschinenmensch.

Meanwhile, the film’s aesthetics, with Gothic touches, draw heavily from the Bauhaus, Cubist and Futurist design movements of the time. We see a world of colossal skyscrapers from which a wealthy elite lords it over the down-trodden masses of the underground who toil in abject conditions to keep the machines of the society running.

One day a member of this elite, one Freder Fredersen (Gustav Fröhlich), has an epiphany when presented with what life is like for the poor, by the saintly Maria (Brigitte Helm, who also plays the Maschinenmensch), and the two conspire to change the society and bring about social justice. As such, it can be construed as a rather simplistic morality tale, but there’s no simplicity in the stylisation and brilliant technical effects, which serve to create a remarkable world, both visually beautiful and powerful. Enjoy the theatrical trailer, below, with an excellent soundtrack by Gottfried Huppertz.

Fritz Lang

Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek (1966)

In the last blog, I wrote about Thomas More’s Utopia and the more general area of utopian fiction and it occurs to me that this week’s topic, Gene Roddenberry’s seminal TV series Star Trek, itself falls squarely into the genre of utopian fiction, albeit a far future one in which humanity, having conquered the stars, has also conquered those quaint old divisions that characterised 1960s America. The Enterprise’s crew of star sailors includes a Russian, a Japanese and a black woman and no-one bats an eyelid because it’s the 23rd century and the Cold War, Hiroshima, and racial segregation are all markers of a distant past.

Star Trek first debuted in the US on 8th September 1966 but here in the UK it wasn’t until 12th July 1969 (just eight days before the Apollo 11 mission to the moon) that this soon-to-be-huge pop-culture phenomenon began airing on BBC One. It must have been a few years later when it came upon my radar because I have no memory of a black-and-white version and it wasn’t until about 1974 that we got a colour telly. But boy, how they capitalised on that new colour medium: bright gold, blue and red tunics abounded aboard the USS Enterprise, whilst the numerous planets they beamed down to, and aliens they encountered, were also captured in glorious technicolour.

The concepts were mind-blowingly imaginative, the sound effects reassuringly futuristic (the background computer chatter on the bridge, the sound of a communicator flipping open, the swoosh of the automatic doors, the firing pf phasers, the mechanisms of the transporter in full beam), and the sets were…well, limited by the period shall we say, but full marks for imagination.

The Enterprise, as everyone knows, was a space exploration starship on a mission to “explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilisations; to boldly go where no man has gone before”. Led by the Captain James T Kirk, First Officer Spock and Chief Medical Officer Leonard “Bones” McCoy, the crew also included lieutenants Sulu and Uhura, ensign Chekov and of course, on the engineering deck and responsible for all things engineering (including beaming, shields, di-lithium crystals, and giving her as much as he dare), was Montgomery “Scotty” Scott.

It spawned an immensely successful franchise, of course, with something like eleven spin-off TV series and numerous feature films, but it’s the original series that will always be the true Star Trek to me. Their weekly missions had me rapt from the moment Kirk kicked off each episode with an excerpt from his Captain’s Log, and below, for the sake of nostalgia, are the opening and closing credits of this iconic TV series.

Kirk and Spock

The Two Ronnies’ Mastermind Sketch (1980)

Like Morecambe and Wise before them, the comedy partnership of Ronnie Barker and Ronnie Corbett as the Two Ronnies was one made in heaven. Two strikingly affable guys with naturally funny bones, remarkable chemistry, and an obvious mutual deep friendship, the Two Ronnies’ legacy has happily been besmirched by neither time nor scandal. Their TV show was a hugely popular feature of Saturday night entertainment from 1971 to 1987 and everyone growing up during this period will remember their shows with great fondness, and perhaps conjure a mental picture of the Ronnies as newsreaders, reading spoof news items and ending each show with:

Corbett: That’s all we’ve got time for, so it’s “Goodnight” from me.

Barker: And it’s “Goodnight” from him.

Both: Goodnight!

The Ronnies had met each other back in 1963 and first appeared on television together in 1966 in The Frost Report with David Frost and John Cleese. However, their big break occurred as a result of an eleven-minute technical hitch at a BAFTA awards ceremony at the London Palladium in 1970, in which they filled in, unprepared and unscripted, with such aplomb that two audience members, Bill Cotton and Sir Paul Fox (the Head of Light Entertainment and the Controller of BBC1 respectively), offered them a show on the BBC!

The Two Ronnies show was filled with sketches, either standalone or featuring recurring characters, and often involving clever word-play (their Four Candles sketch being a case in point). Many of the jokes revolved around Corbett’s lack of height, with the self-deprecatory Ronnie C delivering many of them himself:

Barker: This next part does suit Ronnie C. right down to the ground.

Corbett: Mind you, that’s not far is it?”

The Ronnies also had their own solo section: Ronnie B usually appearing as the head of some ridiculously-named organisation, and Ronnie C delivering a discursive monologue to camera from his famous armchair. Each series also had an ongoing comic serial featuring private detectives Charley Farley and Piggy Malone (remember The Phantom Raspberry Blower of Old London Town?), giving ample scope to guests such as Diana Dors and Kate O’Mara to ham it up.

My favourite sketch though is this classic from 1980, the hilarious Mastermind sketch, which you can enjoy below and then perhaps go on to read the transcript of the revised, expanded (and in some places even corrected) version which was performed as part of their 1983 London Palladium residency.

Transcript:

MAGNUS: And so to our final contender. Your name, please?

SMITHERS: Good evening.

MAGNUS: Thank you. In the first heat your chosen subject was Answering Questions Before They Were Asked. This time you have chosen to Answer the Question Before Last each time. Is that correct?

SMITHERS: Charlie Smithers.

MAGNUS: And your time starts now. What is palaeontology?

SMITHERS: Yes, absolutely correct.

MAGNUS: Correct. What is the name of the directory that lists members of the peerage?

SMITHERS: A study of old fossils.

MAGNUS: Correct. Who are David Owen and Sir Geoffrey Howe?

SMITHERS: Burke’s.

MAGNUS: Correct. What’s the difference between a donkey and an ass?

SMITHERS: One’s a Social Democrat, the other’s a member of the Cabinet.

MAGNUS: Correct. Complete the quotation, “To be or not to be…”

SMITHERS: They’re both the same.

MAGNUS: Correct. What is Bernard Manning famous for?

SMITHERS: That is the question.

MAGNUS: Correct. Who is the present Archbishop of Canterbury?

SMITHERS: He’s a fat man who tells blue jokes.

MAGNUS: Correct. What do people kneel on in church?

SMITHERS: The Most Reverend Robert Runcie.

MAGNUS: Correct. What do tarantulas prey on?

SMITHERS: Hassocks.

MAGNUS: Correct. What would you use a ripcord to pull open?

SMITHERS: Large flies.

MAGNUS: Correct. What did Marilyn Monroe always claim to wear in bed?

SMITHERS: A parachute.

MAGNUS: Correct. What was the next new TV station to go on the air after Channel Four?

SMITHERS: Chanel Number Five.

MAGNUS: Correct. What do we normally associate with Bedlam?

SMITHERS: Breakfast television.

MAGNUS: Correct. What are jockstraps?

SMITHERS: Nutcases.

MAGNUS: Correct. What would a jockey use a stirrup for?

SMITHERS: An athletic support.

MAGNUS: Correct. Arthur Scargill is well known for what?

SMITHERS: He puts his foot in it.

MAGNUS: Correct. Who was the famous clown who made millions laugh with his funny hair?

SMITHERS: The leader of the mineworkers’ union.

MAGNUS: Correct. What would a decorator use methylene chlorides to make?

SMITHERS: Coco.

MAGNUS: Correct. What did Henri Toulouse-Lautrec do?

SMITHERS: Paint strippers.

MAGNUS: Correct. What is Dean Martin famous for?

SMITHERS: Is he an artist?

MAGNUS: Yes – what kind of artist?

SMITHERS: Erm… pass.

MAGNUS: Yes, that’s near enough. What make of vehicle is the standard London bus?

SMITHERS: A Singer.

MAGNUS: Correct. In 1892, Brandon Thomas wrote a famous long-running English farce – what is it?

SMITHERS: British Leyland.

MAGNUS: Correct. Complete the following quotation about Shirley Williams: “Her heart may be in the right place but her…”

SMITHERS: “Charley’s Aunt”.

MAGNUS: Correct, and you have scored 22 and no passes!

The Two Ronnies

John Boorman’s Deliverance (1972)

At my school we were encouraged to join one or more of the many extracurricular clubs and societies, and I recall a bewildering array of choices from archery to playing the zither (not really, but it begins with Z and illustrates the point). I chose Film Club because it didn’t involve any more effort than sitting in the lecture theatre and watching a movie, and this seemed like a fair extracurricular activity to me. Some students must have been in control of the actual film selection because I can’t imagine any of our teachers suggesting 1975’s violently dystopian sci-fi flick Rollerball (set in the then-distant future of 2018) or 1972’s gritty and nudity-containing mob movie, Prime Cut, yet both these movies figure prominently in my Film Club memories. Another movie that somehow made the cut was Deliverance.

Deliverance was a landmark 1972 movie produced and directed by British filmmaker John Boorman, and chronicles the story of a group of city slickers embarking on a canoeing adventure in the remote wilderness of northern Georgia. Burt Reynolds plays Lewis, the most seasoned outdoorsman and leader of the group, with Jon Voight playing his friend Ed, and newcomers Ned Beatty and Ronnie Cox appropriately playing novices Bobby and Drew. Unfortunately for all concerned, things don’t turn out quite the way they were planned.

The film is noted for the music scene near the beginning, in which one of the visitors, Drew, plays Dueling Banjos on guitar with a gifted banjo-picking country boy, played by fifteen-year old local Billy Redden (whose large head and almond-shaped eyes ticked the boxes for Boorman looking for a character suggesting an “in-bred from the back woods”, with all due respect to Redden). Redden didn’t actually play the banjo and wore a special shirt that allowed a real banjo player to hide behind him!

Duelling Banjos

Deliverance is also notorious for the scene later on in the movie when the adventurers are now deep in woods country, and in which Bobby and Ed encounter two shotgun-wielding mountain men. These men turn out to be the last people you would want to meet in such a remote setting, and they tie Ed to a tree by his neck whilst one of them puts Bobby through a gruelling and humiliating ordeal: he is compelled to strip down and then to “squeal like a pig” as his attacker torments him, before finally being raped. It’s grim viewing, and only relieved when Reynolds’ capable character Lewis happens upon the scene and comes to the rescue (if a little late for Bobby) by killing the rapist with his bow and arrow and inducing the second hillbilly to scarper into the woods. The rest of the film involves the panicked reactions of all concerned and the drama of their attempts to escape back to civilisation (where you can safely imagine Bobby would be remaining ever after).

There is a scene in which the guys fall from their canoes whilst riding a particularly dangerous stretch of rapids. Dummies were used in the filming but having viewed the scene, Burt Reynolds requested to have the scene re-shot with himself in the canoe rather than a dummy, in the interests of authenticity. Boorman agreed and Reynolds proceeded to ride the rapids, but fell out, smashed his shoulder and head on rocks and floated unconscious downstream, before waking up with Boorman at his bedside. Reynolds asked “How’d it look?” and Boorman said, “It looked like a dummy falling over a waterfall”!

Get a flavour of the movie by watching this montage below.

Saturday Night Live’s More Cowbell Sketch (2000)

The American late-night live television sketch comedy show, Saturday Night Live, has been a launchpad for many a career since its first broadcast in 1975. Although it’s not the staple here in the UK that it clearly is in the States, we are very aware of its cultural significance and we can marvel at the names that have passed through the ranks of its cast: John Belushi, Dan Aykroyd, Gilda Radner, Chevy Chase, Bill Murray, Eddie Murphy, Billy Crystal, Christopher Guest, Dana Carvey, Mike Myers, Chris Rock, Adam Sandler, Norm Macdonald, Will Ferrell, Sarah Silverman, Tina Fey…

The classic sketches that the show has spawned over the years are as many and varied as its extensive cast list, and it’s fun to peruse Rolling Stone’s “50 Greatest Saturday Night Live Sketches of All Time”. My number one is Rolling Stone’s number nine but let’s not quibble: More Cowbell is comedy gold, however you rank it. The sketch aired on 8th April 2000 and it’s safe to say that the stars aligned that night.

The sketch was written by regular cast member Will Ferrell who was inspired by an episode of VH1’s Behind the Music documenting the band Blue Öyster Cult and their 1976 recording of their biggest hit, (Don’t Fear) The Reaper. Ferrell reimagines the scene, with Christopher Walken as fictional legendary music producer Bruce Dickinson, himself as fictional cowbell player Gene Frenkle, and with other SNL cast members (Chris Parnell, Jimmy Fallon, Chris Kattan, Horatio Sanz) playing the real Blue Öyster Cult members. What followed was to go down in SNL history.

Christopher Walken’s character introduces himself as Bruce Dickinson (“Yes, the Bruce Dickinson“) and tells the band that they have “what appears to be a dynamite sound“. The band are in awe of him, and he doesn’t do too much to dispel the belief that he is indeed a legendary producer: “Easy guys, I put my pants on just like the rest of you, one leg at a time…except, once my pants are on, I make gold records!”. Walken’s delivery is sublime.

The first take seems to go well but the band stops playing due to being distracted by Gene’s overzealous cowbell playing. Dickinson, to the surprise of most of the band, asks for “a little more cowbell” and urges Gene to “really explore the studio space this time“. Gene’s exuberance in following instructions only causes more distraction and the band aborts another take, but Bruce doubles down on his insistence that “I gotta have more cowbell!” and the absurdity continues hilariously.

The characters, the timing, and the dialogue are all to a tee, and even the actors’ attempts to avoid corpsing during the sketch add to the thrill – just watch Jimmy Fallon shoving his drumsticks into his mouth to (vainly) cover his giggles! Enjoy the sketch (in 2 parts) below…

More Cowbell

 

Oliver Postgate’s Noggin The Nog (1959)

Persons of a certain age (and perhaps persons of any age, given the enduring popularity of his creations) will remember with affection the voice of animator and puppeteer Oliver Postgate (1925–2008). He was the creator, writer and narrator of such popular and charming children’s TV programmes as Bagpuss, Noggin the Nog, Ivor the Engine, Clangers and Pogles’ Wood. All these shows were made by Smallfilms, the company he set up in 1959 with collaborator, artist and puppet maker Peter Firmin, in a disused cowshed near Peter’s home in Blean near Canterbury.

They were a great team: Postgate came up with the concepts, wrote the scripts and did the stop motion filming whilst Firmin did the artwork and built the models. As Postgate voiced so many of the productions, his distinctive voice became familiar to generations of children. Smallfilms was able to produce two minutes of TV-ready film per day, which was many times more than a conventional stop motion animation studio of the time, with Postgate moving the (originally cardboard) characters himself, and working his 16mm camera frame-by-frame with a home-made clicker.

They began in 1959 with Ivor the Engine, a series for ITV about a Welsh steam locomotive who wanted to sing in a choir, and followed it up, also in 1959, with Noggin the Nog, their first production for the BBC. These two programmes established Smallfilms as a safe pair of hands to produce children’s entertainment and they went on to produce material for the BBC right up to the 1980s. Everyone will have their favourite (in a 1999 BBC poll Bagpuss was voted the most popular children’s TV programme of all time) and for me it was Noggin the Nog.

The stories were based around the central character of Noggin, the good-natured son of Knut, King of the Nogs, and his queen Grunhilda. When King Knut dies, Noggin meets and marries Princess Nooka of the Nooks, and becomes the new king, at the expense of arch-villain Nogbad the Bad, who is forever trying to claim Noggin’s throne for himself. Other characters included lazy Captain of the Royal Guard Thornogson, eccentric inventor Olaf the Lofty, and Graculus, a big green bird. The names and themes are very Scandinavian and saga-tinged and Postgate must have been very familiar with the Nordic folkloric tales of old such as the Icelandic Eddas, but of course it’s children’s TV so it’s all just wonderfully made-up fun.

The pair brought in composer Vernon Elliott to create atmospheric musical sketches for the programmes and he did so with great effect using the bassoon, harp, glockenspiel and, in the case of the Clangers’ distinctive voices, the swanee whistle. Speaking of Clangers, Firmin once said that the show’s surrealism had led to accusations that Postgate was taking hallucinogenic drugs: “People used to say, ‘Ooh, what’s Oliver on, with all of these weird ideas?’ And we used to say, ‘He’s on cups of tea and biscuits'”. So very British!

Enjoy this nostalgic selection of opening segments from Noggin the Nog, Clangers, and that “saggy, old cloth cat, baggy, and a bit loose at the seams”, Bagpuss

Oliver Postgate and Peter Firmin

Will Ferrell in Elf (2003)

Anyone seen Elf again recently? I have, and although I came late to the party, some years after its 2003 release, it’s a Christmas staple in our house. It’s just a joy to watch, with great performances from Will Ferrell as Buddy the human-who-thinks-he’s-an-elf, and a strong supporting cast including James Caan and Zooey Deschanel (great comedic actress later to star in American sitcom New Girl). It’s just a charming, silly family film but a sublimely-made charming, silly family film. The director was Jon Favreau, who is known for films as diverse as romcom, musical drama, adventure and sci-fi, and including several of the Marvel Studios movies.

The first script for Elf was written way back in 1993 by American screenwriter David Berenbaum, with Jim Carrey in mind to play Buddy. However, as the project took years to get off the ground, Carrey went on instead to produce that other festive favourite in 2000’s How The Grinch Stole Christmas, and Will Farrell joined the project instead. If you haven’t seen it, it’s about a human baby, inadvertently brought back to the North Pole in Santa’s sack, who is brought up as an elf, and who later tracks down his biological father in New York. As an “innocent abroad”, there is none so innocent as this.

While you might assume that a lot of computer trickery was employed to make Will Ferrell look bigger than his fellow actors in the North Pole, Jon Favreau favoured camera techniques and trickery to create the illusion. He used the concept of “forced perspective”, along with the building of two sets, one smaller than the other, with one raised closer and smaller and one bigger and further away. With the two sets measured and lined up, the director could have one person on one set appear to be much larger than a person on the other set. The only CGI in the film was some snowing.

The scene with Peter Dinklage is riotously funny, and is best viewed without food or drink in your mouth. The scene is set in the boardroom of the children’s book publishing house that Buddy’s father works for, under pressure to come up with the next best-seller. Dinklage plays a paid external children’s book wunderkind come to bail out the company with his great ideas. Dinklage’s character, like Dinklage himself, has dwarfism and the juxtaposition of innocence and offence that ensues, when Buddy enters the room and thinks he is seeing an actual elf, is brilliant. For the viewing audience it is a case of seeing both sides…and it’s very, very funny, so Merry Christmas!

Will Ferrell as Buddy the Elf