NOT the British New Wave: 5 ‘kitchen sink’ dramas the critics never talk about

Laura Mayne, University of York

15 August 2017


The dozen or so films produced between 1959 and 1963 that we think of as belonging to the ‘New Wave’ cycle captured the intellectual spirit behind Lindsay Anderson’s Free Cinema movement of the 50s and seemed to hint to the continent that British cinema, to reference the famous quote by Francois Truffaut, was not, in fact, an oxymoron. Often adapted from popular novels and plays of the Angry Young Men of late 50s literature and theatre, these films brought jarring images of working class life to a stuffy and conservative national cinema. In a sea of cosy army comedies, high-handed historical dramas and predictable crime thrillers, they stood out. Room at the Top was followed by a series of aesthetically innovative, socially relevant dramas which are widely considered to be great classics: Look Back in Anger (1959), Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960) A Taste of Honey (1961) A Kind of Loving (1962), L-Shaped Room (1962) Billy Liar (1963) and This Sporting Life (1963).

It goes without saying that the impetus behind the New Wave cycle was commercial, although it is also worth remembering that in the film industry the distinction between the commercial and the artistic is rarely clear-cut: producers are not just money-men, and by branding them as such we strip nuance from a complex industrial process. Nevertheless, for all its lasting cultural influence the New Wave can still be taken as an example of how the commercial film industry self-replicates. Room at the Top dominated the box-office charts in 1959 and showed that audiences wanted gritty themes, confrontational drama and intelligent social commentary.

The enthusiasm with which some producers sought to emulate the ‘kitchen sink’ style in response to this demand recalls that old saying about film being the only industry in which last year’s models are considered to be better that next year’s. A crass generalisation, sure, but here’s a brief example to illustrate the point: in 1962 the producer Raymond Stross was trying to convince the small distributor Garrick of the profitability of a new project titled ‘The Leather Boys’. In his correspondence to the company he wrote:

With every respect in the world …I believe that ‘you are not with it’! If you do not like this script you must have equally disliked the three big winners of recent time, “Saturday Night and Sunday Morning”, “A Kind of Loving”, and “A Taste of Honey”, the profits from which will substantially exceed one million pounds…  the world is crying out for teenage stories.

But as the film critic Alexander Walker noted, in that same year the phrase ‘New Wave’ had begun to enter industry parlance: always a bad sign. By 1963 it was all over. This Sporting Life, though considered to be one of the greatest achievements of the New Wave, was nowhere near as successful at the box office as its producers had hoped it might be.

In the canon of British cinema the New Wave films sit somewhere near the fuse: they are some of the most studied, most referenced and critically acclaimed texts of all time. But we shouldn’t forget how influential the cycle was then as well as now. In the early 60s the success of the New Wave rippled through the industry and its influence can be seen across a number of films at the level of production style. The following list offers examples of films which seem to emulate the defining characteristics of New Wave cinema, but were unsuccessful at the box office for a variety of reasons: some were just a little late to the party, some were seen as low-budget ‘programmers’ or B movies (and thus instantly forgettable), but none have managed to command very much in the way of column space or academic study.

1. The Leather Boys (Sidney J. Furie, 1963/4)

The timing of The Leather Boys was simply unfortunate. Scheduled for release in 1963, the film was held back by an industrial dispute and remained stuck in the distributor’s vaults until 1964, by which the social problem film was looking a bit ‘square’. The 60s was characterised by trends which exploded onto the scene and were passé within a few years and, given that a film could take two years from pre-production to the screen, some producers found it difficult to keep up.

Still, The Leather Boys is an exceptionally interesting film and had it been released in 1963 it could very well have become part of the New Wave cycle. The film follows Dot (Rita Tushingham) and Reg (Colin Campbell) a cockney young couple who get married and quickly become disillusioned with each other. Reggie grows close with his friend Pete, who begins to develop feelings for him and is revealed at the end of the film to be gay. Based on the 1961 book by Gillian Freeman (published under the pseudonym Eliot George) the film plays down the book’s homosexual romance storyline but perhaps it would still have been controversial enough to stir up a fuss if it had reached cinemas a few years earlier, around the time of Basil Dearden’s Victim (1961). Sadly, despite the presence of Rita ‘A Taste of Honey’ Tushingham as its major selling point, The Leather Boys never really found a wide audience.

2. This is My Street (Sidney Hayers, 1964)

Many of the films in this list are set in a pre-swinging London rather than northern England, but like the New Wave films they tend to rely heavily on location to conjure up a sense of claustrophobia and entrapment. This is My Street is set in Battersea and follows the story of Margery Graham, a working class housewife who feels crushed at the prospect of a tedious future in the place where she grew up with a husband she despises. She has an affair with her mother’s womanising lodger Harry (Ian Hendry) and then attempts suicide when his affections dissipate.

The film presents a London in the throes of post-war reconstruction, and the streets are littered with debris and half-bombed buildings. The Radio Times called it ‘a well-written, nicely shot squalor fest’ while Alt-Movie was more unfair, dubbing it an ‘unsavoury British programmer’. In reality this is a nicely shot film (and June Ritchie is always a delight), but it’s just a shame that its interesting social themes (prostitution, unhappy marriage, lack of social mobility) become subservient to the rather hysterical melodrama of the plot.

3. That Kind of Girl (Gerry O’Hara, 1963)

At this point I feel like I need to ask the reader to bear with me. Anyone who has had the dubious privilege of having seen it will know That Kind of Girl as an early sexploitation film rather than a ‘kitchen sink’ drama. But the low-budget exploitation flicks produced by people like Michael Klinger and Tony Tenser deserve a bit of attention for their willingness to tackle taboo social issues. That Kind of Girl was (I’m fairly sure) the first British fiction film to deal with the issue of venereal disease. An exotic European au-pair girl comes to (you guessed it) London and strikes up affairs with a couple of men before contracting syphilis and shamefacedly resigning her position.

Production company Compton was so keen to give That Kind of Girl the veneer of establishment respectability that they sought an endorsement from the British Medical Association (this appears in the first frame of the film, in large letters). The company used the same tactic with The Yellow Teddybears (1963), using that film (about underage sex and teenage abortion) to start a national debate about sex education. In a way, Compton was trying to tackle the same social issues evident in films like A Taste of Honey, just without the same budget, artistic finesse or cultural respectability.

4. The Little Ones (Jim O’Connolly, 1964)

Like Vernon Sewell’s The Wind of Change (1961) The Little Ones is a B movie which tackles themes of race and immigration at a time when both were hot political issues but virtually ignored on cinema screens. Unlike The Wind of Change, The Little Ones was never reclaimed from the bottom half of the British cinema programme, and has been virtually unseen for more than 50 years.

The film is about two young friends, Jackie and Ted, who decide to run away from home. Ted lives with his family in one room in a particularly decrepit part of London’s East End. His mother beats him regularly. Jackie’s prostitute mother treats him with ambivalence and his father, a Jamaican immigrant, left years ago. The boys spend their time dreaming of far away, exotic lands (‘why would anyone want to come here?’ Ted asks in disbelief). They decide to stow away in a removal van to Liverpool and from there catch the first boat to Jamaica.

This is a realist film shot in parts with a shaky handheld camera for that added bit of verisimilitude. This film moves from gritty, derelict London to Liverpool, and in a departure from the usual archetype Liverpool is shown here to be the more affluent city. When the boys go on a petty crime spree to obtain food for their journey they are painstakingly pursued and finally collared by a local police inspector who sits them down to give them a good talking to. The policeman loses his temper with Jackie and blurts out ‘don’t talk to me like that you little n…’. He then stops, and visibly deflates. This moment of racial intolerance is apparently at odds with the inspector’s view of himself as a progressive liberal. Jackie is nonplussed: he is used to this treatment. This is a powerful moment in a film which seems caught between being a serious social commentary and a whimsical comedy in the vein of a Children’s Film Foundation feature.

5. The Family Way (Roy and John Boulting, 1966)

Steve Hawley argues that The Family Way lies on the boundary between the kitchen sink and the Swinging Sixties, and in many ways more accurately reflects how the decade was probably experienced in the regions outside London. The Family Way was produced and directed by the Boulting Brothers and adapted for the screen by Bill Naughton (Alfie, Spring and Port Wine) who also wrote the play. Hayley Mills plays Jenny Fritton, a young girl newly married to the shy and sensitive Arthur. Arthur and Jenny are unable to consummate their marriage because both feel too pressured to have sex by their family and neighbours, and Arthur becomes a local laughing stock as a result.

This is far from a lost ‘B’ (and there’s a lot more to the production of the film than I have time to go into here!) but it isn’t as well-known as it could be. The film straddles what Robert Murphy calls the ‘mid-decade divide’ and falls somewhere between social realism and the more permissive sexual mores of the Swinging London films (this sort of makes sense when you realise that the play was actually written 5 years before the film was released).

Of course, this all begs the question of what exactly characterises a British New Wave film. One common tendency is to throw out labels like ‘gritty’ and ‘kitchen sink’, and these are problematic because they are so very vague (in general they refer to ‘real’ representations of working class domestic life, but this could be applied to a huge number of British films and TV dramas). The word ‘realism’ also has a multiplicity of meanings and is one of the most contested terms among humanities scholars.

But it’s worth noting that academics don’t hold the monopoly on how we define British New Wave cinema. In online criticism Sons and Lovers, the D. H. Lawrence adaptation set in a small mining town, is sometimes cited as being part of ‘New Wave’ and sometimes not. This is also the case with The Entertainer, the 1960 Woodfall film which stars Laurence Olivier as a third-rate music hall star. As part of their recent ‘The  Brit New Wave: From Angry Young Men to Swinging London’ season the New York Film forum screened The Entertainer, Girl With Green Eyes and The Leather Boys. They also screened The Pumpkin Eater, Jack Clayton’s wonderfully complex tale about a woman facing a mid-life crisis. The Wikipedia entry titled ‘British New Wave’ includes references to J Lee Thompson’s 1959 film Tiger Bay and Val Guest’s 1960 crime thriller Hell is a City (which seems like a bit of a stretch). I suppose what this tells us is that the British film canon is constantly shifting; its boundaries are continually being re-negotiated, and it is this process of negotiation which is important to a healthy film scholarship.

Dr Laura Mayne is a postdoctoral research associate at the University of York. She completed her PhD in 2014 as part of the AHRC “Channel 4 and British Film Culture” project, which was led by Professor Justin Smith at the University of Portsmouth. She is currently one of the postdocs on the AHRC Transformation and Tradition in Sixties British Cinema project, run between the universities of York and East Anglia. The project conference, “British Cinema in the 1960s: Histories and Legacies” will be held at the BFI Southbank next month. You can register for the conference here: [link]

I Read it for the Articles: James Bond and Playboy magazine

Claire Hines, Southampton Solent University

18 April 2017


Seriously, Playboy magazine and James Bond?

Often when I tell people that some of my research has focused on Playboy magazine and James Bond, the idea has a tendency to be treated with disbelief as an eyebrow-raising suggestion reminiscent of Roger Moore’s Bond. This is actually quite fitting in a way though because in the 1970s and 1980s Moore brought with him to the part an established screen persona of a rather too smooth playboy (having played stylish adventurer Simon Templar in the successful TV series The Saint from 1962 to 1969, and British gentleman and aristocrat Lord Brett Sinclair alongside Tony Curtis in the rather less successful series The Persuaders! in 1971), compared to the somewhat rougher edges of Sean Connery’s 1960s Bond. However, dressed up in a suit Connery’s Bond was no less appreciated as a stylish, sophisticated and sexually confident icon of masculinity. In fact I discuss in my forthcoming book that it’s actually Connery’s Bond who has been most idolised by Playboy. Not only was Connery interviewed for Playboy in November 1965, but his Bond is still held up for admiration by the magazine as the quintessential screen interpretation of the character. I draw parallels between Playboy’s admiration for Bond in the Connery era and the recent approach to Daniel Craig as Bond. Craig was also interviewed for the magazine in December 2008 and his performance as Bond is favoured by Playboy in part because it recalls Connery. The connections between Bond and Playboy had begun in March 1960 when the magazine published its first Bond story and reported that Fleming had pledged ‘“I’m sure James Bond, if he were an actual person, would be a registered reader of Playboy.”’

But I have digressed. For now let’s get back to the reason for that ironically raised eyebrow and my research project, which focused on the public relationship between Playboy magazine and James Bond in the wider context of the playboy lifestyle in popular culture. This obviously meant studying Playboy magazine for research purposes.

“I read it for the articles” is an old joke about Playboy magazine. But it’s certainly true in my case and for other researchers. Though there are nude pictorials to look at in relation to Bond, there are also essays, interviews, fiction, readers’ letters, and other sections in the magazine’s contents.

The joke about ‘reading’ Playboy magazine is something that the Bond films had also referenced. When I began researching Playboy in relationship to James Bond I already had at the forefront of my mind the magazine’s brief cameo appearance in the Gumbold office safecracking scene in On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (dir. Peter Hunt, 1969). George Lazenby’s Bond finds the February 1969 Playboy issue hidden between the pages of a newspaper. Opening up the magazine to the centerfold, he ignores the articles and looks admiringly at the Playmate of the Month. When Bond leaves the office after successfully breaking into the safe with a gadget, he has kept the centerfold but discarded the rest of the magazine without reading it. (Incidentally, the other direct reference to Playboy that occurs in the Bond films is in Diamonds are Forever (dir. Guy Hamilton, 1971), when Connery’s Bond is revealed to be a card carrying member of the Playboy Club and Casino.)

Unlike the screen Bond I wanted to do more than glance at Playboy, but in practice gaining access to the magazine turned out to be less than straightforward for me. As a UK-based researcher in the early 2000s one of the challenges when studying Playboy magazine was searching out old copies. Fortunately, the British Library was one of the select few libraries in Britain that held Playboy. However, it didn’t hold the complete run of the magazine from 1953 onwards. Some early issues of the magazine in particular were missing, though the library staff were always helpful trying to look for what I’d requested from the catalogue. To this day, the location information remains inscribed on my memory.

Anyone who has ever read Playboy will also recognise that like other magazines it can approached from a socio-historical perspective as a cultural artefact to be deconstructed. Over the years Playboy obviously has important connections to changing taking place in consumption, gender and sexual relations, and lifestyle. Of course I was especially interested in the magazine’s intertextual engagements with Bond as another cultural icon closely associated with the 1960s.

In recent years academic interest in Playboy has grown and access to the magazine has become much simpler. In 2011 Playboy launched the web-based subscription service, giving complete and unlimited access to the publication. For the researcher this type of digital archive offers quick and easy access to resources that were once difficult to locate and time consuming to navigate. boasts that users can “unlock access to the most comprehensive and exclusive collection. Every issue, article, story, and pictorial Playboy has ever published”. Users can search the digital archive and refine searches according to author or section – just in case you wondered a search for “James Bond” currently produces 1,068 results, with varying degrees of relevance. (In comparison searches for “Ian Fleming” and “Sean Connery” produce 222 results. Surprisingly a search for editor-publisher “Hefner” returns just 1,268 hits; there should be more, surely?). As far as my research goes the digital archive has provided detail that has enriched my earlier study of the magazine in hard copy – bringing to my attention some mentions that I hadn’t otherwise uncovered, such as Playboy’s April 1964 “On the Scene” introductory feature on Connery as an actor of note thanks to his breakthrough role, or the food article “From Russia with Love” in Playboy April 1965, which is about Russian cuisine but beyond the title strangely makes no direct reference to Bond. But a difficulty that comes with the ability to search the text is the possibility that each result might require scrutiny or that these elements may take over the bigger picture of the magazine in context. For this you still really need to spend time browsing through many issues, years, and decades. This may sound obvious, but in the digital age in particular there’s more than one kind of approach to reading Playboy.

Dr Claire Hines is Senior Lecturer in Film and Television at Southampton Solent University. Her research and publications focus on sexuality, gender, fantasy, and James Bond in the contexts of American and British cultures. She is the editor of Fan Phenomena: James Bond (Intellect, 2015) and her book The playboy and James Bond is due to be published by Manchester University Press in 2018.


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