Cinema Memories: A People's History of Cinema-going in 1960s Britain 9781911239895, 9781911239901, 9781911239888

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Cinema Memories

ii

Cinema Memories A People’s History of Cinema-going in 1960s Britain

Melvyn Stokes, Matthew Jones and Emma Pett

THE BRITISH FILM INSTITUTE Bloomsbury Publishing Plc 50 Bedford Square, London, WC1B 3DP, UK 1385 Broadway, New York, NY 10018, USA 29 Earlsfort Terrace, Dublin 2, Ireland BLOOMSBURY is a trademark of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc First published in Great Britain 2022 by Bloomsbury on behalf of the British Film Institute 21 Stephen Street, London W1T 1LN www.bfi.org.uk The BFI is the lead organization for film in the UK and the distributor of Lottery funds for film. Our mission is to ensure that film is central to our cultural life, in particular by supporting and nurturing the next generation of filmmakers and audiences. We serve a public role which covers the cultural, creative and economic aspects of film in the UK. Copyright © Melvyn Stokes, Matthew Jones and Emma Pett, 2022 Melvyn Stokes, Matthew Jones and Emma Pett have asserted their right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as author of this work. For legal purposes the Acknowledgements on pp. ix–xii constitute an extension of this copyright page. Cover design: Louise Dugdale Cover images: Top, Blow Up (1966), Bottom left, A Taste of Honey (1961), Bottom right, The Graduate (1967). © Mary Evans/AF Archive. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or any information storage or retrieval system, without prior permission in writing from the publishers. Bloomsbury Publishing Plc does not have any control over, or responsibility for, any third-party websites referred to or in this book. All internet addresses given in this book were correct at the time of going to press. The author and publisher regret any inconvenience caused if addresses have changed or sites have ceased to exist, but can accept no responsibility for any such changes. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Stokes, Melvyn, author. | Jones, Matthew, 1984- author. | Pett, Emma, author. Title: Cinema memories : a people’s history of cinema-going in 1960s Britain / Melvyn Stokes, Matthew Jones and Emma Pett. Description: London ; New York, NY : British Film Institute ; Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 2022. | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2021034849 (print) | LCCN 2021034850 (ebook) | ISBN 9781911239895 (hardback) | ISBN 9781839025297 (paperback) | ISBN 9781911239918 (epub) | ISBN 9781911239888 (pdf) Subjects: LCSH: Motion pictures–Great Britain–History–20th century. | Motion picture audiences–Great Britain–History–20th century. | Motion picture audiences–Great Britain–Attitudes. | Collective memory and motion pictures–Great Britain. | Great Britain–Social life and customs–1945Classification: LCC PN1993.5.G7 S735 2022 (print) | LCC PN1993.5.G7 (ebook) | DDC 302.23/0430941–dc23/eng/20211027 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021034849 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021034850 ISBN: HB: 978-1-9112-3989-5 ePDF: 978-1-9112-3988-8 eBook: 978-1-9112-3991-8 Typeset by Integra Software Services Pvt. Ltd. To find out more about our authors and books visit www.bloomsbury.com and sign up for our newsletters.

This book is dedicated to all those who made it possible by sharing their own memories of British cinema-going in the 1960s by completing questionnaires or agreeing to be interviewed.

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­Contents List of Figures  viii ­Acknowledgements  ix

Introduction  1 1 ‘This is where we came in’: cinema-going in the 1960s  17 2 ‘Swinging sixties’?: Memories of sex and cinema-going in Britain  41 3 ‘The times they are a-changin’’: American sixties films  65 4 Reflecting ‘what life was like’?: British films of the 1960s  101 5 Cinema ‘New Waves’ from Europe  127 6 Postcolonial audiences in 1960s Britain  149 Afterword  171 Notes  177 Bibliography  217 Index  223

­Figures 2.1 Dirk Bogarde and Sylvia Sims in Victim © Rank/Allied Film Makers/Parkway 1961.  52 2.2 Michael Caine and Julia Foster in Alfie. © Paramount/ Sheldrake 1966.  55 3.1 Julie Andrews and the von Trapp children in The Sound of Music © Twentieth Century Fox/Argyle 1965.  79 3.2 Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty in Bonnie and Clyde © Warner/Seven Arts/Tatira/Hiller 1967.  86 3.3 American actor Steve McQueen (1930–80) as Captain Virgil Hilts in The Great Escape. Photo by United Artists/Archive Photos/Getty Images.  98 4.1 Albert Finney and Shirley Anne Field in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning © Bryanston/Woodfall 1960.  103 4.2 Julie Christie and Dirk Bogarde in Darling. © AngloAmalgamated/Vic/Appia 1965.  111 4.3 Sean Connery and Daniela Bianchi in From Russia With Love. © United Artists/Eon 1963.  116 5.1 David Hemmings and Veruschka von Lehndorff in Blow-Up. © MGM/Carlo Ponti 1966.  141 6.1 Rita Tushingham and Paul Danquah in A Taste of Honey. © British Lion/Bryanston/Woodfall 1961.  153

A ­ cknowledgements

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ivien Leigh, accepting her best actress award for playing Scarlett O’Hara at the Oscar ceremony in 1940, explained that ‘if I were to mention all

those who’ve shown me such wonderful generosity through Gone with the Wind, I should have to entertain you with an oration as long as Gone with the Wind itself.’ We feel very much the same. This book had its origins in a research project kindly financed by the Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC), which ran from 1 January 2013 to 31 December 2015. It was called Cultural Memory and British Cinema-going of the 1960s and collected over nine hundred questionnaires and did seventy-one interviews during its lifetime. Our greatest debt of all is to those who generously contributed their time to completing a questionnaire or being interviewed. It is the memories they shared that provide the basis for this book and we would like to thank those who did so very warmly indeed. Since the project itself guaranteed anonymity to all participants, it is not possible to thank everyone personally. But the book as a whole is dedicated to them. We would also like to thank Philippa Bassett of the University of the Third Age (U3A), who made it possible to publicize the work of the project in Third Age Matters, the U3A magazine, and also Melody Rousseau, online editor for Saga magazine, who did the same. To publicize further the existence of the project, we organized – often working with other people and organizations – a series of events across the country. The first, by kind permission of Martin Humphries, was in the Cinema Museum, Kennington, London. Successor events were usually collaborations with particular cinemas/ venues and sometimes with local voluntary groups with ties to them. In chronological order, therefore, we would like to thank Jonathan Melville and Fiona Fowler of Screen Machine, the Scottish mobile cinema, which

­Acknowledgement

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organized events at Tomintoul, Inverness, Newtonmore and Fort William; Christine Physick and the Plaza Community Cinema, Waterloo, Liverpool; Kevin Trickett, MBE, president of Wakefield Civic Society, and the Theatre Royal, Wakefield; Marc Atkinson of Cinemaplus at Cinema City, Norwich; Marc Cosgrove of the Watershed Arts Centre, Bristol; Caroline Hennigan and the Broadway Cinema, Nottingham; David Somerset and the National Film Theatre; the Martin Harris Centre and Julie Devonald of the Ahmed Igbal Ullah Race Relations Resource Centre, University of Manchester; Jeremy Buncombe of Cambridge U3A, Trish Shiel and the Cambridge Arts Picturehouse; Amy Smart and the Midlands Arts Centre, Birmingham; the Aberystwyth Arts Centre; the Filmhouse Cinema, Edinburgh; Sean Greenhorn, Jodie Wilkinson and the Glasgow Film Theatre; Jonny Tull and the Tyneside Cinema, Newcastle; the Duke of York’s Cinema, Brighton; the Electric Palace, Hastings; the Little Theatre Cinema, Bath; the Phoenix Arts Centre, Leicester; Susan Crouch and the Taliesin Arts Centre, Swansea; Jay Arnold and the Picturehouse Cinema, the National Media Museum, Bradford; Peter Barnes and the Errol Flynn Filmhouse, Northampton; the Quad Cinema, Derby; and the Harbour Lights, Southampton. We would also like to thank groups with whom we discussed the work of the project: Terence Murphy and the South London Gay Men’s Association; Stuart Cox and the Jacksons Lane Community Centre, Highgate; Hilary McDonald of Bedford Central Library; the Asian Centre, Wood Green; the South London Black Elderly Community, Tooting; the Black History Month, Haringey; Hackney Caribbean Community; Jelena Milosavljevic and the Phoenix Cinema talks programme, East Finchley; and, in collaboration with Professor Danielle Hipkins of the Italian Cinema Audiences Project, the Bill Douglas Museum, University of Exeter. The team also spoke to audiences at University College London (UCL)’s annual spring Festival of the Arts in 2013, 2014 and 2015. We would like to express our gratitude for the great help and support we received during the course of the project from the History Department at UCL, especially the two chairs of the steering committee, Stephen Conway and Jason Peacey, and Claire Morley and Samantha Pickett. Margot Finn gave excellent advice during the formulation of the project and joined Wendy

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Everett (University of Bath), Lee Grieveson (UCL), Mark Jancovich (University of East Anglia), Annette Kuhn (Queen Mary, University of London), Jackie Stacey (University of Manchester) and Helen Taylor (University of Exeter) as members of the inspirational and very supportive steering committee. We would also like to thank for their help Laura Cream, then UCL Public Engagement Co-ordinator, and Rob Eagle, UCL Communications, who produced a film to publicize the project. Patrick Glen succeeded Matthew Jones and Emma Pett as Research Associate for the last three months of the project and did a marvellous job, including collaborating with UCL Digital Curation Manager Martin Moyle and Matt Mahon, then of UCL Library, to establish a digital collection of memories. From 1 May 2017 to 30 June 2018 a second AHRC project, Remembering 1960s British Cinema-going, set out to disseminate knowledge of the memories collected by the first through another programme of events. Patrick Glen returned as RA, a role he discharged with great dedication and success. Jason Peacey chaired the steering committee, which once again included Margot Finn, Annette Kuhn, Jackie Stacey, Helen Taylor and new members Matthew Jones (De Montfort University, Leicester), Emma Pett (University of East Anglia) and Nirmal Puwar (Goldsmiths University). UCL History department manager Claire Morley was, as always, very helpful with the financial side of things. Some events for this project endeavoured to recreate an evening at the cinema during the 1960s: the first of these was again organized in collaboration with Kevin Trickett of the Wakefield Civic Society and the Theatre Royal, Wakefield. Matthew Jones, who had pioneered the idea of ‘immersive 60s cinema,’ attended this event and helped brief the UCL student actors led by director Matthew Turbett. Two other ‘sixties’ evenings took place, with the help of Head of Programming Paul Vickery, at the Prince Charles Cinema in London. Philippa Bassett once again helped encourage our work with the U3A and we would like very much to thank local U3A organizers Mike Johnson (Ilkley), Jeannie Bishop (Leyburn), Patricia Murray (Heswall), Malcolm Baker (Cheltenham), Jill Rhodes (Hillingdon/Ruislip), Jeremy Buncombe once again (Cambridge), Gillian Gain (Southampton) and Katherine Matthews (East Renfrewshire). We are also grateful to the Buxton Film Club, the Keswick Film Club, Peter Cargin and the Wimbledon Film Club, and – for a second

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time – Jodie Wilkinson and the Glasgow Film Theatre. We organized events for sixth-form students with the British Film Institute (Christine James), City of Wolverhampton College (David Holt), Durham Johnstone’s Comprehensive School (Jonathan Wilbraham) and Trinity College, Manchester. We collaborated on other events with Berwyn Rowlands of the Iris Film Festival in Cardiff, Tina Green of the Masbro Centre, Hammersmith, and Lucene Barned and the New Black Film Collective. Finally, our grateful thanks also go to other people and institutions with whom we collaborated: Helen Antrobus and the People’s History Museum, Manchester; Linda Green and the Preston Community Library, Wembley; Jamie Robinson and Islington Mill, Salford; Lydia Walker of the Partisan Collective, Manchester; Ian ‘Fat Roland’ Carrington and the Anthony Burgess Foundation, Manchester; Alan Scorer and the Little Buildings, Newcastle; the Glasgow Old Hairdressers; Benjamin Russell and the Delicious Clam, Sheffield; and Freddie Vinehill-Cliffe and the Leeds Chunk. The second project – like the first – demonstrated that many people were interested in memories of 1960s cinema-going in Britain – some because they hugely enjoyed having their memories rekindled and were often eager to discuss their own recollections, others who – too young themselves to remember the sixties – have a more general interest in what happened during that tumultuous, now iconic decade. The memories recounted and analysed in this book will, we hope, be of interest to members of both groups.

Introduction

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he last few years have seen growing interest in gathering and recording the memories of cinema-going spectators. This work falls broadly into

three categories that are relevant to the subject matter of this book: research concerned with film audiences in general; work on actual cinematic memories of the sixties (so far extremely limited); and academic studies concerning memory theory. The first of these had its roots in a range of factors including the growing frustration – of feminist and other film scholars – with the dominance in film studies of the notion of the theoretical, textually constructed film spectator and the influence of cultural studies. One product of the cultural studies approach was the attempt to explore, by ethnographic methods including correspondence, questionnaires, interviews and focus groups, how audiences understood and remembered the television programmes they watched. David Morley’s pioneering analysis of audiences for the BBC current affairs programme Nationwide demonstrated, for example, that how viewers recalled and interpreted the programme reflected their social, educational and cultural backgrounds and the institutions to which they belonged.1 Five years

later, the first of several studies of how audiences recalled the long-running American soap opera Dallas was published.2 In 1988, Jacqueline Bobo used similar ethnographic techniques to show how Black female spectators had responded to the movie The Color Purple (1985).3 Two other important books were subsequently published on the recollections of female movie audiences: Helen Taylor’s work on British and American fans of Gone with the Wind (1939) and the meanings they had created for themselves from the film and Jackie Stacey’s study of the place of female

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Cinema Memories

Hollywood stars in how a sample of British women recalled the 1940s and 50s.4 In 1999, Annette Kuhn, Thomas Austin, Martin Barker and Kate Brooks, Annette Hill and Brigid Cherry all published chapters analysing different forms of British cinema memory in the same edited volume.5 Kuhn’s essay was based on a major pioneering research project, financed by the Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC), into ‘Cinema Culture in 1930s Britain: Ethno-history of a Popular Cultural Practice’ that ran from 1994 to 1997. She later published An Everyday Magic: Cinema and Cultural Memory, a landmark work summarizing the findings of this project.6 This book is also based on a three-year ethno-historical research project, financed by the Arts and Humanities Research Council, entitled Cultural Memory and British Cinema-going of the 1960s (2013–15), and hence extends from the body of work outlined above.7 When the project began gathering material through questionnaires and interviews at the beginning of 2013, very little scholarly work had appeared in print dealing with how people remembered what going to the cinema had been like during the sixties. Helen Richards’s fascinating study of recollections of cinema-going in Bridgend, South Wales, ended in 1960.8 Margaret O’Brien and Allen Eyles’s edited book on South London cinemas and cinema-going from the 1920s to the 1960s contained relatively few reminiscences of the 1960s.9 Trevor Griffiths’s recent study of Scottish cinema and cinema-going ended in 1950, while Andrew Martin’s work on Scottish memories of twentieth-century cinema devoted only part of one chapter to the sixties.10 Ian Breakwell and Paul Hammond’s collection of reminiscences of cinema-going round the world included only a tiny number of impressionistic accounts from Britain in the sixties.11 Christine Geraghty endeavoured, in the first chapter of her book on British Cinema of the 1950s, to use a variety of cinematic and written sources (the work of journalists and sociologists in particular) in order to shed light on the experience of going to the pictures in the 1950s and early 60s, but the focus falls predominantly on the former and the remainder of the 1960s falls beyond her project’s scope.12 Janet Thumim, exploring the experience of female cinema audiences between 1945 and 1965, analysed the ways in which selected groups of popular films represented women. In her thoughtful study critiquing the heavily theorized female spectator, Thumim referred to contemporary discourses in popular magazines and fanzines, but specifically declined to engage in ‘an oral

Introduction

3

history enquiry which would attempt to reconstruct through interviews and questionnaires some traces of the audience.’13 Our own project, to recover and analyse the memories of cinema-going in 1960s Britain that have remained largely absent from this body of literature, was designed from the beginning around questionnaires and interviews.14 In this respect, it sought to build on the work, in particular, of Helen Taylor, Jackie Stacey and Annette Kuhn. It was intended to extend our knowledge of both cinema history and British history during the 1960s by shedding light on how films were received and the social experience of cinema-going. In pursuing these aims, we wondered, more speculatively, whether the project might have implications for the controversy between historians over whether Britain was passing in the 1960s through a period of transformative change or changed much more slowly, with many features of 1950s society and culture enduring for some time.15 As the findings reported in this book indicate, the memories we have recorded do indeed have relevance to this debate. Some respondents believed that the social and cultural changes they associated in memory with ‘the sixties’ started later and went on longer than the decade itself: Colin,* for example, suggested that the 1960s really began in 1963 and ended in 1973.16 Our data also suggests that the radical/not-so-radical interpretation of the 1960s is complicated by factors of age (some respondents were very young when the decade began), gender, class, ethnicity, religion, sexuality and geographical location. In designing the project questionnaire, we were much influenced by the work of previous researchers. The questionnaire itself had five sections. The first consisted of basic personal information. Since the project was conducted on the basis of guaranteed anonymity, this section was separated from the rest of the questionnaire and the information encrypted. The other four sections dealt with ‘Your cinema-going,’ ‘Film preferences,’ ‘Remembering 1960s Cinema-going’ (encouraging respondents to reflect on how they looked back on the films they watched) and ‘Details about you.’ We encouraged members of

* In order to protect the anonymity of those who shared with us their memories of 1960s cinema-going, all questionnaire respondents and interviewees are quoted or referred to by means of a fictitious first name.

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the public to complete the questionnaire through publicity in various printed sources, including Third Age Matters, the magazine of the University of the Third Age (U3A), and the Saga newsletter, social media and a nationwide programme of screenings of 60s films and talks. Since the fourth section of the question asked respondents about personal details, including the area/s they lived in during the 1960s, ethnic background and sexual orientation, we were able to attempt to ensure that our final sample of over nine hundred questionnaires was reasonably broadly based. Unusual or unexpected findings were subsequently explored using seventy-one interviews, which also enabled us to enrich the data gathered within minority communities, where the issue of smaller sample sizes was addressed through this additional mode of enquiry. At the end of 2015, a searchable digital collection of the project’s findings – questionnaires and interviews – was created by the University College London Library (see https://www.ucl.ac.uk/library/digital-collections/collections/ cinema). This resource is open access, and can be used by students at all levels, teachers, local historians and members of the general public.* Between May 2017 and July 2018, a successor AHRC project, Remembering 1960s British Cinema-going, organized a series of events – in collaboration with local civic and community groups, members of the University of the Third Age, the British Film Institute, the Isis Gay Film Festival in Cardiff and schools across the UK – to publicize the findings of the original project and the new digital collection. We also staged three ‘immersive 60s cinema’ evenings at which, with the aid of student actors from the University College London Union Drama Society, we set out to recreate so far as possible the experience of an evening at the cinema in sixties Britain (sixties films, newsreels, ads and cartoons, with actors playing the roles of cinema managers/commissionaires/usherettes).17 This book is the final stage of our original project. We hope it will be read by many of those who greatly helped by contributing their own memories as participants as well as by others who remember the sixties cinema-going experience together with those who do not but are nevertheless interested in aspects (fashion, photography, music, drama and literature) of what has come to be seen as a legendary, iconic decade in twentieth-century British history. * Quotations in this book from the digital collection use the style and spelling of the original source.

Introduction

5

Exploring memories of cinema-going during that era will, it is hoped, shed new light on the history of that time. The pioneers of ethnographical enquiries into what people remember of their cinema-going experiences – including Jacqueline Bobo, Helen Taylor, Jackie Stacey and Annette Kuhn – have underlined the fact that cinemagoers go to the movies with their own social, cultural, ethnic and gendered identities and the experience of cinema-going itself – and memories of it – is heavily conditioned by those identities. Memories themselves, of course, are also shaped in many ways by the passage of time. Freud – although (sadly) he was writing not of cinema but of memory used as a screen for a later event – in 1899 expressed his deep scepticism of what he called ‘Screen Memories,’ regarding them as false recollections that confuse and condense multiple childhood memories. They were, he argued, reformulated present-day versions of actual memories that act as props for unconscious fantasies.18 In the mid-1920s, French sociologist Maurice Halbwachs, analysing the social construction of memory, was equally presentist in his approach, suggesting that people use mental images of the present to construct their view of the past.19 People give their memories new meanings, influenced by their current outlook and lives, even as they recollect them. Indeed, in this regard memories can be considered a pliable reproduction of the past that shifts to suit the needs of the present. As Sarah Smith has observed, ‘the findings of psychologists suggest that memory is largely constructed rather than simply recalled and is therefore never entirely objective or wholly reliable.’20 As such, the material analysed in this book reflects a version of the 1960s as it has been constructed in memory. This is not unproblematic for the cinema historian since, as Kuhn has noted, ‘particular questions arise concerning the evidential status of accounts which rely on remembering – and thus also on forgetting, selective memory and hindsight.’21 Similarly, Valerie A. Briginshaw has commented that memory is a ‘text to be deciphered, not a lost reality to be discovered.’22 It offers a discourse surrounding the past, not direct access to it, prompting what is at heart a dialogue between past and present. Annette Kuhn has summarized very well some of the major issues involved in researching and analysing memories of cinema-going, writing in 2000 that work of this kind ‘involves an active staging of memory; takes a questioning

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attitude to the past and its (re)construction through memory; questions the transparency of what is remembered, and takes what is remembered as material for interpretation.’23 This emphasis both on the malleability of memory and on the consequent need for memory to be interpreted, analysed and read as a text, which is to say for it to be positioned not simply as a trace of the past but as the product of an author who both recalls and produces the memory in its recitation, is central to this project’s handling of its sources. The interviews and questionnaire responses we have collected are not, after all, unadulterated fragments of the 1960s, but are instead stories told about the 1960s, filtered through the narrators’ personality, history and perspective on the era in question, not to mention their relationship with the researchers with whom they shared their story five decades after it took place. All of the questionnaires and interviews collected by this project are subject to the characteristics of memory described above and consequently must be managed with sensitivity to their unique nature. For example, while the memories we have collected certainly reflect the period in question, they also reflect the moment in which they were shared with the research team and therefore ceased to be fluid recollections somewhere within the subject’s mind and instead became fixed in language, be that verbally or in writing. As Ward Parks notes: memory might indeed be defined as Derridean archewriting constituted as archetext, never fully materialized as text until actual manual or typographic writing came into play, always half-immersed in the unconscious and known as text only in the becoming into consciousness. From an oral culture’s standpoint, the written text could be defined as memory concretized, memory torn out from its native soil in human experience but in the process fixed in durable form.24 ­This act of fixing, of transforming what were once impressions, images or fragments of other sensory experiences, which were not active in the respondent’s thinking from one moment to the next, into something more precise and clearly delineated by virtue of their conversion into written or spoken language, is an essential component of the act of sharing memories. Telling a memory to someone else inherently involves taking that which lacks

Introduction

7

a defined form and imposing both structure and rigidity upon it to enable it to be articulated and verbalized. Given that the written or oral form of the memory is not necessarily a precise reflection of the memory as it exists within the mind of the subject in its pre-verbal form, and that the memory therefore undergoes a process of transformation in its recitation, it is necessary to be cautious about the boundaries and limitations of a project built upon such sources, since our findings will reflect a version of the 1960s as it was understood by our subjects at the time of their participation in the project between 2013 and 2015, when the memories we explore here were fixed in their textual or verbal forms. They also reflect an impression of the 1960s as it was described to us, a group of historians who encountered our participants in a research setting with its inherent power imbalances, whether perceived or real. This too could have played a role in shaping the character of the stories we were told, as well as their contents and indeed the way in which they were framed and relayed to us. Similarly, our findings will inevitably reflect the 1960s as it was experienced by those people who came forward and volunteered to take part in this research. We have chosen in the title to present this book as a ‘People’s History’ of cinema-going. This is true in the sense that the memories cited or quoted here come from a range of people of different backgrounds. But those who wrote or talked about those memories, it appears safe to say, already had an interest in cinema and cinema-going, and their testimony spoke to and expanded upon that interest. Moreover, while many efforts were made to ensure a balanced and representative audience sample was achieved, with specific care taken to develop the voices of marginalized communities within the project, no sample of this type will ever fully represent the population for which it stands. Finally, as Kuhn reminds us, memories are texts for interpretation, and hence the 1960s cinema-going described by this book is that which we, as a team of historians, have understood from the sources produced by our respondents and provided to us for analysis. This act of interpretation ultimately shapes the stories we tell of 1960s Britain just as much as the acts of remembering and retelling performed by our participants shaped the stories they told us. As such, what follows is an historical account of 1960s British cinema-going, but it is one that is filtered through layers of memory production, recitation and

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analysis, as well as through the intervening years and the contexts in which these memories were shared. Of course, as well as being shaped and produced by these facets of human recollection, the memories we have collected are also shaped by the broader social and historical contexts within which 1960s cinema-going took place. The election of Harold Wilson’s Labour government in 1964, after thirteen years of Conservative rule, and its landslide re-election victory in the 1966 general election, set the scene for a number of landmark legal changes that had a considerable impact on British society, including the legalization of abortion and the decriminalization of homosexual acts between consenting male adults (both 1967) and the Divorce Reform Act (1969) permitting easier divorce for couples if their marriage had irretrievably broken down. British society in the 1960s seemed in the process of becoming more meritocratic – something perhaps symbolized by the Robbins Report on Higher Education (1963) which advocated that higher education courses should be available ‘for all those who are qualified by ability and attainment to pursue them.’25 In economic terms, both members of the working class and young people generally found themselves with more disposable income, encouraging – with the aid of mass media – a society increasingly oriented towards consumption. There was seemingly a growing divide between the generations over values (including attitudes towards drugs) and culture. Young women wore miniskirts as a symbol of a new spirit of social freedom and sexual liberation. London, dubbed ‘Swinging London’ by American publication Time in April 1966, became a world centre for fashion and pop music. Some of the respondents to our survey recall being involved in the fashions and atmosphere of the time. Kate regards herself as having been ‘part of ’ the ‘swinging 60s.’ While she was a student in London, her father took her out to dinner at a ‘posh’ restaurant, which refused to admit her wearing a trouser suit (‘like a tunic’ in 1968 she recalls). Kate responded by taking the trousers off and ‘went in with a miniskirt.’26 Carmel also remembers being ‘very much a part of swinging London.’ She lived on Abingdon Road in Kensington, where the iconic boutique Biba was originally located, and she recalls ‘I was in Biba all the time.’27 The reputation of London as a ‘swinging’ city made many young people desperate to move there: Olive, who grew up in a small community

Introduction

9

in Lancashire, confesses that ‘London was the place to be for the fashion, the music, the art, it was where I had wanted to be and where I escaped to from my rural village.’28 Yet Laura, also from Lancashire, comments that Swinging London ‘was somewhere that might have been the other side of the world to me in the 1960s.’ Along with most of her contemporaries, she left school at fifteen to start work, got married by twenty-one and had a family during her twenties. Bill lived in Darlington in the North East and Bea in Paisley in Scotland: neither saw themselves as having participated in any meaningful way in the ‘swinging 60s.’29 For many people, indeed, it was just a fantasy – one they experienced vicariously only by cinema-going. ‘Of course, truth to tell,’ confessed Sidney, ‘most of us were followers rather than pace-setters in the swinging sixties.’ But visits to the cinema ‘probably helped many of us narrow the gap . . . for a couple of hours or so on a Friday evening we all felt a little closer to the swinging sixties scene. Then it was back home on the bus, elated, and with a bit more swagger in our step.’30 What respondents actually recalled of their sixties cinema-going experiences was influenced by a number of factors, including gender, where they lived in the 1960s, the class they saw themselves belonging to, their sexual orientation and ethnic origin. Two other factors played a major role in shaping those experiences. One was age: how old they were when the decade started and finished to a considerable extent conditioned later memories. For Lillian, it was a recollection of Hayley Mills in the Whistle Down the Wind (1961) – a film about three young farm children hiding a criminal in their barn – ‘that really does bring back the ’60s for me.’ Colin was only eight in 1963, so did not see the more realistic British ‘kitchen sink’ films of the early sixties when they first came out.31 A second factor was the nature of their relationship with parents. May speaks for many when she comments that ‘We felt very acutely in the 1960s that we were different from our parents’ generation.’32 An important way in which way this difference manifested itself had to do with attitudes towards sex, with some parents demonstrating their disapproval of freer ways of representing it on screen: Julia, for example, recalled that her parents ‘didn’t let me see Darling [1965] because there was too much sex in it.’33 Music was often another fault line between postwar children and their parents, with young people attracted to new musical experiences: Belinda indeed comments that

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Beatles films (such as A Hard Day’s Night [1964] and Help [1965]) ‘sort of . . . belonged to us . . . It wasn’t for our parents. It wasn’t for their generation. It was ours.’34 Another fault line suggested by some respondents was their rejection of the ways their parents remembered – and films conveyed – the experience of the Second World War. Christopher confesses that he ‘loathed’ the war films that Joseph recalls as ‘sort of ten a penny’ in the early 1960s. Belle remembers in her early teenage years that she ‘couldn’t stand hearing about anything to do with the war. I just found it incredibly boring . . . I suppose I kind of rebelled against it. I certainly felt I was rebelling against my parents’ generation.’35 Respondents are often vague about when they actually saw particular films. Ewan remembers ‘going to cinemas in London from the mid-fifties’ and finds it hard to identify the films he saw then from those in the 1960s, commenting ‘it’s a bit difficult to sort of remember the segue of the decades.’36 The first colour film Frank recalls being taken to see by his Quaker parents was Friendly Persuasion, a film about a pacifist family living in Virginia at the time of the American Civil War. Friendly Persuasion was first released in 1956. It may still have been circulating in the early 1960s, or Frank himself may have actually have viewed it during the late 1950s. Sidney points out that the religious epic Ben-Hur, set during the time of Christ, ‘was made in 1959 but was still big in the 60s, when I first saw it.’ Conversely, Georgina groups Sunday Bloody Sunday (1971), dealing with a love triangle involving a bisexual man, a woman and a gay man, with the rest of sixties film while adding somewhat doubtfully that it ‘may have come later.’37 In this book, so far as possible, particular films discussed will have been viewed during the decade 1960–9, but – given the vagaries of memory – some may have been seen either somewhat earlier or later than this. By the 1960s, the cinema-going habit in Britain was itself waning. Annual national admissions, which had been as high as 1,635  million in 1946, had rapidly declined in the postwar years. By 1960 this figure stood at just 475  million, with the velocity of the decline increasing throughout the decade until it reached a new low of 215 million by 1969.38 As Dickinson and Street note, ‘By 1960 the cinema had lost two-thirds of its 1950 audience; in the next decade it lost half of what remained.’39 This decline in attendance – usually regarded as the result of a combination of factors, including increased

Introduction

11

television ownership, rising ticket prices, broader demographic trends and suburbanization – had serious consequences for the exhibition industry, with the 1960s being characterized by widespread cinema closures. In 1960, Britain boasted 3,819 cinemas. By 1969 that number stood at 1,581.40 Not only were there fewer cinemas to go to as the decade wore on, many small communities lost their cinemas entirely, meaning that would-be movie-goers had to travel much further to see films. As ticket sales continued to decline, those cinemas that remained open often resorted to relatively extreme measures in an attempt to reverse the trend. Some, instead of converting straightforwardly into bingo halls, fought what Joseph termed ‘a rearguard action, hosting bingo by day and showing films at night.’41 Other cinemas underwent major refurbishment, altering and modernizing the character of the space. Single-screen cinemas split their auditoria to produce two or more different screening rooms, often with predictably disastrous consequences for architectural aesthetics, audience comfort and audio quality, with sound that leached from one screening into another being a common complaint amongst spectators.42 Elsewhere, to win back former patrons, cinema proprietors embraced studio experiments in aspect ratio: the extended widescreen Cinerama format, for example, first introduced to the UK at the Casino Cinerama Theatre in London in September 1954, was available at four theatres in London by the 1960s.43 While the decline in British cinema-going in the 1960s forms a historical backcloth to the memories analysed in this book, it does not appear to have had much impact on how those memories were formed.44 Those who have contributed their memories to this project were young in the 1960s. They may have noticed some of the physical changes – new widescreen formats, split screens – but their recollections focus mainly on the social experience of cinema-going and the quality of the films they saw. Many, indeed, are convinced that cinema as a mode of artistic expression reached a peak in the sixties. ‘I think,’ commented Madeleine, ‘the 1960s was probably the most innovative period of cinema in my lifetime – it really seemed like film was the greatest of all the arts.’ To Margot, films ‘started to really change’ in the 1960s, offering a ‘much more fresher’ approach to looking at society.45 ‘Everything seemed to be opening up,’ remarks Gus. British films such as Room at the Top

12

Cinema Memories

(1959) and A Taste of Honey (1961), Kate recalls, ‘were asking you to actually judge . . . and be critical of the society that you had been living in.’ ‘Nothing was ever as good as the 60s,’ notes Carmel, ‘and . . . those films [Alfie (1966), Darling and Dr Zhivago (1965)] very much spoke to me.’46 It was not only British films, of course, that ‘spoke to’ respondents in this way. Hollywood and European productions often had a similar effect. Natalie and Leila remember the way The Graduate (1967) impacted on them in different ways: Natalie, a schoolgirl in the 1960s, saw in it a ‘message . . . about freedom and not following what your parents want’ while Leila, a single mother with four children, was encouraged by the film’s portrayal ‘of the older woman’ in the form of Mrs Robinson (Anne Bancroft) to become involved in a ‘divorced and separated club.’47 When respondents remember particular films, however, this often has as much to do with associated personal experiences as with the actual impact of the film concerned. Memories of this type often remain extraordinarily vivid several decades later. Jeannie recalled that on a first date with the man who later became her husband, they went to see The Pink Panther (1963). Peter Sellers as the bumbling Inspector Clouseau had been ‘just amazing, he made you laugh so much.’ Her husband-to-be had taken her beforehand to a Wimpy bar for a coke and a Wimpy-burger. She recalled not feeling at all hungry (she’d already had tea) but also realized that ‘he was obviously trying to impress.’48 George remembered Whatever Happened to Baby Jane (1962) because of the publicity surrounding the two stars – Bette Davis and Joan Crawford – and because ‘my wife began having her labour pains after watching it.’ For Connie, seeing The Sand Pebbles (1966) with Steve McQueen, was a celebration of her twenty-first birthday – and also her first outing since the birth of her daughter.49 Memories of this variety were not always associated with such major life events. Sidney recalled Lawrence of Arabia (1962) for its visual impact and his ‘equally vivid’ memory of the sore throat he had that day. Molly remembered fainting while watching Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho (1960), though she suggested this may have had more to do with her youthful preference for spending money on cinema tickets rather than food.50 The first chapter of this book analyses memories of going to the cinema in Britain in the 1960s as a social experience. How people travelled to the cinema is outlined, taking into account whether the cinemas themselves were located

Introduction

13

in city/suburban areas or more rural places and small towns. Going to cinemas owned by one of the two big theatre chains often started with a queue to gain access to the foyer of the cinema and subsequently to the ‘plushness’ of the auditorium. The practices of queuing and ‘continuous programming’ meant that cinema-goers frequently arrived in the middle of a particular programme and were shown to available seats by a torch-wielding usherette. During the interval between screenings, usherettes reappeared selling refreshments from trays. In the 1960s, many respondents note, such refreshments were very limited compared to those available in cinemas today. Also by contrast with today, smoking was widespread. At the same time, sixties audiences were on the whole comparatively well-disciplined: there was little talking and noisy cinema-goers were promptly shushed by other members of the audience or dealt with by usherettes shining torches in their faces. In extreme cases, disruptive individuals or groups could be thrown out by the commissionaire or manager. Despite the seeming stability of cinema-going norms and habits in the 1960s, however, there were changes during the 1960s that can be identified through people’s memories. Chapter  2 deals with sex and 1960s cinema-going. It is divided into two parts. The first explores how people recall the cinema space itself as a venue encouraging youthful experiments with sex. Going to the cinema was relatively inexpensive and it provided both darkness and privacy. Back rows were places for young people to get to know one another, with some cinemas providing double or ‘love’ seats to encourage the process. At the same time, however, some respondents recall experiences of sexual harassment in cinemas. Yet, in many people’s memories, usherettes with their torches helped discourage both too much activity on the back rows and sexual predators. In part two of this chapter, memories of the ways in which sex and sexuality were represented in sixties cinema are analysed. To many people, the films of the decade were pushing against the barriers of what could be shown on screen, from representations of nudity to references to abortion and male homosexuality (both illegal until 1967). To some, indeed, the movies of the time played their part in helping to change social attitudes. Victim (1961) was ground-breaking in its treatment of male homosexuality and Alfie (1966) is remembered for its shocking abortion sequence (as well as its objectification of women). Was

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14

there a hedonistic, sexually-free ‘Swinging London’ as depicted in some British 60s films? Some of our respondents think there was (and they were part of it); many more saw it as remote from their own experience. Chapter 3 focuses on memories of the American films that still dominated the British market in the sixties. For many, cinema-going began with family visits to see Disney cartoons and later Hollywood productions aimed at children. Three other traditional American genres figure prominently in people’s memories: westerns, historical epics and musicals. Yet it seems that all three reached a peak of popularity by the middle of the 1960s and thereafter declined. By that point, the US itself was undergoing major conflicts and changes: political assassinations, the war in Vietnam, the civil rights movement, the growth of feminism and demands for gay rights all challenged the existing status quo. Some of those in our survey recall the contemporary relevance of Hollywood films about race, such as To Kill a Mockingbird (1962). Yet the American films of the later sixties that had the greatest impact were those that seemed to have spoken directly to the ‘baby-boomer’ generation, articulating the rising tension between their social and cultural values and those of their parents: Bonnie and Clyde and The Graduate (both 1967) and Easy Rider (1969). Rebelliousness seems a quality associated with the 60s for many respondents, who – discussing American stars of the period – look back on Steve McQueen as a particular favourite for channelling this quality in a range of roles. Memories of British cinema of the 1960s are discussed in Chapter  4. Whereas American films were set in a recognizably different physical environment, films of the British ‘New Wave’ and the ‘Swinging London’ type reflected to some extent the Britain of their time. Many of the New Wave productions – including Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960), A Taste of Honey (1961) and Billy Liar (1963) – broke new ground by focusing on working-class life in the North of England. ‘Swinging London’ films such as Darling (1965) gave a new emphasis to fashion and the media, reflecting a growing affluence. How both types of film are remembered, it is argued, was strongly influenced by respondents’ recollections of their own classed, gendered, regional and ethnic identities. There were also a number of British film franchises that began (James Bond) or continued (the Carry On series,

Introduction

15

Hammer Horror productions) during the 1960s. The Bond movies attracted huge audiences and, by the lifestyle they depicted, are recalled as speaking to a new aspirational culture; the Carry On films are often remembered for what are now seen as their chauvinistic attitudes towards women, and the Hammer films had a smaller but loyal following. Films based around the popular music of the time were also influential: Cliff Richard’s movies, particularly Summer Holiday (1962), encouraged a growing consumerism and the Beatles’ films, such as A Hard Day’s Night (1964), emphasized the cultural divide between the generation born after the war and their elders. American and British films were the main attractions at British cinemas in the 1960s. In Chapter  5, however, we discuss the interest many of the respondents to our survey remember developing in continental European films. These were commonly viewed at other venues than ‘chain’ cinemas: art-house or independent cinemas, the National Film Theatre in London and the three Regional Film Theatres established by the Wilson government, local film societies and, increasingly, university film clubs. In contrast with British and American cinema, European films are usually associated – in an auteurist sense  – with the name of their director. Those remembered include, from northern Europe, Ingmar Bergman, Roman Polanski and Andrzej Wajda; from Italy, Federico Fellini, Pier Paolo Pasolini, Luchino Visconti and Michelangelo Antonioni (whose Blow-Up [1966], in English and shot in London, appears both to have impressed and baffled in near-equal measure); from France, JeanLuc Godard and François Truffaut were particularly admired as ‘New Wave’ directors, but the works of Alain Resnais, Agnès Varda, Claude Chabrol, Eric Rohmer and Louis Malle were also recalled; and from Spain (at least in origin) Luis Buñuel. Looking back, respondents see European directors as open to new ideas, making often experimental films that – while sometimes ‘difficult’ – challenged spectators and made them think. As such, for many respondents, they symbolized the growing openness and desire for change in 1960s Britain. Britain during the 1960s was also in the process of becoming an ethnically more diverse society. Chapter 6 explores the cinema-going memories of Black Caribbean and South Asian people who were immigrants or the children of immigrants. The Scala cinema on London’s Charlotte Street, for example, ran Sunday screenings that regularly attracted five hundred people who came

16

Cinema Memories

to watch ‘Bollywood’ films and eat homemade food. Like the Dominion in Southall, it offered both entertainment and a public space for members of the South Asian community to meet and socialize as well as to discuss the social problems (such as housing) they were experiencing in a country that often seemed inhospitable to new arrivals. In one sense, therefore, going to the cinema helped encourage a greater sense of community amongst immigrants themselves, reinforcing traditional cultural traditions. In another sense, however, going to the cinema to watch British or American films seems to have helped members of immigrant groups embrace the fashions and outlooks that would help them over time to develop complex new cultural identities. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the cinema-going experiences of Black Caribbean and South Asian residents in Tiger Bay, Cardiff, where immigrants and their children formed part of a supportive and ‘multi-racial’ community that offered an important contrast to the racism and discrimination other respondents recall as widespread in 1960s London.

­1 ‘This is where we came in’: cinema-going in the 1960s

F

ilms themselves are a central part of the experience of cinema-going. However, there has been growing awareness in recent years that they

are not the only, and perhaps not even the most significant, attraction that the cinema has to offer. From the perspective of many recent writers on film, the primary appeal of cinema for much of the twentieth century was the act of cinema-going itself, as a social and cultural experience rather than as the consumption of an entertainment product.1 Since many audience members commonly arrived at their local cinema without necessarily knowing, or perhaps in some instances even caring, what was being screened, the best way to explain what drew them to the cinema is by reframing it as a social occasion more than as an opportunity to see a specific film. As Daniel Biltereyst, Richard Maltby and Philippe Meers have noted, Annette Kuhn’s pioneering 2002 work on 1930s British cinema audiences ‘underlined the extent to which cinemagoing was remembered as part of the fabric and routine of social life.’2

Robert C. Allen has similarly argued that ‘generally speaking, for many people in many places for a very long span of film history, the cumulative social experience of habitual or even occasional moviegoing mattered more than any particular film they might have seen.’3 As these authors have noted, cinemagoing was much more about who one went with and the experiences one had at the cinema than with watching films themselves. While there was, of course, a wide range of 1960s films that would become the focus of much discussion in homes, workplaces and pubs,

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18

many of which will be discussed in the chapters that follow, the personal significance of cinema-going as an event is evident in the memories shared with the researchers working on this project. From journeys through major cities and rural landscapes to reach a favourite cinema, to the sight of clouds of cigarette smoke hanging in the projector’s beam, the sensations and, sometimes, frustrations of cinema-going constitute much of the material our 1960s cinema-goers recounted. This chapter lays out the nature of these social and cultural experiences, describing the more frequently shared, and hence more frequently remembered, aspects of 1960s cinema-going. While not all respondents recall each of the elements discussed below, and while there is clear variation between urban and rural experiences, as well as between the experience of younger and older audience members, there does seem to be a general consensus about what could be expected from a night at the cinema during this period.

Journeys to and from the cinema Journeys to and from the cinema in Britain’s towns and cities took place mainly through walking or by public transport. The experiences recounted by Ludmilla, an American who spent her teenage years in North London during the 1960s, are fairly typical in this regard in that the cinemas she frequented were ‘mostly walking distance’ from home, though she would ‘sometimes [travel] into town for Leicester Square by tube, taking about an hour door to door.’4 Although residents of other cities did not necessarily have the excitement of the flagship cinemas in the capital’s West End or the convenience of the London Underground to shuttle them back and forth, their journeys were also often characterized by short walks to local, suburban cinemas or the use of public transport to reach more prestigious, and not coincidentally more comfortable, cinemas, which usually screened films before they would arrive in cinemas closer to home. Perhaps surprisingly, social class does not appear to have played a determining role in the choice of cinemas that audiences frequented. Respondents in provincial cities in particular are equally likely to have listed only local suburban cinemas, rather than more prestigious inner-city

‘This is where we came in’: cinema-going in the 1960s

19

locations, as ones they frequented most regularly, regardless of the social class with which they identified. For example, Marlow, a bus driver who lived with his wife and children in Manchester during the 1960s, recalls enjoying James Bond films, war films, adventure stories and westerns, though he found British social realist films ‘a bit slow,’ thought the Swinging London films were ‘not really my scene,’ and did not watch films from continental Europe.5 As such, his local cinema, part of the ABC chain and situated ten minutes’ walk from home, served his needs admirably. Conversely, Wendy, who was born in 1960 into a family that identified as upper middle class, similarly recalls the majority of her cinema-going taking place in a local cinema that was twenty minutes’ walk from her family’s home. Regardless of one’s social background, cinemagoing in Britain’s towns and cities is most often recalled as a suburban event, taking place within local neighbourhoods rather than in the heart of a city, with journeys mostly made on foot. Consequently, the journey itself rarely played a central role in the memories recounted by these respondents. Although shorter journey times meant that transportation is less of a feature of urban cinema-goers memories, the accessibility of other social and cultural spaces in towns and cities meant that for such audiences cinema potentially became part of a broader pattern of activities that an evening might hold. Irma, a cinema-goer from the Wiltshire countryside, notes rather enviously, ‘you have to remember that there were no other rival activities for us “rural” folk, no cafes, restaurants on every corner etc. or leisure centres, bowling alleys and so on.’6 In reality, most urban cinema-goers do not appear to have become involved in other activities before or after the film either, and most 1960s British cities would have struggled to have offered late evening opening hours for many leisure activities or the cornucopia of restaurants that Irma imagined. Indeed, while ten respondents mentioned ten-pin bowling as a preferred pastime, only one recalls visiting the lanes before or after a cinema outing.7 Nevertheless, for a sizeable minority of cinema audiences in the nation’s cities and towns, an evening at the pictures was frequently accompanied by a trip to a local pub or fish and chip shop. The chip shop in particular seems to have been a location for many people’s discussions of films that they had just watched or were about to see. Joseph from Yorkshire remembers that he combined a night at

20

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the cinema with a visit to the local chip shop ‘rarely,’ but that when he did it was to eat a ‘fish and chip supper’ while walking home discussing the evening’s film.8 Such experiences were particularly notable for children, who often understood them as a special treat. Natalie from Cheshire, for example, remembers having ‘fish and chips afterwards’ as ‘the big treat’ that her parents would occasionally give her, but enfolds it in memory alongside other ‘magical’ elements of a night at the cinema, such as the way in which coloured light danced on the curtains across the cinema screen before the film began, which appeared at that age to be ‘sort of opulent’ since ‘the shiny thing looked like another world.’9 The rare, enchanting nature of this experience for Natalie sat neatly alongside the culinary pleasures of the fish and chip shop, since ‘we never normally had those’ either and both tended to occur on the same evening. Much as car journeys (as discussed below) facilitated rural cinema visits, but also became entangled with them in memory, so too did the fish and chip shop and the pub become part of the fabric of urban cinema memories. There were exceptions, of course, such as Anne from Essex, who remembers fish and chips as part of a weekly ritual of cinema-going rather than a rare and special treat.10 Similarly Colin from London recalls how ‘afterwards we’d go to the “chippy” and it was a form of after film treat, I’d have chips and she’d just have a bag of chips. But we always, always went to the “chippy.”’ Interestingly, even though Colin recalls combining the cinema with the chip shop on a regular basis, it never lost its sense of being a ‘treat.’11 However, for most audiences the scarcity of this occurrence closely aligned with a sense of childhood magic often associated with the cinema itself and so both became parts of the potential pleasure that a night at the cinema could hold. Of course, cities were not the only places cinemas were to be found, and the experiences of audiences in smaller communities were often radically different to those of their urban compatriots. For audiences in more rural areas, 1960s cinema-going was shaped by the pattern of cinema closures that Britain experienced during the decade. One crucial way in which these changes shaped the cinema-going experience was through the journeys that audiences made to and from the cinema. As venues closed, these journeys sometimes became longer, with the closure of rural cinemas having particularly pronounced consequences. During the 1950s, for example, there was a 29 per cent reduction

‘This is where we came in’: cinema-going in the 1960s

21

in the number of British cinemas that seated fewer than five hundred people, which were disproportionately located in rural areas. This was slightly higher than the average figure across all venue sizes, which stood at 25 per cent. Even before the nation began to lose its cinema-going habit, John Spraos argued, these rural cinemas ‘never attained the prosperity of town cinemas and . . . starting from a more precarious initial position have had to succumb in greater numbers.’12 The temporary boost afforded to more urban cinemas in the 1960s through splitting auditoriums or modernizing facades was no solution here. The costs of this were prohibitive and these practices, Stuart Hanson notes, were ‘initially confined to large premier city centre venues.’13 In addition to the economic vulnerability of rural cinemas during the 1960s, their closure also often had a magnified impact on the local cinema-going community in comparison to venues in more densely populated regions. While suburban and city centre cinemas were often in competition with other nearby operations, and hence the closure of one cinema would still leave others to satisfy local demand, there were usually no cinemas in small, rural communities and many cinemagoers visited the lone cinema in nearby small towns in order to watch films.14 The closure of this cinema would likely mean that audiences both from that town and from the surrounding villages were either deprived of their access to films altogether, or would instead have to make sometimes extremely long and inconvenient journeys to the next town or city where a cinema was to be found. The journey times to the nearest cinema described by respondents who lived in rural areas vary, ranging from ‘5 minutes on foot’ to ‘nearly an hour by walking across the fields and catching the bus,’ but the majority of such journeys seem to have taken between twenty and forty minutes.15 Although most such trips involved walking or public transportation, increasingly as the decade progressed respondents recall travelling to the cinema in a car. This was, after all, the decade in which British car ownership boomed. In 1960 there were 5.8 million cars registered in Britain, but by 1970 this figure had nearly doubled to 11.4  million.16 This expansion of automobile ownership was not confined to the cities and is reflected in the number of rural audience members who remember driving or being driven to their nearest cinema too, putting cinemas that had once seemed distant within easy reach. Ciara, a respondent who lived in ‘rural Cornwall’ during the 1960s, noted that ‘by the time I was

Cinema Memories

22

dating in 1965, most of the boys I knew had access to a car,’ making the nearest cinema, which would otherwise have taken half an hour to reach by public transport (and then only ‘if the bus was on time’), a more viable location for a date.17 Many other respondents recall being driven to cinemas by their parents, while one in particular remembers living in an area of Wales that was ‘too rural to take the bus’ and, as a result, borrowing her grandfather’s car to make the thirty-minute drive to her nearest cinema.18 While cinemas in nearby towns may have closed, the car enabled rural audiences to maintain their cinemagoing by putting once-distant population centres within easier reach. Moreover, as the car became an ever more essential element of rural cinema-going, the car journey would become the backdrop, and occasionally the focus, for these respondents’ memories of the cinema. For example, when Edna, a respondent from North Yorkshire who was eleven years old at the time, went to see the British, French and Italian co-production, Monte Carlo or Bust! (1969), which was shown alongside The Italian Job (1969), the day became memorable for her not because of the films themselves but because ‘I slammed the car door on my Dad’s thumb as we arrived.’19 In some instances, cars were also sites of cinema memories long after the trip to the cinema itself, as in the case of Jody from Gloucestershire’s observation that ‘I still know most songs from the films I saw at that time, so [I] guess we must have sang them in the car going on holiday.’20 Cars were not solely instrumental to rural cinema-going during the 1960s, but also often became spaces in which cinema memories were formed.

Cinema queues Through the memories of those who responded to our survey, it is possible to reconstruct many of the experiences and rituals of 1960s cinema-going in large city and suburban cinemas. On arrival at a cinema, the first thing many moviegoers did was to join the queue outside the building waiting to be seated. While some cinemas had marquees projecting from the front of the building, both to advertise the current screening programme and to shield waiting audience members from the elements, these often provided inadequate protection from

‘This is where we came in’: cinema-going in the 1960s

23

the British climate. At busy times queues, even at less prestigious cinemas, could be lengthy, with some audiences remembering ‘queuing up the side of the road’ or around the building.21 As such, the line of people would often exceed the limited shelter of most marquees. For June, a student in Edinburgh, this meant standing outside the ‘grand décor’ of the local Odeon cinema ‘in cold wind and rain, not knowing for sure if you would get in.’22 Sometimes the queue was so long that people simply gave up: one woman from Newcastle recalls abandoning an attempt to see The Sound of Music and going to see Help (both 1965) instead.23 Others were made of sterner stuff. Claudia remembers queuing for four hours to see a film in the early 60s: ‘It was freezing and my friend and I took it in turns to go home for a warm drink.’24 There were positive aspects to the queues too, such as the captive audience that they sometimes provided for buskers and the potential entertainment this gave cinema-goers as they waited.25 Queues could be sociable too: Imelda recalls ‘there was quite a social scene meeting up with friends in the queue’ which was part of the pleasures of the evening.26 Similarly, while many adults remember both the length of the queues and the consequent exposure to rain, snow and wind as an unpleasant experience, for children the queue was also an experience marked by anxious excitement and anticipation that did not dissipate until they had reached their seats and become engrossed in the film. As Jacob, a cinema-goer from Essex who was in school during much of the 1960s, explains: So you’d get more and more excited as you got to the actual doors of the cinema, you hadn’t even got to the building at this point, then once you got into the cinema you had a rough idea of how long until you’d get into the film. So the chances were whatever the film was now you’d get to see and I would be mentally making a sort of sum of where we were in terms of timings. The times of the programmes were always up on the wall, so we might go to see the 2 o’clock programme but we might not get in until half past 2 or something like that. So we’d be working out is this the Disney, is this the short before-hand, is this the main feature.27 As Jacob makes clear, while for many adults the queue was an unpleasant necessity before the true fun of the evening began, for children it could mark

24

Cinema Memories

the start of a period of exhilaration and eagerness about what lay ahead, once inside the doors of the cinema auditorium.28 Cinema staff marshalled these queues. Sometimes the manager of the venue would take on this role, as at the Roxy cinema in Hollinwood, Lancashire, where a respondent recalls how an ex-army cinema manager wearing ‘a maroon uniform . . . kept us strictly in line as we queued for tickets.’29 However, more commonly this was the job of a commissionaire, an employee who would greet patrons while also monitoring the number of people entering and leaving the cinema to ensure the auditorium never exceeded its capacity. In memory, they are often framed in terms of stiffness and formality. Ava from London recalls how ‘there was always a commissionaire in uniform, with shiny buttons. He would be outside managing the queues and letting you know if there were no more seats available.’30 Indeed, respondents often linked, either explicitly or implicitly, the formality of the commissionaires to the grandeur of the cinemas in which they worked. Ava, for example, moved seamlessly from describing how ‘cinemas were much grander in architecture. They were called picture palaces and their décor often lived up to their names’ to her description of the commissionaire’s polished buttons. Even when a cinema might not have been able to provide the luxury of a commissionaire, some cinema-goers occasionally recall cheeky references to them nestled within the opulent architecture that would once have surrounded them. One respondent, for instance, recalls ‘the great sweeping staircase to the circle lobby which has a flat “wooden” commissionaire pointing “this way please.”’31 This ‘cut-out’ commissionaire now appears a gesture towards a rapidly receding heyday of British cinema-going that took the commissionaires with it as it died, but left behind the lavish architecture that they had once inhabited.

Lobbies and auditoriums Once an audience member eventually crossed the threshold of a cinema belonging to a chain such as ABC or Rank,32 the two largest operators of British cinemas in the 1960s, they would enter a foyer, where there were ticket booths and sometimes kiosks for selling snacks. These foyers were often beautifully

‘This is where we came in’: cinema-going in the 1960s

25

decorated and left a meaningful impression on their patrons. This appears to have been particularly true for some working-class and lower-middle-class cinema-goers, who sometimes emphasize that the contrast between these interiors and their own, more modest homes made the cinema itself feel special. One respondent, for example, recalled the ‘thick carpets and high ceiling,’ noting that ‘I remember the foyer being plush (we were poor at home).’33 However, for others it was not this contrast but rather the sheer luxuriousness or the sometimes unusual, quirky details of these spaces that made them memorable. Leroy, an employee at a timber yard and later a woodworking factory in Liverpool, remembers that ‘my local cinema “The Plaza” had a fish pond.’34 In Watford, a correspondent recalls, with a palpable sense of longing, cinemas that had ‘gleaming foyers, the display of sweets and snacks, the velvet curtains separating the cinema from the foyer/waiting area.’35 In Maidenhead, another respondent similarly remarked that ‘foyers always seemed plush and gilded with big mirrors or film posters.’36 To many, the transition from the often cold and wet exterior of the cinema, where patrons were likely to have been held in a queue, to these sumptuous, elegant lobbies made them one of the most memorable features of 1960s cinema-going. While the ABC and Rank chains offered their audiences this sense of opulence, the same was not true of all British cinemas. Some of the less salubrious venues left audiences with a very different impression. These were the so-called ‘flea pits,’ cinemas that offered a cheaper ticket price but at the cost of removing much of the glamour and sense of opulence from the experience. They did not have the same financial reserves or position within the industry enjoyed by ABC and Rank cinemas, and consequently were only able to show most films long after they had initially been exhibited by their more respectable competitors. While some audiences appreciated the opportunity to see ‘reruns’ at the flea pit, for others this simply produced the impression that ‘all the best films were on at The Odeon, The Ritz, The Gaumont, The Granada.’37 As a result, the flea pits could not compete on the novelty of the films being screened or the environs in which they were shown and so had to rely on either being more convenient for audiences, though their location within a town or city was not something that could be changed, or having cheaper ticker prices. However, while the latter did help to draw custom, it also made it

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very difficult to offer the type of comfortable seating and pleasant environment that was available at the competing Rank and ABC cinemas. One respondent contrasted the local Odeon’s ‘open foyer, a wide carpeted staircase on either side, comfortable seats and a general palatial feel’ with ‘the local flea pit’ where there was ‘an occasional cat wandering about in the dark’ and another cinema of the same type that was ‘lit by gas lights and was very cold.’38 One respondent did note that some flea pits in London ‘had individuality and character,’ but most saw very few redeeming features, with one respondent simply noting that ‘we avoided the local flea pit.’39 The sense of unpleasantness attached by audiences to the flea pits extended beyond their décor and was also often associated with the types of films they screened. Although many simply exhibited films that had finished their initial run at the major chains, their often low reputation produced the impression that the films they showed would also tend towards the unsavoury. For example, one London-based respondent, Leila, describes her great desire to see Joseph Strick’s Ulysses (1967), but having to make a very difficult choice since it was only being screened at the flea pit cinema in Raynes Park and it ‘was just so grubby’ that it could barely be tolerated. In addition to the uncleanliness of the cinema, Leila is also critical of its screening programme. She positions Ulysses as an unusual choice for this cinema in order to emphasize that ‘they didn’t have very nice films [. . .] They would have you know not pornographic as we know it today but a bit [. . .] edgier and so on.’40 This is a connection reinforced by other cinema-goers too, including May, who lived in Northumberland during the 1960s and recalls ‘the Starve which is now the Tyneside, that was another flea-pit and also it specialised . . . in X-rated, mainly horror films.’41 The seedy reputations of these cinemas was, in the memory of many cinema-goers, representative of the types of films that they sometimes exhibited. Some flea pit cinemas earned this reputation, but many did not and were simply cheaper places to watch older films. Regardless of the type of cinema that an audience member chose to visit, crossing from the street outside into the lobby was only the first spatial transition they would make. The second, which seems to have had only slightly less impact on audiences, was the transition from the lobby to the auditorium. While auditoriums were often no less grand than the lobbies, with balconies

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and decorative carvings not being unusual and many people remembering the seats themselves (at least in the two big chains) as being padded and comfortable − the word ‘plush’ occurs over and over again in questionnaires – their aesthetic qualities were more difficult to discern.42 This was a result of the fact that audiences most often entered auditoriums in the dark, with the flickering glow of the projection providing the main source of light. This was a result of the strategy of continuous programming, which had dominated film exhibition in Britain since at least the 1930s. While today’s cinemas advertise a schedule of times at which any given film will be exhibited, enabling patrons to arrive in advance of the beginning of the film, many 1960s cinemas published no such schedules.43 Instead, audiences arrived in the cinema at the time that best suited them, entered the auditorium, found a seat and were free to stay until the cinema closed for the night. ‘People rarely knew programme times,’ wrote one man, who recalled how people ‘entered in the middle of a film, often left at the point in the film when they’d arrived, sometimes staying to the end.’44 The screening programme, which usually comprised some combination of the main feature film, a ‘B’ film, advertisements for local businesses, trailers for forthcoming films, newsreels, travelogues or short documentaries such as the Look at Life series (1959–69), and sometimes, in programmes aimed at younger audiences, cartoons or serials, would often have begun some time before, leaving audiences to attempt to piece together which element they were watching and, particularly for the feature film, what they had missed. Gail, a respondent who spent her teenage years in Muswell Hill in North London during the 1960s, remembers going to see Lady and the Tramp (1955, but reissued to cinemas in 1962) and also seeing ‘the Pathé news, the Look at Life, and then there was always . . . the B movie and there might have been something else as well. Oh, sometimes cartoons and then of course the main film and I expect you already know you could just go in at any point. The ticket [was] for the day. You just stayed.’45 The temptation to stay for more than one cycle of the programme (and indeed ‘people often stayed for a long time’) was increased if audience members ‘were a bit cold or didn’t have anywhere to go,’ not least since many British homes lacked central heating and most young people would not have been able to take their date back to their home since they still lived with their parents.46 Staying for

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more than one cycle was not particularly frowned upon, with one respondent recalling that ‘there was no expecting you to leave at the end of [a] film’ and that ‘you could go in the afternoon and stay round til the evening just watching the same programme.’47 In this respect at least, little seemed to have changed since the 1930s when – as Annette Kuhn’s work on that decade suggested – it was ‘quite usual to begin watching a feature film part way through the story’ ensuring that ‘it was a common part of the cinemagoing experience to see the end of a film before the beginning.’48 However, whereas Kuhn found that this experience contributed to her 1930s audiences’ sense of being ‘carried away’ by the films they watched, by the 1960s audiences had developed a commonplace ritual that interrupted and dislocated the ‘quality of expansiveness and circularity’ that continuous programming enabled their 1930s counterparts to experience.49 At the point at which an audience member began to recognize what they saw on screen, once the programme had begun anew and looped back to the point where the patron arrived in the auditorium, many respondents recall leaning over to their partner, friends or family and saying ‘this is where we came in.’ Gail recalls this phrase specifically, noting that ‘there’s an expression that those of us that are old enough still say “this is where I came in” and of course you did just walk in, sit down and watch it all through until the point where you came in.’50 This phrase, recalled by large numbers of respondents, signified a moment of choice, where audience members had to decide whether to stay and watch material they had already seen for a second time, or leave and face the cold and, since relatively few tended to combine a night at the cinema with other activities, the end of the evening’s entertainment. Continuous programming faded during the 1960s, but this transition was not sudden or even rapid. While Alfred Hitchcock famously insisted in 1960 that audience members not be permitted to enter the auditorium after a screening of Psycho had begun in order to preserve the shock of that film’s conclusion, going so far as to have displayed in the lobby of cinemas a cardboard cut-out of the director looking at his watch alongside advice on when the next screening would begin, it was not until the 1970s that continuous programming fell firmly out of fashion and was replaced by the system of scheduled start times that is more familiar today.

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Throughout the 1960s, therefore, audiences entered cinema auditoriums in the dark, which produced a sense of contrast to the well-lit lobbies they had just departed. ‘Going from the light of the foyer into the darkness of the auditorium,’ one man recalls, ‘always gave a sense of occasion.’51 While this certainly helped to construct the auditorium as a separate space with its own atmosphere and where different social expectations and codes of behaviour applied (but, as discussed below, were not always met), it also had very practical implications. While seats were sometimes allocated on an assigned basis, with audiences having to search for the correct space within the right row, in many cinemas audiences had to seek out gaps that had been left between other patrons. Whichever system was used, the kerfuffle produced by people finding a route through a busy cinema in the dark produced an unwelcome distraction for other customers. As a result, the darkness necessary for continuous programming was broken by another key figure in the memories of 1960s cinema-goers, the usherette. Exclusively female, usherettes served a number of roles within the cinema auditorium, but audiences first encountered them as guides in the dark. Torches in hand, they would take newly arrived patrons in search of empty seats. As more spectators arrived, usherettes would ask people to ‘move along to fill the gap.’52 Consequently, the usherette and the pool of light emitted by her torch are now closely interwoven in memory with the experience of crossing the auditorium’s threshold and entering the dark. Sixties usherettes, however, are remembered for much more than their help in navigating through the gloom. They served a range of functions and, in memory, have consequently become complex figures who reappeared at various moments in the cinematic experience. For example, once the screening programme reached the interval, the lights in the auditorium would be briefly raised while usherettes reappeared at the front of the room, sometimes picked out by spotlights, with illuminated or decorated trays laden with refreshments suspended from straps on their shoulders.53 The refreshments and snacks that they offered, many respondents note, were very limited by today’s standards, but such restrictions do not seem to have been a significant concern for cinema-goers. One respondent recalls how ‘that was the choice really; it was either choc ice or it was orange juice. We didn’t have popcorn stuff then, that

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I’ve come across. I think some of the cinemas did lollies like, and I would have one of those.’54 Indeed, for many audience members this is an important point of comparison to modern cinema-going, both in terms of the perceived commerciality of the cinema experience and the public’s attitude towards this. As Bob, who lived in a number of different British regions during the 1960s, observes, yeah you can buy buckets full of popcorn and Coca Cola now things like that, which don’t interest me, too old for that. So, certainly, when I take my grandchildren to the cinema which is rarely, it’s much more a commercial opportunity to buy sweets and that sort of thing. No, in those days you paid your one and thrupence and you got your seat and that was it, you either enjoyed the film or didn’t.55 Another recalled that people ate ‘ice lollys [sic], Kia-ora, Coke. Large popcorn and all the mush that exists now did not then . . . Thank goodness.’56 Audience members such as these use the remembered simplicity of the food and drink offerings of 1960s cinemas as a means of critiquing what they see as the excessively commercial attitude of modern cinemas. Indeed, the negative connotations associated with popcorn specifically are sometimes tied into broader criticisms not only of later cinema experiences but also of a later generation of cinema-goers. One respondent, for example, uses the term ‘popcorn generation’ to refer to irksome younger cinema-goers of the type he encountered on a trip to see an adaptation of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet sometime after the 1960s (probably Baz Luhrman’s Romeo + Juliet, 1996). On this occasion one woman who sat near him ate ‘this gigantic box of popcorn [. . .] scraped it around when she got to the bottom’ and then cried at something on the screen.57 The noise of this woman’s eating and her emotional response to the film were sufficient to cause the respondent to contrast her behaviour unfavourably with that he encountered in the 1960s cinemas of his childhood and to wonder ‘oh God, will this woman ever shut up?’ Despite his claim to be ‘tolerant of the popcorn generation,’ it is clear that this term is in fact being used dismissively and that the noisy consumption of popcorn is seen as the dividing line between acceptable and unacceptable modes of cinema-going.58 A constant refrain

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amongst the responses is that you did not have ‘the constant munching of popcorn like now.’59 Perhaps unsurprisingly, this use of popcorn as an emblem of the declining quality of the cinema experience both during and since the 1960s is, for a number of respondents, framed through the lens of anti-American sentiment. While the most common treats sold in 1960s cinemas, such as ice cream in tubs, choc ices and sweets like Maltesers and Rowntree’s fruit pastilles, are often recalled fondly, the appearance on usherettes’ concessions trays of small sixpenny packs of Butterkist, the only form of popcorn sold in most British cinemas in the 1960s, is sometimes discussed as an unwelcome American imposition on a pre-existing British cinema culture. One respondent recalls a time ‘when I lived in America’ that, in comparison to England, was characterized by ‘universal popcorn and coke.’60 Another remembers how ‘people didn’t have those big vats of popcorn and sit and munching them during the film,’ a practice fostered ‘when the big American style concession bars were brought in,’ which ‘just encouraged the mess.’61 While perhaps a minority view, this anti-Americanism does emerge as a strand of the discourse surrounding the dawning trend in the 1960s for popcorn to be served as a popular cinema snack in British cinemas. In terms of beverages, Kia-Ora stands out most prominently in respondents’ memories. This was an orange-flavoured soft drink, though a large number of cinema-goers remained sceptical about any claims that the bits of shredded orange floating in the liquid meant it had anything more than a tangential relationship with the fruit.62 Audiences recall it as ‘watery Kia-Ora in thin plastic containers,’ ‘the nauseating Kia-Ora,’ or ‘that awful Kia-Ora drink.’63 Nevertheless, the drink is sometimes recalled fondly, if not for its taste then for its position within the cinema-going experience. One of our respondents, for example, notes that ‘I don’t think anyone could [actually] like it,’ but that ‘the memory’ of drinking Kia-Ora in cinemas ‘is good.’64 It was heavily advertised in the cinema itself too, ensuring that it became indelibly associated with cinema-going, so much so that one man refers to an usherette as the ‘KiaOra girl.’65 It may not have been very nice, but it was often all there was to drink, and so in memory became an integral part of the 1960s cinema-going experience.

32

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­Audience aggravations Once the Kia-Ora had been paid for, audiences were often determined to get their money’s worth. As one man writes, ‘the king of irritating snacks was of course Kia-Ora orange juice which everyone would slurp noisily trying to suck up the last dregs through the straw. Extreme slurping’ was not uncommon.66 Kia-Ora may have been a particularly significant offender in this regard, but it was not alone. Some cinema-goers remember becoming annoyed with neighbours who opened boxes of chocolates or packets of crisps that they had brought in with them. Indeed, Smith’s, one of the most popular types of crisp, had a separate blue pack of salt inside that was both difficult and noisy to find.67 Other patrons, one respondent remembers, ‘got very irritated if people rustled boiled sweet papers.’68 Another recalls how ‘you were glared at if you rustled sweet wrappers.’69 However, while snacking may have made for an occasionally noisy intrusion into the cinema experience, it does seem to have been a less prominent feature of 1960s cinema-going than it is today. As one respondent notes, ‘there was some munching of crisps and rustling of sweetie papers,’ but it was certainly ‘nothing like the large-scale eating and drinking that goes on nowadays!’70 As with the emergence of popcorn in British cinemas, the noise produced by eating and drinking has become in memory another barometer for the difference between 1960s and modern cinema-going. Beyond noisy food consumption, the one habit that appears to have annoyed many spectators more than any other was smoking. A small number of respondents remember their parents, especially fathers, as smokers.71 Far more often, they recall smoking themselves.72 For Alec it was a matter of youthful rebellion (his parents disapproved).73 Belle and Rufus both write of smoking when very young, in Rufus’s case from thirteen.74 Not all the smoke in every cinema came from tobacco: Lyle remembers that he and his student friends used to go to cinemas and ‘smoke marihuana . . . despite [the] risks of detection by staff and even the police’ while Abel cited ‘smoking cannabis’ as one of his cinematic interests, adding ‘it was the 60s, man.’75 Of course, most respondents made these observations while being keenly aware of the fact that they were writing from the perspective of a largely smoke-free era. Since July 2007, smoking has been banned in workplaces and

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most public spaces in the United Kingdom. Consequently, many people go to some length to explain in their questionnaires and interviews that they are writing about a time when smoking in cinemas was still permitted.76 Indeed they present it as the norm.77 This emphasis on smoking is thus used to mark out the memories as referring to an historical period now demonstrably separated from the present, where different rules and social mores applied. As with popcorn and noisy food and beverage consumption, smoking is now utilized as a means of emphasizing the past’s difference from the present in terms of cinema-going culture. The fact that 1960s cinemas were extremely smoky places in turn had a significant impact on the experience of watching films. For example, it produced very specific visual phenomena, such as the way in which the air became ‘so thick you could see the smoke swirling in the beam from the projector room’78 and ‘highlighting all of the dust notes in the air.’79 This memory of smoke hanging in the projector’s beam is a repeated motif amongst the stories narrated by respondents, indicating both how widespread and how memorable this experience was. Some go further and note that the smoke helped give a blue-ish tone to the film being watched.80 Others recall that it was ‘often impossible to see the screen for smoke.’81 In situations like this, either ‘extractor fans in the ceiling were switched on’ or ‘the projectionist would have to increase the amperage on the arc lamp’ to make the picture itself visible through the dense fug of smoke.82 Regardless of how it was handled, the fact that such mechanisms were utilized and the prevalence of smoke in the audience’s memories indicate its prominence within the 1960s British cinemagoing experience. Of course, to non-smokers this was not simply annoying because of the obscuring of the image on screen, but also because of the unpleasant nature of the smoke itself. Many people remember the smoke in cinemas as being distinctly unpalatable and unwelcome as it was largely undisturbed by much human activity and so lingered in the air longer than in other environments. Some write of ‘the eye-stinging cigarette smoke,’ or having to ‘leave the auditorium . . . as my eyes used to stream,’ or coming out of the cinema ‘smelling of cigarettes’ and with hair and clothes reeking of smoke.83 With the benefit of hindsight, of course, the many hours these audiences spent watching films in a

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haze of tobacco smoke has become even more disconcerting. One man, Pete, believes this ‘probably helps to explain why 50 years later I contracted lung cancer.’84 Avoiding smokers, though perhaps not completely their smoke, by relocating to another seat elsewhere in the cinema was sometimes possible, but there were also venues where this was not feasible. As Dean writes, The biggest nuisance for me and my friends (all non-smokers) were smokers, who couldn’t care less about non-smokers. In the 1960s ‘continuous performances’ were the norm . . . so people could come and go at any point during the programme. This meant that a common problem was that someone would enter and sit in the row in front of you and light up, so that the smoke immediately wafted in your face. Fortunately, most large single screen suburban cinemas were never more than half full during this period so the non-smoker would have to move to another row, as it was unlikely the smoker would respond kindly to any complaint you made . . . [But] at hard ticket roadshows [where allocated seating was the norm] you were just trapped in your seat and had to put up with it.85 In part to address these concerns, towards the end of the 1960s and into the subsequent decades some cinemas began to experiment with smoke-free rows or sections of the auditorium.86 Rank Leisure introduced smoke-free seating areas in most of its cinemas in 1971, for example.87 While this was, for many non-smokers, a welcome development, it of course did little to reduce the effects of all the smoke. Just as relocating to a seat further from a smoker would only partially alleviate the problem, since the smoke would still drift across the room and fill the space, so too did smoke-free rows and sections share the same air as those where smokers happily lit up. This meant one could sit virtuously in the non-smoking section, breathing in everyone else’s smoke as it expanded to fill the cinema. ‘Didn’t actually do much to stop the smoke,’ one respondent sadly but realistically remarks.88 As such, smoking became another facet of the 1960s cinema-going experience that, while pleasant for some, is recalled by many as a nuisance. While smoking proved uncontrollable in sixties cinemas, the same could not be said of talking during performances. Many audiences, in memory,

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were silent and well-behaved. One respondent observed that ‘Nobody talked  . . . well perhaps occasionally and softly.’89 However, respondents tended not to attribute this to changing social mores or sliding behavioural standards, as they did in other areas where they perceived 1960s cinemagoers to be preferable to audiences today. Instead, they describe a type of self-policing that took place within the cinemas. There was ‘whispering, not talking, lots of shh-ing if anyone coughed.’90 Another recalled that ‘Talking would get you shushed [by other members of the audience].’91 The threat of social embarrassment, caused by being chastised by a fellow audience member through an abrupt shush, appears to have been an effective means of controlling talking in the auditorium. In particular, adults appear to have acted as a restraining influence on younger audience members. ‘Audiences were more diverse in age structure than today,’ explains Dean, ‘and were generally better behaved, even teenagers (perhaps through pressure from older members of the audience).’92 The informality of this system did leave it open to ineffectiveness in some areas. There were, after all, sections of the audience who would not be embarrassed or perturbed at being shushed, or who banked on their fellow audience members being unwilling to chastise them. Older cinema-goers in particular seem to have benefited from this system, most likely as a result of a hesitancy amongst younger audiences to challenge them. ‘Mature ladies (like my Mum),’ one respondent writes, ‘would always go on about “What other film did I see him in[?]”’93 Elsewhere, other cinema-goers broke the relative peace of the auditorium for comedic purposes. Leroy from the North West remembers ‘the occasional yelling out of comments, often rude and in bad taste, but very funny.’ One of these occurred during a screening of The Day of the Triffids, a 1962 science fiction film in which the earth is taken over by intelligent plants. ‘As the triffids are following the ice cream truck (because of the van’s sounds),’ Leroy recalls, at a high tension part of the film, and as the Triffids are catching up with the van and gobble up the occupants, a cry came out of the darkness ‘10,000 choc ices please.’ It brought the house down, we couldn’t stop laughing, really memorable, but that’s Liverpool.94

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However, no matter how entertaining, occasional interruptions such as these were not the norm and 1960s cinemas do appear to have been relatively quiet places, partly as a result of the social pressures exerted on cinema patrons by their fellow audience members. When the social pressure to be silent and passive spectators proved to be insufficient, cinemas were able to call upon other means of restoring order, with interventions by employees providing a secondary means of protecting the peace in the auditorium. Less serious cases would be handled by the usherettes, whose other role in 1960s cinemas, in addition to helping people to find seats and selling confectionary during the interval, was to police minor disturbances or instances of poor behaviour. Their primary tool for handling such situations was their torch, which had a second function beyond helping audience members to find seats. It was also frequently used to shine a pool of light on people who were misbehaving in the dark, both making them aware that they were being observed and also making it known to everyone else in the auditorium who was actually causing the disruption. One respondent notes that drinking too noisily ‘would get you a torch-flashing by the ushers.’95 Another describes how ‘talking and messing about was swiftly dealt with by the torch-wielding . . . usherettes.’96 Indeed, perhaps as a result of this potential for public embarrassment that usherettes embodied, in memory they have become contested figures, who sometimes provided welcome refreshments, but also policed standards of behaviour through the threat of humiliation. One respondent, for example, recalls that the same usherettes who ‘showed you to your seat . . . would “ssh” you or shine her torch onto you if you were misbehaving during the film.’97 As a result, memories of usherettes are often tinged with a sense of mild unease. There were, of course, instances that required a more robust response than an usherette’s torchlight, or where an usherette’s intervention was insufficient to discourage disruptive behaviour. As a last resort, the commissionaire or cinema manager would ultimately have to step in to remove particularly rowdy or problematic patrons. As one respondent recalls, ‘noisy people were singled out by manager/ushers and if not quieter after that on occasion thrown out.’98 Indeed, there is also evidence that some cinemas took such matters even more seriously. Duncan, for example, recalls that the Leicester ABC, where

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he worked, ‘employed 2 “bouncers” to maintain good behaviour’ on Saturday and Sunday night performances.99 While social pressure, the usherette’s torch beam and the threat of removal from the premises were sufficient to maintain order under most circumstances, some cinemas clearly found it necessary to hire staff specifically for this purpose.

Playing the national anthem As the decade progressed, there was one particular moment during screenings when a cinema was increasingly likely to witness unruly scenes. At the end of performances, just after the final loop of the programme had finished, cinemas – following a long-established tradition – would play the national anthem. Many respondents recall that it was usual to stand while the anthem was being played100 and some remember that audience members even sang – or mumbled – the words to the music.101 Josiah writes that ‘there was strong social pressure to STAND during the playing of the National Anthem’ and Gethin remarks that ‘everyone stood up’ for the national anthem ‘not like Dad’s Army.’ (His reference to Dad’s Army related to a 1972 episode of the long-running BBC Second World War television comedy series in which a platoon of the Home Guard stampedes out of a cinema to catch the last bus home during the playing of the anthem, trampling over their officer, Captain Mainwaring [Arthur Lowe], in the process.)102 Glyn similarly estimates that ‘98% [of audiences] stood for the national anthem.’103 Rhiannon discovered that her mother was one of Glyn’s two per cent who did not. She and both parents watched The Ten Commandments (1956) and, when the national anthem was played, ‘I stood up with my Father, who worked for the Admiralty, my mother told me to sit down, as her religion said she should not stand up for it! I was up and down like a yo-yo.’104 As the 1960s wore on, increasing numbers of individual cinema-goers refused to stand for the national anthem. ‘I was bolshie,’ Barry remarks, ‘and didn’t stand.’ At least in the early part of the decade, there was strong social pressure on those who refused. Maud remembers being ‘hissed at by people when I refused to stand up from the age of about 16.’105 If you were caught

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walking out during the playing of the anthem, Pauline recalls, ‘you were told off by the commissionaire.’ Doing so sometimes provoked criticism from other cinema-goers: Belle went to the pictures with her boyfriend ‘and he was quite, sort of political, and we walked out, we kind of made a big thing of walking out. And I remember a man sort of grabbed me and said, “where do you think you’re going, young lady?”’ Walking out during the playing of ‘The Queen’ is still remembered by some respondents as a form of protest that required a degree of courage: Dorian, for example, has a vivid recollection of doing so and is ‘proud I did.’106 Even respondents who did not actively protest in this way at the time sometimes came to feel that the playing of the national anthem in cinemas was an out-of-date ritual. Nora recalls from her childhood in London that having the anthem played in cinemas was ‘the boring bit’ although to begin with as a small, well sort of younger child, I would stand up because that was what you did. But as the decade wore on, certainly there was a lot of tipping up of seats of people leaving, you know, and my parents began by sort of disapproving, but of course as the decade wore on I would be going to the cinema by myself and although I wouldn’t be one of the people who would be bolting out and ignored it, I sort of felt uncomfortable about it. I thought ‘why are we having the national anthem?’ It seemed a bit odd at the end of a film and I began to question it I guess.107 While Nora may not have participated in it herself, this sudden rush towards the exit in the moments before and during the initial bars of the national anthem, in order to avoid having to stand still in an act of patriotism that many, including Nora, increasingly found outmoded, is a memory widely shared amongst respondents. Fiona, for example, refers to the national anthem as simply ‘the Queen’s thing’ and notes that ‘if you’d get out before’ the anthem began ‘you would. If you was at the doors when it started you’d just be carrying on, you’d go down the stairs and that.’ Gawain remembers that ‘we used to try to get out before it started otherwise you would either sit or stand up while it played, right to the last bar of the tune.’108 The difficulty identified by Gawain was that, unless you sat at the very end of a row, it was difficult to escape once the anthem

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had started, since those who were either standing or still sitting in their seats blocked the way out. The ‘solution’ was to get out as fast as you could, while the film credits were still being shown but before the national anthem had started. Many respondents have vivid recollections of what Eireen calls ‘the stampede to get out before the National Anthem came on’ and Kirsten refers to as an ‘unseemly scrabble.’109 The tradition of standing while the national anthem was played in cinemas began to weaken during the 1960s and by the end of the decade, according to Gus, ‘it just sort of died out.’110 As these various changes in the rituals, patterns and norms of 1960s cinema-going demonstrate, cinema-going itself was not a stable practice but rather a set of expectations and behaviours that evolved as the decade wore on. While young people became less reverent and refused to remain in place while the national anthem played, audiences also came in indulge in noisier food consumption and began to object to the smokiness of the cinema environment. Some elements of the experience, such as the social pressure to behave as older generations expected and the transition from the queue to the lobby and the auditorium remained fairly static throughout the decade, but it is nevertheless clear that many people recall this as a period of change, a fact further emphasized in the frequent comparisons respondents made between 1960s cinema-going habits or rituals and those of the modern era.

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­2 ‘Swinging sixties’?: Memories of sex and cinema-going in Britain

1

960s cinemas, in the memories of our subjects, were often social spaces that encouraged youthful sexual experimentation. Sociologist Michael

Schofield, in his 1965 book on The Sexual Behaviour of Young People, found that 51 per cent of teenagers on a first date went to the cinema. It was, he wrote, ‘one of the few semi-private places a boy and girl can go to make love.’1 Cinema, T.  R. Fyvel had noted in a book published four years earlier, was ‘sex dominated, the sanctioned place to take one’s girl to, with sex on the screen and a good deal of it in the auditorium too.’2 Cinemas were fairly inexpensive, private, dark and centrally heated in winter (unlike many 1960s British homes). Natalie writes matter of factly that the cinema for her in the ‘mid 60’s . . . was somewhere warm to go with a boyfriend (didn’t watch [the film] much!)’3 Marie similarly comments that ‘the film was probably the last thing on our minds.’4

The back row ‘The back row,’ observes Marlene, ‘was unofficially reserved for couples – [who were] not there to see the films.’5 Sally, indeed, remembers little about the experience of cinema-going ‘apart from kissing one’s boyfriend in the

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back seats’ and Jill writes that what she most enjoyed was the opportunity ‘to cuddle up with my boyfriend.’6 Similarly, Katrina lists ‘being in the backrow with my boyfriend’ as her favourite memory of 60s cinema-going. ‘Kissing and petting in the back rows was accepted as the norm,’ writes Micah.7 Other respondents talk of ‘snogging’8 or, more diplomatically, of ‘courting’ or ‘dating’ there.9 ‘It should be recorded,’ Celeste explains, ‘that many people had no place to go to develop their relationship, so the back row of the cinema was just the place.’10 Eunice remembers that ‘lovers sat on the back row,’ justifying the practice by explaining that ‘not everyone had a car and few lived together in the early days.’11 Ada, much more censoriously, comments that ‘the back rows were notorious for sexual adventures, so “decent girls” wouldn’t ever sit there because of the message it would send out.’12 And Eva remembers that when she set off to be a student in Cardiff, her mother warned against back rows and ‘told me not to go in them with boys!’13 Some of those ‘boys’ certainly were eager to exploit the back rows by going as far as they could. Orson recalls that the most enjoyable part of cinema for him was ‘going on a date with a girl, seeing what I could get away with. Hopefully a good film as well, though I wasn’t always watching!’ Orson, on his own admission, was something of a Lothario, writing of taking ‘more than one girl to see Dr Zhivago.’14 Dougal, growing up in Newtown, Wales, remembers the Regent Cinema as ‘a warm and cosy place to go with friends (or if your luck was in) with a girlfriend. The stalls were cheaper – but if you were out to impress you went for the circle and hopefully headed for the back row.’15 Many of our respondents have memories of what became popularly known as ‘love seats.’ ‘Some cinemas,’ explains Finbar, defining them very precisely, ‘provided double seats without separate centre arms which encouraged “courting couples” who could engage in cuddling and kissing (necking) during the periods when the main lights were out.’16 ‘Some cinemas in Glasgow,’ Celeste writes, ‘had “chummy” seats, which were like two seater sofas and good for courting couples.’17 Dean, originally from a Lancashire town, comments that double seats ‘were a must for courting couples, including myself.’18 Marie remarks that, for teenagers, ‘there was nowhere else where we could kiss and cuddle’ and May explains that

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‘sometimes you’d just snog all the time.’19 Joanne remembers ‘the double seats in the back row at the Cottage Road Cinema [in Leeds]. Ooh la la.’20 For some respondents, going for the first time with a date to the double seats on the back row is now remembered as almost a rite de passage, a sign of the start of adulthood: both Ivy and Moina recall it made them feel ‘grown up.’21 Even those, like Paulette, who were too young for courting, participated vicariously in the double-seat culture because ‘people used to talk about it at school . . . like “Did you see her on the back row with him?”’22 Others, old enough to take part, look back on their back-row experiences as a favourite – perhaps the favourite – memory of sixties cinema-going. Primrose writes nostalgically of ‘being kissed by my boyfriend – it seemed so daring then!’23 Natasha lists ‘being with a boyfriend (double seats in the balcony!)’ as the first thing she recalls enjoying about going to the cinema.24 Micah prioritizes ‘snogging my wife to be’ in the same way.25 Glenda, remembering the Tower and Regent cinemas in Hull, describes their double seats as ‘romantic.’26 To see cinemas as settings for romance in some cases testified to the blinding effects of rampant youthful testosterone and oestrogen. Clio remembered that one cinema in her hometown ‘was a literal flea pit’: it offered double seats if you were on a date, but you ‘went home covered in red lumps.’27 ‘There was a suburban cinema I used to go to in Bristol that still had the back two rows as “double love” seats,’ writes Clarence, ‘and I distinctly remember coming out of there one blinding summer afternoon with my legs itching.’28 Mona recalls that the Publix cinema in Stevenage ‘had double seats much enjoyed by courting couples. People said there were rats inside . . . I didn’t see any but it was known as the flea pit.’29

Sexual harassment What our survey also reveals, however, is a much darker side to sex and sixties movie-going. Paula, a former usherette, writes sardonically that ‘men would often come in the early afternoon and put their coats over their laps and we knew what they were doing while watching the woman on the screen.’30 A man

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going alone to the cinema in those days, comments Natalie, ‘was considered sort of dirty raincoat . . . style.’ When eight-year-old Colin was taken by his mother to see Cleopatra at the Dominion Theatre in London, she became worried that the ‘weird bloke’ sitting next to him ‘was going to touch me up or something’ so she changed seats so that she was sitting next to the man ‘and gave him a good old nudge . . . and apparently he strutted away and went elsewhere.’31 A young woman on her own – or even with a female friend – in a cinema was quite likely to be harassed. When she went to the cinema on her own, writes Ceridwen, ‘I had to be careful to sit away from everybody else as most of the audience was lone men looking for a grope.’ Margot was aware of the danger of ‘predators . . . who would come sit next to you,’ but she and her friends countered this by sitting in the front row believing ‘nobody could really do much there.’32 ‘I do remember as a teenager,’ recalls Edina, ‘sitting in a central Bristol cinema with a school friend and having an unfortunate experience with the archetypal “man in a dirty mac.”’33 Although Gail was luckier and ‘nothing happened’ on the frequent occasions when she went alone to her local fleapit, she also recalls being ‘slightly afraid of men in gabardine raincoats. There was a definite man-in-raincoats worry there and you would sit as far away as possible.’34 The British censorship system, introduced originally in 1912 to protect young children, sometimes had exactly the opposite effect. The ‘A’ or ‘Adult’ category indicated that the film might contain material unsuitable for children and consequently children would only be admitted if accompanied by adults. The assumption, made explicit when the A certificate was replaced by the PG (Parental Guidance) certificate in 1982, was that children would be accompanied by one or both parents. But Gawain recalls that when he and his friends wanted to watch an A movie: We used to go up to complete strangers in the queue (just as they were letting them in) and ask them if they could act as our parents so we could get in, we would give them our money and accompany them in, once tickets were bought we’d say thank you and off we would go on our own. If we got turned down, we would just find another couple to ask.35

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As Hamish points out, it was customary to ask a couple to ‘take me in’ since couples were ‘more reassuring.’36 Yet Olive also remembers being part of a group of fourteen-year-old girls that got into ‘A’ films by giving their ‘ticket money’ to a group of older single boys (sixteen or seventeen) who then paid for them to go in. ‘Then of course,’ she notes, ‘they’d want paying back “in kind” on the back row . . . not what the British Board of Film Censors had in mind.’ ‘It didn’t really seem like a big deal at the time,’ Olive comments on these brief encounters between younger/older teenagers, ‘but I suppose now people would see it differently.’37 Frank recalls that, as a fourteen-year-old boy, ‘if you wanted to get into an A film . . . it was a case of “excuse me mister, can you take me in?” . . . I suppose one in ten would say “alright” and then you’d give them the money, they’d buy two tickets and then you never saw them again.’ Yet Chester has very different memories of this process. ‘In the days of “A” certificate films,’ he writes, ‘ . . . it was quite commonplace for young boys to stand outside the cinema and ask a stranger going in if he would take them with him. For some men who fancied young boys, this was an ideal opportunity to sit alongside the boy in the darkness and grope him sexually.’ Chester with grim matter of factness adds that ‘it happened to me on a couple of occasions . . . when I was 12 and 13 respectively.’38 Norton also has memories of ‘“dirty old men” who tried to grope you in cinemas,’ while Gordon – who liked going to the cinema on his own – comments that ‘occasionally . . . there were a few unwelcome experiences from males choosing to sit next to me. I usually managed to remove either myself to another seat or saw off the “interference” by a kick or some other ploy.’39 Despite problems such as these, it would be wrong to see darkened cinemas in the memory of our respondents as unsafe spaces in which there was complete sexual licence. Many usherettes took their task of policing the cinema extremely seriously. ‘I remember once when I took my sister to see a film,’ Mortimer writes, ‘a man came to sit by us in a virtually empty cinema. The ushers immediately asked us to move and told the man to leave. He was apparently a well-known perve and when I mentioned this to friends at school many of them said they had had a similar experience.’40

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Even the illicit freedom enjoyed by youngsters to experiment sexually was conditioned − and possibly for some rendered more exciting − by the everpresent risk of discovery. ‘We always felt we were being watched by usherettes,’ remarks Jacqueline.41 When it came to ‘snogging in the back row,’ writes Fanny, ‘ushers would shine a torch on folk if they misbehaved.’42 (This may be why Ed remembers only what he terms ‘subdued snogging.’)43 ‘The usherette,’ according to Laura, ‘was to be feared’ once ‘she suspected “hanky panky” [was] going on.’44 Jeannie had a friend, an usherette, who was ‘quite a tyrant . . . she was only 18, but she would go and shout at people in the back rows because they were kissing and cuddling.’ ‘Young couples always wanted the back row,’ writes another former usherette, ‘and we would flash our torches to see hands in the girls’ blouses and whisper to each other.’45 In some cases, the privacy of the back rows was also undermined by the inquisitive behaviour of other cinema-goers. ‘Young couples would be far too engrossed in kissing to watch the film,’ remarks Kerry, ‘If the film was boring we watched them instead.’46 Melody similarly confesses that ‘sometimes as kids it was more entertaining to watch the courting couples than the films!’47 Another element to sex and cinema-going was the films these youthful audiences were watching or, perhaps, not watching. Some respondents remember going to watch particular movies in their early teens because they thought it possible to learn about sex from them. Frank recalls going to see The Seven Deadly Sins, a black-and-white Franco-Italian production from 1952, with friends from his all-boys school with the hope that ‘we’re going to learn something here.’ But it proved ‘the most dire film ever . . . seven contrite little stories about . . . each one . . . This is lust, this is gluttony . . . and nobody was enjoying themselves at all. It was such a letdown.’48 Gail reminisces about going to see Sex and the Single Girl (1964) with a female friend. The film ‘was considered to be terribly risqué and we were underage when we went . . . We had to doll ourselves up.’ She notes that the 1962 book by Helen Gurley Brown on which the film was supposedly based had ‘caused a sensation because of women doing things that generally women didn’t do.’ But the film itself, she confessed, had been a great disappointment, being ‘nowhere near . . . as . . . shocking as I think we thought it was going to be.’49

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Pushing against the barriers: sixties films There is a widespread view among respondents to our survey that 60s films were pushing against the barriers of what was permissible on screen in terms of sex. In A Kind of Loving (1962), Fiona recalls seeing a naked woman for the first time in a film: ‘I think the whole audience gasped because we wasn’t expecting that . . . ’ The film featured Alan Bates as draughtsman Vic who has an affair with a young work colleague, Ingrid (June Ritchie). When they first agree to make love, Fiona’s memory of the particular, very brief sequence involved is not closely linked with the film’s plot. Indeed, she seems uncertain of the narrative point at which the scene takes place. But she remembers Ingrid agreeing to have sex but asking Vic to leave the room, presumably while she undresses: Then he comes back in and . . . I don’t know what she had round her . . . something around her front, and you saw, as he comes in the room, you saw the back of her neck; she had the couch behind her. And it sort of zoomed in on her and came round the front, and she stood up, and as she stood up, you just saw her naked back, and you saw her buttocks, and he then put his arms around her, and whatever she had – it must have been a towel or something – slipped down, and then he’s got his arms around her [gasps] . . . Oh God she’s naked and he’s got his arms round her . . . By her own admission, Fiona had ‘never’ seen anything like this in a film before and was deeply shocked. In reality, Ritchie was not naked in the film, but the shot of her bare back effectively conveyed the illusion that she was.50 Natalie also discusses these ‘Taboo-busting aspects’ of sixties cinema, tentatively suggesting that the first male to appear fully naked in a British film was Hywel Bennett. ‘[The] first “full frontal nudity” seems so petty now,’ she writes, but at the time these things seemed iconoclastic.’51 The naked wrestling sequence with Alan Bates and Oliver Reed in Women in Love (1969) was remembered by several respondents.52 Although Room at the Top was first released in 1958, Eunice groups it with sixties films because ‘it caused a scandal for the sexual content and also planted the idea that Joe ordinary could rise to the top – but only with caution.’53

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It was not only films set in the present that appeared to offer a new and more open approach to sexuality. Elsa declares that she ‘loved Tom Jones’ – Tony Richardson’s 1963 film based on Henry Fielding’s eighteenth-century novel – ‘for its raunchiness and humour.’ She has a particular recollection of its ‘sexually charged dining scene.’54 Gail also writes that Tom Jones was ‘very raunchy for a young teenager then!’55 Her comment on age underlines the fact that, as Lyle points out, most of the pioneering films dealing with sex and sexuality, such as A Taste of Honey (1961), had been given an ‘X’ certificate by the British censors as suitable for adults only.56 This restriction was widely flouted. Ifor recalls A Taste of Honey as appealing to him as ‘sexy, when puberty was approaching!’57 Dermot remembers Alfie (1966) and Darling (1965) as ‘two of the first adult movies I went to see. I managed to get in under age.’58 Luanne recalls watching Alfie when she ‘was in my early teens.’ While it had been ‘really gripping,’ she also found it ‘slightly shocking’ in the way it represented ‘relationships and the way people behaved.’59 There is a sense on the part of many respondents that British cinema in the 1960s began to reflect the lives of ordinary people in a way that had not hitherto been the case. One film that resonated for some was The L-Shaped Room (1962), based on the novel by Lynne Reid Banks, which told the story of a young woman who arrived alone to live in a boarding house in London in order to ‘make something of herself.’ Hilary, who also lived for a time in a bed-sitting room in Oxford, recalls that ‘I could imagine what [women in this situation] . . . were feeling and I could see myself in these situations if I did anything stupid, so if I got pregnant by accident which obviously I wasn’t going to, but it was all very real suddenly.’60 Hilary’s point about the dangers of doing something ‘stupid’ and ending up with an accidental pregnancy was shared by many 1960s cinema-goers. Joseph recalls that we all lived in fear in pre-pill days of producing kids before our time  . . . [T]here were more shotgun marriage than you care to think about. Contraception was not much spoken about, not easily available and as a consequence of that we all worried about it . . .[Some of] my friends got married because there was a child on the way rather than what’s what they meant to do.

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Fiona recalls that she was pregnant before she married, but does not say whether it was the pregnancy that led to the marriage (though she remembers that, when she did agree to get married, her husband-to-be celebrated by buying a new set of wheels for his car).61 Many of our respondents assume that the introduction of the contraceptive pill in the 1960s changed all this. ‘Things like the birth control pill came in which very much influenced sort of people’s behaviour,’ comments Quentin. ‘Once we had access to the pill,’ explains Carmel, ‘there was a whole thing about women are being exploited, because now they can’t get pregnant so the boys take advantage . . . none of that touched me. I felt empowered.’62 Some respondents suggest there was a clear distinction between what Margot (and Joseph above) called the ‘pre-“pill”’ times up to the late 1950s and what happened in the following decade.63 In reality, the contraceptive pill took a long time to challenge and largely replace other forms of contraception. Although the pill was first introduced on the NHS in Britain in December 1961, the take-up rate for prescribing it by doctors remained quite low for some time. It was mainly prescribed for older women who already had children and did not want any more. It was not until 1974 that family planning clinics were permitted to prescribe the pill for single women.64

Films and changing social attitudes The decade of the sixties, as Dewi observes, ‘was a time of great social change as has been noted by many authorities. This was reflected in the cinema of the time.’ ‘In terms of what was allowed in films,’ asserts Bill, ‘that clearly changed. There was a lot more flexibility in what you could and couldn’t show . . . Not quite anything goes, but . . . there was a lot of bare flesh and swearing, more of the real world portrayed.’65 ‘Fashions, moral standards and social standards,’ writes Barbara, ‘were reflected in the films of the period.’66 British productions, especially the ‘kitchen sink’ films, Phyllida remembers, were ‘such a breath of fresh air. Up until then it was rare for topics such as sex outside marriage, abortion, depiction of gay characters etc., to be aired. You didn’t hear the

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Establishment being criticised. It was such a different world! I loved the irreverence of them, the real-life depiction of believable people.’67 There were a number of films, in particular, that respondents identify as being particularly important as signs of the times. Sheila observed that in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, released on the cusp of the sixties in 1960, ‘the fact that they had to get married which is a concept of course which is completely unknown now, that they had to get married and they had to share the wife’s parents home. And I was aware of people that had happened to and how ghastly it was.’ Sheila thoughtfully added that since this had been ‘a depiction of things that I’d come across,’ it did not perhaps ‘seem that extraordinary that I was seeing it on a film and it’s only looking back at it . . . that you realise how very different it was from things that had gone before.’ In retrospect, she believes, it was ‘cinema getting itself up to date, recognising life as it really is.’ Sheila herself already knew of the daughter of a Catholic family who became pregnant and was sent off to stay with relatives in Ireland until the baby was born and ‘no doubt adopted,’ not to mention the daughter of her hairdresser who had had ‘a very small wedding’ because she was already pregnant at the time (and the couple afterwards had to move in with the hairdresser).68 Uneasiness was also expressed concerning the sexual double standard the film embodied. Gail comments that in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, Arthur Seaton [Albert Finney]’s ‘attitude towards women . . . was really shocking and yet, of course, was really quite common.’ Yet she also concedes that she may not have realized the depths of such chauvinistic attitudes on first seeing the film (‘I guess I didn’t know that [men could treat women so badly] and I guess I had been a bit lucky in the boyfriends I’d had’).69 A Taste of Honey, released in 1961, ‘stands out’ according to Elsa ‘for the issues it addressed.’70 In addition to male homosexuality, these included broken families, teenage pregnancy and interracial sex (Rufus comments that he has a friend who is particularly fond of this film ‘as her mum was a single white woman who had a black daughter’71). Kate believes it was ‘a really, really good film because I thought it had a lot to say about our attitudes towards class, colour, status.’72 Trudy remembers liking A Taste of Honey ‘because it dealt with subjects that weren’t talked about in the openness of cinema or newspapers[;]

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it started a revolution.’73 Such topics were often taboo to members of an older generation: Lillian has an uneasy recollection of watching the film with parents or someone she was embarrassed to be seeing it with. In Patsy’s memory, the response of audiences to films such as A Taste of Honey or Saturday Night and Sunday Morning was often to feel ‘stunned.’ Asked by the interviewer how she explained this reaction, Patsy pointed to the way in which the films questioned existing mores, ‘because if you were unmarried and you were pregnant in the 60s it was quite taboo. You didn’t do that sort of thing, or you didn’t let people know you did that sort of thing.’74 Yet Jeannie recalled from the perspective of a new generation that A Taste of Honey ‘had a tremendous effect on me because I was the same age’ as the girl Rita Tushingham was playing. She also had a friend who had become pregnant without being married and she herself was getting married later in the year in which she first saw the film ‘and you related to the films when they brought these things up.’75

Did film promote 60s changes? In some cases, respondents believed, British films promoted as well as represented changing attitudes. Some films can be viewed as preparing the ground for changes in the law – most notably the Abortion Act and the Sexual Offences Act, both of which were passed in 1967. Abortion as a possible (if then illegal) outcome of an unwanted pregnancy was referenced in a number of sixties British films – including Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, A Taste of Honey and The L-Shaped Room.76 None of these films featured an abortion itself. Two films that did were Darling (1965) and Alfie (1966). These movies, released before parliament approved the 1967 law, treated the subject in very different ways. Model Diana Cooper (Julie Christie) decides in Darling to terminate the pregnancy that is the result of her hedonistic lifestyle. There is no reference in the film to the fact that abortion is illegal and the procedure is apparently carried out straightforwardly in what seems to be a private clinic. None of the respondents to our survey mentions this episode in Darling. Many, however, by contrast comment on the sequence of the clearly illegal abortion in Alfie.

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Alfie (Michael Caine) has a one-night stand with Lily (Vivien Merchant), the wife of a fellow patient in the clinic where Alfie has also been treated, which results in her becoming pregnant. Alfie arranges to have the pregnancy terminated by a seedy ‘back-street abortionist’ (Denholm Elliott).77 Some of our respondents recall that this sequence of Alfie was the first to demonstrate to them the traumas of illegal abortion. Nora writes that watching it ‘was the first time I ever saw, or was introduced to the concept of abortion . . . what it involved and all that.’ Bernadette went to see the film with friends when she was underage (‘only about 15’) and, although she ‘enjoyed the adult content,’ remembers being ‘shocked by the abortion scene.’78 Lillian also saw ‘the nitty gritty . . . bleak scene of the abortion’ as ‘quite shocking at the time’ and, looking back, contextualizes it in a broader movement towards more realism generally in film (‘it seemed as though suddenly a lot more information was being included . . . and opened my eyes to another side of life’).79 Pris has a more personal (and feminist) take on this sequence: ‘there were friends of mine that had been in similar circumstances, had backstreet abortion . . . that was absolutely how it was.’ [For Alfie] ‘it was just a nuisance . . . but to a woman, it was horrendous, girls died.’ Sheila also reflects on the long-term psychological consequences for women like Lily who had been compelled to have abortions: ‘one is conscious of knowing people who’ve done it and not got over it easily, not over it at all actually.’80

Figure 2.1  Dirk Bogarde and Sylvia Sims in Victim, directed by Basil Dearden © Rank/Allied Film Makers/Parkway 1961. All rights reserved.

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In Britain, male homosexuality between consenting adults remained illegal until the passage of the Sexual Offences Act in 1967. Yet in advance of this, 60s British films began to deal with the subject. In 1961’s A Taste of Honey, teenager Jo (played by Rita Tushingham) had a gay best friend, Geoffrey Ingham (played by Murray Melvin). Homosexuality was also referenced in Darling in 1965 – and one of the characters, Malcolm (played by Roland Curram), was a gay photographer. But as Julian, a gay man, now recalls, ‘I found that hardly any form of cultural expression in the sixties spoke to me in quite the way I’d have liked.’ The ‘startling exception’ to this was the film Victim, directed by Basil Dearden and released in 1961. The first British film to use the word ‘homosexual,’ Victim, Julian writes, ‘was almost unique in daring to acknowledge the existence of people like me. Even so, I didn’t much care for it. It was too full of angst and stilted, buttoned up emotions.’ For Julian, the fact that Victim challenged a cultural taboo in discussing homosexuality was in itself memorable for a gay man, even if this did not prevent him responding critically to the film itself.81 Other respondents locate Victim more broadly in the context of its time.82 For some, it was part of a broader movement to align film more closely with aspects of contemporary British life. Sheila writes of films presenting social realism ‘in an entirely new way that was both exciting and revealing. The way, for example, that Victim tackled homosexuality was both courageous and, by the standards of the day, extremely daring.’83 Ines similarly praises the film ‘because of the way it portrayed the difficulties of gay life at the time.’84 Arthur, looking back, regards it as a major catalyst for change. ‘Some films,’ he argues in the questionnaire he completed, ‘reflected or contributed to a climate which led to socially progressive legislation enacted by the Wilson government in the late 60s[,] e.g. Victim and the de-criminalization of homosexuality.’ In a subsequent interview, Arthur also drew attention to the growing number of articles ‘about homosexuality from a liberal standpoint’ published by journals such as Films and Filming during the 1960s. ‘These films and these publications,’ he declared, ‘ . . . were starting to reflect [a] more liberated society with a greater level of tolerance for a range of social and political and sexual matters.’85

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Alfie Alfie, in the memory of many 1960s cinema-goers was a talismanic 1960s film, intersecting with other sixties trends. It had its première just over two weeks before the American Time Magazine dedicated its 15 April 1966 issue to ‘London: The Swinging City.’86 ‘Swinging London’ became a catch-all phrase summing up what was seen as a youthful cultural revolution taking place in fashion, music and photography, and the hedonism and greater sexual freedom that accompanied it. In subsequent years, Alfie would come to be listed by some authorities as belonging to a Swinging London cycle of films also including, for example, The Knack (1965) and Georgy Girl (1966).87 Two of our respondents strongly disagree with this identification. Carissa sees Alfie as ‘questioning “swinging” London not really fully part of it.’88 ‘I don’t think Alfie is a “swinging” London film,’ argues Patrick, going on to make the comment that ‘generally the portrayal of “swinging” London turned into a silly veneer which detracted from the story, particularly so in Blow Up.’89 Although Alfie himself, as played by Caine, was a ‘likeable rogue’ according to Elsie,90 many of our respondents see the film itself as ‘very sad’ and ‘drab,’91 ‘sordid,’92 ‘too gritty,’93 ‘grim and realistic,’94 ‘ugly and disturbing’95 or ‘striking but soulless.’96 Alfie’s passive, put-upon girlfriend, Gilda (played by Julia Foster), who bears him a son, finally marries someone else and bans him from further contact with their child. Deborah comments that she ‘can still watch Alfie and cry for Julia Foster.’97 Towards the ‘disturbing’98 end of the film, Alfie decides to commit to a wealthy American woman, Ruby (Shelley Winters), but finds she is having an affair with a younger man. Phyllida remembers loving the film ‘for the depiction of the protagonist as a user of women, only to get his come-uppance when all his former lady friends turned out to have other fish to fry.’99 At the end of the film, Alfie is left lonely and alone. As some respondents point out, indeed, Alfie is ultimately ‘a very moral tale’ that ‘made you question pleasure over morals.’100 Many of our respondents remember enjoying Alfie as a film.101 In part, this had to do with what Kim refers to as the ‘charismatic personality’ of Michael Caine in the title role.102 One respondent, Bertha, confesses she ‘had an interest in Michael Caine. He went to my school and lived close to me when he was

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Figure  2.2  Michael Caine and Julia Foster in Alfie, directed by Lewis Gilbert ©  ­Paramount/ Sheldrake 1966. All rights reserved.

a young man.’103 Bryn frames his enthusiastic response to Alfie through his knowledge of star discourse: ‘Michael Caine had a cool reputation and later married the girl he saw on an advert.’104 [Famously, Caine had first seen his future wife Shakira in a TV ad for Maxwell House instant coffee.] Many people also enthuse about the technical qualities of the film: for example, the way in which Caine’s character breaks the ‘fourth wall’ by speaking directly at some moments to the audience105 and the music (especially the title song) of the film.106 When it comes to commenting on the sexual and gender issues raised by the film, some of our respondents write about it in a very censorious way. ‘I couldn’t believe that those girls in Alfie would put up with such behaviour,’ comments Fiona, ‘I never found Michael Caine attractive but I definitely enjoyed the film.’107 ‘The character of Alfie never appealed to me in the slightest,’ writes Mary.108 Molly recalls ‘not liking Alfie because he was such an absolute rotter! I was so indignant about the way women or girls were treated in it.’109 It was not only women who were affronted: men also criticize Michael Caine’s womanizing persona. ‘Alfie, despite Michael Caine,’ comments Jarvis, ‘was pretty immoral. He was not a nice man.’ Marty similarly remarks ‘he was a bit of an anti-hero that Alfie, he wasn’t a nice bloke.’ Gordon writes that ‘I found the attitude of the title character rather distasteful. Generally, I was not a “swinger” in the 1960s – or ever!’110 ‘I liked [the film] Alfie,’ writes Kirsten, ‘because Alfie learns his lesson, I seem to remember. But even at the time, when feminism wasn’t especially strong on

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the radar, I did hate Michael Caine as Alfie speaking directly to camera and talking of his older woman girlfriend, saying “She’s in beautiful condition.”’ This combination of sexist objectification and ageism, Kirsten believes, ‘had something to say about attitudes prevalent at the time.’111 Some of the female members of our survey recall meeting their own ‘Alfies.’ Gillian remarks that she had ‘some experience of guys like Alfie.’112 The film, comments Meryl, ‘particularly resonates – I met young men just like Alfie in London [after her arrival in 1963]. It could be quite difficult for single young women alone in London at that time.’113 In reality, of course, the male attitudes on display in Alfie were also widespread outside London. Florence moved from an Oxford boarding school in 1965 to Manchester where ‘I really recognised the like of Alfie, Room at the Top, etc. and was quite shocked.’114 Like Kirsten, some women believe that they were critical of Alfie’s chauvinism when they first saw the film in the 60s. Molly, for example, writes that she ‘wasn’t so keen on Alfie because of his treatment of women.’115 Posy similarly remembers the film as ‘a depressing depiction of a woman[‘s] place’ (though she also adds that ‘Michael Caine was diverting’).116 Natalie was also ‘disturbed’ by the treatment of women in Alfie and – while she notes that Michael Caine’s Alfie had been excused at the time (‘oh what a lad’) – also associates the film in her memory with the first ‘glimmerings of feeling uncomfortable’ over the construction of women as being just images and sex-objects. She now compares Alfie with other cinematic representations of women of the time, including in ‘low-level . . . sex comedies’ such as the British Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush and the international production Candy, both released in 1968. These all included ‘lots of scantily clad women’ (something she noted was ‘almost Benny Hill territory’ after Hill’s salacious sketches in his long-running television show). ‘At the time,’ she notes, ‘it was sold as freedom, and yet it wasn’t entirely.’ Natalie herself, she believes, was just beginning to become aware of gender issues – her role models from the big screen ‘were always the stronger women’ such as Marlene Dietrich and Anne Bancroft. ‘I was,’ she also remembers, ‘increasingly uncomfortable with being made to be, or being thought to be a dolly bird.’117 In contrast to Kirsten, Molly, Posy and Natalie, however, Catherine believes that the chauvinistic aspects of the film only became clear to her in later years. ‘I loved Michael Caine [in

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Alfie],’ she confesses. ‘Seems ridiculous now, an obnoxious character. Couldn’t see that then.’118 Maud advances much the same point in more general terms. Sixties films, she observes, were ‘massively more explicit than I think most people now realise, and probably abusive to women.’ Yet she makes it clear that this deeper understanding of sexism had only occurred to her ‘now on reflection,’ since in the 1960s ‘ways of thinking and articulating feminism to do with sexuality had not really been explored and written about that much.’119

Swinging London The reality of Swinging London both as a concept and a type of film is debated by a number of respondents who did actually live in London during the 1960s. Some respondents look back on the Swinging London scene and its focus on freer sexuality with considerable fondness. Carmel remembers being ‘absolutely empowered’ by the changes of the time. In 1963 or 1964, ‘I took one of my dresses and cut that much off it, and I thought, here I go!’120 Although Carmel insisted that she had never been promiscuous, unlike many of her friends, she seems to have been a free spirit sexually as well as in terms of fashion. This was not because of the pill – which for many people, as already noted, did not become widely available until the late 1960s – but as a result of her contact with ‘an extremely emancipationist lady gynaecologist’ who had a clinic in the East End of London and fitted Carmen and her friends ‘with diaphragms, and told us if you never want to get pregnant, never leave your diaphragm out.’121 Other respondents who lived in London during the 60s are sceptical of the notion of the freewheeling, ‘swinging’ city and the films supposedly based upon it. Colin comments that he felt ‘detached’ from Swinging London movies, since ‘swinging London and the cool sixties only happened in the West End and some parts of West London. It didn’t happen in Camberwell and Bermondsey,’ which were ‘still post-war, frankly.’ (Colin nonetheless admits to enjoying Darling, though the world it depicted ‘was almost another country.’) Quentin, who lived in London for most of the 1960s before moving to the Midlands, cited Darling in particular as depicting ‘a sort of partying rather

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hedonistic style . . . I certainly didn’t move in that sort of social strata, and that was sort of depicting quite an affluent group of people.’122 Arthur, who lived in North London, similarly suggests that Swinging London ‘was related to quite a small segment of society’ in the capital. ‘I was always waiting for it to happen somewhere,’ he notes with ironic amusement, but ‘it never got to “Swinging Wood Green.”’ Fiona, who lived in Willesden in North West London, confesses that at the time she knew nothing of the ‘swinging’ culture: she had little money and ‘never went to the West End.’123 Patsy, in contrast, recalls that she ‘liked’ the Swinging London films: ‘we went to see Alfie and The Italian Job [1969] . . . That was the London that we knew.’ Yet Patsy also underlined the extent to which Alfie differed from other films of the ‘swinging’ type such as Darling and Blow-Up. The world it represented was much less socially exclusive and upper class: Alfie, she notes, ‘was very true to form, I mean people were living like that in bedsits.’124 Swinging London films had an even more mixed reception outside the capital. Oscar from Lancashire remembers them with great nostalgia as ‘roadmaps for the soul. They were terrific.’ Denholm from Surrey writes that he ‘very much’ liked Swinging London films because they ‘denoted the underlying change socially in society in the 60s.’125 Katrina, who lived in northwest Kent, links Alfie with Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, A Taste of Honey and The Knack as films that ‘had a big influence on me and did relate to my own experiences.’ Similarly, Jill recalls that – as a teenager in Truro – she ‘could empathise with the characters’ in Alfie (even though she also insisted that she had ‘not [been] like the girls in that film’).126 Some respondents were frankly envious of what they saw in the films: ‘The world that British 60s films showed was recognisably like my [own] in terms of visual iconography,’ writes Charlton who lived in north Kent, ‘but often not in terms of the actual experience (I wasn’t getting loads of casual sex like Alfie or Arthur Seaton!!) The swinging sixties films were [a] glamorized version of what I wished I was doing.’ Barry, who spent most of the 60s in Wiltshire, Manchester and Leeds before moving to London towards the end of the decade, thought that Manchester was ‘a very lively . . . and go-ahead kind of place’ but had nothing to compare to London’s fashion scene as represented

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in the Swinging London films (‘Portobello Road and Carnaby Street . . . in London . . . did seem quite different’).127 Jason, who lived during the sixties in York and Reading, admired the Swinging London films, including Blow-Up, though he seems to have liked the concept of Swinging London it embodied more than the film itself. But he wrily concedes that his enjoyment of the period was more that of an observer than an active participant: ‘I did enjoy that era I have to say. Even if I wasn’t part of it, I definitely enjoyed it from the comfort of my armchair.’128 In contrast, for many people outside London, the world represented in the Swinging London films appeared too remote from the world they inhabited to have much appeal. Walter lived in Yorkshire during the 60s and writes that the films concerned ‘were very very . . . much London oriented. And to me in the North of England, London was somewhere else, . . . you know? And that sort of lifestyle wasn’t my scene really.’ (Unsurprisingly, Walter preferred A Taste of Honey set in Lancashire and This Sporting Life (1963) set in Yorkshire because ‘they were steeped in some realism.’129) ‘Too far away from my own experience at that time to get much out of it,’ comments Hester from Bangor, Wales, on Alfie. Arnold, who spent the 60s in Rochester and later Birmingham, bluntly observes that ‘They did not make much impact on me at the time. Swinging London did not represent the whole country.’130 Some respondents suggest that they had no interest in the Swinging London depicted on film for reasons of class as well as geography: Bea grew up in Scotland and worked until she got married at twenty: ‘it may have been the swinging sixties,’ she comments, ‘but not for me.’ Laura from Lancashire similarly observes that what they depicted ‘might have been on the other side of the world to me in the 60s . . . I’m from a group of people who started work at 15 . . . and you got married before you were 21. You’ve had a family in your 20s. That’s what you did.’ Others objected to some of the more ‘sixties’ aspects of these films: Frank, who grew up in Devon and then moved to Newcastle, frankly observed that he ‘just didn’t get’ some of the Swinging London movies: ‘You know, the whole drug culture that seemed to be underlined so much. Drugs for us were having two or three pints and chain smoking cigarettes for a couple of hours.’131

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Gay men and 60s cinema During our survey, it became increasingly clear that the ways in which people responded to the films of the 1960s often reflected their social and cultural identities. In Chapter 6, for example, we discuss the ways in which being a first or second generation immigrant influenced the ways in which cinema was experienced. For some male gay respondents to our survey, sexual orientation does appear to have helped shape memories of their cinema-going experiences.132 Felix recalls that he watched both Victim and The Trials of Oscar Wilde (1960) multiple times. The latter he describes as ‘a great and true story with acting to match.’133 For Julian, Lawrence of Arabia was a favourite film. The fact that Peter O’Toole’s Lawrence was made to conform to some of the camp stereotypes still associated with gay men in the 60s clearly had some resonance for Julian: he had, he wrote, grown up ‘with stories of T. E. Lawrence and the film made sense of them and gave me that “Ah, now I see” feeling.’134 Colin remembers the appeal of Women in Love (1969) with the sequence in which Rupert Birkin (Alan Bates) and Gerald Crich (Oliver Reed) wrestle each other naked in front of a fire. Colin explained that he ‘particularly . . . wanted to go [to see it] because I knew about the Oliver Reed scene of wrestling on the rug and this for a fourteen-year-old emerging gay boy was amazing’ (though he also added that he had already read D. H. Lawrence’s 1920 novel on which the film was based).135 Other gay respondents share recollections of the feelings they entertained for particular male stars. Floyd’s favourite star was French actor Alain Delon ‘because he was so good looking.’ Dorian was a big fan of Dirk Bogarde (‘brilliant if slightly mannered actor’), Malcolm McDowell (‘deliciously subversive’) and Paul Newman (‘an acting law to himself ’). John’s list of favourites includes the first actor to play James Bond on the screen, Sean Connery, ‘who needs no introduction or explanation why. He will forever be for me, the one and only. All the rest including Roger Moore were (and still are) “pretenders” to the throne.’136 Amongst gay men who went to the cinema in 1960s Britain, it is a common belief that cinema itself offered something of an escape from the experience of everyday life. Roger recalls that ‘visiting cinema was to me an escape from

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“real-life”. I didn’t want the so-called “realism.”’137 For several respondents, musicals were a favourite genre. Shaun writes that what he most enjoyed about cinema was ‘the escapism, and the music in the musicals I loved.’ Anderson also comments that he liked musicals best among all film genres for the ‘escapism’ they offered. Graham bracketed them with comedies and sci-fi as his favourites, explaining that ‘for the musicals and the comedies, it was the escapism, colour, and (for the musicals) the music and songs.’138 Felix recalled that musicals and epic/historical films for him had been ‘joint first choices’ since ‘the best of them made you feel happy.’ For Colin, musicals had a more permanent effect: watching Thoroughly Modern Millie (a Julie Andrews movie from 1967), he believes, had a decisive impact on his decision to pursue his own career in the theatre: it ‘woke me up to the fact that I liked musical theatre.’139 The 1967 Sexual Offences Act decriminalized homosexual acts in private between two men provided both had attained the age of twenty-one.140 For more than two-thirds of the sixties, therefore, male homosexuality was illegal. Gay respondents to our survey of cinema-going reflect this in a range of ways. Colin remembers realizing he was gay at around the age of twelve (though he did not ‘come out’ until the 1980s). ‘[I] didn’t really realise that I was closeted until I had a sexual awakening at about 13/14. But I didn’t see that as anything political or oppressive. I just sort of got on with it [laughs].’ Colin grew up very much as part of an extended working-class community in the London docklands. He went to the cinema with both family and friends: his close-knit family and community life seems to have limited any sense of isolation he might otherwise have felt over his still-prohibited sexuality.141 Other gay men framed their cinema-going experiences in similar ways to Colin: Julian remembered going once a week with his family and Graham recalls visiting large cinemas with friends and family.142 At the other extreme, Felix usually went to the cinema on his own. Moving from London to Lancashire near the start of the decade, he seems to have experienced feelings of isolation and sadness that may have been the result both of his sexuality and geographical dislocation. The cinema, for him, represented a temporary means of escape: it offered ‘the opportunity to be taken out of oneself ’ and gave you ‘something to take home with you.’143

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Gay men who remember going to the cinema in their teens and twenties during the 1960s are looking back on a time when British society was still characterized by considerable homophobia, together with – until 1967 – legal proscription.144 Yet, beginning in the late sixties, they have lived through a period in which gay liberation turned into gay pride, and gay people in general have witnessed a growing acceptance by heterosexuals. This complex legacy may have influenced the ways in which gay respondents remember their cinema-going. Few believed the films they watched had any relation to their own experience.145 Dorian, for example, comments that ‘a middle class upbringing [in a suburban neighbourhood] meant that I’d been sheltered from the real world that was depicted so graphically in 60s films.’ The fact that he was gay, he believes, ‘allowed me to value the sense of being an outsider that was mirrored in many of the films.’146 Colin, from a very different, workingclass background, observes that he ‘couldn’t relate to’ many British films like The Servant [1963] because they ‘were very middle class.’ In Colin’s memory, class affiliation in this case seems to have trumped sexual orientation, since The Servant was a film with a strong gay subtext.147 Colin himself liked British ‘kitchen sink’ films ‘because they spoke of my class and what I knew.’ He was at ease with his family, class and sexuality. Other gay respondents had more difficulty and found cinema-going aided in navigating such terrains. Floyd, for instance, seems to have become alienated from his working-class family through his experiences as a university student in London. As a gay, upwardly mobile young man, he believes, ‘kitchen sink’ films helped him understand why he ‘was no longer on the same wavelength as his family.’148 Testimony by non-gay respondents underlines just how much hostility there still was to the gay community: Quentin comments that in the 1960s ‘the sheer mention of homosexuality was like a red rag to a bull’ to some. On the other hand, our survey has uncovered some awareness of growing tolerance in British cinema itself: Bill believes that horizons were broadening by the end of the decade, specifically referring to Women in Love (1969) and the naked men wrestling sequence. George, a married heterosexual, remembers seeing Dirk Bogarde ‘in a gay movie about blackmail’ (Victim) and praises Sunday, Bloody Sunday as a great 60s film because ‘it had a naughty gay kiss in it.’149 Yet there are also respondents who – looking back – are surprised, even a little guilty,

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about what they see as their own ignorance of gay sexuality. Lilian first denied, in an interview, that she had seen any film dealing with the subject during the 1960s before recollecting that she had watched The Servant (though she also speculated that she might have viewed it after the sixties were over). Laura recalled watching A Taste of Honey in which ‘one of the characters was gay.’ Reflecting on her memory of this, she confessed that ‘I knew gay men existed, but I’m not sure I knew there were gay women . . . In fact I don’t think I did. And I’m talking about someone who . . . [was] 15/16 you know but should have . . . known these things by now.’150 The 1960s may have witnessed the first stirrings of a movement to represent gayness more fairly and sympathetically in British films, but both the films themselves and many of those who watched them still had a long way to go.

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­3 ‘The times they are a-changin’’: American sixties films

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ost of the films people remember seeing in British cinemas in the 1960s were American. Hollywood had dominated the UK market for films

since the First World War and, as Robert Murphy points out in his book on 1960s British Cinema, ‘since 1916 anything from 50 to 97 per cent of the films shown in Britain have been American.’1 An additional complication, particularly in the 1960s, was that the Eady Levy – a tax on cinema seats adopted in 1950 with the proceeds intended to promote ‘British film’ – operated in a way that greatly encouraged the making of mainly American-financed pictures in the UK. As long as the films concerned met certain fairly liberal criteria of ‘British-ness,’ these Hollywood ‘runaway productions’ could benefit from the Eady Levy. By 1967, according to the National Film Finance Corporation, American finance accounted for 90 per cent of all capital invested for film production in Britain.2 Consequently, many films that would become widely perceived as ‘British’ films with British subjects, British directors and mostly British stars, such as Lawrence of Arabia (1962), the James Bond franchise starting with Dr No (1962) and Tom Jones (1964), were in fact largely produced and financed by Hollywood studios.3 In the memories of our respondents, however, American films of the 60s had particular qualities of their own. ‘Maybe they were more glamorous or

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the production sort of grander [than most British films],’ suggests Margaret. ‘We had more taste for American films than English films,’ remarks Nikhil; ‘the standard of English films was not as good as the American films.’4 Bea considered that older American and British films had been similar (‘perhaps it was the black and white and the portrayal of hard times’) but by the 1960s they had diverged. Many American films were now in colour and available to be shown on wide screens. Watching films in black and white and then moving to colour, reminisced Marty, ‘was really quite a fundamental experience for you, you kind of were in a different world, this was American colour.’5 Hollywood films, according to Bea, were ‘more colourful and exotic’ than their British counterparts. American movies, Margot remembered, contrasted with life in a northern city (‘a bit drab’) by seeming to shimmer ‘like a bright light.’ It was not simply the growing use of colour that characterized American films, however: to Julia, they seemed ‘much glossier looking, much more sumptuous.’ Arthur praised them for their ‘sense of scale, sense of style . . . the power of the stars.’6 To many British film-goers of the 1960s, they dominated the cinema of the time because they offered an escapist fantasy of an alternative lifestyle: Jeannie comments that ‘Rock Hudson and Doris Day . . . were just wonderful because that’s how you would like to live your life – you wanted to be like Doris Day.’7 Yet while many respondents remember American cinema as talismanic (Arthur thinks that ‘you felt Hollywood . . . the American cinema was cinema’), others recall being more critical or even hostile.8 To those such as himself who liked continental European films, Barry noted, ‘Rock Hudson and Doris Day and cowboy films . . . were all sort of polished and slick’ but not really challenging enough.9 Some British viewers seem to have resented the fact that there appeared to be far more ballyhoo for American films than British ones: what Bill termed ‘the heavy sell-out’ of Hollywood films meant, according to Walt, that ‘American films probably made a greater impact with more publicity while the English films were quieter.’10 Hollywood movies were also criticized for being, in Quentin’s words, ‘over-dramatized or . . . sort of sweetness and light.’ He himself preferred foreign films and British ‘kitchen sink’ productions that seemed ‘down-to earth’ and far more realistic ‘than the motherhood and apple pie type of approach that characterised a lot of the American films.’11 There was also a sense, on the part of some respondents, that the US

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environment and culture in which most Hollywood films were set created perceptions of distance and unattainability: what they offered, according to Arthur, was ‘a very attractive vision of life which you might aspire to but didn’t really recognise as your own.’ Bea similarly noted that, with American movies, there was always ‘the element of it being somewhere else . . . you took British as being the norm’ so ‘anything else . . . wasn’t normal.’12

Films for children For most respondents, early memories of Hollywood films are associated with going to the cinema with parents and other relations. Natalie recalled harassing her parents to see 101 Dalmations (1961) because she had read the book.13 Disney productions like 101 Dalmations play a major part in such memories. Some of these were re-releases of what had by the 1960s become ‘classic’ Disney animations and feature films: Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), Pinocchio (1940), Fantasia (1940), Bambi (1942), Lady and the Tramp (1955), Old Yeller (1957) and The Jungle Book (1967).14 Popular 60s Disney productions included adventure films aimed at young people – Swiss Family Robinson (1960), In Search of the Castaways (1962), The Sword in the Stone (1963), The Moonspinners (1964) – and the musical Mary Poppins (1964).15 Not all the memories of such films are happy ones. Wilko recalls that Snow White was the first film he ever saw and he was so ‘petrified’ by the witch that he ‘had nightmares about the damn thing for months afterwards.’ Christopher is ‘sad to relate’ that The Moonspinners (‘a terrible film’) nevertheless had ‘a big impact’ on him, leaving him with a lifelong ‘obsession’ with Crete, where the movie was set.16 Sometimes, going to watch a Disney film is remembered as a major event: Colin recalls when he was eight years old being part of a family outing (including his father, who never normally went to the cinema) to see Mary Poppins at the ‘amazingly huge’ London Coliseum [now home of the English National Opera]. On other occasions, it was a source of family discord: Jacob recalls the fury of his nine-years older sister when their parents made her take him to Pinocchio instead of Carry On Cowboy (1965), the film she wanted to see.17

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Disney did not, of course, have a monopoly on films designed to appeal to children. Respondents also have memories of being taken to see MGM’s The Wizard of Oz (1939), Hans Christian Anderson (1952), Sam Goldwyn’s highly fictionalized account of the life of the Danish fairy-tale writer, and TwentiethCentury Fox’s Dr Dolittle (1967), with Rex Harrison as a vet who can talk to animals.18 But there are also memories of being taken by parents to watch Hollywood films that had not been made for audiences of children. Many of these had been released some years earlier. The first film Oscar remembers seeing with his mother was Song of the South (1946), a live action/animated version of tales from the plantation American South, followed later by Gone with the Wind (1939).19 Lilian remembered seeing her first film aged five or six, but could not recall if it featured Doris Day or Frank Sinatra.20 Gisela liked Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis comedies.21 Colin, who went to the cinema with his mother and sisters (his father never went), remembered seeing the comedy It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World (1963) five times, with it making him ‘cry with laughter.’22 Sometimes, parental judgements on what might be suitable films for children were flawed. ‘I grew up going to the cinema and my parents were very keen cinema-goers,’ remembers Blodwen, ‘and so I think when I was a small child I was taken along to lots of things that were not suitable.’23 Ewan remembers being taken by his father to see Curt Jurgens in An Eye for an Eye (1957), a revenge murder/melodrama, when he must have been quite young.24 Natalie recalls that she and her parents had tried to see a re-release of The Wizard of Oz, but since this proved impossible they saw a western instead and her mother became ‘quite distressed because she thought it was unsuitable  . . . Indians got killed and things.’25 Colin’s mother seems to have been far less concerned about the impact of movies on her son: she took him to see Hitchcock thrillers. Gail was taken by her father to see Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966), a bitter Elizabeth Taylor/Richard Burton drama of marital fantasy and breakdown which she remembered as ‘challenging,’ while Lucinda was taken by her mother to see Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), in which Bette Davis in the title role torments her wheelchair-bound sister (Joan Crawford) in an attempt to drive her mad.26

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Nobby believes that the first films he ever saw were ‘probably’ at children’s Saturday matinees – occasions, he wryly remarks, ‘which gave my parents, even though I was an only child . . . some respite from me.’ The programmes at these, he recalled, included American animated cartoons (Donald Duck and Mickey Mouse, both Disney creations), westerns (including Hopalong Cassidy), science fiction series (Flash Gordon) and Laurel and Hardy comedies. Nobby pointed out that the Flash Gordon films had appeared ‘in the 1930s originally’ while the work of Laurel and Hardy was ‘quite old,’ having been ‘made in the 1920s or 1930s.’27 He was quite right in this: almost all the films/serials shown at children’s matinees had been in circulation for some time: the Flash Gordon comic strip had launched in 1934 and the original films had been released in 1936–40, almost seventy Hopalong Cassidy films were produced between 1935 and 1948, and Disney’s cartoon characters Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck first appeared in 1928 and 1934 respectively. Another respondent, Bobby, remembered watching Batman films (first made in the 1940s) and ‘a lot of westerns,’ including those of the ‘singing cowboy,’ Roy Rogers, who was making films between 1938 and 1953.28 Many British children may have spent time at matinees watching what Natalie describes as ‘creaky old’ films, but it was an experience that reinforced the seeming dominance of Hollywood cinema in the UK.

Westerns In terms of most people’s memories of early to mid-1960s cinema-going, three Hollywood genres in particular stand out. The first was the western. Widely regarded as a ‘masculine’ genre, it seems to have had comparatively little appeal to women. Women who do remember liking westerns sometimes, in their comments, show an awareness that this was seen at the time as unusual. Gisela, for example, notes that ‘I was a real tomboy as I used to love westerns and my dad used to take me every week.’ Kate’s father also took her to many westerns, especially those starring John Wayne. Looking back, she concedes that some of these movies were pretty bad, drily dismissing The Tin Star (first

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released in 1957 and featuring Henry Fonda rather than Wayne) as a film ‘I cannot recommend to anyone.’29 Boys, in contrast, seem to have enjoyed both watching the films and later re-enacting their narratives in street games. According to Marty, ‘three or four school friends . . . would re-enact shooting each other or hiding around corners’ after watching a John Wayne film. Ewan similarly remembers being part of a gang of boys who acted out sequences from The Magnificent Seven (1960) on the way home.30 Although Arthur recalls the western as ‘the governing genre of that period,’ with one released more or less every week, there were already signs that as a genre it was losing ground. Mark Glancy points out that ‘what had seemed so fresh in 1910 was regarded by many as outdated by the 1960s.’ He also notes that, by the early 1970s, even the term ‘cowboy’ had become debased in Britain, increasingly used to describe dodgy builders and other traders.31 In some British cinemas, westerns continued to be the ‘B movie’ in programmes. While Walt remembers some of these starring Randolph Scott as ‘memorable,’ the fact that hardly anyone else remembers them seems fairly indicative of their increasingly marginal status.32 As does the fact that the American westerns people do remember from the 1960s tended to belong to one of two categories. The first involved bigger, Technicolor-style productions following in the footsteps of movies such as Shane (1953), which continued to be shown during the 1960s. (Barry had a friend who was ‘obsessed’ by Shane and may have seen it ‘30 times’ over the years while Arthur recalls that ‘you could relate to the figure of the young boy’ faced with the character of Shane [Alan Ladd] that offered ‘a sort of masculine role model in a strange kind of way.’)33 The western superproductions of the 1960s were in colour and – increasingly – widescreen format with stereophonic sound. They included such films as The Magnificent Seven (1960) – an American version of Akira Kurosawa’s The Seven Samurai (1954) – and How the West Was Won (1962). Sidney remembers the latter being screened in Cinerama in a marquee on Hove seafront, while Oscar recalls watching it in the large Princess Theatre near the Free Trade Hall in Manchester.34 The other, much smaller category seems mainly to have consisted of late John Ford movies that revisited and to some extent deconstructed the myths and stereotypes of the western itself (which Ford had himself played an important part in creating and disseminating). The Man Who Shot Liberty

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Valance (1962) questioned the myths that had grown up around western heroes while Cheyenne Autumn (1964) undercut the characteristic Hollywood view of savage, inevitably hostile Indians with its depiction of a group of Native Americans, weary of their mistreatment by the US government, quitting their reservation in Oklahoma in 1878 on a desperate, doomed trek back to their ancestral homelands in Wyoming. Arthur remembered Cheyenne Autumn ‘as an exceptional film that . . . was a game changer, that changed your view of American history. You had just been absorbing Western – cowboy – films and then you could see it in a historical context that made things appear in a different light.’35

Historical epics The second Hollywood genre to stand out in many people’s memories was the historical epic, usually based on ancient history or stories from the Bible. Jason remembers seeing The Robe (1953), which depicted a Roman tribune agonizing over the execution of Jesus and was the first film to be made in Cinemascope widescreen format.36 One epic that stands out in the memory of many people was The Ten Commandments, which told the story of Moses and how he led the Hebrews out of Egypt, was given the ‘Ten Commandments’ by God and finally brought his people after years of wandering to the threshold of the Promised Land. Shaun writes that watching it was ‘probably’ his favourite cinema experience of the 1960s: although ‘made in 1956, [it] didn’t get a general release until 1960 . . . I thought it was the most wonderful film I had ever seen, and it was also shown in separate performances with higher ticket prices, which made it seem like a special occasion.’37 Not all cinemas screening the film were as impressive as this: Freddy remembers ‘a bit squalid’ local cinema next to his old school which specialized in advertising movies though amateurish hand-drawn posters, the worst being the one declaring that The Ten Commandments featured Charlton Heston and Moses as opposed to Heston as Moses.38 The Ten Commandments was the kind of epic film that made many people – and many families – want to watch it over and over.39 Eithne and Greta, Black

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women originally from Jamaica, went once each year to see it with their extended families. Greta explained that the members of her Pentecostal church did not approve of regular cinema-going, but The Ten Commandments was ‘a wonderful film in many ways, there’s so much to learn from it.’ Nikhil, who came to Britain in 1961 from a very different background (Lahore, Pakistan) was equally enthusiastic about The Ten Commandments, which he saw many times and regarded as profoundly educational.40 Ciara also approved of epics with their ‘historical aspects,’ real characters, ‘photography & colour and huge open spaces shown,’ but also recalls being upset by one sequence in The Ten Commandments: ‘I was sick when the slaves building the Pyramids (or something similar) were whipped – I suppose I was too young and innocent for the blood and cruelty!’41 Bea comments that although her mother ‘wasn’t even a church-goer’ she must have thought ‘a religious film would be a safe film’ for her young child to watch. Yet Ciara’s recollection is not unique. The first film Jacob remembered going to see was Ben-Hur (1959). His family, who belonged to the Methodist church and were ‘very religious,’ took him to see this movie because ‘they thought that Ben-Hur would be acceptable at any age.’ Yet, starring Charlton Heston, it recounted the story of a Jew falsely condemned to slavery under the first century Roman Empire who fights his way back to freedom, but loses his desire for revenge under the influence of Jesus. Jacob doubts that his family ‘quite expected this freight train of brutality and misery and violence . . . there are a lot of very dark scenes.’ One sequence in particular that gave him terrifying nightmares ‘was the boat battle . . . That thing of looking out through the hole where the oar was being manipulated and seeing this boat getting closer and closer. That was absolutely horrifying.’42 In spite of the nightmares it induced, Jacob also remembered from BenHur ‘Charlton Heston’s face, very, very red against the dark background and cheekbones to die for’ and retrospectively assessed the film itself as ‘a massive kind of moment.’ Sidney concurred: although first released in 1959 Ben-Hur ‘was still big in the 60s, when I first saw it’ and ‘for sheer breathtaking spectacle and story, I think it’s probably the epic of all epics.’43 In some respondents’ memories, Ben-Hur was coupled with seeing King of Kings (1961), a biopic with Jesus as its subject.44 The producer of King of Kings, Samuel Bronston,

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also made El Cid (1961), with Charlton Heston as an eleventh-century hero defending Christian Spain against Muslims. Sidney also liked this film ‘with its strong cast and exciting visual impact.’45 A number of other epic films dealing with the history of ancient Rome are also recalled by respondents. Spartacus (1960) was named by some as a favourite film of the 1960s. Dealing with a slave revolt in the first century bce, it featured what Mia described as ‘big, strong masculine chaps’ and a ‘fabulous’ Kirk Douglas in the lead.46 Cleopatra (1963), also set in the first century bce, featured Elizabeth Taylor as Cleopatra, effectively the final ruler of the Ptolemaic Kingdom of Egypt, and Richard Burton as her lover, Roman general/politician Mark Anthony. Many respondents identified Cleopatra as one of their favourite films of the 1960s.47 Fergy admired it for its ‘visual effects,’ Maud ‘just for the sheer spectacle,’ and Kiera for the story it told (although she recalled being taken to Cleopatra and other epics during her early teens by an aunt who always fell asleep halfway through).48 Tony remembers ‘fooling around’ in cinemas with other teenagers. He and a friend took drink straws and a box of matches into screenings, using ‘the straws as blow pipes to project matches (unlit). Watching Cleopatra we’d try to hit Liz Taylor’s breasts . . . Not very good behaviour!’49 The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964) dealt with the struggle for the succession to Roman Emperor Marcus Aurelius towards the end of the second century ce. Produced by Samuel Bronston, who had also been the producer for King of Kings and El Cid, the film appealed to Ronald because – in common with other epics – it offered ‘spectacle. The sense of the past coming to life.’ Two sequences in The Fall of the Roman Empire that created such spectacle, he recalled, were ‘the military camp and the triumphal entry into Rome.’50

Musicals The third major traditional Hollywood genre to be remembered by many people was the musical. A number of people have memories of seeing classic MGM musicals such as Meet Me in St. Louis (1944),51 Seven Brides for Seven Brothers (1954)52 and High Society (1956).53 There are also references to films based on Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II’s earlier stage musicals,

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Oklahoma (1955),54 Carousel (1956)55 and The King and I (1956).56 The beginning of Oklahoma – dealing with romances in the Oklahoma Territory in the early twentieth century – seems to have frightened Natalie: watching from the balcony the ‘opening shot of the corn being as high as the elephant’s eye . . . as a child I felt I was going to fall into it.’57 Indigo recalls her favourite cinema experience of the 1960s as ‘Watching the film Carousel [based on the idea of a dead carnival barker returning to life for one day to make amends to his family for his mistakes] and being totally immersed in the romance and drama of the story . . . as a young woman learning to embrace a rich inner and outer world.’58 The King and I revolved around the fraught relationship between the King of Siam (Yul Brunner) and his children’s Welsh governess (Deborah Kerr). Ashton from Burnley, Lancashire, recalled that ‘in my neighbourhood everyone was waiting for it to arrive at our local cinema’ and Evelyn remembered seeing it several times since it was a ‘really lovely feel good film and great music.’59 For a significant number of respondents, the first film they ever saw was Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific (1958), with its tale of love between an American nurse (Mitzi Gaynor) and a middle-aged French plantation owner (Rossano Brazzi) with two mixed-race children, set on an American-held island during the Second World War. South Pacific was the first film Clarence ever went to (with his father). ‘The first scene,’ he wrote, ‘is the Japanese fighter planes zooming over an island. The combination of close-up and engine noise was so intense all the girls started screaming. I thought “this is so much better than boring old TV!”’ Edina recalled being ‘very young when I first saw this film (6 or 7 y[ea]rs) so I didn’t really understand all of the plot. However, I loved the songs and understood it took place during the recent war . . . I knew my father had fought in Burma so I wasn’t puzzled by the location or that the Japanese were the enemy.’60 For many people, watching South Pacific was their favourite – or at least a favourite – experience of cinema-going in the 1960s. Sally described it as ‘glamorous, good story completely entertaining’ and Joy wrote enthusiastically of ‘the colour, spectacle and songs of South Pacific.’61 For some, the film was affectionately remembered as an emotional landmark of some kind. Francis recalls ‘first holding a girl’s hand watching South Pacific.’ For Una and Ivan, it was a first date with their future partner. For Marlene,

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who was already married, it meant an affectionate reunion. ‘I think it was shown at Tottenham Court Road,’ she noted, ­[at] Christmas 1960. We were married in June 1960 and my husband returned to his unit in Germany. I went [from Yorkshire] to meet him in London when he came back on leave. The cinema seats were reserved (I’d never booked cinema seats before. I had booked them through a travel agent . . . ) The whole film appealed to us, the music, the story of love and finding love, the colour effects of the filming reflecting the mood of the music, we had a wonderful evening.62 Many factors came together here to make this performance a much-cherished memory. Marlene was probably correct in her recollection that the cinema at which she saw South Pacific was on Tottenham Court Road in London. Almost certainly it was at the Dominion Theatre, where South Pacific had a long run of almost five years. ‘It seemed to live at the Dominion,’ Ewan concluded.63 Larger cinemas such as the Dominion had superior technical resources. Ridley’s favourite cinema experience of the 1960s was ‘seeing South Pacific in Todd AO at the Odeon Sheffield – big screen and stereo sound. Couldn’t beat it.’64 According to Elwyn, the Odeon in Bournemouth ‘ran South Pacific for a couple of years for holiday makers.’ It is likely that it was during this period that Douglas saw the film there with his mother, who was ‘particularly impressed with the fact they put filters in front of the [screen]’ to change ‘the colour of the background . . . from kind of blue to yellow to green to red to purple while they’re singing.’ It was only after the film had roadshowed in some of the larger UK cinemas that it ran in smaller cinemas, and Raymond, who first saw the film in Todd-AO at the Dominion, commented that he later saw a ‘significantly different’ and shorter version in an Isle of Wight cinema.65 Many respondents saw South Pacific several times and/or regarded it as one of their favourite films of the 60s.66 They seem to have enjoyed it mainly for what Kurt called ‘the romance and music.’67 Only later with the benefit of hindsight did Douglas finally conclude that ‘it’s actually a film about racism. The hero [marine lieutenant William Cable, played by John Kerr] is in love with a South East Asian girl’ but is killed while monitoring Japanese naval movements.68

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Many respondents also remember a very different kind of musical: the films made by Elvis Presley in the late 50s and early 60s. Presley’s music, which came to be dubbed ‘rock and roll’ or ‘rockabilly,’ came from complicated cultural roots: Southern country music, African American blues, gospel hymns and traditional ballads from Tin Pan Alley. His first film was Love Me Tender (1956),69 with Presley in a supporting role. Stella saw Jailhouse Rock (1957) ‘at least three times! Why? Elvis, of course!’ and Aldis recalls people ‘dancing in the aisles’ during performances.70 Marianne remembers watching King Creole (1958), the last film Presley made before being drafted into the US Army, several times.71 Other respondents recall seeing GI Blues (1960), his first after his discharge from the military.72 Denise had a strongly emotional reaction to Flaming Star (1960): Elvis ‘played an Indian and his Mother died in the film. I remember crying through that film every time I saw it, which was several times, even though I knew what was coming.’73 But the Elvis movie that many participants in our survey remember best and most fondly was Blue Hawaii (1961). ‘I saw Blue Hawaii three times when I was going through my Elvis phase!,’ commented Morwenna. Lois saw it several times because ‘it was Elvis, in full Technicolor and set in a beautiful place with great music.’ Although Jeannie did not like Elvis very much as a singer, she went to see his films ‘because he was really good’ and Blue Hawaii ‘was a wonderful film’ (one of the songs from it subsequently became her wedding dance).74 For some people, the movie was ‘pure escapism’: ‘I was a young mum with two babies,’ wrote Debbie, ‘so we would get a baby-sitter and go to the local cinema to see Elvis Presley in Blue Hawaii.’ For others, such as Lilian, who watched the film at the Essoldo in Birkenhead with several other girls from her class at school, it was ‘one of my most powerful memories,’ representing ‘the beginning of romance . . . in my life.’ The first record she bought was of songs from the film. Elvis, she confessed, had been ‘my first real, major heart throb’ – and, she laughingly added, ‘he probably still is.’75 Presley was seemingly approached to play the lead in another major musical of 1961 – West Side Story – but his agent apparently turned down the proposal.76 An updated version of Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, set on New York’s Upper West Side rather than the Italian city of Verona, with two hostile gangs – the white Jets and the Puerto Rican Sharks – substituting for

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the feuding families, West Side Story dealt with the doomed romance of former Jet Tony (Richard Beymer) and Maria (Natalie Wood), the sister of the leader of the Sharks. For many respondents, seeing West Side Story was their favourite cinema-going experience of the 1960s: Lia remembers watching it in a West End cinema in London with a group of school friends and thoroughly indulging in mass, collective weeping at the end [when Tony is killed]. I remember being very grateful for the tact with which the producers included a very long, visually interesting credit sequence at the end, accompanied by music, which allowed for mopping up in the dark.77 For Leona, seeing West Side Story was her ‘best experience ever’ – she recalls that ‘afterwards my friend and I just danced down the street the music still ringing in my ears.’ Lily remembers seeing the film several times with her boyfriend (and future husband) and ‘dancing and singing our way home’ after their first viewing. Ifor went to see the film with ‘a pack of boys’ that proved a ‘most animated’ audience (‘we all wanted to dance afterwards’) and Gillian had ‘very happy memories of going with a group of friends from school . . . and going to a pub afterwards, singing the songs.’78 West Side Story was a movie many respondents wanted to see more than once. Paulette felt she ‘had to return the next day to watch this film again.’ Candice, who rarely saw a film more than once, recalled watching it three times in ten days for what she termed ‘diplomatic reasons.’ Clementina, perhaps more frankly, confessed that she ‘was taken by two different boyfriends,’ explaining this in terms of the atmosphere of the time (‘well, it was the 60s’).79 From the memories they have shared, it seems clear that West Side Story made a considerable impression on many people. Edina watched it with her parents. ‘I was probably only about 10 or 11 at the time,’ she remembers, ‘but it made a huge impact on me. . . . I just thought it was so exciting and so terribly unjust and sad. I was overwhelmed by the experience. I had never seen dance like it and the music really caught my imagination.’ Paulette recalls that the movie ‘blew me away . . . I had never seen or heard anything like it.’80 The excitement generated by the film is still palpable in the language used more than half a century later. For Miriam, it was ‘magical,’ for Baxter and Lotus ‘amazing,’ for

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Misty ‘brilliant,’ and for Bethany ‘exciting, exhilarating.’ Carmel remembers it as a ‘teenage obsession’ and Leona saw it as ‘so “cool” and “hip.”’81 Bernadette writes that she and her father ‘loved the inventive energy’ of West Side Story and Lester sees that energy as combined with ‘a whole new style of dancing, amazing [Leonard] Bernstein score, great acting.’ Dean praises co-director and producer Robert Wise ‘for the best and most innovative musical of the period.’82 Set in contemporary urban America, the film appeared to Humphrey to be a ‘modern musical.’ Some respondents even thought it had lessons for Britain: Arthur recalls it as ‘a musical that related to my world’ and Elwyn worried that the UK might soon experience gang violence on the lines depicted in the film.83 But, for most, it was ‘the romance and the music and dancing’ that seems to have been the essence of the film’s appeal.84 Many people wrote enthusiastically of the music of West Side Story85 and others nostalgically of the ‘glorious’ and ‘almost balletic’ dancing.86 The next big Hollywood musical in many people’s memory was My Fair Lady (1964). Carrie-Ann (born in 1957) was quite possibly the youngest respondent to see it. Since the stage musical ran for five and a half years at the Theatre Royal in London, it is possible that she had seen the stage show before the film. She recalls thinking that Audrey Hepburn, who played cockney heroine Eliza Doolittle in the movie, ‘was prettier than Julie Andrews’ [who had starred in the stage production] and ‘the costumes and sets and story carried me away.’ Carrie-Ann was sufficiently impressed by the film that she ‘even struggled to read the original play afterwards [George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion, 1913]’ though she confessed ‘I couldn’t pronounce the title.’87 Edina, who saw the film when she was twelve or thirteen, ‘thought that the songs were lovely . . . and the women’s clothes tremendously pretty.’ She ‘thoroughly approved of the feisty heroine Eliza . . . and thought the story [of Rex Harrison’s Professor Higgins teaching street-urchin Eliza to be a lady] was very romantic.’ Like Carrie-Ann, she thought Hepburn ‘very pretty’ and she ‘loved her singing’ (Edina only found out years later that Hepburn ‘wasn’t actually singing’).88 Cliff believed Rex Harrison ‘was also very good’ in the film and Carley ‘liked the way he changed her from being a bit common to being a lady.’89 There was also much remembered appreciation for what Carter termed ‘the total package’ of the film: Doris praised the ‘great music and dancing,’ Livia the costumes and sets.90

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Figure  3.1  Julie Andrews and the von Trapp children in The Sound of Music, ­directed by Robert Wise © Twentieth Century Fox/Argyle 1965. All rights reserved.

Since many people saw the film for the first time with one or both parents, it also stays in the mind for many as a family event: Graham remembers ‘taking my mum to see My Fair Lady . . . as a mother’s day treat. My dad came along too, along with my brother, but dad paid for their tickets as I couldn’t afford to pay for us all out of my pocket money.’91 The year after the release of My Fair Lady came that of The Sound of Music, which Dean describes as ‘the most popular musical of all time.’92 According to our respondents, there were many reasons for this popularity. One was that the film was ‘roadshowed,’ running at first for long periods in the best, most technologically well-equipped cinemas in large cities. Baxter saw it at the Dominion, Tottenham Court Road, in London where ‘the grandeur of the venue’ added to ‘the splendour of the film.’ Dean watched it at the Gaumont, Manchester: ‘the screen was huge, the image definition (from 70mm prints) was . . . stunning, and the pre Dolby 6 track stereo sound seemed amazing to

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us.’93 Some people, attracted by the publicity surrounding the film, remember travelling some distance to see it. For Lillian, since The Sound of Music was not showing in Birkenhead where her family lived, it meant a journey to the Odeon on London Road in Liverpool. For Lucy, it involved travelling fifty miles to watch the film in Cardiff.94 Many people watched the film with their parents or, at times, extended family. Hayley remembers seeing it ‘with the whole family’ on holiday in Brighton, noting that ‘it was the first time my Gran had been to the cinema since . . . George VI’s coronation!’95 Watching The Sound of Music was frequently an addictive experience: many respondents recall going back to see it several times: Charlotte comments that ‘it was the done thing in the North East to show off how many times you had seen it.’96 Carrick mentions the case of the woman in Cardiff who attended every performance for a year and a half. No-one in our survey was as enthusiastic as this, though Cecil saw it several times since his ‘parents loved it.’ Mothers seem to have been particular enthusiastic: Mason watched it ‘many times with mum. I liked seeing her so happy . . . and she was always in a brilliant mood afterwards.’97 There is some evidence in our survey, indeed, to suggest that women generally tended to appropriate The Sound of Music more than men: Jethro recalls it as a musical ‘where – usually – female audience members sang along.’ Clare remembers she and her sisters singing the songs ‘over and over’ at home while Lina recalls going to see the film several times with a female friend.98 Jessie has a memory as a student of taking a holiday job in a big store in Liverpool: the women she worked with ‘couldn’t believe I’d never seen The Sound of Music and organised an outing, about 8 (older) working-class women and . . . me. They’d all seen it several times. It was great fun.’99 Many respondents look back on going to see The Sound of Music as their most memorable cinema-going experience of the 1960s. Others list it as a favourite film.100 For Jay, it was ‘the first film I ever saw in a cinema’ when he was ‘2 or 3 y[ea]rs old.’101 For some, the age at which they first saw the film – and their own circumstances  – helped create a deeply personal connection to it. ‘I was at a convent school when it came out,’ remembers Justine, ‘which made it even more meaningful.’ ‘I wanted to become a nun after seeing the film,’ writes Joyce.102 Lillian was herself ‘sixteen going on seventeen’ when she

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saw the film and that particular song had a huge impact (‘it was sunshine down my spine thinking about it now,’ she observes). Julia thinks the movie ‘really touched me, perhaps because I was ten. And I identified with that girl, Brigitta . . . who . . . was playing the ten year old.’103 For Jeremy, it was his favourite cinema memory since it involved ‘getting my first week’s wages and treating my parents to see The Sound of Music on the biggest curved screen.’ The size and type of screen was important since so many people liked the Alpine scenery that formed the backdrop of the film – scenery that must have seemed exotic to many in the 1960s since foreign holidays for Britons were not as popular as they would later become (Jody notes succinctly that ‘one did not go abroad’).104 Other respondents comment on the performance by the stars of the film: Julie Andrews seemed ‘so sweet and loving’ to Colum and watching Christopher Plummer was Ceri’s favourite cinema experience of the decade.105 Some were enthralled by the story of the von Trapp family and their escape from Austria after the German take-over in 1938 (‘SUCH A LOVELY STORY,’ wrote Joyce).106 But what most people remember most is the music itself: The Sound of Music, commented Anne, was a ‘feelgood film’ with ‘catchy music.’ Many people remember that music with deep affection, commenting on how much they ‘loved’ the songs.107 Some bought the longplaying record of the soundtrack (Paulette recalls playing it on her family’s Dansette record player).108 Others still remember the words of the songs more than half a century later.109 Mark Glancy’s comment about the western running out of steam by the mid-60s has already been noted. But the same thing was in the process of happening to the other traditional genres Hollywood produced. By the middle of the 1960s, it seems clear that all three traditional genres – westerns, historical epics and musicals – were starting to lose their popular appeal. The efforts of the producer of El Cid, Samuel Bronston, to make another historical epic, The Fall of the Roman Empire (1964) proved an expensive failure and drove Bronston himself into bankruptcy.110 After The Sound of Music, very few musicals – including Julie Andrews’ Thoroughly Modern Millie (1968) and Star! (1969), and Barbra Streisand’s Funny Girl (1969) and Hello, Dolly! (1969) – were recalled by many of our respondents. Changing tastes in film

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would inevitably bring, in the second part of the decade, new approaches to Hollywood filmmaking. To some degree, these reflected what was happening in the wider American society.

Changes of the Sixties In October 1963, singer Bob Dylan recorded a song titled ‘The Times They Are a-Changin’,’ which he is thought to have written as a conscious attempt to create an anthem for change amidst the political and social upheavals that were taking place in the United States in the early 60s. Less than a month later, President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, Texas. Underpinning Dylan’s song was demographic change: many of the baby-boomers of the post-Second World War period were adolescents by the early 60s. Far more than during the 1950s – when the word ‘teenager’ was first coined – American society in the 60s became divided on lines of age. A ‘youth culture’ began to emerge, aided by the growth of the college population: during the 1960s, enrolment at colleges and universities in the US rose by 120 per cent and, by 1969, 35 per cent of eighteen- to twentyfour-year-olds were in higher education.111 Young people frequently had different tastes from their parents when it came to cultural expressions such as music – and often had different attitudes towards the use of recreational drugs. By the middle years of the 60s what would become known as the ‘counterculture’ was beginning to emerge. The Kennedy assassination itself was the first of a series of traumatic assassinations that also included radical Black activist Malcolm X (1965), civil rights leader Martin Luther King, Jr. (1968) and JFK’s brother, senator Robert F. Kennedy (1968). American society in general seemed to become more violent in the 1960s: the number of violent crimes in the US rose from 288,460 in 1960 to 661,870 in 1969, with the number of murders growing from 9,110 in 1960 to 14,760 by 1969.112 Violence at home was paralleled by violence abroad: President Lyndon Johnson’s decision in February 1965 to expand American involvement in the war in Vietnam by bombing North Vietnam, followed a month later by the commitment of US combat forces, would eventually lead to

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an American force of over half a million men in Vietnam fighting on the side of South Vietnam.113 It would also ensure that the war dominated the television news, bringing the violence of the conflict nightly into American living rooms. Television also brought home to Americans the racial conflicts of the 60s. In the aftermath of the desegregation battles in the South that followed the Supreme Court’s rulings of 1954 and 1955, the focus of the race problem by the 60s seemed have shifted to cities of the north and west. During the ‘long hot summers’ of the mid-60s: there were race riots – among many other places – in New York’s Harlem, Philadelphia and Chicago in 1964, in Watts, Los Angeles, in 1965; in Newark, Detroit, Harlem again and Milwaukee in 1967; and in many cities after the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr., in 1968.114 American society was also challenged during the 1960s by issues of gender and sexuality. The pill was approved for contraceptive use by the Federal Drug Administration in 1960. In less than five years, 6.5  million American women were on the pill, making it the most popular kind of birth control in the US.115 An organized women’s liberation movement began to emerge with the publication of Betty Friedan’s The Feminine Mystique (1963), critiquing the notion that women could only find fulfilment as wives and mothers.  Three years later, Friedan helped found the National Organization for Women (NOW), which first campaigned for the ending of sexual discrimination in employment, and subsequently for other objectives including paid maternity leave and legalized abortion. In June 1969, a riot at the Stonewall Inn in New York City signalled the birth of the modern gay liberation movement.116 During the 60s, indeed, there were so many political and social conflicts and protest movements – including opposition to the war in Vietnam – that America, in the words of one of the first historians of the decade, really did appear to be ‘coming apart.’117 Respondents in our survey do recall some of the things that happened in the US in the sixties. Jeannie writes that ‘the big thing that changed what I thought about the ‘60s was when Kennedy was killed because that was the day before my 17th birthday and I think after that I did want to watch more about politics and America and watch films about that.’ Bill sees cinema as reflecting ‘what was going on in the world’ and echoing ‘the impact of . . . things like the Vietnam War and the student demonstrations . . . later on in

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the decade.’ (Though a film he cites as demonstrating that the United States ‘isn’t as rich and grand as you’ve got this impression from the blockbusters’ was They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? (1969), a movie dealing with desperate young people competing for money in dance marathons during the 1930s Depression.)118 Barry, having watched and liked Alice’s Restaurant (1969), an independent production with Arlo Guthrie (playing himself) as a young man trying to avoid the draft who runs foul of the police, emphasizes how unusual seemingly such a film was (‘it was funny that, an American film being a bit radical’).119 According to some respondents, a number of films offered exposure to American racial problems. To Kill a Mockingbird (1962), based on the novel by Harper Lee, revolved around the case of a Black man on trial in Alabama for raping a white woman (an offence he could not have committed). The movie was Courteney’s ‘all time favourite’ since ‘the book was so faithfully followed and I loved Gregory Peck [as liberal white lawyer Atticus Finch].’ ‘Challenged injustice,’ remarked Joy, and ‘opened a window on how others thought and lived.’120 The films and career of Black actor Sidney Poitier offered another perspective for British cinema-goers on American racial issues.121 Acknowledging the racial prejudice against Black actors in Hollywood, Cyrena declared that she admired Poitier ‘for having broken into starring roles.’ Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? (1967) was a movie that dealt with the issue of miscegenation, with Poitier as a Black doctor engaged to a white girl. Edwina wrote that it was a favourite film for ‘tackling racism’ while Lilian remembered it as her ‘entry into different worlds.’ In In the Heat of the Night (1967), Poitier played a Black northern detective compelled to work together to investigate a murder with a racist white chief of police (Rod Steiger) in a small Mississippi town. Arnold praised the ‘great performances’ of Poitier and Steiger, whose characters finally manage to work together very well across race lines.122 Few American feature films of the 1960s were set against the backcloth of the Vietnam War. One that was, The Green Berets (1968), featured John Wayne as a colonel in the special forces fighting against the Viet Cong. Right-wing in his politics, Wayne wanted to make a film that would support the war. Yet many British people disapproved of the war and some obviously found ways of making their voice heard. Leroy remembers ‘the occasional yelling out of

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comments, often rude and in bad taste, but very funny’ in screenings in his hometown of Liverpool. One such intervention came as John Wayne [was] winning the war for the USA in The Green Berets in a fierce hand to hand battle with the [Viet] Cong, out came from one of the audience ‘FUCKING AMERICANS OUT OF VIETNAM’ and met with vigorous applause, well it was the 60’s.123

The American ‘New Wave’ In the later years of the 1960s, a number of American films began to appear that reflected the cultural and social, if not always political, changes and tensions of the time. The emergence of this new form of mainstream Hollywood cinema, sometimes thought of as an American ‘New Wave,’ was signalled by the release of The Graduate and Bonnie and Clyde in 1967. For several people in our survey, Bonnie and Clyde represented a significant milestone in their lives – something they were able to relate to in memory for highly personal reasons. Emily recalls seeing it ‘on [the] first date with [my] future husband.’124 For others, it was recalled as a highly personal rite de passage: the first time they had managed to get in underage into an ‘X’ film (supposedly restricted to those of sixteen and over). Julia went to see it when she was twelve. ‘I had some make-up on obviously and I thought I looked quite the part,’ she recalls. She went with three friends from school and we drew lots on who was to buy the tickets and it turned out to be me, so I bought the tickets. I was thinking oh God, I have my mascara on, short skirt . . . in the 1960s style. And I remember getting the tickets and then walking away, and she said ‘Could you please come back?’ And I thought oh God, and I went back and she said ‘You’ve forgotten your change.’ . . . We thought we were so cool . . . going to see a film that was for sixteen-year-olds when we were twelve.125 Colin remembers that he was ‘under age by three years.’ For Gerry, at fourteen, it was also ‘a big experience . . . I felt proud that my first X-film was so highly regarded, but I remember coming out with the colour drained from my face.’126

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Figure  3.2  Faye Dunaway and Warren Beatty in Bonnie and Clyde, directed by Arthur Penn © Warner/Seven Arts/Tatira/Hiller 1967. All rights reserved.

As Gerry’s testimony suggests, the violence of the film had a strong effect on some British cinema-goers. Isadora writes that it was ‘the first film to really shock me . . . The violence was new and not welcome!’ and Rosanna recalls it as ‘quite violent for the times.’127 The impact of the violence was even greater in some cases since some respondents remember first going into the film only at the very end, just as Bonnie and Clyde are being machine-gunned to death. Colin must have known there would be no happy ending since he went to the movie in part because he had ‘read a sort of biography of them at school’ but, gaining entry to the film on his own (while still underage), he walked in during the final sequence ‘and so I ran to the loo and put my fingers in my ears.’128 The representation of violence in the film provoked in the memory of some spectators a mixture of fascination and revulsion. Martin remembers it as ‘a film with a reputation for guns and blood’ and Douglas as ‘nasty in a

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sort of realistic way,’ while Jason considered it ‘too American . . . too much sort of spraying machine guns around casually.’129 In contrast, Jonas recalls being ‘pretty excited by’ the movie and its violence and Imelda also confessed she had found it ‘exciting’ to watch. Flann is more ambivalent in his remembered response, grouping Bonnie and Clyde with a number of other American films of the 60s such as The Magnificent Seven (1960), The Wild Bunch (1969) and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969) that ‘were notable . . . for their extreme violence – which both shocked and excited me at the time.’130 Despite the fact that the film appeared as ‘curiously amoral’ in Jessie’s words, it also appealed to many like Bruce as ‘so cool.’131 Some were deeply impressed by the stars: ‘I did have a phase of being very fond of Warren Beatty,’ remarked Dora. Imelda points out that Faye Dunaway’s Bonnie ‘became a fashion icon.’132 Julia indeed believes that there was a big thing in Edinburgh about Bonnie and Clyde that there wasn’t in London. People dressed [like Bonnie], you know, they had the [red] nails and the berets and the long skirts. I wasn’t allowed to have a maxi-skirt at twelve . . . I wanted to dress in this Bonnie and Clyde style but my parents wouldn’t let me.133 In reality, such trends seem to have been prevalent across the country as a whole. ‘Bought a beret immediately after seeing Bonnie and Clyde,’ laconically remarks Leah who came from London.134 Natalie from Runcorn similarly recalls that was the thing about being a teenager . . . films were a big influence and so I had a beret, I wanted to be Faye Dunaway. I would have been . . . I suppose 15, 16 . . . Persuaded [the] boyfriend of the time . . . [to borrow] his father’s sort of trilby hat, he was going to be Clyde, but he was never actually comfortable wearing it. Spoilt it, you know.135 Youthful imitation was not totally confined to clothes and cosmetics. Olympia even remembers imitating their on-screen behaviour (albeit without the violence): she and her boyfriend ‘went out into the countryside the following day, in his car, and pretending to be’ Bonnie and Clyde, ‘driving

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across country and picking out our next targets.’136 Because it was seen as ‘celebrating individualism’137 and non-conformity, Arthur Penn’s film was inevitably construed by some as a symbol of youthful revolt. Roberta, for example, sees it  – together with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Easy Rider (both from 1969) – as movies that ‘all reflected an anti-authority [viewpoint] and captured the zeitgeist of the times when the young were breaking out from roles defined for them by parents.’ ‘However, in retrospect,’ she confesses, ‘identifying with bank robbers and drug dealers might have been a little extreme in our quest for freedom.’138 In the recollections of our respondents, The Graduate (1967) stands out even more than Bonnie and Clyde as a film articulating youthful discontents. Edmund remembers watching the film ‘in a college audience and talking afterwards about how far we identified with the main character.’139 ‘I was the graduate,’ confesses Quincy, ‘apart from the absence of Katharine Ross.’140 ‘It was reassuring,’ writes Eric, ‘to see a character (Benjamin Braddock) who appeared to be as screwed up as I was at the time – but I didn’t have a beautiful Alfa Romeo Spyder to help me!’141 Jarvis was also impressed by the sight of Dustin Hoffman ‘driving the red convertible sports-car across the Golden Gate Bridge’ which ‘made me want to go and have experiences like that. A year later I drove a car from Harare, Zimbabwe [then Salisbury, Southern Rhodesia] to Beira in Mozambique (sadly not an Alfa, though I did get to own an Alfa later).’142 It was not only men who recall being fascinated by The Graduate: ‘I could relate to this,’ recalls Peony and Martha went to see it twice in the same week with, she notes, ‘two different boyfriends.’143 In memory, the film was successful because of many factors, including Dustin Hoffman’s performance as Benjamin144 and the music by Simon and Garfunkel.145 Yet it is also recalled as ‘shocking’ or ‘very daring’146 because it featured the seduction of a young man by an older women and ended with the disruption of a church wedding. Imelda comments that the ‘Mrs Robinson character’ was ‘new to me/learning fast.’ Mrs Robinson (Anne Bancroft) seems often to have made a greater impact on both men and women than her daughter Elaine (Katharine Ross). Barry writes that ‘among the “chaps,” they all thought he should’ve stuck with Mrs. Robinson! Instead of this rather sweet but insipid girl.’147 Natalie remembers that the film had a ‘big influence’ on her group of friends: she and other ‘gawky’

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teenage girls admired the sophistication of Mrs Robinson. ‘We wanted to be sophisticated older women!,’ she recollects (before adding a tongue-in-cheek ‘and now I am!’). For Leila, who had already been married and divorced before seeing the film, The Graduate (and Mrs Robinson in particular) appears to have helped change her life: she subsequently found the courage to join a ‘divorced and separated club.’148 Natalie explains much of the impact of The Graduate in terms of its ‘more open’ attitude towards sex, contrasting with the ‘fairly restrained 50s background’ she had known in her childhood. Its ‘sort of message,’ she argues, was ‘about freedom and not following what your parents want.’ Respondents such as Natalie were uneasily aware that the social world depicted in The Graduate had little to do with their own: it was, she noted, ‘all an alternative world’ to growing up in Runcorn with chemical plants across the river. Joseph, who lived in Yorkshire, also commented that the film ‘wasn’t my world . . . swimming pools and elderly ladies seducing you. That’s not a thing I experienced I can tell you.’149 Yet the movie, socially unrealistic as it may have been by contemporary British standards, did express and encapsulate some of the frustrations young people were experiencing during the 1960s, together with the changing attitudes of the time. The contrasting reception of the film by different generations is aptly exemplified in an account by Lynn, who saw the film ‘in Richmond [London] with my mum when I was about 16. I thought it was fantastic and she hated it and couldn’t think why anyone would want to see a film about “that kind of thing.”’150 For some people, The Graduate seems to have channelled and reinforced existing dissatisfactions with their existing environment. One respondent brackets it with Easy Rider as ‘life-changing movies. They demonstrated that not all the world thought like Farnborough.’ A second remembers ‘enjoying’ watching it ‘thinking it was a really grown up film and being desperate to leave home.’151

Easy Rider For many respondents, Easy Rider was the standout film from the late 1960s. It ‘was a huge film with us,’ comments Natalie. ‘Everything,’ comments Maximilian, ‘changed with Easy Rider.’152 The film was based on the concept

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of a journey (‘just the road trip thingy . . . sort of Jack Kerouac,’ comments Belinda): two hippie drug-dealers (Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper) set off on motorbikes on a road trip from Los Angeles to New Orleans.153 On the way, they stay in a commune, get thrown in jail (where they meet an alcoholic lawyer – ‘the wonderful though scary Jack Nicholson’ in his breakthrough role) and eventually are murdered by a pair of rednecks driving a truck.154 The movie was hugely popular with young people in Britain: Nell remembers going to see it in London where ‘the queue was totally around the block.’155 Some respondents comment that it was discussed in the alternative press which according to Maud ‘was really establishing itself around the mid/ late Sixties’: she cites Oz, International Times ‘and maybe Spare Rib’ as periodicals recommending Easy Rider as a film to go and watch. Maud herself confesses she ‘didn’t really know what it was about the film that . . . made it so influential . . . I just remember slightly that feeling of freedom, just going off on a motorbike, the drug counterculture . . . the going against authority.’156 Bob, who describes himself as having been a ‘not quite San Francisco beatnik in Cleckheaton’ [Yorkshire] during the 1960s, liked the film because it had ‘cool guys sitting on their motorbikes’ and a ‘“bugger you” sort of attitude.’ Himself ‘a northern lad’ who ‘stayed a northern lad,’ he was nonetheless more attracted to the ‘American lifestyle’ portrayed in Easy Rider than that offered by the Swinging London films.157 To Natalie it offered what she saw as a colourful and very American ‘sort of freedom. I’m growing up in an industrial northern town and in some ways it was still the 50s, it was still very sort of black and white and grey and there was this idea of like “hey man, I just wanna be free like a bird.”’ She also relates seeing the film (she was doing GCE O levels at the time) to the context of the French student protests of May 1968: she and her school friends saw both as ways of ‘questioning things’ that were part of the culture of the time.158 There was a strong feeling on the part of many respondents that Easy Rider somehow caught the spirit of the times: Declan wrote that the arrival of the film ‘brought the 60s to a small Northern city’ and Abel thought ‘it spoke for the idea of the 60s.’159 ‘Quite a violent film,’ commented Bill, ‘but . . . I suppose in the classic teenage thinking it’s two fingers up to society and we’re going to live our lives like we want to.’160 Others also saw

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the film as an expression of teenage revolt, as ‘cocking a snook at authority,’ and as ‘a challenge to the establishment that seemed in keeping with the times.’161 Watching a movie like Easy Rider ‘that felt new or edgy’ sometimes had disconcerting effects on spectators. The film was ‘a strong memory’ for Wanda because it ‘took me out of my comfort zone.’ George found it ‘upsetting’ because of ‘the random way they were shot, at the very end . . . killed for no reason’ (he contrasted this with the fact that Bonnie and Clyde had been killed ‘because they were dangerous’).162 But for many respondents, Easy Rider was the kind of film that ‘very much spoke to me.’ For some, such as Maud, it ‘made me feel part of a sub culture that I aspired to’ – enhancing her feeling of belonging to ‘a counter cultural, slightly alternative group.’163 It may even have played some part in the decision of Gus to follow the ‘Hippie Trail’ to India. For others, Belinda noted, it and films like it offered a much more vicarious experience, a sense of ‘experimenting with . . . everything. You know, travel, drugs, sex . . . and somebody else was doing it for you. You didn’t have to do it. You watched it.’164 To many young people in the 60s, Easy Rider – in a variety of ways, including the rock music that formed the basis of the sound track – helped promote a sense of belonging to the same, new generation. ‘It seemed a breakthrough,’ Ewan notes, ‘because it was . . . the kind of music we wanted to listen to in the kind of film we wanted to see.’165

Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid To some respondents, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid appeared cut from the same cloth as Easy Rider. Featuring Paul Newman (Butch) and Robert Redford (Sundance) in what Eric called ‘inspired casting,’ the movie loosely followed the exploits of a real-life gang of train-robbers in Wyoming at the turn of the twentieth century up to their deaths in a shoot-out in Bolivia. ‘They just seemed so noble,’ writes Rod, ‘and you don’t want them to die . . . but it’s that sixties thing where the tables are all turned and the bad guys can be the good guys . . . that slightly subversive anti-establishment vibe, that’s what I think of when I think about the sixties.’ Natalie also liked ‘the rebellion thing’ and the pairing of the two stars (though she recalled thinking Newman was ‘relatively old’). Normally not fond of westerns (which she associated with

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John Wayne and ‘white hats and black hats’), she looked back on Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid as representing something different: ‘a new waveWestern’ characterized by much ‘banter and . . . humour.’166 Other respondents remembered the wit and humour in the film: Morwenna writes of an audience near Oxford Circus, London, that ‘roared with laughter’ and – at the crucial moment in the film when Redford explains his reluctance to escape by jumping from a cliff into a river with ‘the famous line . . . “I can’t swim”’ – ‘we all burst into applause.’ To Leah, what made the film were the ‘dishy leads’ and the fact that it was ‘romantic, funny, tragic’ (though, as Dorian notes, Newman and Redford were ‘freeze-framed’ at the very end so that the audience did not see them – unlike in Bonnie and Clyde – actually being killed).167 One thing that becomes clear from the memories of respondents is that, in contrast to continental European cinema, American films of the 1960s are rarely remembered in terms of their directors. Hilary’s all-time favourite film was Billy Wilder’s The Apartment (1960), with Jack Lemmon and Shirley MacLaine, a ‘bitter-sweet comedy’ that really appealed. Patsy, who confessed that she did not always remember directors, cited John Huston for his ‘cinematography’ and John Ford’s segment of How the West Was Won for its ‘iconic’ images. Ewan liked Howard Hawks’ films such as Hatari! (1962) and El Dorado (1967).168 Some respondents who had become interested in European cinema also later began to think in auteurist terms of individual American directors: Sidney, for example, notes that ‘it was probably in the later sixties that I started to look out for and appreciate the work of . . . directors such as Billy Wilder, John Huston, John Schlesinger, William Wyler.’ Interestingly, Sidney also observed that ‘everyone knew Alfred Hitchcock of course, myself included.’169 This may refer not just to Hitchcock’s reputation as a filmmaker but also his talent for promoting his movies. Psycho (1960), recalls Frank, was ‘the one . . . that we were all waiting for’ not because it was Hitchcock but as a result of the prerelease advertising that ‘you will not be allowed in in the last eight minutes.’ For Ewan, the advance campaign for The Birds (1963) remains as ‘one of my . . . strong memories of the Sixties.’ It consisted of a series of yellow posters that started with a few black squiggles before changing to ‘The Birds is Coming’ and finally ‘The Birds Is Here.’170 Another director adept at self-publicity was New York-based pop artist and filmmaker Andy Warhol. Oscar remembers that it

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had seemed important to catch films such as Chelsea Girls (1966) because they seemed ‘beyond the pale so far as society and civilisation are concerned’ and consequently ‘you’d never see it again.’ Bob watched Warhol’s experimental film Empire (1964) in the film club at the Twickenham College of Technology. It was simply the same shot of the Empire State building over several hours: ‘a bit different to James Bond,’ Bob drily comments, ‘but interesting as a way of looking at something.’ Others found Warhol’s films ‘boring’ – though Maud remembers thinking ‘I should do this, it’s good for me.’171

Hollywood stars In the memory of most respondents, the star or stars of a film were of far more significant than the director. This was, of course, in many ways a traditional phenomenon. Annette Kuhn has written about how British film-goers of the 1930s responded to American stars from Nelson Eddy and Jeanette MacDonald to Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers and Jackie Stacey and has analysed the role played by Hollywood female stars in how a sample of British women remembered the 1940s and 50s.172 It seems clear from our respondents that memories of female stars during the first years of the 60s embraced different generations. The Hollywood career of Joan Crawford had begun in the mid-1920s and that of Bette Davis in the early 30s. Both appeared in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? (1962), with Davis as the former child star tormenting her disabled sister (Crawford). George remembered this film partly because it had these two ‘great stars’ – and partly because his wife ‘began having her labour pains after watching it.’ Candida, in contrast, thought it was ‘memorable because it really scared me as I didn’t know “evil” people existed!’ It was a favourite film for Felix since he found ‘Davis and Crawford marvellous together.’173 Elizabeth Taylor had arrived in Hollywood as a child actor from Britain in the early 1940s. ‘The only truly beautiful woman on screen,’ Matilda writes of her during the 1960s, ‘so fantastic and also a good actor.’ Kiera recalls her as ‘very beautiful and very versatile.’ Misty describes her as ‘glamorous’ and Denholm groups her with other female stars who ‘could act and play a diversity of roles.’174 According to

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Fanny, ‘she had a star quality about her. The make-up and costumes she wore for Cleopatra (1963) were superb.’ Yet in retrospect, Fanny adds, ‘I don’t know if she could act.’175 Cleopatra itself was probably the best-known of Taylor’s 60s films: its filming led to a romance and later marriage(s) with Richard Burton, with whom she collaborated on a succession of 60s films, including Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966), based on Edward Albee’s play about a dysfunctional marriage, which Gail remembers as Taylor and Burton ‘at their most agonising.’176 Although George ‘liked’ Elizabeth Taylor, his ‘favourite star of all’ was Marilyn Monroe, who ‘sang well, . . . acted well, everyone laughed at her, she was amazing.’ Carmel confessed that she had seen Some Like It Hot (1959), in which Monroe played a member of an all-female band in which two musicians (Tony Curtis and Jack Lemmon) take refuge from pursing gangsters, about twenty times: it was ‘my favourite all-time film ever.’ Margot was a ‘huge fan’ of Monroe whom she regarded as ‘really gorgeous’ and used to imitate at school.177 To Melanie and Isobel, she seemed ‘glamorous’ and to Agatha ‘so charismatic.’178 Yet the films respondents remember in which Monroe starred, such as Some Like It Hot and Gentlemen Prefer Blondes (1953), are almost entirely from the 50s rather than the 60s.179 No-one referenced Let’s Make Love (1960) and only two people included her final completed film, The Misfits (1961) among their favourite films of the decade.180 In spite of her subsequent iconic status, Monroe seems to have died too early (1962) to make much impact as a 60s star. Fiona couldn’t relate to a goddess like Monroe since she couldn’t ‘be copied’ but liked the British actress Audrey Hepburn with her ‘very short urchin hair’ in My Fair Lady.181 Hepburn, three years younger than Monroe and three years older than Taylor, was a favourite Hollywood star for many respondents. Magda thought her ‘amazing looking and I loved her style.’ ‘I thought Audrey Hepburn was beautiful,’ remarked Naomi. To Hilary, she was the ‘epitome of glamour’ and appeared ‘so elegant in all her films’ to Deidre. To Phyllis, she was ‘grace personified.’182 Unsurprisingly perhaps, many female respondents like Kate wanted to be ‘just like her.’ She was a star, Lily notes, ‘whom we all tried to copy.’183 ‘I loved Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s (1961),’ commented Eva, ‘just the clothes and the look made a big impact on me.’184 Breakfast at

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Tiffany’s, in which Hepburn played Holly Golighty, a New York socialite in pursuit of a wealthy husband, was the film most respondents remember. Ceri thought the opening sequence, in which an elegant Holly gets out of a taxi outside the luxury jewellery store Tiffany & Co. with a paper bag containing her breakfast, was the most ‘memorable’ part of a fine film.185 Hepburn’s flair and personality masked the somewhat dubious nature of the character she was play in this film, based on a Truman Capote novella: Carrick confessed that he really ‘didn’t know what was going on’ in the film until he was much older and Ashton insisted that Hepburn’s Golighty ‘wasn’t a prostitute.’186 In one respondent’s view, Hepburn was one of a group of favourite stars who ‘seemed to talk to you.’187 Looking back, in the minds of some respondents, she expressed a kind of sensibility that reflected what was happening more widely to American women in the 60s. Ivan, for example, was impressed in Breakfast at Tiffany’s by the way Hepburn ‘looked . . . the little black dress and the hat, that epitomises the whole era of those changes that were happening and also the fact that it’s quite a feminist film if you think about it. . . . it is about a woman trying . . . to get out of one situation and into another’ even if ‘she lets herself down at the end.’ Connie thought of Hepburn in the same way as Julie Christie, another British Hollywood star: they were both very stylish women, beautiful actresses and yes, their clothes were lovely . . . but also something else . . . they seemed sort of footloose and fancy free, they were independent in a way that I wanted to be, I suppose, but in a positive way, not as though they had rejected the world . . . that sense of adventure and opportunity, I think, was more important than their style.188 In retrospect, Hepburn now begins to appear as something of a harbinger of the more activist female actresses of the late 60s such as Faye Dunaway, admired by Natalie for ‘the whole “rebel” ethos and the cool clothes’ characterizing her role as Bonnie Parker and the ‘kind [of] powerful character’ Barry recalls her playing as the insurance investigator in The Thomas Crown Affair (1968).189 A range of male stars are remembered by respondents. Marty points out that John Wayne carried on making the type of films that made him for years so consistently a box office success: if ‘only a handful [were] any good . . . he

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was in the movies that people . . . liked to watch and . . . he never let you down – he always won the battle, he always got the girl, he shot the sheriff, whatever he was supposed to do . . . so it’s very satisfying.’ Edward G. Robinson, whose Hollywood career (often playing gangster roles) began even before Wayne’s, was remembered by Lucinda as ‘a great actor’ who had played the role of the older professional poker player who defeats his young protagonist (Steve McQueen) in The Cincinnati Kid (1965).190 Charlton Heston, as noted above, was particularly known for his role in 60s epics and Elvis Presley for the musicals he starred in. Burt Lancaster tackled a series of different types of film: he played a leader of the French resistance during the Second World War in The Train (1964), recalled by Sidney as ‘one of my all-time favourite 60s films,’ as well as an Italian aristocrat of the 1860s in the American/Italian movie, The Leopard (1963), hailed by Leila as ‘a wonderful film.’191 ‘I adored [Marlon] Brando in all his films,’ wrote Margot and Patsy particularly remembered Mutiny on the Bounty (1962).192 According to Courteney, Gregory Peck ‘seemed so true to every part he played,’ Bruno praised ‘his quiet dignity’ and Doris commented that he ‘was always worth watching.’193 Peck was also described as ‘beautiful’ by Isadora and ‘a very attractive man with a super voice’ by Meraud (Nathan comments that ‘I think I might have had a crush’ on him after watching How the West Was Won).194 Of the male American stars of the 1960s, however, two above all stand out in our respondents’ memory: Paul Newman and Steve McQueen. According to Bea, Newman ‘was the first film star I actually remember thinking was a star.’ Felicity liked watching the films in which he appeared ‘just because of him.’195 Many respondents agreed that Newman was ‘exceptionally good-looking’: Myrna remembered him as ‘so handsome (I was young and impressionable!),’ Lee found him ‘irresistibly gorgeous to look at’ and Tony saw him as an ‘attractive’ man with ‘charisma.’196 Matilda found his ‘smile and eyes just mesmerising’ and Mildred also recalled ‘his beautiful blue eyes.’197 Like Myrna, some female respondents now regard what they felt for Newman at the time as just a ‘teenage crush’: Bea, for example, confesses that she changed her mind ‘when I realised he was quite short compared . . . to me.’ But, for others, a liking for Newman remained for life: Connie had the habit when she was young of putting pictures of favourite stars on the wall: interviewed by the project, she

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laughingly pointed to a framed poster of Paul Newman and acknowledged this was a habit she had not ‘entirely grown out of.’198 Some respondents sought to incorporate Newman and his star image into their own lives: Patsy comments that she liked him ‘because he looked like my husband.’ Julian saw him as one of a group of five male stars ‘I secretly fancied and/or thought of as role models or the sort of older brother I wouldn’t have minded having.’ Dustin also placed him in a group of four (different) male stars who he liked ‘for displaying a type of masculinity which I felt I might need to try out.’199 Emmet argued that Newman ‘always seemed to put in a classy act in whatever he did’ and he was variously described as a ‘great,’ ‘excellent’ and ‘fine’ actor who could ‘play a diversity of roles.’200 Matilda saw him as particularly well-cast in films based on Tennessee Williams’ ‘brilliant plays’: she was probably thinking of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof (1958) and Sweet Bird of Youth (1962). Yet, with the exception of Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, few respondents referred to specific films in which Newman appeared.201 In contrast, a range of movies in which Steve McQueen appeared are recalled. Nobby commented that it was a western, The Magnificent Seven (1960) that ‘really made him a star’ and this process was ‘completed’ by his role in the Second World War drama The Great Escape (1963). Nobby also mentioned a third film, the police thriller Bullitt (1968) – these three films together he declared ‘were just fantastic entertainment.’202 Other respondents also remember films such as The Cincinnati Kid, The Sand Pebbles (1966), set in conflict-ridden 1920s China, and The Thomas Crown Affair (1968), a duel of wits between a rich playboy attempting to steal artworks (McQueen) and an insurance investigator (Faye Dunaway).203 Sometimes, specific sequences from the films concerned are remembered as favourite 60s cinematic experiences. Kes mentioned the car chase sequence in Bullitt: ‘Steve McQueen in his green Mustang chasing the bad guys in the black Dodge Charger. The whole cinema erupted in applause at the end.’ Micah also remembered this episode as ‘the first spectacular car chase’ he had ever seen. For Melvin, by contrast, it was the erotic ‘chess scene’ between McQueen and Dunaway in The Thomas Crown Affair that stayed in the mind.204 Asked to explain what had made him into a ‘very, very big fan’ of McQueen’s, Nobby responded: ‘His coolness. He was the king of cool, everybody said that

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Figure  3.3  American actor Steve McQueen (1930–80) as ­Captain Virgil Hilts in the United Artists film The Great Escape (1963). Photo by United Artists/Archive Photos/Getty Images.

and he did personify that.’205 Many other respondents found McQueen ‘so cool’ or ‘cool.’206 According to Connie, he was ‘handsome, charismatic.’207 Part of his appeal lay in a particular form of assertive masculinity on screen. As Nobby commented, ‘He was . . . the quiet but determined and focused alpha male. He was the main man.’ Chapman grouped him with Sean Connery, Michael Caine and John Wayne as ‘decent blokes who could look after themselves in a tight spot.’ Janet saw him as ‘very attractive and strong’ and Leah as ‘male and attractive.’208 To Micah he appeared ‘rough and tough,’ to Ambrose a ‘tough guy’ and to Tony he possessed ‘machismo,’ in the sense perhaps of being manly and self-reliant.209 According to respondents, there were two other features

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of McQueen’s stardom that appealed. Bernadette points out that many of his films were set ‘in a modern context,’ so that they echoed contemporary ideas and issues. The second feature was that, in his movies, McQueen often appeared to be what Garth termed ‘such a rebel.’ He came across, in Clarence’s words, as ‘anti-establishment.’210 Though his ‘coolness,’ toughness, modernity and rebelliousness, McQueen seems to appear to many the perfect American symbol of the changes and dislocations of the sixties.

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­4 Reflecting ‘what life was like’?: British films of the 1960s

B

ritish cinema of the 1960s encompasses a broad and eclectic range of genres, cycles and film franchises. From gritty, New Wave realism to the

hedonistic ‘Swinging London’ films and the emergence of the James Bond franchise, the decade has often been described as a complex and contradictory period of British cinema. While crime and comedy have been identified as the most popular genres of the decade by both Robert Murphy and Richard Farmer et al.,1 the memories of watching specific films discussed in this chapter

more frequently form around stars, storylines and aspects of representation, and are often linked to events in the respondents’ own lives. For this reason, the selection of films discussed here does not necessarily represent the most influential or significant British films of the decade, though an attempt has been made to cover as broad a spectrum as is possible. Recent industry studies have explored the central conflicts and discrepancies between tradition and innovation that characterized British cinema throughout the decade.2 These tensions and contradictions are also apparent in peoples’ memories of cinema-going at the time. A starting point for the analysis of the material presented in this chapter is an acknowledgement that while myths surrounding Swinging London and 1960s British society are not entirely accurate, they should not be wholly dismissed either. As with all

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recent memory studies research, the material reveals how people recall, assess and make sense of their own memories of the period from a twenty-firstcentury perspective. The myths and established narratives that have evolved around 1960s Britain inevitably inform and shape the way respondents order and narrate their memories. For example, while Time magazine did not proclaim London the ‘Swinging City’ until April 1966, many of the memories recounted of watching earlier films such as Billy Liar (1963) or Darling (1965) are inevitably narrated within this discourse. This chapter therefore considers these memories as a means for the questionnaire respondents and interviewees, who were mainly young men and women in the 1960s, to reflect on and make sense of British society and its recent history, as well as their own personal biographies.

The British ‘New Wave’ Usually in black and white and often referred to as ‘kitchen sink’ dramas, the New Wave films tended to evoke working-class life and culture and were often based on novels or plays dealing with provincial British life. While much has been written about the New Wave films from a textual perspective,3 there is relatively little research that investigates how audiences respond to and remember watching these films. Although the British New Wave films of the 1960s are often associated with the early part of the decade, the range of films discussed in this chapter spans from Karel Reisz’s Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960) through to Ken Loach’s Kes (1969). In this respect, as with many other studies of cinema audiences, the public perception of the British New Wave or ‘kitchen sink’ films does not map neatly onto established academic definitions, which tend to focus on the period from 1959–63.4 Instead, they move beyond these parameters to discuss other ‘realist’ films of the decade, such as The L-Shaped Room (1964) and Up the Junction (1968), which they bracket together with the more established New Wave titles.5 Saturday Night and Sunday Morning features Albert Finney as Arthur Seaton, a man seeking not just pleasure but also escape from the humdrum

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Figure  4.1  Albert Finney and Shirley Anne Field in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, directed by Karel Reisz © Bryanston/Woodfall 1960. All rights reserved.

work he does in a factory. The film impressed many of our respondents for what they perceived as its grittiness and realism. With much of the action shot on location in Nottingham, it had a strong resonance for those respondents who grew up in that part of the country. ‘It was the world I lived in,’ recalls Jarvis, ‘[it] could have been shot where I lived. I knew lads who got trapped like Albert Finney’s character.’ Another man writes that, since he lived ‘near’ and worked in Manchester, ‘it was good to see real life reflected in a film.’6 ‘I lived in Nottingham and worked at Raleigh [the bicycle factory],’ comments Calum, ‘I was Saturday Night and Sunday Morning.’7 Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, comments Julie, ‘is probably my favourite ever film as the main character was a young man, Arthur[,] who seemed to want more than his working class roots predicted for him. But in the end his actions caught up with him.’8 Some respondents remember it as offering a more truthful portrait of working-class life because the actors spoke with regional accents: Forrest comments on ‘the change from RADA working class accents . . . to the real

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thing as in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning.’9 Similarly, Abbey was workingclass and recalls of the films that ‘they gave a voice to the people I knew and had something to say.’10 In these ways, many of our respondents believed it ‘offered another view of Britain that was recognisable and more truthful’ and that it somehow captured ‘the changing social scene of the time.’11 However, Saturday Night and Sunday Morning’s representation of workingclass life in the Midlands appealed to an audience beyond those who had a personal connection to its geographical location. Cornelius recalls it as one of the sixties films he identified with ‘although I was a poor East End kid rather than a northerner.’12 Additionally, for those who did not come from a regional or working-class background, there was something novel about these films and the lives they represented. Upper-class Londoner George recalls his early impressions of Albert Finney, who he describes as seeming ‘new, because he was not talking like I talk, sorry to put it like that.’13 Another Londoner, Gail, recalls finding representation of working-class life in Saturday Night and Sunday Morning quite eye-opening, particularly in the representation of male working-class culture offered by the character of Arthur Seaton, something she described as ‘pretty well contemporary’ and ‘quite shocking.’14 Recollections such as these, perceiving the depiction of previously marginalized aspects of British culture as seemingly ‘new’ or ‘shocking,’ suggest that for many people, the New Wave films were relatively ground-breaking in their representation of regional, working-class life at the time of their original release. ­A Taste of Honey, released a year later, was one of the New Wave films most frequently discussed by the project respondents. Based on the stage play by Shelagh Delaney, it dealt with promiscuity, underage sex in an interracial relationship and teenage pregnancy. It also had a principal character, played by Murray Melvin, who was openly gay. With much of the film shot on location in Salford and the Manchester area, it seemed particularly real to those who came from that area of Lancashire.15 Olive recalls: I lived in the north of England and therefore I felt very proud that such films were made, especially when the screenplays were written by northerners like Shelagh Delaney’s A Taste of Honey . . . they put the north on the map culturally, you know, and we were proud of that. It was the first time I’d

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seen the north of England at the cinema, but it was a world outside of my existence, as a middle-class teenager who lived in a small rural village . . . my life was nothing like that!16 Recollections such as these reveal the cultural limitations of middle-class life in the provinces and offer a marked contrast with the more bohemian and liberal middle-class lifestyle described by Londoners such as Carmel, discussed later in this chapter. These variations in middle-class culture across different geographical locations highlight the significant distinction between rural and metropolitan experiences in 1960s Britain. Yet like Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, A Taste of Honey also appealed to many people from beyond its locale who hailed the film’s ‘gritty’ depiction of British working-class life.17 There was a further reason perhaps for its financial success: like Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, it was given an ‘X’ certificate meaning that only those of sixteen or older could see it. In practice, these ‘forbidden fruit films’ made those under sixteen even more determined to see them: Ifor remembers thinking it ‘sexy, when puberty was approaching!’18 Many respondents value A Taste of Honey for the way it represented issues that were not frequently addressed in British cinema at the time. Celeste writes that she remembers the film because it was one of a group of British films that ‘tackled subjects that were taboo at the time.’ It was also a favourite film for Trudy ‘because it dealt with subjects that weren’t talked about in the openness of cinema or newspapers[.] It started a revolution.’19 Looking back, Elsa believes it ‘stands out for the issues it addressed.’20 Orla, who grew up in Manchester, suggests that the way New Wave films addressed social issues gave them an educational value. She recalls ‘they were new and came recommended by teachers at school. Appealed to 6th form intellectuals. They seemed very daring in dealing openly with pre-marital sex and pregnancy.’21 These respondents suggest that, in exploring these difficult issues, the New Wave films provided an opportunity to discuss these aspects of their lives that had previously been considered ‘taboo.’ Yet, as with Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, some female respondents also found A Taste of Honey difficult to watch because of the patriarchal culture

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it represented. As John Hill observes in Sex, Class and Realism: British Cinema 1956–63, one of the limitations of the New Wave films was the way they reinforced the values of a patriarchal, often misogynistic, culture, and from this perspective they were not progressive. May, who grew up in Newcastle, recalls that ‘I could remember not knowing whether to cry or what for the horrors that happened.’22 Another interviewee, Meryl, describes the lives of young women depicted in the films as ‘very different, very limited. And you would . . . you were just expected to get married and if you weren’t by 25 you were on the shelf. Extraordinary, really. The pressures.’23 Female respondents also differ in their interpretation of the principal female character, seventeenyear-old Jo, played by eighteen-year-old Rita Tushingham.24 Pauline sees her as an early feminist, one of a group of ‘great female characters’ in 60s films, all ‘very free-spirited and doing their own thing.’ By contrast, Laura views her as a cautionary figure from a broken family who ‘could be compared to what happens to girls today who have no parental care or direction.’25 A similar perspective is echoed by Sheila, a middle-class respondent from London who describes the prospect of an unwanted pregnancy as ‘ghastly,’ ‘unthinkable’ and shameful for the girl’s family. These perspectives reflect the extent to which the social stigma attached to getting pregnant outside of marriage existed within a middle-class social milieu.26 The differences of interpretation revealed by responses to these storylines in New Wave films reflect the range of conflicting opinions around the role of women present in British society, both then and now. Like A Taste of Honey, A Kind of Loving (1962) drew on a literary source, in this case the 1960 novel by Stan Barstow. Set in Manchester, the narrative explored issues of adultery, unplanned pregnancy and miscarriage, and was very frank in its representation of sexuality. Marjorie remembers it primarily ‘because of the illicit sex and adultery. These were fairly new revelations then!’27 While the subject matter of the New Wave films resonated with those who were working-class at the time, this was not the case for those with middle-class backgrounds. Gus lived in London and was training to be an accountant in the 1960s. He found the New Wave films intriguing because they represented a life that was very different to his own and identified A

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Kind of Loving as being representative of this. Gus remembers that ‘a lot of the landscapes or townscapes just seemed really drab, like in A Kind of Loving, they worked in a factory you know with terraced houses and so on. Whereas I was a young professional, as an accountant, even though I hated it, it was just a different class you know.’28 This othering of ‘the north’ as being inherently different to the culture of southern Britain is also evident in other recollections.29 Lee, who lived in Bedford during the 1960s, remembers that the New Wave films ‘seemed exotic in the sense that I didn’t know the north of England and so they did seem to be . . . you know I thought it might still be like Wigan Pier or something like that, I wasn’t quite sure what people were like up there, it was only in the mid-60s that I made my first trips up there.’30 This perspective contrasts greatly with those offered by northerners. Barry grew up in Manchester and recalls: ‘They were so refreshing. To get away from this wonderful Hollywood glamour and there was real, well, a kitchen sink and of course some of them were filmed on location in Manchester, there were location scenes and A Kind of Loving was filmed near Agecroft Power Station.’31 The intersection of class and regional identity was therefore hugely significant in affecting the way people appreciated and interpreted the New Wave films. Billy Liar was another New Wave film that had a significant impact on many young people in the 1960s. Released in 1963, the film starred Tom Courtenay and Julie Christie, and differed slightly in tone to other New Wave films in its use of fantasy sequences. It was also a film that addressed the tensions between regional culture and the emergent Swinging London scene. Bob grew up in Yorkshire and recalls that he wanted to be Tom Courtenay: ­At the end when Julie Christie got on the train to go to London and he rushed to the station and didn’t get on the train, that . . . said quite a lot about the way we were in those days. I’d have done the same, I’d have rushed to the station and not got on the train . . . it’s jumping into something that I don’t think I would have wanted to jump into. It’s back to your swinging London, you know I wasn’t a swinging Londoner, I was a northern lad and he stayed a northern lad, good for him.32

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While Bob was proud to assert his northern identity, Billy Liar had a different resonance for Sidney, growing up in Brighton, who recalls ‘Billy Liar with Tom Courtenay and Julie Christie caught that boring grey northern existence, Billy aspiring to the swinging 60s scene but lacking the courage ultimately and becoming part of his prison . . . that resonated somehow, the characterisation struck a chord with me and I have reflected on aspects of this film often throughout the years.’33 For Sidney, the central narrative of young man dreaming of escaping his provincial life transcended the significance of the geographical setting. Of course, not all of the New Wave films were set in the provinces. Up the Junction, released in 1968, tells the story of an upper-class woman who gives up her life of privilege in Chelsea and moves to Battersea, where she starts work in a confectionary factory. Released later than the more widely recognized New Wave films, Up the Junction was adapted from a 1962 novel and addressed many of the same issues, such as illegal abortion. One respondent, Laila, trained to be a nurse in the Battersea and Clapham areas, and recalls that when she saw Up the Junction it resonated with her own life and she thought ‘this is more like it.’34 Similarly, Arabella recalls her preference for ‘real life stuff like Up the Junction’ that she could relate to.35 As with Billy Liar, however, regional identity was only one factor in people’s enjoyment of the film. Natalie, who grew up in Lancashire, recalls that she appreciated Up the Junction for its ‘sense of rebellion’ and ‘social realism.’36 A New Wave film that struck a chord with many respondents who were of school age in the 1960s was Ken Loach’s Kes, released in 1969. The film was adapted from Barry Hines’ novel A Kestrel for a Knave (1968), and tells the story of a young boy who, bullied at home and at school, befriends a kestrel and learns how to care for it. Matthew, who was a young boy growing up in a northern town at the time, recalls ‘it was my life and, you know, probably when I first saw Kes . . . I got to understand then that was my life you know; and you could recognise those characters and particularly Kes . . . I went to a sort of little secondary school like that.’37 As with many of Loach’s later films, Kes was a social commentary on life in working-class Yorkshire and, for Bruce, his memories of the film were about ‘becoming aware of more realistic political and social commentaries’ on British culture.38 As with other New Wave films,

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Kes was also appreciated for the perceived quality of its realism. Another respondent, Gillian, singles the film out and observes that ‘Kes also seemed to portray an accurate representation of the time.’39 While the subject matter of the New Wave films was considered important and ground-breaking for many respondents because of its depiction of regional, working-class life, it was particularly meaningful for some of our female interviewees. The recollections offered by the thirty-four women who were interviewed for the project are hugely diverse and often contradictory, reflecting the broad range of geographical, socio-economic and ideological backgrounds they came from, as well as the shifting contexts of a ten-year period that witnessed wide-ranging social, political and cultural changes. These memories are often informed by reflections on gendered social expectations of the time relating to marriage and procreation, which in turn are infused with anxieties around pregnancy, sexual agency and a lack of employment options. One interviewee, Meryl, was from a working-class family, and left home as a teenager with very minimal education, in order to escape the constraints of patriarchal family life. Her memories of the ‘kitchen sink’ films focus on the way women were treated by men, and the disparity in terms of social moralizing around sexual behaviour. In particular, she identified with many of the female characters and their situations. Especially the way young men related to them. I mean, you know, it’s the beginning of the era of the pill and everything, but even at that time, without there being a lot of news about this, I was well aware that women were treated, even in my own home, differently, to men. And these . . . at home my brother laid in bed on a Sunday morning and I took his breakfast up, things like that . . . it was just accepted, but I was well aware of it . . . the way young men treated women in those films, I could see that all around me . . . my brother, the way he treated girlfriends, that whole thing, the way girls were called . . . well, in the town, if a girl was sexually active she was called a tart, you know, whereas a boy was a young blade.40 At the end of the interview Meryl reflects on some of the films that characterize Swinging London and adds: ‘we thought they were just harmless fun, but they weren’t were they?’ With the hindsight of a twenty-first-century feminist

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perspective, Meryl and other female respondents reassess the films of their youth, particularly the New Wave films, as a way of making sense of their own personal biographies. One film that particularly resonated with several female respondents was The L-Shaped Room, for its depiction of ‘narrow and limited lives in dingy boarding houses and lodgings.’41 Adapted from the 1960 novel by Lynne Reid Banks, the film tells the story of a young woman who arrives alone to live in a boarding house in London. One female respondent, Hilary, from a working-class family, recalls moving out of her parents’ home ‘to try and make something of herself ’ because she did not want to lead the restricted life her mother had. She remembers the impact the ‘kitchen sink’ films had on her at the time: One I remember particularly was The L-Shaped Room which really stuck in my mind because . . . when I moved to Oxford I lived in lodgings on my own, in digs, in circumstances very like a lot of the young women in these films . . . particularly like the woman in The L-Shaped Room I lived in a bedsitting room and it wasn’t sort of sleazy but it was very small and restricted and the landlady said that we had to conform to university regulations. But it was very restrictive, your lives were restricted . . . Yes, I could see the lives of these women and their dreary, lonely bed-sitting rooms you know . . . I used to come out feeling like I was almost a character in the film. I would imagine I was in these situations. Yeah, they did have quite a strong effect on me. I could imagine what they were feeling . . . it was all very real suddenly. Whereas before the English cinema hadn’t been.42 ­Though seeking to make her own way in the world (she went on to become an air hostess – and thus avoiding the path her mother chose of immediate marriage and parenthood), Hilary’s overriding memory of being a young woman in Oxford is one of restriction, and she repeats this word several times. The physical restriction of living in a tiny, cramped room, the social restrictions placed upon her by her landlady and the cultural restrictions she had to navigate surrounding sex. The New Wave films of the early 1960s captured this sense of restriction so effectively that Hilary felt like a character in a film.

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Looking back on Swinging London Ranging in tone from light-hearted comedy to serious drama, what the Swinging London British films of the 1960s share is the contradictory and sometimes complex ways in which they reflect the permissive society. The way these films are remembered is very diverse, with some respondents recalling them as very superficial and others finding them incredibly meaningful. This section of the chapter explores these responses as a means to shed some light on this distinctive cycle of British cinema.

Figure 4.2  Julie Christie and Dirk Bogarde in Darling, directed by John Schlesinger © Anglo-Amalgamated/Vic/Appia 1965. All rights reserved.

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Central to existing discussions of Swinging London has been the image of the ‘new, déclassé English girl’ who, for many, was epitomized by Julie Christie in films such as Billy Liar (1963) and Darling (1965), swinging her handbag insouciantly as she strolled along the pavement.43 John Schlesinger’s Darling (1965) was a star vehicle for Christie, in which she played Diana Scott, an aspiring model and member of London’s fashionable jet-set. Several film academics have usefully contested claims around the newfound sexual freedoms of the 1960s woman.44 Melanie Bell, for example, is highly critical of the way Christie and other female film stars were ‘paraded’ for heterosexual male pleasure.45 However, despite these feminist critiques, Christie remains hugely popular with female project respondents and is frequently identified as their favourite film star of the era.46 An appreciation of fashion was integral to the way many young people, particularly women, enjoyed the Swinging London films, and Christie was often central to this pleasure. One female respondent, May, grew in Newcastle and recalls that she thought Julie Christie was ‘absolutely beautiful’ and that the star influenced her own style, especially ‘her clothes, you know the little shift dresses and things like that. I guess you were influenced by what you saw, it’s the fashions, it’s what you saw on beautiful people. If life had been different it could have been me.’47 Similarly, Colette lived in Brighton and recalls ‘I remember buying a black-and-white mini-dress like one I saw on Julie Christie. I wore it around Brighton, and it felt daring and terribly modern. Some women made disapproving comments about my bare legs, but I didn’t care!’48 As Christine Geraghty argues, although the storylines of films such as Darling were patriarchal in their presentation of women, ‘Christie’s image and performance call the narrative into question by suggesting that feminine discourses of beauty and fashion are not the property of the Establishment, but a way of claiming a feminine identity which can be used as a mode of selfexpression, particularly around sexuality.’49 Indeed, several respondents recall how liberating it was to wear a mini-skirt and remember the sense of sexual agency and empowerment it gave them. Carmel was middle class and lived in Kensington. She recalls that the main thing was we didn’t have to wear those ghastly stockings with corsets, suspenders and padded bras, because in the 50s you were supposed

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to have pointy, big breasts like Marilyn Monroe or whatever, and, you know, when the 60s came, I never wore stockings again, I wore tights, and I didn’t wear a bra until I got pregnant in my 30s, so for me it was a complete liberation. I loved the fashion, absolutely loved it.50 What is interesting in these responses is the way the women frame their pleasures and sense of sexual agency in relation to the previous generation. Another Swinging London film that made a big impression on many respondents was The Knack . . . and How To Get It (1965).51 Directed by Richard Lester, The Knack offered a comedic take on the permissive society, and was particularly popular with male cinema-goers. Oscar recalls of the film that it ‘had the visual trip to it, it was unlike anything that you had seen before,’ while Jasmine felt it ‘captured the spirit of the times.’52 Some respondents, such as Emmet who lived in London, felt it captured his experience of the ‘swinging city,’ and ‘identified with the Michael Crawford character.’53 Similarly, Emlyn felt it was the ‘quintessential’ film of the era and that he ‘could identify with sexual freedom, social mobility, transitional sense.’54 Blow-Up (1965) is also frequently cited by respondents as somehow epitomizing the Swinging London scene.55 Joseph observes that Blow-Up had a ‘sort of impact on me . . . [it] was different and interesting and made me think, and that was about Swinging Sixties London.’56 Some, like Lyle, felt that ‘BlowUp seemed to capture the “madness” and the idea that reality was unstable that, for me, was the essence of the ‘60s experience. It also addressed issues around the image/the media in a way that was very pertinent – as people were increasingly aware of how media represents/misrepresents reality.’57 Similarly, Bob recalls watching Blow-Up and thinking that ‘it didn’t have an appeal in that I wished to be there, but it had an appeal in that it was different from where I was at and so, silly phrase, but intellectually interesting rather than emotionally interesting,’ while others recall discussing the film and ‘trying to work out what it was all about.’58 As with Julie Christie’s films, Blow-Up also appealed to young people because of the Swinging London fashion and lifestyle it depicted. Laura lived in Cheshire during the decade, and recalls: ‘Blow-Up did definitely reflect the time I spent in London because that was Carnaby Street and Biba, and

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all the pop culture and Kings Road; it was all very much depicted in BlowUp, what I’d seen.’59 Similarly, Belle recalls the impact of the fashion in Blowup: ‘I remember again in Blow-Up . . . I think it’s Jane Birkin or someone, I can’t remember, they were wearing coloured tights and I really liked those, I remember.’60 The memories of Blow-Up recounted by those respondents who did live in London reveal a slightly different perspective. Carmel recalls being an extra on Blow-Up and hanging out with the 60s crowd: ‘I was an extra in the studio scene, but you can’t see me. It took three days to film and it was about thirty seconds on the screen.’61 Similarly, several other respondents living in London claimed to have had some personal connection to the film.62 However, despite these positive recollections of the film, some respondents are critical in their response to Blow-Up, describing it as ‘vacuous’ and ‘pretentious.’63 Lee critiques the way in which many of the Swinging London films were contrived to appeal to an increasingly mainstream audience fascinated by the stories about the capital they were hearing: ‘I’m thinking of Antonioni’s Blow-Up and films that were slightly experimental but were actually playing to more of a mainstream audience by the late 60s.’64 And not all regional cinema-goers wanted to experience the London scene by proxy. Working-class northerners were far less likely than their middleclass counterparts to go and watch a Swinging London film. Laura lived in Manchester and recalls that ‘I wouldn’t have gone because I wouldn’t be interested in the depiction of swinging London . . . As I say, you lived in this little bubble and to go off to London would have been quite something anyway. Too posh.’65 Similarly, Livia grew up in Lancashire and didn’t like the Swinging London films because ‘I was unable to identify with the girl characters. They were “blowsy”. The lifestyle they led was unrealistic to me and it was a world that I didn’t understand or would want to be a part of.’66 As with the New Wave films, then, class and regional identity played a significant role in determining the kinds of films that appealed to young cinema-goers. Morgan – A Suitable Case for Treatment, released in 1966, is another film associated with Swinging London that is widely considered to be thoughtprovoking by those respondents who remember it. Joseph reflects that it was one of the films from the decade that affected him most strongly and recalls ‘Morgan with an exploration of mental illness really, was interesting. It was

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David Warner [who] played the part and it was that sort of rather understated natural style of acting that made you think differently.’67 These responses to Morgan suggest that even though the tone of some of the Swinging London films seemed flippant or vacuous, they were capable of addressing important issues that had a meaningful impact on audiences. As with the New Wave films, these were sometimes issues that were previously under-explored in British culture at the time.

­British film franchises Two notable British film franchises established their popularity at the domestic box office in the 1960s and are referenced by many of our respondents. While the first of these, the Carry On franchise, originated in the 1950s, it was the subsequent decade that saw the release of fifteen Carry On films, and is arguably the moment at which the franchise’s popularity peaked. James Bond’s first outing, Dr. No, was released in 1962 and was the first of seven Bond films released across the decade, establishing it as a major film franchise that became closely associated with British national identity. Box office figures confirm the dominance of these two franchises throughout the decade, with either a Carry On or a Bond film (sometimes both) featuring in the list of top-performing domestic films at the British box office every year.68 Slightly less popular but notably prolific in their output was the Hammer studio, which released fiftyfour films across the decade, the most memorable being the Dracula and Frankenstein series. When respondents recall popular cinema in the 1960s, they inevitably reference either musicals or Bond. Edmund reflects that his preference was mainly for American films, but that the Carry On films and Bond franchise had tested this preference, offering ‘a strong British challenge’ to Hollywood cinema in the 1960s.69 Gus recalls ‘the films I remember from the 60s as attracting huge audiences were the James Bond movies, Dr. No, I mean I saw that at the Angel Islington and the queue went right round the cinema it was amazing and the same with Goldfinger. Also, the Hammer Horror films were very popular, they attracted huge audiences.’70 Bond is remembered for drawing huge audiences not

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Figure  4.3  Sean Connery and Daniela Bianchi in From Russia With Love, directed by Terence Young © United Artists/Eon 1963. All rights reserved.

just in London, but in other cities across the country. Walt recalls the queues for Goldfinger in Liverpool going ‘around the block.’71 In other, smaller provincial towns people remember the double bills that were screened in the early days of the franchise.72 Natalie grew up in Cheshire and recalls ‘I think James Bond was catching on then, with the new one, they coupled one of the old ones so people kind of got up to speed.’73 Finbar recalls in particular the advance demand for Bond films created by the books: ‘Bond’s Dr No and Goldfinger were widely advertised and eagerly awaited after most of us had already read the books.’74

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The box office success of the Bond films led to increasingly substantial budgets and gave the films a high production gloss. Flann recalls ‘how exciting the James Bond films were, and how many of them were screened during the sixties. I was very proud that these British films had big budgets, wide screens, and terrific audio, equal to anything from across the pond.’75 Respondents who saw a Bond film for the first time in their early teens often became lifelong fans.76 Nobby remembers that ‘at the age of about 13, which I would be at the time, I thought well that sounds interesting that, so we went and it obviously turned out to be probably the first main James Bond film [Dr. No] if you forget Casino Royale. I thoroughly enjoyed it and fell deeply in love with the Bond movies.’77 Similarly, Mervyn recalls ‘I used to love James Bond films at the cinema and especially as the older ones (from Dr No to You Only Live Twice) would often be shown in double bills. I saw many of these several times. As a young boy I was captivated by the excitement and glamour of 007.’78 Bond films also spoke to the aspirational culture that was developing among the working classes in 1960s Britain. Joseph recalls how the interior décor of some of the more upmarket cinemas reflected the glamour of the movies, and in particular ‘coming out of the James Bond movie, mirrors everywhere and you know, clean surfaces and marble surfaces and it’s like, well, I’m James Bond, you know. 007, and it sort of reflected . . . that sort of aspirational movie.’79 Similarly, Marty recalls of Goldfinger that ‘you’d really go to a film like that because it was cutting edge – it had everything: adventure, colour, sex, women, blokes with gadgets, guns, cars and stuff.’80 Nobby also remembers Bond films having an aspirational effect on him, and being attracted to ‘the bright blue skies that you see in the Bond movies, this different lifestyle. This lifestyle that you couldn’t really comprehend in the 1950s for definite and to some extent in the 1960s, although things were changing. That was . . . a dream, really, and starting to maybe think that that dream might come true.’81 Bond, particularly as played by Sean Connery, was also a fantasy figure for many female respondents. May grew up in Newcastle and recalls going on a date to see From Russia With Love. She was particularly flattered when her date compared her to Daniela Bianchi and told her ‘the heroine looked like me, so she was just a walking stick with long hair you know. Because that’s what you wanted, you want to be like the heroine.’82 Olive grew up in Lancashire

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and also remembers enjoying the fantasy element of James Bond films, whilst simultaneously comparing herself to Ursula Andress: I loved James Bond, the 60s Bond films were the best in the series, Sean Connery was just so gorgeous. I remember going to see Dr. No, From Russia With Love and Goldfinger several times, in order to thoroughly absorb the atmosphere of sophistication and glamour . . . I remember the customised Aston Martin in Goldfinger making a big impression! Also, the moment when Ursula Andress came out of the sea in Dr. No, and realising I’d never look like that.83 Bond films were also popular with the British Asian and Caribbean communities. Nikhil arrived in Britain from Lahore, Pakistan, in 1961. Like several of our British Asian respondents, he discusses the way British cinema enabled him better to understand the culture he found himself adjusting to.84 Although his preference was for American cinema, Sachin recalls that he appreciated Sean Connery as Bond because the action looked ‘very real’ and ‘he spoke . . . real Queen’s English.’85 Similarly, Seymour moved to South London from Jamaica in the early 1960s and recalls enjoying James Bond films and admiring the acting skills of Sean Connery.86 Unlike Bond, the Carry On films are often remembered as characterizing the epitome of bad taste from the decade. Walter, for example, refers to the Carry On films as being representative of the meaningless entertainment that existed at the time, describing ‘the sort of Carry On nonsense and all that sort of stuff, that’s just nonsense really and just general entertainment and really ephemeral.’87 George recalls that his attitude to the franchise at the time was that ‘we thought they were a bit stupid, a bit crude, really . . . of course, they were very chauvinistic . . . Barbara Windsor . . . blatant, really!’88 Another respondent, Carley, recalls her childhood awareness of the chauvinistic attitude towards women in the Carry On films: ‘I had to do a presentation at university about Carry on Camping which I’d seen . . . even as a child, I noticed that the attitude to women was poor. Women were either a figure of fun or there to be sexually laughed at and I hated them, even as a child I remember thinking it’s not funny.’89 In common with Alfie (1966),90 the Carry On films have not weathered well due to their overtly chauvinist attitudes.

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However, despite their sexual innuendos and chauvinistic content, the Carry On films were widely considered suitable for children during the 1960s. Maud remembers being taken on a boarding school outing to see one of them at the age of around eight or nine. Recalling her boarding school outings, she says ‘I can remember going to see a Carry On film but I can’t remember which one. But I remember thinking it was hysterical.’91 Similarly, Joseph grew up in Yorkshire and recalls the Carry On films marking the end of his childhood: ‘I would go and see Carry On films and Doctor in the House and Doctor in Love and that series of films, war films which were sort of ten a penny at the time, that would be the early part of the 60s, that’s the sort of end of being a child.’92 Fewer respondents recall going to see Hammer films, but those that do often discuss their commitment to the horror genre and retain a great affection for the franchise. Ewan remembers the effort he applied to get in to Hammer films when he was underage: I used to go all over the place, and one of the things I used to do is take days off school to aid with the whole business of being older, right? So, I’d put on my long trousers, take the day off school and go to places like . . . I can remember going to, I think it’s the Odeon in Woolwich, to see Brides of Dracula. When I was about twelve or fourteen, that sort of age.93 Ewan also recalls being a member of the Gothique Film Society, founded in 1966 by Robin James, which used to meet regularly in a room above Holborn library to watch horror double bills. Other respondents, such as John, also fondly remember the double bills, and recall the Hammer horrors I discovered, the very first were a double bill at the Regal Harrow Road, Kiss of the Vampire and Paranoiac. Then was the 1958 Dracula, Whow! That was certainly something, especially at the climax! King Kong Vs. Godzilla, another memorable film as it was my very first monster film, I skipped off school to see amongst many others.94 Other respondents explain their enjoyment of the Hammer films as a ­ temporary youthful pleasure. Jerome recalls ‘In the 60s I loved the Hammer horror films, the suspense, the blood and gore[;] fortunately I have moved on from there.’95

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Musicals and the influence of British popular music Musicals, including many films featuring pop music or with musicians in lead roles, were popular throughout the decade, and the soundtracks to these films generally did very well in the music charts.96 While many people associate pop films of the era with the Beatles’ films, Cliff Richard star vehicles The Young Ones (1962) and Summer Holiday (1963) were the second most successful films at the British box office in 1962 and 1963 respectively.97 Indeed, recollections of watching Cliff Richard movies, and of Cliff Richard fandom, feature strongly in the memories of many project respondents. For some of our interviewees, musicals reflected a more optimistic and carefree world view than that held by their parents’ generation. One respondent, Havelock, identifies Cliff Richard as his favourite film star of the era because ‘he just seems to be having so much fun.’98 Indeed, a number of respondents identify Cliff Richard as their favourite film star of the decade.99  May remembers that she went to see all of his films (and to musicals in general) with girlfriends, and would have happily married Cliff Richard. Matthew grew up in a working-class family in Preston, and recalls a sing-a-long atmosphere at the screenings of Cliff Richard films: ‘The Young Ones and We’re All Going on a Summer Holiday . . . thinking back it was just incredible, like a revivalist church, everybody clapping and singing along.’100 Similarly, Connie grew up in a white working-class family in South London and remembers being taken to see Cliff Richard in Summer Holiday at a ‘posh’ West End cinema as a birthday treat.101 These respondents’ accounts are all testament to the enormous popularity of Cliff Richard in the early part of the decade, and illustrate how an outing to see one of his films was often considered something of an event. ­Summer Holiday also spoke to the growing consumerism that was becoming more apparent in the early part of the decade. One respondent, Barry, recalls there’s a lovely line in one film I did see in the Sixties, which was Cliff Richard in Summer Holiday. Not my sort of thing at all! But there’s a wonderful line in this, ‘We’ve seen it in the movies, now let’s see if it’s true.’ At that time most people’s experience of the continent was through travelogues and film,

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and people were just starting to go on cheap holidays. Let’s see if it’s true, let’s go experience. Not something you just see as a passive recipient, but something you go and do.102 For many young people in the early 1960s, going to see a Beatles film was a rite of passage to adolescence. A Hard Day’s Night, released in 1964, was a film that several respondents remember going to see with friends rather than with their parents for the first time.103 Natasha recalls ‘my memory of the Beatles films was that it was sort of marking being almost a teenager. I  remember going with a friend, we watched A Hard Day’s Night and having this big debate about whether we felt like screaming at the end because it ends, in my memory, with teenage girls sort of going “arghhh the Beatles!”’104 The Beatles also played concerts at cinemas, and several respondents recall attending these. Susan identifies her most memorable cinema experience of the decade as seeing the Beatles at the Odeon, when ‘girls just screamed and screamed, and you couldn’t hear the Beatles AT ALL.’105 The Beatles’ films are also remembered by many respondents as being funny, irreverent and ‘cheeky.’106 While different in tone to the New Wave films, the Beatles’ films also contributed to the growing visibility of regional, workingclass British culture. For some middle-class teenagers, this meant that their parents disapproved of the Beatles and they were not allowed to go to their concerts or films.107 Nora was thirteen and living in Surrey when A Hard Day’s Night was released in 1964. She went to see it multiple times and recalls that ‘my mother was a bit disapproving. She said she thought The Beatles didn’t speak properly you know, of course that was very important in those days, and they were Northern, and they were Liverpudlians and definitely a bit suspicious.’108 A Hard Day’s Night is particularly memorable for the way it articulated the generational divide that some respondents felt existed between themselves and their parents. Nora recalls the effect of the scene in the railway carriage, in which a young John Lennon taunts the ‘grandfather’ figure (Wilfrid Brambell) in a discourteous manner that lacked the deference customarily accorded to the older generation at that time: I suddenly thought ‘thank God somebody has said what we’ve all been thinking!’ Ok, it’s rude saying ‘I bet you’re sorry you won’ but it was just

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fantastic, I could’ve given a round of applause at that stage and it suddenly connected [with] that approach. We were the post-war generation, we didn’t have to sort of keep harking back to or keep struggling with it, you know. It was like ‘we’re turning the other way now, we’re going in that direction.’109 Other respondents also recall the way A Hard Day’s Night captured the generational difference and poked fun at the older generation.110 While A Hard Day’s Night is the Beatles film most respondents recall, the other Beatles movies were also hugely popular. Molly remembers queuing with her cousin to see Yellow Submarine.111 Jacob recalls going with his sister and granddad to see Help! and being ‘so excited about seeing this, and I can still remember scenes from that. We loved it and we laughed like mad and there was a palpable noise in the audience all the way through.’112 Jeannie grew up in Liverpool and recalls the audience when she saw Help! at the Odeon on London Road: ‘Well, they were cheering. I couldn’t believe it, in the cinema! I hadn’t seen that before, but they were cheering, and I can remember them standing up and laughing at things that they were saying which were obviously related to Liverpool in the film. But when we went to see Hard Day’s Night in Norway nobody moved.’113

Costume dramas and comedies Some of the most successful costume dramas of the decade were star vehicles driven by big budgets, well-established directors and specialist production teams. Indeed, in her analysis of film costume design throughout the decade, Melanie Williams notes that ‘British designers’ work in contemporary dress was greatly outnumbered by their historical assignments, corresponding to an older version of British cultural capital owing more to ‘Merrie England’ than ‘swinging London.’’114 Tony Richardson’s 1963 adaptation of the Henry Fielding novel Tom Jones starred Albert Finney as the titular hero and was both a popular and critical success. Similarly, David Lean’s 1965 romantic drama Doctor Zhivago, starring Julie Christie and Omar Sharif, was also a favourite

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for many, as was the 1967 adaptation of Thomas Hardy’s Far from the Madding Crowd, and the Thomas More biopic A Man for All Seasons, released in 1966. Tony Richardson’s comedic 1963 adaptation of Tom Jones is remembered by many respondents as a film that was much talked about, and also as one that they had tried to get in to see when they were underage.115 One respondent from South Wales, Dora, recalls ‘going to my first X[-rated film] Tom Jones and thinking it was so funny and bawdy, all the adults laughing at the rude bits.’116 Similarly, Joseph remembers that ‘Tom Jones came out and everybody knew it was different and, there’s Albert Finney in it if I remember it, and so there would be a discussion about it as people had been to see it.’117 Clifford describes watching Tom Jones as his most memorable cinema-going moment of the decade, because this was my first experience of one of the defining faces of 1960s British cinema. Like Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia he was the dominant force in a cast of notable actors of their day. It was far from the best British film of the decade, but it was such good fun and with Finney you felt you were in the presence of something extraordinary.118 Interestingly, several of the respondents bracket Tom Jones together with other Swinging London films rather than with literary adaptations or costume dramas, primarily because of Finney’s cheeky, irreverent performance which made the adaptation ‘so different.’119 Doctor Zhivago was an adaptation of a Boris Pasternak novel set in earlytwentieth-century Russia, following the romantic story of Yuri Zhivago, played by Omar Sharif, and his love interest Lara, played by Julie Christie. Over three hours in duration, the film was appreciated by many respondents for its romantic leads and epic scale.120 One respondent, Helena, recalls going to see it with her family, who enjoyed it so much they named their dog Lara.121 Another respondent, Laura, recalls ‘it’s so romantic and I loved Julie Christie in it and the relationship between her and Omar Sharif and the cinematography and . . . I can picture her now, I can picture her face and her clothes that she wore, and the drama of it and the different occasions and the Russian feel to it.’122 Both Helena and Gail reminisce about the film and how they fell in love with Omar Sharif watching it.123 As well as the popular attraction of the star leads, the film

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won Academy Awards for costume design, art direction and cinematography, and an appreciation for the visual appeal of the film is evident in many of the responses.124 Christie also starred alongside Alan Bates in John Schlesinger’s adaptation of Hardy’s novel Far from the Madding Crowd in 1967. Sheila was a student in London at the time of the film’s release and recalls it being a talking point amongst her friends, as did Walter.125 Frances remembers the film for the ‘wonderful cinematography.’126 Several respondents note they have rewatched the film recently. Cardew notes that he ‘recently introduced Far from The Madding Crowd to a friend in her late 60s who had somehow never seen it before – and loved the strong performances from Stamp, Christie, Bates and Finch. I am also a Hardy enthusiast and I love the very clear and involving telling of the story and cinematography.’127 The Thomas More biopic A Man for All Seasons was both a critical and commercial success and is remembered by many respondents in terms of the quality of the film’s performances and screenplay. Joseph discusses how the film ‘was very clever’ and that he liked the ‘understated’ way More was played by Paul Schofield.128 Sidney recalls that A Man for All Seasons ‘was wonderful, an intelligent film . . . it enthralled me from start to finish and had an amazing cast.’129 Others remember it for its ‘inspirational dialogue.’130 While the memories of watching 1960s British films recounted by the respondents to this project are diverse and contradictory, they share some broad preoccupations. They reveal the significance of classed and gendered identity, of the generational divide that often manifested between young people and the generation that had lived through the war, and also the importance of regional identities in shaping responses to British films of the era. The wide-ranging response to the British New Wave films of the 1960s indicates both the powerful impact the films had on audiences at the time, and the meaningful legacy they have left behind for British cinema and cinemagoers. While they can be critiqued for many reasons, this cycle of films addressed an important set of social issues that were largely taboo in British society at the time. Interestingly, these issues continue to have resonance today, and to provoke meaningful debate and discussion amongst those who revisit them. While remembering the New Wave films encouraged respondents

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to reconsider some of the significant social issues of the era, the Swinging London films evoked a more personal set of responses, often in relation to memories of their own adolescence and youth, and the development of their sexual agency. As with the Bond films, fashion, consumerism and aspirations to a more affluent lifestyle all play an important part in these recollections. In different ways, both Bond and Carry On reflect the preoccupations of the era: a markedly more relaxed attitude to sex, and a more playful, hedonistic tone than had characterized much of postwar British cinema. Evident across all of these different cycles and genres is both the shifting character of British cinema film throughout this period and also a degree of retrospective pride is discernible amongst many of the respondents in relation to British popular culture more broadly.

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hen we launched our project, we assumed that most people’s memories of film itself would focus on American and British movies.

On the other hand, work by Sue Harper/Vincent Porter and Roy Stafford had already suggested that there was an audience for European films in Britain in the 1950s.1 Yet there was frustratingly little evidence on how spectators had

received such films. Film editor Tony Sloman (born in 1945), for example, recalled being aware of ‘talk of a [French] film called The Wages of Fear [HenriGeorges Clouzot, 1953]’ and remembered his ‘parents getting a babysitter in to go and see La Ronde [Max Ophüls, 1950].’ Yet he himself had no personal memory of ‘Continental films.’2 To try to find out how important European films were in respondents’ memories of sixties cinema-going, we asked a twopart question in Section C of our questionnaire on ‘Film Preferences’: Did you watch continental European films during the 1960s? If so, can you remember any examples? In another question in Section C, we asked respondents to rank in order four of their favourite types of film, and gave ‘European art cinema/ Nouvelle Vague’ as one of twelve possible types. To our surprise, we discovered from almost a thousand questionnaires and interviews that many respondents had recollections of international cinema. There are fairly frequent references to the work of Satyajit Ray in India and Akira Kurosawa in Japan. There are also occasional mentions of other Japanese directors and, more generically, ‘Russian’ and ‘Australian’ cinema. But many

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more memories than expected revolve around what, in broad terms, we can think of as ‘continental’ or ‘European’ cinema of the 1960s. Such memories found expression throughout the questionnaires (for example, in discussions of favourite films, directors and stars or recollections of special memories/ cinema-going in general) as well as in answer to the two questions cited above. What our research appears to suggest is that those who liked European films in the 1960s belonged to a fairly clearly defined ‘taste public’ of like-minded people sharing specific aesthetic tastes as defined by Pierre Bourdieu.3 Often defined by social class or educational background, these ‘taste publics’ appear in memories to have been sites at which the opening of Britain to European cinema and, for some, European culture itself began. Many memories of this kind will be analysed in this chapter. But there are two important qualifications to make beforehand. The first is that all of the respondents to our project are self-selected, in the sense either that they chose to complete a questionnaire about 1960s cinema-going or agreed to be interviewed on the subject, which means on the whole that they are people who probably already have some interest in cinema. Many of them may know more about cinema than their contemporaries. So the sample we are working with cannot – despite our efforts at diversification – be regarded as a truly representative cross-section of the British population in the 1960s. Secondly, it is worth pointing out that − to many sections of the British population in the 1960s − the word ‘continental’ was synonymous with ‘pornographic.’4 Barry, one of our correspondents, comments that ‘Continental films . . . [were] a bit “racier”’ than mainstream British and Hollywood films.5 A second, Benny, noted that there was a local cinema ‘that showed continental and nudist films (which seemed to go together then) including stills from the films in its outside display, a magnet for pubescent boys.’6 Others recalled that the Paris cinema in Coventry ‘showed foreign language films in its double bills, usually programmed for the nudity they included’ and ‘The Classic [in Portsmouth] ran a mixture of soft porn and subtitled continental films.’7 As such, while our focus here is on mainstream European cinema, the boundaries between this and more explicitly pornographic cinema from Europe remain permeable in memory and consequently perhaps in our data too.

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In spite of these qualifications, there are still very impressive numbers of our respondents who have memories of more serious European films. Their engagement with such films is all the more striking because it often took some effort to see them. As several of our correspondents note, local cinemas associated with the two main chains, Rank and ABC, rarely screened European films.8 To watch continental films, there were a number of options, some of which depended on where people lived. From 1952, there was the National Film Theatre in London: in 1957 it transferred from the telekinema to a permanent new building. Josiah still recalls ‘the frisson of seeing a new foreign film at the NFT Southbank.’9 According to Susan, many of these films did not have subtitles and were accompanied by earphone commentary in English.10 From 1967, as an initiative of Harold Wilson’s Labour government, there were similar Regional Film Theatres showing a wide array of old and new films in Birmingham, Manchester and Newcastle.11 Many cities also had ‘much loved’ independent or art-house cinemas.12 ‘The Cambridge Rex,’ writes Juliana, ‘always used to show classic films or new French films.’ ‘Many good memories,’ reminiscences Lia, ‘of seeing French and Italian new wave films at the Academy in Oxford Street [London], encouraged by a school friend who was studying languages, and insisted on dragging us all along with her.’ George remembered being part of a group of people who went to see continental films at a cinema in Fulham on Sundays. Afterwards they would have serious discussions about the films (he contrasted this with American films where ‘you came out’ simply ‘saying you liked them, or didn’t like them’). ‘The fleapit in Leicester,’ according to Maryam, ‘ . . . was cheaper than a shilling in the meter, but also showed all the great French and German films.’13 There were also a number of local film societies. Kaylin recalls ‘the Avant Garde Film Club in Hillingdon’ where ‘we sat in deck chairs and watched a lot of continental (European) films.’ Kirsten has memories of the club in Hull that met in a room upstairs at the Central Library. Membership was ‘very affordable’ and the clientele ‘middle class respectable.’ Lennox went to the Tyneside Cinema Club to see films by Ingmar Bergman and François Truffaut’s Les Quatre Cents Coups (400 Blows, 1959) – ‘all,’ he notes, ‘very well made and provocative films.’14

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In terms of the number of people who became interested in European film during the 1960s, however, one factor stands out: the rapid expansion in British higher education. Between 1958 and 1961, when the Robbins Committee was set up to enquire into higher education in the UK, seven new ‘plateglass’ universities opened.15 After Robbins reported in 1963, the numbers in higher education grew even faster. There were 108,000 young people going to university in 1960; by 1970, this had risen to around 228,000. The figures in higher education as a whole increased during the same period from 200,000 to 430,000.16 Many of these colleges and universities had film clubs that, during the 1960s, introduced young people for the first time to continental European films. Moreover, since many universities were located in or close to major cities, students interested in film also swelled the audiences for local independent/art-house cinemas.17 ‘Becoming a student in the 1960’s,’ commented Cedric, ‘was a life changing experience and in many ways opened me to a new world. I could access things that were unavailable before in the chains of cinemas that were available. None of my family went to the cinema much.’18 University life, including the films they watched, often differentiated students to some extent from the world they had known. ‘Continental European films,’ observed Edina, ‘would not have been on my parents or school friends’ radar in the 1960s.’19 Some respondents now regard their membership of university film societies with a degree of wry detachment. Rodney, a former university film club member, sardonically comments that ‘a high proportion’ of his fellow members were ‘very earnest and rather humourless.’20 ‘I think there was a hint of snobbishness,’ Linda writes, ‘about liking foreign films once I reached university.’ Preferring European over American and British films, Charlton observes, was ‘pretentious’ but continental films were ‘exciting and the aesthetics were different to Hollywood/Ealing.’21 ‘French, Swedish (Bergman), Italian’ films,’ comments Jesse, ‘either dealt with real, everyday issues or were clearly trying to develop cinema rather than emphasising special effects or “melodrama.”’22 By general consent, continental films were regarded, in Francis’s words, as ‘more intellectually challenging’ than their American or British counterparts. Compared to American movies, Arthur insisted, European films in general ‘seemed more thoughtful, more strange, and more complex. You had to

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work harder to get something out of them. It wasn’t a passive all-consuming experience . . . you had to work . . . as opposed to sitting back and enjoying it.’23 Knowledge of them appears to have signified the acquisition of ‘cultural capital,’ a series of aesthetic choices that − as Pierre Bourdieu argued − helped differentiate those in possession of such capital from other social groups on the basis of judgements of taste.24 In contrast with the ways in which Hollywood and British films are often framed in memory, which sees emphasis placed on the social experience of cinema-going rather than on the films and their producers, respondents tended to recall European cinema in relation to specific directors. Perhaps this is a result of the advertising strategies that surrounded European films in Britain, which often reflected the rise of the concept of the auteur in film discourse by giving particular prominence to the director. Alan Burton and Steve Chibnall have noted parallel trends in which ‘European art films had begun to be more widely exhibited in Britain, and the notion of the auteur, the film artist, began to take greater hold in the national film culture.’25 The impact of this on film advertising can be seen, for example, in British publicity materials for BlowUp (1966), particularly its posters, which frequently featured the name of the film’s director, Michelangelo Antonioni, in thick black letters, second in size only to the film’s title. Alternatively, it is possible that the cinephilic culture of film clubs at British universities and art-house cinemas was directing audiences’ attention towards the output of specific directors. Whether as a result of marketing patterns, film societies or other changes in circulation and exhibition contexts, numerous European directors were named by respondents as holding a particular appeal in the 1960s.

Bergman Of these directors, one of the most prominent is Sweden’s Ingmar Bergman. He, alongside Truffaut, Jean-Luc Godard and a number of others, seems to have become synonymous with continental European cinema for many British audiences during the 1960s. Memories of Bergman’s films display several features that are common amongst British memories of other types

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of European cinema. In particular, they are often recounted in relation to specific spaces and places of exhibition. Since access to European film, though perhaps easier than might have been anticipated, was still limited to particular cinemas, it is these venues that now frame and form the context of memories of Bergman’s films. While these locations are sometimes places known for offering a broad range of films in a comfortable environment, such as the National Film Theatre, the Everyman cinema in Hampstead and the Academy and Continental cinemas in central London, not all are venues that would have reinforced the perception that Bergman and his European colleagues belonged to a rarefied and elite area of cinematic production. While Maryam describes the Academy as ‘small and intimate,’ her use of the term ‘fleapit’ to describe a Leicester cinema which screened Bergman films alludes to a less pleasant experience.26 However, the differences between these venues seem only to have played a small role in the ways Bergman’s films themselves are remembered. While his films retain in memory a strong connection to the places in which they were exhibited, which ranged from the luxurious to the relatively basic, they are remembered almost uniformly with fondness and respect. Alongside this enduring connection to screening venues, Bergman’s films also tend to be presented as unusual experiences for British audiences, with various respondents recalling them being ‘very unlike anything seen before,’ ‘different to all the other films I had seen,’ ‘unexpected and a revelation,’ and ‘totally different from anything I’d seen before.’27 This was sometimes framed as a response to his ‘different style of film-making,’ which was felt to bring to the cinema ‘new ideas’ and ‘different experiences, refreshingly so.’28 While Bergman’s films may have struck audiences as being unusual, this itself is a relatively common description of the work of a wide range of European directors. Indeed, Bergman’s name appears most often in respondents’ questionnaires amidst lists of names of other European filmmakers. These directors are often presented as collectively innovative or surprising, suggesting that this is not a trait specifically associated with Bergman. However, while he is certainly not alone in having his work described as unique, memories of his films also undermine some of the broader trends in memories of European cinema. For example, while Maryam remembers enjoying ‘fun nights in the

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West End with a friend after seeing the latest Bergman, (lots of sex),’ Eugene notes that the Paris cinema in Coventry ‘showed foreign language films in its double bills, usually programmed for the nudity they included (though I did see Bergman’s The Silence [1963] there).’29 While the first of these respondents locates Bergman in relation to the perceived association of sexuality and European cinema that existed in Britain, the latter respondent’s memory, while reinforcing this connection in broad terms, holds Bergman outside of it. The Silence is seen as an exception to this tendency.30 As such, while Bergman fits into the landscape of distinctive European directors remembered by British audiences, he also occupies a unique space within it by being disassociated from the perceived sexual excess that ‘continental’ films were often deemed to contain. This denial of the more basic pleasures that many believed other European films offered their audiences contributes to the perception that Bergman produced more intellectual films than many of his contemporaries. Lennox recalls that Bergman’s films operated on an ‘intellectual level. I found I was still thinking about the characters and the plots days and weeks after seeing a film . . . They raised “issues” and provided the topic of long discussions with friends and colleagues. These were all films for grown-ups.’31 Similarly, Lena remembered that ‘his films made me think,’ while Barry posed Bergman in opposition to the famed British director David Lean, whose films they would go to ‘for spectacle,’ but which were not as ‘thought provoking’ as Bergman’s.32 There is, of course, a suggestion of elitism in this comparison between Bergman and Lean, present in the framing of Bergman as an intellectual, with its implicit suggestion that more visually spectacular films offered less valuable or enriching pleasures. However, this was itself noted and critiqued by Bobby, who recalled that the university film society through which he was able to watch Bergman films was ‘a bit pretentious really,’ even if it was also ‘lots of fun.’33 Whether seen as an intellectual treat or as a darling of the affected and snobbish, it is evident that Bergman came to be respected by many of his British audiences for his ability to challenge them intellectually and to offer something more than impressive visual imagery and sexuality. Indeed, such was the power of the intellectual appeal that Bergman had for some British fans that, even though they ‘didn’t always

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enjoy or understand’ his films, they were still glad of the ‘food for thought’ they offered.34 Another way in which memories of Bergman sit apart from memories of other European directors is their focus on particular imagery from the films rather than, for example, themes, plots, characters or cinematographic techniques. These memories tend to be highly specific in terms of the imagery that is recalled, though less so in terms of other details about the films. For example, Selma recalls seeing ‘the Swedish one about the murder of a young girl when a spring breaks through the ground. Bergman I think.’35 The name of the film itself, The Virgin Spring (1960), and the details of its plot have been forgotten, while even the association with Bergman is only half-remembered, but the image of the spring survives intact.36 Another respondent shared an even more vivid memory. May recalled the moment in Hour of the Wolf (1968) in which ‘a character removed an eyeball and put it in his martini as an olive!!!!!.’37 (Later, in a follow-up interview, May remembered this sequence in greater detail, stating that that I can’t remember the name of the film . . . It was when [. . .] people were sitting around talking, and she had a vodka martini, in a glass, and he took out his eyeball and put it in the glass . . . I couldn’t get over that! I just though ‘How odd!’ Now if I’d gone with my husband he’d have laughed himself silly over that, but I didn’t, I just thought it was odd. 38 In the memory of both Selma and May, the title of the film concerned, the context of the sequence and the narrative purpose of this incident are forgotten, but the image itself, and to some extent their responses to it, persist.39 Once again, this has outlasted the title of the film, indicating the tendency for the visual images constructed by Bergman to be more significant in memory than other aspects of his work. By being intellectual, unusual and powerful in their imagery, Bergman’s films seem to have found a unique place in the lives, tastes and, in some cases, identities of respondents during the 1960s. For example, Lennox noted that ‘Bergman in particular challenged my way of seeing the world.’40 Although he does not elaborate on the nature of Berman’s influence on his worldview, other responses indicate that this might have been through a

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broadening of cultural horizons and an exposure to other ways of life. This is something that Bergman is strongly associated with in memory. Sometimes he is listed alongside other directors, such as Godard, Kurosawa, Fellini and Truffaut, who showed respondents that ‘the world was my oyster,’ but for some audience members Bergman alone had a powerful effect on their lives.41 As in the case of Lennox discussed above, for whom it was ‘Bergman in particular’ who encouraged them to reconsider their perspective on the world, others talk about how ‘especially in the case of Bergman’ European films ‘opened the door on whole new worlds of experience.’42 For some, Bergman’s influence is still ongoing, with his films maintaining a presence in these 1960s cinema-goers’ lives half a century later. As Bob noted, ‘DVDs are wonderful’ and have enabled Bergman fans to retain a sense of attachment to his clever, striking, haunting and, for some, baffling films over the passing decades.43 Of course, these devoted Bergman fans do not necessarily represent the majority of the director’s audiences during the 1960s and for many Bergman’s films were appealing, but not singularly so. For some their impact was not necessarily profound and was limited to a sense that Bergman’s characters were particularly ‘easy to identify with’ or that his films could be used to ingratiate oneself to ‘a Swedish University student who I was trying to impress.’44 For others, they were just one of cinema’s many charms. While Stacey enjoyed ‘most of the early Ingmar Bergman films,’ she also ‘had a great weakness for American musicals.’45 Rodney confessed that ‘I love very silly films (Marx Bros, W. C. Fields), very serious films (Bergman), gripping stories (films noirs), negligible story but great atmosphere (Antonioni), weepy musicals, serious documentaries (Fred Wiseman),’ indicating Bergman’s place within a pantheon of other directors, genres and styles that brought Britons to the cinema.46 Indeed, while university film clubs may have provided many Bergman fans with their first exposure to his work, they also – as Jessie pointed out – screened his films to many who ‘didn’t understand any of them’ and used them simply to derive a superficial sense of feeling ‘pleasurably intellectual.’47 The clubs also often showed these films alongside ‘serials such as Flash Gordon,’ which proved ‘very popular.’48 As such, Bergman is an interesting figure in the memories of 1960s British cinema-goers, notable for his power to inspire some

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audiences through the intelligence and potent imagery of his films, but he was also understood by viewers in a variety of different contexts which often had more to do with less high-brow entertainment than the assumed artistry of continental cinema.

­Polanski Roman Polanski poses a problem for British memories of European cinema during the 1960s. He worked in his native Poland during the early 1960s, making films such as the Academy Award-winning Knife in the Water (1962), but his most famous films from this period were produced in Britain and the United States. In particular, Repulsion (1965), a psychological horror film, features prominently in respondents’ memories of continental European cinema, but was made in the UK. Polanski consequently occupies an explicitly uncertain space in memory, frequently named in response to questions about European films but often only tentatively or hesitantly. Eric remembered seeing Knife in the Water, Repulsion and Cul-de-Sac (1966), another of Polanski’s British films shot in Northumberland, but paused to question whether these films ‘count’ as continental European productions.49 While the latter two films are certainly open to question, the inclusion of Knife in the Water is revealing since it suggests that, despite having been filmed in Poland, this film’s status as ‘European’ has been compromised to some extent in memory through Polanski’s later work in Britain and America. Similarly, it seems Polanski’s nationality raises uncertainty around the ‘Britishness’ of Repulsion and Cul-desac, films he shot in the UK. Indeed, Giles confuses him with French director Claude Chabrol when noting that ‘I saw Roman Polanski’s Les Biches on a date,’ again noting that he is ‘not sure if that counts’ as European.50 Chabrol’s Les Biches (1968) is here misattributed to Polanski, further highlighting the Polish director’s conflicted and hybridized status in memory. Having working in Poland and France before making his most successful films in Britain and later America, Polanski troubles the distinction British audiences often recognized between the films of their own country and those of the broader European continent.

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What memories of Polanski films do hold in common with memories of other European directors is his sense of otherness. As with Bergman, Polanski is framed through the language of exceptionalism and difference. He is described as having a ‘unique authorial vision,’ making ‘seriously good films that had depth,’ possessing a ‘distinctive style,’ and having the ‘ability to create an atmosphere’ and ‘push the boundaries.’51 As with other European film directors of this decade, Polanski was thought by British audiences in Rebecca’s words to be ‘totally different from anything on TV or mainstream cinema.’ Polanski’s style of horror seemed new and fresh to many. Angus declares that ‘early Polanski films were excellent, Knife in the Water, Repulsion. Brilliant storytelling, the suspense, the unexpected.’52 Claud’s favourite cinematic experience of the 1960s was ‘seeing Repulsion for the first time.’ Meryl, who felt much the same, attempted to explain that though it ‘sounds an odd film as a favourite’ it was ‘an amazing psychological horror’ that ‘has stayed in my mind as one of the truly great ground-breaking films. There was hardly any music preceding the scary events. The feeling of fright and suspense were created entirely by the wonderful acting and terrific direction. Small things like the glimpse of a man reflected in a mirror (for seconds only), marvelous little touches like that.’ Repulsion and Cul-de-Sac had the capacity, as Maryam expressed it, to make ‘you feel uncomfortable.’53 Morwenna went to her university film club to see Repulsion ‘and found it rather nightmarish.’ Polanski’s ability to surprise and unnerve audiences is perhaps most clearly communicated by one woman who remembers seeing Repulsion with a friend who ‘took me because he had been to see it, and he knew at one point that it was going to be really alarming [. . .] and the whole, I mean honestly the whole audience [makes loud gasp].’ This respondent felt that Polanski was able to achieve such a physical response because he ‘involved the audience so much, I remember the gasps . . . and people were really startled.’54 While many respondents seem to recall the social aspects of cinema-going more clearly than they remember individual films or directors, Polanski’s ability to unsettle audiences here resulted in a moment of shock that was shared by people across the auditorium, fixing his unusual, disturbing film in memory through the social experience of seeing it. It is perhaps unsurprising that such incidents enable him to stand out from his

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contemporaries in memory. Problematic though Polanski may be in relation to notions of national and continental cinema, for audiences his films share with the work of other European directors a powerful sense of difference and uniqueness.

­Wajda Bergman and Polanski represent the exception rather than the rule in relation to directors from northern Europe. While memories of their work remain powerful, very few other directors from this region are recalled with any degree of specificity and their names appear in the responses much less frequently than those of directors from France, Italy, Britain and America. Even Andrzej Wajda, the most widely recognized member of the Polish Film School, which was active into the early 1960s, now only stands out in memory for a few respondents. While some felt that his Second World War trilogy, A Generation (1954), Kanal (1956) and Ashes and Diamonds (1958), which participants recall seeing in Britain during the 1960s, were ‘tense political dramas with historical sensibility,’ or noted that Wajda was a ‘fantastic filmmaker,’ most simply forgot him or incorporated him into long lists of other directors they admired.55 These lists are themselves revealing, since Wajda sits in them alongside names such as Claude Chabrol, François Truffaut, Federico Fellini and Alain Resnais, as well as some directors from further afield, such as Satyajit Ray and Akira Kurosawa, and some closer to home, such as David Lean. Wajda fails to stand out in memory, as do all other northern European directors aside from Bergman and Polanski, but he represents part of a broad tapestry of cinema from across Europe and the world that was gradually making its way into Britain. While Esther noted that she could not ‘remember the name of the Polish director’ that she liked, before taking a guess at Wajda, she still used his films as an example of how, through European and other cinemas, ‘the world was opening up’ for British audiences.56 In this sense, perhaps northern European directors were less significant in and of themselves, but rather gained significance as part of a broader body of international filmmakers who were coming to the attention of British cinema-goers.

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­Fellini, Pasolini, Visconti One man who lived in Yorkshire during the 1960s recalled seeing a number of films several times: Federico Fellini’s La Dolce Vita (1960) and 8 1/2 (1963), Luchino Visconti’s The Leopard (1963) and Michelangelo Antonioni’s BlowUp (1966). He looked back on these Italian films as his ‘introduction to a new world.’57 Part of that new world was fantasy: Fellini was much admired by Floyd ‘because of his imaginary world.’ Bill, in contrast, recalls being troubled by the world Fellini created in Satyricon (1969), ‘a very strange film about myths and legends [in ancient Rome] . . . I remember being very confused after watching that . . . it was so way out that it was hard to understand what he was getting at.’58 Italian directors were also remembered for other reasons. Visconti’s films were praised for evoking the past: ‘his sense of history and accurate reconstructions of historical periods, costumes etc. and concentration on decline and decadence.’59 To others, it was his essential humanity (‘compassionate, down to earth, earthy,’ according to Matilda) that appealed. Arthur found Rocco and His Brothers (1960) ‘political’ in its story (which ends tragically) of a working-class family attempting to establish itself in industrial Milan: it ‘made a lot of sense’ to him as ‘the son of a carpenter who worked in the building trades,’ though he commented that the film was ‘done at an operatic scale which was different from anything else I had seen.’60 Respondents also praised the warm aesthetics (‘richly splendid’; ‘beautiful’) of Visconti’s movies.61 Pier Paolo Pasolini was also lauded for the fact that, as Livia remarked, his work was ‘visually stunning − like looking at paintings.’62 Yet films such as Oedipus Rex (1967) and Theorem (1969) also contributed to giving him a reputation as a critic of existing Italian society: Lina ‘thought he was political and daring.’63

Antonioni There was a general feeling on the part of many respondents that European films were harder to understand than their American or British counterparts. ‘Bergman and Antonioni, Resnais,’ writes Francis, ‘their films [were] more

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intellectually challenging.’64 Dustin confessed that Fellini’s 8 1/2 was the first continental film he had seen but ‘at sixteen I could make nothing of it.’65 Sometimes, respondents read into continental auteurs qualities that fitted with their own remembered youthful angst. ‘Fellini, Antonioni, Bergman, Truffaut, etc.,’ according to Dolly, ‘fitted with my sense of alienation. Basically I dealt with not belonging by being as different as possible and being a film buff was part of that.’66 This idea that being a film buff − specifically a fan of continental European cinema − could contribute to identity formation is an interesting one. While knowledge of European cinema offered this respondent a means of coping with her sense of alienation, we have seen above how this was also utilized by some university film society members to signify their accumulation of significant cultural capital. Continental cinema was certainly used by Britons to produce and embody particular identities, but both the types of identities formed in this way and the reasons for their formation were seemingly very varied. Over and over again, amidst expressions of enthusiasm for the group of directors occasionally all lumped together as ‘the Italians,’ the name of Antonioni keeps coming up. ‘I suppose my favourite Italian director was Antonioni and I mean the photography is amazing and the acting was amazing and the stories were interesting, though sometimes confusing,’ declared one respondent.67 By contrast with Bergman, individual respondents do remember specific film titles. Faith enthused about L’avventura (1959) ‘and anything by Antonioni.’68 There are of course many reasons why individual films stay in the memory. ‘I remember L’avventura,’ Lena writes, with a strong sense of remembered grievance, ‘because I fell asleep for about 20 minutes and when I woke up nothing had happened!’69 Lionel was intrigued by L’Eclisse (1962), partly because the film ‘showed a romantic Italy and it intrigued me’ and partly because it starred Monica Vitti.70 Other respondents also comment on the partnership between Antonioni and Vitti.71 Yet another recalls seeing Red Desert (1964), tersely noting ‘couldn’t understand it.’72 Above all, perhaps predictably, there is one Antonioni film that stands out in many people’s memory: Blow-Up, an English-language movie shot in London and released in 1966. It was a film that many found a difficult movie to watch. ‘Blow-Up I probably didn’t get,’ Maynard suggests, ‘although I was

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Figure 5.1  David Hemmings and Veruschka von Lehndorff in Blow-Up, directed by Michelangelo Antonioni © MGM/Carlo Ponti 1966. All rights reserved.

entertained.’73 ‘I found [it] hard to understand,’ writes Melvin. Gordon, more ambivalently, comments that it was ‘my introduction to enigmatic cinema.’ Joseph also described is as ‘enigmatic . . . you’re not quite sure what you were seeing and in the end you weren’t quite sure what you were seeing really had happened.’74 Those who liked Antonioni did so for a variety of reasons. Some emphasized the quality and richness of the cinematography in his colour films.75 The novelty and freshness of his approach also appealed. Blow-Up ‘was a completely new concept of filming,’ Samuel remarks, ‘so I suppose it may have been the novelty value’ that accounted for the film’s appeal. Nora saw it as ‘a vast step on’ from the kind of films that had been released in the first three years of the sixties.76 Belle thought the appeal of the film was mainly visual (she wrote in her diary at the age of fourteen or fifteen that she ‘liked it because it didn’t have a lot of script’). To Lucille, it ‘seemed a completely new way of making films.’ To her, the newness was a matter of narrative (‘the disjointed, and mysterious story’) and film technique (‘the hand-held camera, the natural

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sound’).77 To other commentators, the lack of a traditional narrative was compensated for by other things. ‘A negligible story but a great atmosphere,’ wrote Dolly. According to Joseph, the film was ‘really stylish and cryptic quite unlike anything I had seen before.’ ‘I thought [it] was terrific,’ recalled Kate, ‘Absolutely adored that film.’78 There was a strong sense on the part of several respondents that Blow-Up succeeded because it was linked to elements of contemporary British culture. Faith remarked that she liked it ‘because of Antonioni, and it features a chair designed by a friend of mine.’79 Norris points out, in terms of the film’s music, that ‘Blow-Up had [British hard rock band] the Yardbirds.’80 Belle remembers ‘Jane Birkin or someone . . . wearing coloured tights and I really liked those,’ linking this to women’s fashion at the time (‘tights came in with miniskirts ’cause you couldn’t really wear stockings’).81 Joseph (a Yorkshireman) believed that since the film was ‘about Swinging Sixties London’ it ‘was different and interesting and made me think.’ Lilian, by contrast, recalled being ‘excited’ to live in London during the 60s and believed Blow-Up reflected the period because it included ‘Carnaby Street and Biba and all the pop culture and [the] Kings Road [Chelsea].’ Others underlined the idea that the film looked at London of the period very much from a European perspective. Yvonne wrote praising the film ‘especially for [its] London life view, which felt close (I moved to north London [19]65–67) and the European director.’ She also believed that it ‘captures London lifestyle and period in a European context.’82

The French ‘New Wave’: Godard and Truffaut Lucan, who came from northern England, explained that he ‘went through [an] intense period of love for French Nouvelle Vague,’ interestingly qualifying this as ‘Left Bank, not more commercial Right Bank’ (the directors he cites are Agnès Varda, Alain Resnais, Claude Chabrol and François Truffaut). He believed the appeal of such films was that he ‘enjoyed having to concentrate, think, be open to ideas.’83 Other respondents wrote of their remembered dedication in ‘keeping up with the nouvelle vague’ that they saw as ‘so innovative and compelling.’84

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Of the French ‘New Wave’ directors, two had a particular appeal. Jean-Luc Godard, Damon recalls, ‘was particularly impressive and stands out.’85 Alec remembers ‘making a study of Godard when I was an undergraduate and going to see every film he’d made at art cinemas. I was obsessed by him and his work.’86 Lotus, who had a poster of the director, regarded him as ‘French and fascinating’ and Norton, when he was secretary of the University of Liverpool Film Club, arranged for producer Philip Strick to come and give a talk about him.87 Godard, almost from the beginning, had a reputation of making films that were innovative. ‘I thought that each of his new films was exciting and ground-breaking,’ wrote Gene.88 They seemed to offer what Harold saw as a new ‘style of film-making’ that, according to Elton, ‘made me think about cinema differently.’89 To Lee, Godard compared very favourably to British director David Lean because of his tauter style of narrative: ‘Godard would . . . put it in a nutshell in a way that was very much more impressive.’90 To some, Godard was one of the directors who greatly encouraged the idea of the ‘auteur.’91 At the same time, several of our respondents agree that Godard was ‘difficult.’92 ‘I was avid for films by Godard,’ Abel asserted, ‘but I can’t say I “got” them, I just knew I had to try.’ Belle thinks that the first Godard film she ever saw was Le Gai Savoir (1969) at the ICA [Institute of Contemporary Art, London], and although she ‘didn’t have a clue what it was about . . . I just loved the way it looked.’93 More so than other ‘New Wave’ directors, Godard’s films − people in our survey mentioned Breathless (À Bout de soufflé, 1960), The Soldiers [probably Le Petit Soldat, 1960], Vivre sa vie (1962), Une femme mariée (1964) and Alphaville (1964) in addition to Le Gai Savoir − often expressed a strong interest in ‘politics.’94 Unlike other directors associated with the French ‘New Wave,’ moreover, respondents associated Godard with particular stars: Anna Karina (his wife 1961–5)95 and Jean-Paul Belmondo. Helena liked Breathless because ‘I was in love with Belmondo’ and the Francophile Cornelius described almost poetically ‘Jean-Paul Belmondo’s eyes screwed-up in the smoke of a Gauloises fag-end.’96 The second French ‘New Wave’ director who stands out in recollections of 1960s British cinema-goers was François Truffaut. Hilary confessed that she had liked ‘about everything by Truffaut’ who was the ‘best of the New Wave (in my opinion).’97 A male respondent liked ‘most Nouvelle Vague films’ but

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‘especially Truffaut.’ Others claimed that Truffaut had been their ‘favourite French director’ or had been the one directing ‘my favourites.’98 Many expressed considerable personal affection: ‘Loved Truffaut,’ was Emmeline’s succinct comment.99 To some extent, Truffaut was admired for the same reasons as other European directors of the time: like Bergman, Fellini and Antonioni, what he did ‘was so different from commercial US and UK cinema.’ He and his ‘New Wave’ colleagues ‘looked at things another way without the Hollywood gloss.’100 There was a general style and depth of characterization in his films that made him comparable for some respondents, as noted above, to Bergman: Maryam wrote that ‘their films were always innovative and intelligent. The protagonists were easy to identify with.’ Abel, indeed, praised Truffaut specifically ‘for creating Antoine Doinel [Jean-Pierre Léaud] the anti-hero.’101 A woman wrote that she ‘loved the way he probed character and relationships’ and his ‘sense of humour, too.’102 Other respondents paid tribute to Truffaut for what they perceived as ‘his humanity/humanism’ and his choice of ‘humane and sensitive subject matter and technique.’103 He was seen as especially characteristic of the ‘sheer exuberance in shooting and playing’ of the French New Wave, the man who − with 400 Blows and Jules and Jim (Jules et Jim, 1962) − had played a particular part in pioneering the notion of ‘the director as auteur.’104

Resnais, Chabrol, Malle, Varda Of other directors associated with the French ‘New Wave,’ Alain Resnais in particular remains a considerable focus of debate among respondents. Norton links him in personal memory with Godard and Truffaut as directors he considered were on his own personal wavelength (‘I “spoke their language”’).105 Francis equates him with Bergman and Antonioni as producers of ‘more intellectually challenging’ films.106 Lucan linked Resnais’s Hiroshima Mon Amour (1959) and Last Year at Marienbad (1961) with Agnès Varda’s Cléo de 5 à 7 (1962) for making him ‘concentrate, think, be open to ideas.’ Bob thought there was ‘something in the philosophy of the film [Marienbad] I liked’ and believed it had helped make him ‘a sort of Francophile all my life.’ George remembered Last Year at Marienbad as ‘an incredible movie, though absolutely

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nothing happens in it really.’107 As other respondents’ comments indicate, Last Year at Marienbad at times prompted both bafflement and incomprehension. ‘What was that about?,’ asked Lia. Sheila remembered seeing it ‘and not really knowing what the hell was going on . . . Does it mean anything at all?’ Jerry similarly recalled viewing the film, ‘wondering what it was about − and talking about it for hours afterwards.’108 The movie clearly challenged established conventions of filmmaking: Eileen wrote of the ‘mysterious, eerie soundtrack, voice-over, repeated phrases, moving shots.’109 Some people regarded it as influential despite − or because − of its unconventionality: Gene saw it as ‘strange and compelling,’ Molly admitted it ‘wasn’t my favourite experience but its strangeness made a long lasting impression.’ Walt stated that ‘one film I loved which was very much an acquired taste because my wife hated it was Marienbad[.] I loved that film, it’s so haunting.’110 Serious film fans often seem to have convinced themselves that the ‘New Wave’ films of directors such as Resnais would become more comprehensible with subsequent re-viewings: ‘I got more each time I saw them,’ claimed Norton, ‘especially “difficult” films like Last Year at Marienbad.’ ‘I’ve rewatched it recently,’ notes Lotus, ‘and understand it a little more.’111 By contrast, Louise dismisses it now only with one word: ‘pretentious!’112 The ‘New Wave’ films of Claude Chabrol − especially Le Scandale/The Champagne Murders (1967) and The Butcher (1970)113 − were recalled with affection by many. Respondent Forrest paired him with Truffaut for making films that ‘looked at things another way without the Hollywood gloss.’114 Arthur described him as ‘cool, controlled − a Gallic Hitchcock.’115 Eric Rohmer was appreciated by others, but actual films by him that were mentioned dated from the very end of the decade: My Night at Maud’s (1969) and Claire’s Knee (1970). One woman commented that Claire’s Knee ‘was a favourite, set on Lake Annecy which I knew and loved.’116 Several people refer to Louis Malle, but the only film title remembered was Viva Maria! (1965), a historical spoof set in early twentieth-century Central America starring Brigitte Bardot and Jeanne Moreau.117 The French ‘New Wave,’ as these illustrations suggest, was almost entirely male. ‘Not really many female directors from the time,’ noted Dawn, ‘except [Agnès] Varda.’118 Several respondents also mentioned Varda, but only two referenced specific films by her: Cléo de 5 à 7 and Le bonheur (1965).119

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Buñuel One other director of European origin who made films during the 1960s is hard to pigeonhole in any straightforward way: Luis Buñuel, born in Spain but living in exile after the Spanish Civil War (1936–9) until 1960, made films in Spain (Viridiana, 1961, which was promptly banned by the Franco regime and then released in France), Mexico (The Exterminating Angel, 1962) and France (Belle de Jour, 1967). Several respondents also recall watching his earlier surrealist film, Un Chien Andalou (1929), made with Salvador Dalí (one commented that ‘the eyeball slicing image . . . stayed with me’).120 Many applauded Buñuel’s militant non-conformity: Charlton commented that he appealed ‘ ’cause he was an Anarchist!! (still like him).’121 Gus ‘loved’ him for ‘his dark sense of humour coupled with his mockery of the church, especially The Exterminating Angel.’122 (His ‘irreverence’ in the shot of ‘sheep running through the cathedral’ at the end of this film was praised by Cornelius.123) Some respondents regarded Buñuel as a hugely influential figure in their lives: Jonas wrote that his ‘films were vital to the formation of so many attitudes and beliefs in my life.’124 The Buñuel film that seems to have had most impact on our respondents was Belle de Jour, which is almost certainly what Lee had in mind when he wrote of the director exploring ‘the borders of human behaviour with exquisite control’ (the same writer described Belle de Jour specifically as ‘a tantalizing study of sex’). May echoed the latter thought, perceiving Belle de Jour and other French films retrospectively as a means of sexual enlightenment ‘because there was no way anyone was going to tell you any of this stuff.’ Other respondents recalled the film in various ways. Margot simply declared that she ‘loved’ it. Arnold, noting ‘it was the first Buñuel film I saw,’ explained that ‘I liked the distinctive style and his undermining of the status quo, despite the glossy appearance.’ Another respondent, an actress herself, praised ‘those actors, they . . . brought reality to their parts. Human. Humanity.’125 Although the directors discussed above originate from a range of different European countries, they are connected by a number of themes that recur across our cinema-goers’ memories. Several were thought to be innovative, experimental or unique, an opinion that has been expressed in relation to, for

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example, Bergman’s shocking imagery and Godard’s artistry. This created the impression that, while British and American directors may have made many films that were widely enjoyed and admired, it was their continental European peers who were pushing the boundaries of cinema and producing the most exciting work during this decade. While many enjoyed such experimentation, a number of people recall being baffled by these films, though few failed to be struck by their cerebral and visual qualities. Walt declared that European films were ‘just fascinating to see . . . The atmosphere, the direction and cinematography, the black and white [ones] in particular . . . black and white is often more atmospheric than colour and it grips you more.’126 Such characteristics helped to differentiate, in the minds of their audiences, continental European films from the domestic and American productions that were routinely screened in most British cinemas. In turn, this differentiation helped to produce in Britain a sense that European films represented a new and exciting perspective on the world that had not necessarily been widely encountered in this country before. Many people now assess the European films they viewed in the 1960s as having considerable influence on their outlook towards life. ‘I became aware,’ wrote Eugene, ‘that my cinema-going was shaping me and my taste in many things. There was always the element of escapism, but foreign language films brought a new seriousness.’127 Viewing European films, Justin commented, had provided him with a ‘sense of the world opening out both in terms of locations − and subject matter and film styles.’128 ‘We could go and get an experience beyond what we were strongly feeling were our narrow lives (well, that was certainly true for me),’ recalled Henry. ‘So cinema was an aperture to a huge other world. And it just made me curious about how many things I didn’t know about.’129 ‘I think I liked foreign films,’ explained Lina, ‘because they were so different and opened up new worlds to me.’130 The belief that watching continental European films had somehow broadened attitudes and offered them ‘new ways of looking at the world’ is a common view among those who have filled in our questionnaire or been interviewed.131 In the 1960s, through the films they chose to watch, a significant minority of British people were becoming more ‘European’ in terms of their attitudes, sensibilities and cultural

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affiliations. In relation to the argument between historians over whether the 1960s in Britain were a time of change or continuity, the enthusiasm of many of our respondents for what they saw as the innovative work of continental European directors helps point towards a growing openness towards outside influences and increasing readiness for change.

­6 Postcolonial audiences in 1960s Britain

T

his chapter considers the cinema-going experiences of the diasporic communities in 1960s Britain which emerged following the mass

migration of Commonwealth citizens to the UK in the postwar period. Many of these new arrivals from former British colonies had been educated and entertained by British literature and English-language cinema in their formative years and, as such, their recollections of cinema-going experiences in the 1960s are inescapably rooted in and informed by the culture of Britain’s colonial past.1 While this chapter does not set out to engage with postcolonial

theory, it acknowledges its complexity and the importance of scholarship associated with it. For the purpose of this research, however, postcolonial audiences are understood to be either those people who migrated to Britain from the Commonwealth countries in the postwar period, or those who were born into families within these diasporic communities. While there are relatively few responses from Black British Caribbean and South Asian participants captured within the project findings, these recollections offer an important insight into the role cinema-going played in their lives.2 As a preface, this chapter begins by identifying who these postcolonial audiences were and which geographical spaces they occupied in 1960s Britain. Following this, we outline some of the key issues surrounding cinema-going and cultural identity for the diasporic communities in Britain at that time, and in particular investigate the significance of the social, political and communal

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uses they made of cinemas and other film exhibition sites. The subsequent discussion of the project findings in relation to these participants focuses on five areas: a consideration of the role played by cinemas more broadly within the context of other leisure pursuits; case studies of the Scala and Dominion cinemas in London; the cinema-going culture in Tiger Bay, Cardiff; the negotiation of diasporic cultural identity in relation to British and American cinema; and the significance of religious films to postcolonial audiences.

Locating postcolonial audiences in 1960s Britain The background to the creation of modern postcolonial communities in Britain was the British Nationality Act of 1948 that granted the subjects of the British Empire and Commonwealth the right to live and work in the UK. Commonwealth citizens were not subject to immigration control, but the Home Office estimate is that the net intake from the countries concerned between January 1955 and June 1962 was about 472,000.3 The symbolic beginning of the creation of postcolonial communities in Britain was the arrival of the ship Empire Windrush at Tilbury docks, near London, in June 1948, carrying 492 people from Jamaica.4 The Windrush had sailed from Australia and made a stopover in Jamaica to pick up servicemen who were on leave. An advertisement had already appeared in a Jamaican newspaper offering cheap passage to anyone who wanted to come and work in the United Kingdom. Many men who had served in the British armed services during the Second World War decided this would be a good opportunity to return to Britain. Others decided to make the journey just to see what life in England was like. Although many of the 492 only intended to stay in Britain for a few years, the majority would stay and become permanent residents.5 They were followed in subsequent years by many others. Census returns suggest that the size of the West Indian immigrant population grew from 17,218 in 1951 to 173,659 in 1961.6 Overwhelmingly, Black West Indians settled in London and Birmingham, but communities also developed over the years in many other British cities, including Bradford, Bristol, Cardiff, Coventry, Gloucester, Huddersfield, Leeds, Leicester, Luton, Manchester, Nottingham, Leicester,

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Leeds, Huddersfield, Sheffield and Slough. With social problems including housing shortages endemic in Britain in the 1950s, there were inevitably tensions between Black West Indian immigrants and local whites that led to a number of urban race riots, the best-known being in Notting Hill, West London, in 1958.7 After the Second World War and the beginning of the end of the British Empire, South Asian immigration from India and Pakistan to the United Kingdom grew through the 1950s and 60s. From around 1964, this was supplemented by Asians from Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, who began to flee the hostile policies towards them pursued by the governments of those countries.8 The Indian community in Britain numbered 81,400 in 1961 and 240,730 by 1971. Indians tended to settle mainly in London, especially in Harrow, Brent, Hounslow, Redbridge and Ealing. In the Midlands, large Indian communities grew up in Wolverhampton, Leicester and Oadby and in the North in Blackburn and Preston.9 The size of the Pakistani population in Britain grew from 24,900 in 1961 to 127,565 in 1971. It was concentrated in the main in London, Birmingham, Bradford, Manchester, Nottingham and Glasgow.10 The 1960s was a particularly important decade in terms of immigration into the United Kingdom. The size of the foreign-born population in the UK rose only by about 400,000 between the census of 1951 and 1961. The pace of change between the 1961 and 1971 censuses was much quicker, with the foreign-born population increasing by double that number, from 2.3 million to 3.1 million.11 Early efforts at controlling such immigration, beginning with the Commonwealth Immigrants Act of 1962, were often counterproductive. Following the 1962 legislation, for example, growing numbers of family ‘dependents’ from Commonwealth countries were admitted.12

Cinema-going and cultural identity The complexities of cultural identity for those Commonwealth citizens who made Britain their home in the 1960s have been discussed by many cultural theorists and historians. Most notably, Stuart Hall writes about the experience

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of ‘becoming black’ upon arriving in Britain from Trinidad, and explains how ‘black is an identity that had to be learned, and could only be learned in a particular moment.’13 While many of the newly arrived immigrants from the Caribbean would already have had experiences of watching Englishlanguage films, produced either in Britain or Hollywood, those from the Indian subcontinent would be more likely to have primarily encountered their own cinemas,14 and in this respect the participants’ experiences of cinemagoing prior to arriving in Britain was very uneven.15 However, for those who attended British cinemas in the 1960s, one fact stands out: they were not, in the main, seeing people of their own cultural background on the big screen. While recent initiatives such as the BFI’s Black Britain on Film season (2016) have highlighted the careers of Black British stars from the 1930s and 1940s, this is very much a retrospective awareness.16 Indeed, in Black in the British Frame (2001), Stephen Bourne argues that the British film industry ‘would not promote an African-Caribbean actor in the post-war years’17 and observes that colonial films made in the interwar period that celebrated the notion of Empire were still very much in circulation during the 1960s.18 For children growing up in British Caribbean and South Asian communities in 1960s Britain, there were very few Black or South Asian actors on film and television and very little information available about the heritage of Black British or Asian cinema; any awareness of Black popular culture tended to be of North American origin.19 In the US the situation was slightly different. For a century and more after the release of David W. Griffith’s The Birth of a Nation in 1915, Blacks in the United States disputed – and still dispute – their negative portrayal or even complete absence in many American movies.20 However, Black culture had been present in what would become the United States almost since the beginnings of colonial settlement there by British people in the early seventeenth century. This culture is reflected in the development of an early Black cinema in the US: African-American director Oscar’ Micheaux’s Within Our Gates (1919), for example, was a direct answer to Griffith’s racism in The Birth of a Nation.21 But for postcolonial audiences in Britain during the 1960s, there were very few films produced by or showing members of their own communities, and minimal awareness of the cultural heritage of Black British cinema. Some short films by Black

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­ igure 6.1  Rita Tushingham and Paul Danquah in A Taste of Honey, directed F by Tony Richardson © British Lion/Bryanston/Woodfall 1961. All rights reserved.

directors did appear in the 1960s – for example, Lloyd Reckord’s Ten Bob in Winter (1963) and Horace Ové’s Baldwin’s Nigger (1968) – but they had only a limited circulation. When Black actors did appear in 1960s British mainstream films, as for example in Joseph Losey’s The Servant (1963), they were most frequently cast in minor roles, such as domestic servants. Only very rarely – as in Tony Richardson’s A Taste of Honey (1961) – did a major Black character feature. In this film, Paul Danquah played Billy, the young cook on a ship who gets the romantic but unworldly teenager Jo (Rita Tushingham) pregnant, before sailing away. In terms of representations of the Indian community in the UK – or India itself – in British-made films, it is generally agreed that this only really began in the 1970s and 1980s, with movies such as Autobiography of a Princess (1975), Hullabaloo Over Georgie and Bonnie’s Picture (1978), Gandhi (1982) and A Passage to India (1984).22 Films about the Pakistani community in Britain, such as My Beautiful Laundrette (1985) and East is

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East (1999), arrived even later. For those growing up in the 1960s, then, the experience of living within a diasporic community was not represented in the films they watched.

Postcolonial communities and the cinema as public sphere Existing records suggest that the history of Bollywood film exhibition in Britain was influenced by political forces from its outset. Krishna Menon, a close friend of Nehru and a key figure in the campaign for Indian independence, was appointed the first Indian High Commissioner in Britain in 1947. Menon, a Labour councillor for St Pancras who was also a committed member of the communist party, formed the India Film Society in London shortly after his appointment.23 Like Nehru, Menon believed in the educational and social value of cinema, particularly for the purpose of communicating with a largely illiterate Indian nation.24 Promotion of Hindi as the primary language was central to this valuation of film as the most socially significant art form in Indian culture. When Nehru visited the UK in 1957, he was invited to speak at a political rally staged at the Dominion cinema in Southall. The same cinema was also used as a political platform for India’s second Prime Minister, Lal Bahadur Shastri, during his visit to London in December 196425 and again in the 1970s by Mrs Gandhi.26 Whilst none of our project respondents have discussed Shastri’s visit to London in 1964, the dual use of cinema spaces by the Indian community (in both India and Britain), for entertainment and political purposes, provides a wider context for understanding some of the recollections of cinema as a public sphere offered by the project respondents. Our project, we hoped, by uncovering how postcolonial audiences responded to films from which they were largely excluded, would shed considerable light on questions of cultural identity. We also set out to discover the ways in which such audiences themselves made use of the cinema space in Britain, utilizing it not simply for watching films but also for social, cultural and perhaps even political reasons. Jürgen Habermas has argued that in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries some social spaces, including cafés,

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formed part of a bourgeois public sphere that he regarded as characterized by rational-critical debate. According to Habermas, this public sphere was challenged and ultimately replaced by the commodification of culture.27 In 1983, Miriam Hansen published an article entitled ‘Early Cinema: Whose Public Sphere?’ It made an impressive impact and was republished seven years later in a book edited by Thomas Elsaesser on Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative. Building on the work of Oscar Negt and Alexander Kluge, who had proposed the idea of a ‘proletarian public sphere’ in opposition to the ‘bourgeois public sphere’ discussed by Habermas, Hansen suggested that early cinema might have provided the conditions of an alternative public sphere for particular groups, such as recent immigrants and women, by providing them with a social space in which they could identify with each other and recognize fragments of their own experience. Hansen, who developed her ideas further in her 1991 book Babel and Babylon, saw the possibility of such a public sphere as essentially gone by the 1920s and certainly by the 30s, with the movie industry having itself played an effective role in helping integrate the working class into a consumer society.28 In this chapter, we pose the question whether a ‘proletarian’ (or at least working-class) public sphere of this kind might still have existed inside the space of cinemas in Britain in the 1960s. In so doing, we return to and make use of Miriam Hansen’s insight that certain groups, recent immigrants in particular, might have been interested and involved in the creation of such a sphere. As Nirmal Puwar wrote in a 2007 article for the journal Space and Culture: historical research on the landscape of cinema as a place and cinema going has rather remarkably not taken into account how the space of the United Kingdom was inhabited and produced by people from different diasporas, including those from the British Empire.29 Puwar herself has researched what she refers to as ‘the rich South Asian cinema scene that existed within the United Kingdom itself.’ She locates this more generally in relation to what she calls ‘an intense public sphere’ created ‘by different diasporic groups who hired halls and bought cinemas, yelled at the screens, shared food together, and held charged meetings.’ There is a certain

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amount of anecdotal and autobiographical evidence in support of the broad picture she draws as also existing in the 1960s: Ziauddin Sardar, for example, in an article of 1998, recalls travelling with his mother from Walthamstow in North East London at weekends during the 1960s to eat homemade Asian food and watch Indian films at the Scala Cinema on Charlotte Street.30 Rajinder Kumar Dudrah also offers a brief history of Bollywood audiences in Britain, focusing primarily on two cinemas in Birmingham.31 Dudrah comments that: Local mainstream cinemas in South Asian areas of settlement were hired on the weekends throughout the late fifties and into the late seventies. The showing of Bollywood movies on the weekend was a family affair where notions of leisure and community politics were forged. During the fifties and before formal welfare groups and pressure groups were operational people frequently came to Sunday matinees to converse with influential citizens about help with immigration problems or court cases.32 In this way, Dudrah argues, the activity of cinema-going offered South Asian communities not only one of their primary forms of entertainment and leisure but also a ‘cultural practice for diasporic British Asian cultural identity formation.’33 What we found most fascinating about Puwar and Dudrah’s work was their engagement with the history of particular local, community cinemas: Puwar with the Ritz in Coventry and Dudrah with the Prince’s and the Piccadilly in Birmingham. However, both Puwar and Dudrah mainly discuss the 1970s as the key period in which the Indian communities bought old cinemas in which they could screen Bollywood films and hold social gatherings. Before members of the Indian community in Britain owned cinemas such as the Ritz, there were voluntary societies and associations that hired individual halls and cinemas to screen South Asian films. Apart from weddings and religious festivals, there were few other available public and social spaces where people could come together, talk the same language and eat the same food, in a Britain that often seemed cold and hostile to people from its former colonies. Coventry was one of the first places in Britain to show Indian films, and South Asians and their families often travelled considerable distances from other towns and cities in and outside the Midlands to attend performances and meet each other.34

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In 1958, the Indian Workers Association (IWA) was founded to campaign for better conditions for Indian workers in Britain. A few years later, forty members of the Association bought the Ritz cinema. Arvind-Pal Singh Mandair, now chair of Sikh Studies at the University of Michigan, was the son of one of these shareholders. He remembers going to an Indian cinema as providing ‘some sense of community. For me it helped to reinforce a sense of resistance to being integrated into British culture, which was the norm for South Asians of my generation.’35 The Ritz brought together many people of South Asian origin. Even those who were not particularly interested in film valued it for the social interaction it brought with it. As a community cinema, it was hired out for other things besides movies: dances, wrestling matches, live performances by singers and actors. It was also a place where political meetings took place: the IWA itself was very left-wing: it split in the late 60s into a Marxist group and members of the Naxalbari movement who flirted with Black Power.36 Since the Midlands in those days was a centre for the British car industry, which suffered from endemically poor industrial relations, it also seems very likely that strike meetings also took place at the Ritz. The combination of consciousness that in the project we were not succeeding at first in attracting sufficient numbers of participants from ethnic groups together with the awareness of Nirmal Puwar’s work on the Asian community and the cinema in Coventry in the 1970s – suggesting a different, sometimes even political relationship between immigrant communities – made us want to reach out to postcolonial communities in Britain to uncover whether, among other things, their experience of cinema-going had been the same as that of Britons from a non-immigrant background or whether it spoke to the different cultural background and values of their own communities. The rest of this chapter discusses what we discovered.

‘Just passing the time away’ The cultural practice of cinema-going in 1960s Britain can be broadly characterized as one of the cheapest forms of popular entertainment. The average price of a cinema seat in 1960 was just over 2 shillings and 6 pence,

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which was a relatively small amount of money, even at a time when the average industrial wage was just over £14. By 1969, the average price of a cinema seat had doubled to 5 shillings and four pence. Cinema-going in the 1960s was still very affordable, then, with admissions prices rising throughout the decade at less than the rate of the average industrial wage. The relative affordability of cinema-going in the 1960s was notable in that not only was it a relatively cheap form of entertainment, it was also free from normal time restraints (unless you were going to watch a big roadshow production in a major city, with set times for performances). If you went to see a programme in a local cinema, the ticket you bought was for a seat, not for a particular performance. This meant that, for the cost of one ticket, cinema-goers could enjoy the relative comfort of their local cinema for an entire day. Indeed, many of our project respondents remember arriving at the cinema in the morning and staying until late evening. Seymour first came to Britain in the early 1960s, around 1961 or 1962, and settled in Brixton, South London. Originally from Jamaica, he had been employed in the merchant navy. Even though international patterns of film distribution and exhibition in the 60s meant that Seymour had already seen many films released in the UK when he lived in Jamaica, he nevertheless spent a great deal of time enjoying various cinema spaces across London. He would regularly spend his days off from work with friends at the Pullman in Brixton. As he recalls: I used to go to the pictures, say, at 2 ‘o’ clock ‘til about 10 in the night, but when I go there I just go there to sleep . . . why I go in there? Most of the films what them is showing, I see them when I was in Jamaica. So, when I go there, I go to kill time and pass the time away, a couple of us, until 10 ‘o’ clock . . . I carry a sandwich or something like that, and water, about three or four of us, and we’re sharing each other’s food, and just passing the time away.37 As with many of the other project respondents, Seymour’s memories of cinema-going in the 1960s are not of particular films, but of the ‘lovely buildings’ where he and his friends would go to eat, pass the time and keep warm. His accounts resonate with those of other interviewees who discuss staying in the cinema to keep warm and save money on heating bills at home.

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The relative affordability of 1960s cinema-going therefore facilitated a set of social and cultural practices associated with cinema spaces which, by and large, did not continue into the 1970s and 1980s. A decline in cinema attendance during the 1960s ushered in a more commercial and competitive era of film exhibition, which in turn produced a different set of cultural practices connected to cinema spaces. In certain respects, then, the cultural experiences of postcolonial cinema-goers in 1960s Britain was not markedly different to that of the wider British public, in that the use they made of their local cinema extended beyond that of being simply a venue for watching films.

The Scala and the Dominion in London The findings of the Cultural Memory and British Cinema-going of the 1960s project extend the testimonial accounts discussed by Puwar, revealing the Scala Cinema on Charlotte Street to be a significant social hub and meeting place for the Indian community in North London during the 1960s. One project interviewee, Nikhil, arrived in London in 1961 from Lahore, Pakistan. His earliest memories of the decade, during which time he was studying accountancy and living in a bedsit in Stoke Newington, involved weekly visits to the cinema to see both Bollywood and Hollywood films.38 However, whilst watching British, European and Hollywood films was a relatively straightforward pastime, it was much more difficult to access Bollywood cinema in the UK at that time. Nikhil recalls the significance of the role played by the Scala for the South Asian community living in London in the early 60s: When I came to London in the sixties [1961] . . . Indian films didn’t have a license to be exhibited in the UK, in the cinemas. So, what we did, some people made a film club, and they used to send us tickets by post, so I became a member of that, and we used to go to Scala Theatre on Sundays.39 The ‘Indian Film Club’ at the Scala, as Nikhil remembers it, did not charge members and was promoted on a word-of-mouth basis within the South Asian community – Nikhil himself found out about it through his cousin’s contacts. The screenings, most often held on a Sunday, would regularly attract

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up to five hundred members of the British South Asian community, and would become major cultural events for Bollywood audiences living in London at that time. These events would sometimes include appearances by well-known Bollywood actors and actresses, who might also introduce the films. Nikhil remembers, in particular, the Indian actress Meena Kumari introducing one of her movies, recalling that she was ‘all dressed up,’ as though she was attending a film première.40 As with the Ritz in Coventry, the cinema space at the Scala in the early 1960s served not only as a place to watch new Bollywood films but also as a meeting place for the wider community. As Nikhil remembers: Most times, same people every week, sometimes we used to go there to watch a film, and also to meet friends as well, because [a] lot of people used to go . . . it was not only [an] Indian film club, it was also [a] social club you could say, chatting on the pavement . . . and also a restaurant around that area used to be full of people that night. It was an Italian café we used to go to. And also in the backstreet there was a Pakistani café, self-service in those days, they called it, like a canteen. So, you take the tray, pay for it and that’s it.41 Although not overtly political, Nikhil recalls, the ‘social club’ that evolved around the film screenings provided one of the important spaces for the community to come together and discuss difficult issues. In particular, housing was a problem, with many landlords refusing to let rooms to migrants  – whether Indian, Caribbean or Irish. Nikhil’s memories of London in the early 1960s are of a ‘grim’ place for migrant workers who were trying to settle and build a new life. In this context, the film club offered a much-needed space to share experiences and connect socially, as well an opportunity to watch Bollywood films. This social use of the film club as an important cultural space for the Asian community continued for a number of years until, as Nikhil recalls, other London cinemas obtained licences to screen Bollywood films, and he began regularly to attend a cinema in Walthamstow instead.42 Another interviewee, Sachin, who arrived in London in 1966 to study law at University College London, recalls encountering similar issues caused by the

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racist attitudes which were prevalent in 60s Britain. Sachin, who was originally from Lucknow in North India, remembers watching films at Her Majesty’s Theatre on Tottenham Court Road once every two to three weeks, usually with his future wife. As a student living in London, Sachin recalls that life was hard, and they had very little money. Going to the cinema was their only form of entertainment, and offered a temporary distraction from the hardships they faced: 100% it was only entertainment. Nothing less, nothing more. You just go there, enjoy dance, music, songs, and storyline. But it doesn’t make any impact on your life, because it was a bit of a struggle . . . People were students, they would have part-time jobs, and housing was not so easily available . . . you wouldn’t believe it, people used to have advertisement: ‘House to let. No Irish. No Indians.’ So, we talk about apartheid in South Africa, but it was happening here. So, landlords would point blank refuse. They wouldn’t talk about it.43 ­For students like Sachin, cinema-going offered an alternative way to deal with the stresses familiar to the migrant communities of 60s London: it was a form of escapism, a brief cultural respite from the struggles encountered in their new life. Whilst the screenings at the Scala offered Nikhil, Sachin and others a communal meeting place to discuss social hardships facing the South Asian community in the 1960s, cinema spaces were also significant to the minority communities of 60s Britain in other ways. In the late 1950s, the IWA began using the Dominion in Southall for music shows, political gatherings, public meetings and other live forms of entertainment, which included ‘wrestling matches with famous wrestlers invited from India competing with local talent.’44 Indira was born in 1946 and moved to the Hounslow area as a young child. She recalls a busy cultural hub of activity existing around the Dominion, and in particular remembers that ‘before the films started, there was sometimes dancing and music, we would sit and eat our food, samosas or dosa or some such, and then by the time film started, I would fall asleep on my auntie’s lap.’45 For respondents such as Indira, visits to the cinema were as much about interacting with her family and the wider community as they were about

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watching films. More importantly, they offered a public space for experiencing and engaging with Indian culture. This involved food, dance and music as well as Bollywood cinema. Although none of the project participants recall attending political meetings at the Dominion, they do remember discussing politics in the public space of the cinema. Gautam grew up in Hounslow and recalls that we used to go to the Dominion a lot. To watch films and also to talk . . . I remember vividly hearing the news when [Indian Prime Minister] Shastri died, everyone was so shocked, it was so unexpected. Some people were saying he had been poisoned. We all stood around discussing who would be the next prime minister, and what it would mean for India.46 In different ways, then, a few select cinemas in 1960s Britain offered a particular kind of public space to the immigrant community. They were places where they could air their problems, receive advice from others in a similar position, engage in cultural practices and discuss Indian politics.

­Negotiating cultural identity: emulating British and American idols of the silver screen The cultural practice of cinema-going also offered a means of adjusting to life in Britain in a set of more personal ways, and can be understood by considering the development of individual and social identity amongst the diasporic communities. In her study of diasporic cinema in Britain, Sarita Malik argues that, in the decades following the arrival of the Windrush generation in Britain, ‘ethnic and racial consciousness became a property of a particular sort of social relations, connecting issues of citizenship, value pluralism and the role of community.’47 Several of the respondents to our study discussed issues relating to their new citizenship and the various ways in which they ‘became British’ even though they were born elsewhere. JayJay was born in Nigeria and moved to a village just outside Paris as a young child. At the age of nine he arrived in London with his family, who settled in Hackney. Despite his Nigerian and French roots, Jay-Jay identifies himself as

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being British, which becomes particularly apparent when he discusses why he did not like American films: I am an English man by my mind, you see, and I can never see America as a country that has come out of England, I can’t believe that. You lived under England, England ruled for over 200 years, I think, to me, they are still baby children – they behave as children, their behaviour is not well matured.48 In particular, Jay-Jay associates British films and his cinema-going experiences with the development of his masculinity. Firstly, as a teenager living in Hackney, and then as a student at Aston University in Birmingham, Jay-Jay recalls that he learnt about aspects of masculine British culture from films: There is something about Britain in those days, in the ‘60s, everything is done when they show a film or not, it is something to do with manhood. Something man-ish, something that give you a man feeling . . . In those days in England they liked a young man to dress up in ties. They like you to, they encourage you to have a three-piece suit, and I think that until a few years ago I would go about dressed in a three-piece suit.49 ­These observations suggest that certain cultural codes of behaviour, especially those linked to gender identity and fashion, were sometimes learned from films. In particular, Jay-Jay identifies Sean Connery’s portrayal of James Bond as one that offered a version of British masculinity he could aspire too. Jay-Jay explains that ‘I think from Bond I developed an interest in women.’50 Similarly, Curtley came from Montserrat in Caribbean in 1961. He liked westerns and ‘loved to watch John Wayne’ who epitomized the role model of a ‘tough guy.’51 These recollections suggest a significant relationship between cinema, gender and the development of cultural identity, and the importance British and American actors held as role models for those who wanted to emulate the codes of behaviour they felt would enable them to ‘fit in.’ Some similar recollections are made by Black female interviewees who grew up in Tiger Bay, Cardiff. One of our interviewees, Conny, moved to Cardiff from Jamaica at the age of twelve, in 1956, with her mother and father and two sisters. Her father was working in the merchant navy and so initially they

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settled in Cardiff. She recalls of her favourite idols, Julie Christie and Audrey Hepburn: Well, they seemed sort of footloose and fancy free, they were independent in a way that I wanted to be, I suppose, but in a positive way, not as though they had rejected the world . . . I wanted to be like them, that sense of adventure and opportunity, I think was more important than their style.52 For Conny, these British actresses again suggested gendered codes of behaviour that represented aspects of the culture she was now adopting as her own. This interest in Hepburn and the way she ‘epitomised youthful independence’ for female cinema-goers at the time is well-documented.53 Conny’s attraction to their sense of ‘independence’ is particularly striking: while many other female interviewees who took part in our study discussed Christie and Hepburn’s generic sense of style, Conny was much keener to explain how they represented a broader ‘British lifestyle’ she wanted to be part of: ‘it was the world out there, that I hadn’t experienced yet . . . and I wanted to get a sense of what it was like.’54 In this respect, stars like Christie and Hepburn represented for respondents from a postcolonial background the intriguing otherness of Western women who had lifestyles that were markedly different from those of the women within their own communities. While Jay-Jay and Conny were primarily interested in British stars, other participants recall their admiration for American stars. Lucinda was born in 1939 in Cardiff in a British-Caribbean family that came originally from Jamaica. In 1963 they moved to Splott in the south of Cardiff as part of the slum clearance programme. She remembers going to the cinema with her brothers, who loved Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke (1967) and Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (1969). Like her brothers, Lucinda preferred American films to those made in Britain, and recalls ‘I always liked Ann-Margret, you know, she was in The Cincinnati Kid [1965, with Steve McQueen] . . . she was very popular, very glamorous, I wanted to be like her.’55 Lucinda’s interest in Ann-Margret echoes Conny’s fascination with the glamorous lifestyles of Christie and Hepburn, and perhaps indicates that, for this generation of British Caribbean girls, American and British stars were fairly interchangeable.

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The memories recounted by Jay-Jay, Conny and Lucinda suggest that there were individuals within the postcolonial communities of 1960s Britain who turned to cinema, and in particular to certain British and American stars, to help them adjust to the unfamiliar culture and lifestyle they were now experiencing. This was particularly important for the younger generations within these communities, for whom fashion, style and sexuality were central to the formation of their complex new cultural identities.

The Tiger Bay experience: memories of cinema-going in Cardiff While some of the experiences of immigrants settling in London capture the racial tension that existed in the capital at that time, memories recounted by interviewees from the Cardiff area offer a slightly different story. Tiger Bay in Cardiff was renowned as one of the most ethnically diverse areas in Britain in the first half of the twentieth century, as well as being the birthplace of mixedrace singer Shirley Bassey. It is estimated that the population of the Tiger Bay community, also known as Butetown, was between five thousand and ten thousand in the period between the 1840s and 1950s. In 1962, however, the Tiger Bay area was redeveloped as part of a slum clearance scheme. Memories recounted from this period form a key feature in the recollections of several of the project interviewees. Cinema-going was popular amongst the community, and respondents recall the sense of support they offered each other at what was widely acknowledged as a difficult period in their history. Lucinda recalls: [W]e had been through the upheaval in Butetown, so that bonded us together, I think. It wasn’t just the Caribbean community, you know, Butetown was a real melting pot, people from all over the place, so yes, there was a sense of community, looking out for each other.56 One of the cinemas that Lucinda and Conny both recall frequenting was the Ninian, a local cinema that would often get rowdy during certain films, such as the gangster films which were very popular. Lucinda remembers that, on many occasions, she would look around the cinema and recognize most of the other

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attendees as locals from the Tiger Bay community. People would be shouting at the screen, clapping and talking to each other. They were not as restrained as the audiences at the larger and more upmarket Capitol cinema on Queen Street. However, her favourite memories are of the Canton cinema in Cardiff, which was another local cinema in the Tiger Bay area. Lucinda describes it as “a big old building, very spacious, like a palace, I miss that cinema . . . it was my favorite as a child. Oh, Gone with The Wind [1939], all the classics from my childhood, it was the best cinema.’57 Lucinda remembers going to see musicals as ‘big family outings’ with their mothers and aunts. West Side Story (Robert Wise and Jerome Collins, 1961) and Mary Poppins (Robert Stevenson, 1964) were particular favourites, as well as several films from the 1950s and earlier, one being Cecil B. DeMille’s The Ten Commandments (1956). Similarly, Lucinda recalls often going to the cinema with her mother, who ‘preferred the old-fashioned films, old musicals, romantic films . . . she liked some of the westerns, too. Hollywood films, we preferred. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? [1962] . . . We loved that film.’58 Isa moved from Trinidad in 1962 to study nursing in London, and in 1966 got a job in Cardiff, where she recalls a welcoming community in the Tiger Bay area.59 Like Lucinda, Isa also preferred musicals to other genres, recalling ‘we preferred nicer stories. I saw West Side Story, of course, that’s a good film. Mary Poppins? Yes, that’s a good one. Julie Andrews, we liked her very much, such a clear voice she had, beautiful voice to listen to. I could listen to it all day.’60 These memories offer several shared characteristics, including their appreciation of the American films and the musical genre rather than British cinema. Although the period of slum clearance in the early 1960s was clearly difficult for many of the families living in the Tiger Bay area, there were no accounts offered by those interviewed for the project that suggested they experienced the same levels of racial tension and discrimination as those who recall living in London during the same period. This might be, as local Butetown historian Neil Sinclair has argued, because the Tiger Bay community prided itself in being ‘multi-racial’ and a ‘safe haven’ for people of colour.61 In this respect, its inhabitants may well have experienced less hostility than their counterparts living in other areas of the country. What emerges from

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these interviews, however, is the sense of an inclusive and unified community, and the importance of cinema-going as one of the intergenerational cultural activities that facilitated social cohesion amongst its members.

Cinema and religion: the cultural significance of The Ten Commandments The experiences of cinema-going amongst the different postcolonial communities of 1960s Britain are, then, quite diverse. One common memory and point of reference for members of both the South Asian and West Indian communities, however, was going to see American biblical epic The Ten Commandments (Cecil B. De Mille, 1956). Though it was initially released in Britain in November 1957, the film continued to be exhibited in selected British cinemas until the early 1960s, and received a second general release in 1966. Several interviewees recall being taken to see The Ten Commandments as an annual family outing throughout the 1960s.62 As Melanie J. Wright observes in her book Religion and Film: An Introduction, The Ten Commandments is a film that has continued to enjoy repeat screenings on both sides of the Atlantic, initially at cinemas and subsequently on television, from the time of its original release in the US until the present day. Wright argues that ‘the cinema experience is sometimes described as a communal ritual analogous to churchgoing or other worship activities.’63 Though she acknowledges some of the key differences between the two activities, such as the commercial aspect of the film-going experience, it is interesting to consider the similarities in the use of both church and cinema as a public sphere. Greta was born in Jamaica in 1942, and moved to London in the 1950s. She recalls that she mainly took her younger siblings to the cinema to see the Saturday matinees, but rarely went other than this, because ‘most people at the church, the Pentecostal church, don’t really approve of cinemagoing.’64 This was particularly the case for women. While male West Indian respondents recalled going to the cinema on their own to watch westerns and other American films, this was often frowned upon for female members of the community. One respondent from the Jamaican community, Eithne,

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recalls that ‘it wasn’t considered acceptable for women to go to the cinema. It was frowned on by our parents. One of my uncles used to go to the cinemas in the West End, but we weren’t supposed to know about it.’65 However, Greta remembers that one exception to this was ‘going to see The Ten Commandments once a year, that was a treat . . . it’s important that films have a good message.’66 Greta also remembers that the only two films she ever saw at the cinema were The Birds (Alfred Hitchcock, 1963), which she disliked so much that she walked out of the cinema, and The Ten Commandments, which was an annual family outing.67 Similarly, Eithne, recalls going to see The Ten Commandments ‘because of the Christian message.’68 There were some respondents from the British Caribbean community, however, with slightly different recollections. Conny, who lived with her family in North Wales, recalls that her parents were keen cinema-goers themselves, and encouraged her to go to the cinema: ‘I knew some girls in Cardiff who were discouraged from going to the cinema, but my mother was fine about it. She was not as strictly religious as some, though, so that might have something to do with it.’69 It is perhaps not surprising that a member of the predominantly Christian West Indian community identified The Ten Commandments as a favourite film which she remembers seeing multiple times. What is perhaps more unexpected is that an interviewee originally from Pakistan, Nikhil, also recalls that his favourite film from the 1960s was The Ten Commandments. It is worth noting that Pakistan was one of the few countries to ban The Ten Commandments, and that the film’s distributors were generally of the opinion that it was unpopular with Muslim audiences. While this might have been at least in part the case in Pakistan, this was clearly not true for all Muslim audiences, particularly those living in London. Nikhail recalls that: Nobody has ever made a film like that again . . .[It] depicts all the history that belongs to Christians, Jews and Muslims alike. That’s why most of the people used to go and watch that film. I watched it so many times, not once . . . [I]t appealed, because . . . today, to develop knowledge, you have to read so many books, whereas that film gave everything concise, everything in order, and so much from one film, you know.70

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Rather than suggest an intolerance to other religions, Nikhil’s response reflects the broader cultural view, espoused by Nehru and Menon, that cinema could play an educational role in the development of cultural identity, and could enable viewers ‘to develop knowledge.’71 Although, in this case, it was religious knowledge (rather than that of a more overtly political inclination), for many Asian and West Indian communities their religious identity was often closely bound up in their cultural identity, and for some, also in their national politics. Nikhil’s comments about The Ten Commandments also reflect Wright’s argument that ‘there is a long history of communities and individuals thinking religiously about and around film – of film being perceived and used as a means of reflection and spiritual experience.’72 As with the recollections of watching British film stars, these memories of watching a Hollywood film representing a Christian culture are important. They indicate that cinemagoing offered those who had recently settled in Britain a means to engage with and make some sense of the culture they were now a part of. In this chapter we have outlined some of the ways in which the cinema spaces of the 1960s are constructed in the memories of respondents from South Asian and Caribbean communities living in Britain for the first time. As suggested by the work of Nirmal Puwar and others, the memories of the diasporic communities of postcolonial Britain offer an insight into cinema space as a more social or communal environment, and of cinema-going as an intergenerational activity. Our project has collected memories of cinemas acting as part of a politicized ‘public sphere,’ with political meetings and rallies held there. They also provided a public space in which discussions of immigration and housing problems, racist landlords, court cases and politics ‘back home’ could take place. Our findings also emphasize the ways in which cinema spaces performed a key social, cultural and religious function for postcolonial communities. In particular, the project has uncovered the significance of the ‘Indian Film Club’ at the Scala, and the IWA at the Dominion, as social hubs and meeting places which facilitated the integration of the British South Asian community into the cultural fabric of 1960s Britain. The memories recounted by some interviewees suggest that, in certain respects, their experiences of cinema-going were the same as those of Britons from a non-immigrant background. However, there are some

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indications that the practice of cinema-going, and the relationship some of our interviewees had with British stars of the 1960s, spoke to their different cultural background and the values of their own communities. Though these experiences cannot of course be held to represent all of those who were members of postcolonial communities in 1960s Britain, they do tell us something about the lives of some of these young people during the decade. For many interviewees, their endeavours to make Britain their new home were facilitated by the cultural practice of cinema-going. Both male and female members of the British Asian and West Indian communities recall trying to emulate charismatic British stars such as Sean Connery, Audrey Hepburn and Julie Christie. In these ways, cinema offered both an opportunity to maintain their own heritage and traditions, at places like the Indian film club at the Scala, whilst also providing a place to learn about the culture of their newly adopted home. The picture that emerges from the material gathered throughout the course of this project is not straightforward. It reveals Britain in the 1960s to be both a hostile and a welcoming place for immigrant communities. It also suggests that cinema-going played a different role amongst the South Asian and West Indian communities, and that there were significant variances between the cultural practices of film audiences in London and in Cardiff. This complicates the findings of previous studies, by Dudrah and Puwar, which were focused primarily on communities associated with one or two particular cinemas, and on the social history of the British Asian community. While it is evident, as Dudrah argues, that cinema was an important social practice for British Asian ‘cultural identity formation,’ the multiple ways in which new cultural identities were formed across a range of postcolonial communities in 1960s Britain is complex.73 Cinema-going for members of such communities offered both a link to their own cultural heritage and past and a means of accessing new cultural practices. These included adopting new fashions, developing their sexual identities and, for some, embracing religious tolerance and diversity. However, all these changes took place under the shadow of a generally racist culture in which cinema-going at best could offer only a temporary respite from the everyday realities of intolerance and prejudice.

Afterword

I

n embarking on our project to gather the memories of 1960s British cinema-goers, we hoped to make a contribution to the scholarship on

British cinema and, more generally, British social and cultural history during what would come to be regarded as an iconic decade. Our first surprise, when the project was launched, was just how many people actually wanted to take part. We expected around three hundred of the questionnaires we designed to be returned; the final figure was more than three times this. Moreover, many people have since told us that they wished they had known about the project earlier (we tried our best to publicize what we were doing!) so that they could also have completed questionnaires. What comes across clearly from the questionnaires themselves is that so many of those who completed them very much enjoyed the opportunity to reflect on and reminisce about their cinemagoing experiences of several decades ago. Completing a questionnaire was itself, of course, an individual endeavour: one person setting down and sharing their personal memories. The pleasure derived from doing so was also individual (unless it moved those concerned to share such memories with partners, children, relations or friends). But, during the original project (2013–15), we also engaged in over forty public events around the UK that attempted to involve people in what we were doing. In a follow-on project in 2017–18, this time to publicize our findings as widely as possible, we once again organized more than forty events. What became evident at all of these was just how much people who lived through the sixties enjoy sharing their cinema-going reminiscences of that time – and have further memories of their own rekindled by listening to others. In a discussion after a screening of The Innocents (1961) at the National Film Theatre in London in

December 2013, for example, a woman told the present writer that she hadn’t

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been at all sure she ‘wanted to stay for the discussion’ because she didn’t think she really had any memories of her own but that ‘listening to everybody else’ her own memories ‘had come flooding back.’ If we start to unpick the reasons for the pleasure many derive from reminiscing about 1960s cinema-going, perhaps the most obvious is that – for many of us – it is inextricably linked to the world of our youth. These are memories of growing up, of beginning to make our own way in the world, of early relationships and sexual discovery. They often focus on key personal moments: a first cigarette in a smoky cinema, gaining admission underage to an ‘A’ or ‘X’ film, a first kiss on the back row, going to see a film as an evening out to celebrate a major life event or a first date with someone who would go on to become a wife or husband. (There are a surprisingly large number of memories in this latter category, given the reputation of the 1960s for growing permissiveness and sexual freedom, though there are also a few respondents who recall seeing the same film several times with different dates.) It was our hope, in gathering questionnaires – supplemented with over seventy face-to-face interviews – to promote an understanding of the place of cinema in the lived experience of its audiences during a time of rapid change  – both in cinema itself and British society. The conclusions we drew from such sources, however, need to be accompanied by a number of qualifications. The decade of the 1960s was far from being experienced by everyone in the same way. Our respondents were usually relatively young in the 1960s, contributing memories as children, adolescents, adults first making their way in the world, newly marrieds and those who were already parents themselves. Many look back at more than one of these life-stages; some, indeed, recall memories and experiences from all of them. Memories of going to the cinema and the films themselves are also intersected by key axes of social difference, such as class, geographical locale, gender, ethnicity and sexual orientation. Inevitably, there are a variety of individual responses to particular films and types of film. The ‘Swinging London’ films of the mid-1960s such as Darling, for example, inspire very different recollections on the part of respondents. Some – a few – make a personal connection with the films because they regard themselves as having been part of the ‘swinging’ scene in the capital, with its emphasis

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on fashion and sexual freedom. For many respondents who lived in less fashionable parts of London during the 1960s, and didn’t shop for their clothes on Carnaby Street in the West End or Chelsea’s Kings Road or Barbara Hulanicki’s Biba store in Kensington, this was not the city they knew. While sometimes confessing to enjoying the films themselves, they saw them at heart as unrealistic. Outside the capital, there were some who admired the Swinging London films or felt envious of the lifestyle they depicted. Yet many more, particularly working-class northerners, rejected or criticized such films as flashy representations of a social world far removed from their own experience. Class and region also played a major part in the reception of the ‘kitchen sink’/British New Wave films released in the early 1960s. Frequently set in the North and dealing with working-class life, they offered a filmic view of Britain that seemed both new and recognizably more truthful. To many northern respondents, films such as Saturday Night and Sunday Morning and A Taste of Honey portrayed the world they knew and lived in with considerable grittiness and realism.1 Yet these representations of working-class life also appealed to people outside the North, creating a sense of solidarity with working-class cinema-goers elsewhere (including London) and intriguing middle-class spectators with a way of life that contrasted strongly with their own. Another reason for their appeal was that they dealt with major social issues that had rarely been publicly discussed up to this point, including pre-marital sex and single motherhood. It is clear from both questionnaires and interviews that 1960s cinema expanded the horizons of film-goers of the time in a range of ways. As just noted, the kitchen sink movies disseminated awareness of northern workingclass life and culture to a broader social and geographical audience. Swinging London films, though they alienated or were ignored by some, offered a picture of an elite lifestyle that others admired to the point of wanting to become part of it. For immigrants and their children belonging to the South Asian and West Indian communities, watching British and sometimes American films suggested new ideas on gender construction, dress and sexuality that would play a role in developing their new cultural identities. At the same time, cinemas offered a social space for people of the same ethnic background to meet, exchange ideas and support each other in coping with the practical

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difficulties of life in a Britain that often seemed inhospitable to immigrant communities. The 1960s also witnessed increasing numbers of British films set in foreign, especially European, locations. In 1963, Cliff Richard starred in Summer Holiday, a musical about a group of friends driving a red London bus who plan to holiday in the South of France but eventually end up in Greece. In the title song, he expressed the growing ambition of many young people – encouraged by the films they had seen – to travel abroad. The growing openness to European travel in particular was accompanied by the increasing availability (and popularity) of European films that, in other languages and showing different locations, widened the geographical, linguistic and aesthetic horizons of young British cinema-goers, many of who watched them as students in small independent cinemas.2 Looking back on the 1960s from the period 2013–15, many respondents recall their increasing rejection of the outlook and values of their parents’ generation. This expressed itself in a variety of ways: a lack of interest in the experience of the Second World War, a major reference point for those who had lived through it; a mounting irreverence towards established ideas, institutions and older people; the development of new tastes in popular music; a growing liberalization in attitudes towards sex. Films remembered as favourites from the 1960s often tend to speak to one or more of these factors. The Beatles’ A Hard Day’s Night, for example, foregrounded the music of the ‘Fab Four’ and treated Paul McCartney’s ‘grandfather’ (Wilfred Brambell) with scant respect. American films, such as The Graduate, Bonnie and Clyde and Easy Rider, are remembered as channelling respondents’ own youthful discontents. Fans of The Graduate recall seeing, in Benjamin Braddock’s ‘generation gap’ with his parents, echoes of their own family tensions and saw little morally wrong in his relationship with an older woman. Those who enjoyed Bonnie and Clyde (advertised in Britain as ‘They’re young / They’re in love / They kill people’) regarded the pair as heroic outlaws in revolt against authority and made Bonnie’s beret and midi fashion items. Easy Rider, revolving around the adventures of another criminal duo, drug-dealers Wyatt/‘Captain America’ and Billy, setting off by motorbike across America, with their doomed journey

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recalled by many as a youthful quest for freedom and challenge to prevailing assumptions. Many memories of specific 1960s films are linked to social and cultural changes taking place at the time. For most respondents, however, those changes are difficult if not impossible to pin down in chronological terms. Some even point out the vagueness of ‘the sixties’ as a historical term of reference: as noted in the introduction, Colin argues that ‘I don’t think the ’60s is the ’60s; I think that the ’50s went on until 1963 . . . [and] the ’60s went on to about ’73.’3 Since cinema-going for most people was a habit, few remember the date at which they first viewed a specific film. The age of respondents complicates the issue further: some, for example, would have been too young to see kitchen sink or Swinging London films when they were first released and may have watched them for the first time years later in a rather different climate. Their memories of these films, moreover, even for those who watched them when first released, may be filtered through more modern perceptions. Or, indeed, memories of seeing a film on its initial release may now be jumbled up with memories of watching it many years later, with the responses to each viewing now impossible to separate. Many female and some male respondents, for example, take issue with the way in which kitchen sink and Swinging London films – as well as Carry On pictures – were often chauvinistic in their treatment of women. Some may have felt uncomfortable over this at the time – the 1960s, after all, witnessed the birth of the modern feminist movement. But others have perhaps been influenced in their recollections by the development of later thinking on sexism and gender equality. There is also a belief expressed by a number of respondents that, by highlighting social issues of the time, British films in particular contributed to a changing climate of opinion in which reform became possible. Some, for example, believe that Victim, the first British film to refer openly to homosexuality, helped prepare the ground for the 1967 law (applying to England and Wales) that legalized homosexual acts in private between consenting adult males.4 Conservative politician Lord Arran, who helped see the decriminalization bill through the House of Lords, believed that this had

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indeed been what happened, informing the star of the film, Dirk Bogarde, that it ‘had contributed to a swing in support for reform from 48 per cent to 63 per cent.’5 While we suspect this may have been the case – and other films such as Alfie probably helped influence the passage of the Abortion Act, also in 1967 – there is no empirical proof, from the results of our survey, that films had such impact. In the introduction we posed the question of whether our project could shed light on whether Britain was changing rapidly in the 1960s or much more slowly, with many characteristic features of 50s society and culture lasting for some time. The honest answer is that we found evidence of both. At the beginning of the 1960s, for example, British society was still in many ways deferential: at the end of cinema programmes, people stood to attention for the national anthem and sometimes sang along. During the 60s, more and more people began to question the practice and by the end of the decade much of the audience raced to get out before the anthem started or simply walked out anyway. This process, in the memory of our respondents, seems to have been a gradual one, spread across much of the decade. On the other hand, there is a good deal of testimony on the capacity of cinema itself to change people’s minds and outlook. The working-class northern man who thought kitchen sink films captured the ‘changing social scene of the time’ and hailed them as ‘ground breaking in the issues they dealt with,’ the girl who wore the same type of black-and-white mini-dress Julie Christie had worn on screen and felt ‘daring and terribly modern’ in the face of critical comments from older women, the gay man who thought Victim ‘spoke to me’ and the Black male immigrant who believed that ‘films were showing the changing world’ all in their own ways reflected this.6 The experience of the 1960s differed according to people’s geographical background, class, gender, sexual orientation and ethnicity. Yet, looking back on their young years, many of our respondents believe it was a period of major change in British society and culture – even if they are unable to say with absolute precision when those changes took place.

Notes Introduction 1 David Morley, The ‘Nationwide’ Audience: Structure and Decoding (London: BFI Publishing, 1980). 2 Ien Ang, Watching ‘Dallas’: Soap Opera and the Melodramatic Imagination (London: Methuen, 1985). Also see Tamar Liebes and Elihu Katz, The Export of Meaning (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1993). 3 Jacqueline Bobo, ‘The Color Purple: Black Women as Cultural Readers,’ in E. Deidre Pribram, ed., Female Spectators: Looking at Film and Television (London: Verso, 1988), 90–109. 4 Helen Taylor, Scarlett’s Women: ‘Gone with the Wind’ and Its Female Fans (London: Virago, 1989); Jacqueline Stacey, Star Gazing: Hollywood Cinema and Female Spectatorship (London: Routledge, 1994). 5 Annette Kuhn, ‘“That day did last me all my life”: Cinema Memory and Enduring Fandom,’ in Melvyn Stokes and Richard Maltby, eds., Identifying Hollywood’s Audiences: Cultural Identity and the Movies (London: BFI Publishing, 1999), 135–46; Thomas Austin, ‘“Desperate to See It”: Straight Men Watching Basic Instinct, in ibid., 147–61; Martin Barker and Kate Brooks, ‘Bleak Futures by Proxy,’ in ibid., 162–74; Annette Hill, ‘Risky Business: Film Violence as an Interactive Phenomenon,’ in ibid., 175–86; Brigid Cherry, ‘Refusing to Refuse to Look: Female Viewers of the Horror Film,’ in ibid., 187–203. 6 Annette Kuhn, An Everyday Magic: Cinema and Cultural Memory (London: I.B. Tauris, 2002). 7 Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) project AK/K000446/1, Cultural Memory and British Cinema-going of the 1960s. See www.ucl.ac.uk/cinemamemories/ (accessed 14 September 2021). 8 Helen Richards, ‘Memory reclamation of cinema going in Bridgend, South Wales, 1930–1960,’ Historical Journal of Film, Radio and Television 23, no. 4 (2003): 341–55. 9 Margaret O’Brien and Allen Eyles, Enter the Dream-House: Memories of Cinemas in South London from the Twenties to the Sixties (London: MOMI/BFI, 1993).

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10 Trevor Griffiths, The Cinema and Cinema-going in Scotland, 1896–1950 (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2013); Andrew Martin, Going to the Pictures: Scottish Memories of Cinema-going (Edinburgh: NMS Publishing, 2000). 11 See Denis Norden, ‘Best of British,’ and Cherry Smyth, ‘Breathless,’ in Ian Breakwell and Paul Hammond, eds., Seeing in the Dark: A Compendium of Cinemagoing (London: Serpent’s Tail, 1990), 32–3, 128–30. 12 Christine Geraghty, British Cinema in the Fifties: Gender, Genre and the ‘New Look’ (London: Routledge, 2000), 1–20, especially 9–10. 13 Janet Thumim, Celluloid Sisters: Women and Popular Culture (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 1992), quotation from 34. 14 The use of questionnaires/interviews to interrogate individuals on their cinema-going experiences originated in many cases with publicly articulated concerns over the content and social effects on young people of feature films. The eleven Payne Fund Studies published in the United States between 1933 and 1935 spoke to this tradition. See Garth S. Jowett, Ian C. Jarvie and Kathryn H. Fuller, Children and the Movies: Media Influence and the Payne Fund Studies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996). Questionnaires were also used by J. B. Barclay for his survey of the film and television tastes of over five thousand fourteen-to-eighteen-year-olds in Edinburgh at the beginning of the 1960s. J. B. Barclay, Viewing Tastes of Adolescents in Cinema and Television (Glasgow: Scottish Education Film Association and Scottish Film Council, 1961). 15 For the change thesis, see for example Arthur Marwick, The Sixties: Cultural Revolution in Britain, France, Italy, and the United States, c.1958–c.1974 (Oxford: Oxford University Press 1998); for the more conservative hypothesis, see Dominic Sandbrook, Never Had It So Good: A History of Britain from Suez to the Beatles (London: Little, Brown, 2005) and White Heat: A History of Britain in the Swinging Sixties (London: Little, Brown, 2006). 16 0764. Here and henceforth, four-figure numbers of this kind refer either to completed questionnaires or interview transcripts in the digital collection of project materials (www.ucl.ac.uk/library/digital-collections/collections/cinema). ­17 This built on work Matthew Jones had done with colleagues and students at De Montfort University in pioneering the use of materials gathered by the project as the basis for performative recreations of the 1960s cinema-going experience. See Matthew Jones, ‘Living Cinema Memories: Restaging the Past at the Pictures,’ in Sarah Atkinson and Helen Kennedy, eds., Live Cinema: Cultures, Economies, Aesthetics (London: Bloomsbury, 2017), 185–98. 18 ‘Screen Memories,’ in James Strachey, ed., The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud (London: Hogarth Press, 1953–5), vol. 3, 305–6. 19 Maurice Halbwachs, On Collective Memory, ed. and trans. Lewis A. Coser (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1992, first pub. 1925). 20 Sarah Smith, Children, Cinema and Censorship (London: I.B. Tauris, 2012), 15.

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21 Annette Kuhn, An Everyday Magic: Cinema and Cultural Memory (London: I.B. Tauris, 2002), 9. 22 Valerie A. Briginshaw in Stephanie Jordan, ed., Preservation Politics: Dance Revived, Reconstructed, Remade (London: Dance Books, 2000), 230. 23 Annette Kuhn, ‘A Journey through Memory,’ in Susannah Radstone, ed., Memory and Methodology (London: Bloomsbury Academic, 2000), 179–96. 24 Ward Parks, ‘The Textualization of Orality in Literary Criticism,’ in Alger Nicolaus Doane and Carol Braun Pastermack, eds., Vox Intexta: Orality and Textuality in the Middle Ages (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1991), 46–62. 25 Committee on Higher Education [Robbins] Report (London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, 1963), p. 8. 26 0775. 27 0743. Carmel remembers helping Barbara Hulanicki, the founder of Biba, transfer her stock of clothes to a new store on Church Street. Later, Hulanicki moved Bibi again, into the large old Derry and Toms store on High Street Kensington, ‘and that was the beginning of the end for her.’ 0743. 28 0728. 29 0761; 0952; 0758. 30 0726. 31 0762; 0764. ­32 0713. 33 0774. 34 0792. 35 0723; 0703; 0807. 36 0808. 37 0772; 0726; 0310. 38 Alan Burton and Steve Chibnall, Historical Dictionary of British Cinema (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2013), 18. 39 Margaret Dickinson and Sarah Street, Cinema and State: The Film Industry and the Government, 1927–84 (London: BFI, 1985), 277. 40 Burton and Chibnall, Historical Dictionary of British Cinema, 18. 41 0726. 42 Kate points out that creating extra screens frequently involved ‘tissue paper walls’ with the result that ‘you could hear everything that was going on in the next screen.’ 0775.

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43 The second of these, in 1963, was the London Coliseum, now the home of the English National Opera. See cinematreasures.org/theaters/2497 and cinematreasures.org/ theaters/11041 (both accessed 1 December 2020). 44 Joseph, for example, recalls going less to the cinema at the end of the 1960s than during the early years. ‘So,’ he concludes, ‘I was part of the decline.’ Yet it is unclear whether his consciousness of the decline of cinemas and cinema-going emerged during the 1960s themselves or was the product of looking back on the 60s from the perspective of a later time. 0703. 45 0988; 0760. To Frank, the key part of this change was a ‘crossover . . . from let’s stop talking about the war and let’s start looking at what the human condition is in the 60s.’ 0772. 46 0721 0775; 0743. 47 0759; 0675. 48 0948. 49 0589; 0595. 50 0726; 0794.

Chapter 1 ­1 See, for example, Melvyn Stokes and Richard Maltby, eds., American Movie Audiences: From the Turn of the Century to the Early Sound Era (London: BFI Publishing, 1999); Stokes and Maltby, eds., Identifying Hollywood’s Audiences: Cultural Identity and the Movies (London: BFI Publishing, 1999); Stokes and Maltby, eds., Hollywood Spectatorship: Changing Perceptions of Cinema Audiences (London: BFI Publishing, 2001); Annette Kuhn, An Everyday Magic: Cinema and Cultural Memory (London: I.B. Tauris, 2002). The study of audiences and cinema-going has evolved into what is now often referred to as the ‘New Cinema History.’ See Daniel Biltereyst, Richard Maltby and Philippe Meers, eds., The Routledge Companion to New Cinema History (London and New York: Routledge, 2019). 2 Daniel Biltereyst, Richard Maltby and Philippe Meers, eds., Cinema Audiences and Modernity (Abingdon: Routledge, 2012), 2; Kuhn, An Everyday Magic. 3 Robert C. Allen, ‘Relocating American film history: The “problem of the empirical,”’ Cultural Studies 20, no. 1 (2006): 59–60. 4 0554. 5 0786. 6 0138.

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7 The following list bowling as a favourite leisure activity during the 1960s: 0211; 0280; 0425; 0437; 0462; 0481; 0508; 0537; 0580; 0645; 0654. For an audience member who combined bowling with a cinema visit, see 0645. 8 0063. 9 0759. 10 0192. 11 0764. 12 John Spraos, The Decline of the Cinema: An Economist’s Report (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1962), 83, 96. 13 Stuart Hanson, From Silent Screen to Multi-screen: A History of Cinema Exhibition in Britain since 1986 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007), 119. 14 Spraos, Decline of the Cinema, 158. 15 0050; 0090. ­16 Rüdiger K. W. Wurzel, Environmental Policy-making in Britain, Germany and the European Union: The Europeanisation of Air and Water Pollution Control (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2002), 92. 17 0198. 18 0531. 19 0108. 20 0490. 21 0713. 22 0693. 23 0086. 24 0555. 25 0043; 0589. 26 0358. 27 0944. 28 See also 0330; 0536. 29 0029. 30 0270. 31 0923. For more on commissionaires, see 0270; 0286; 0555; 0627; 0923. 32 Rank also incorporated the Odeon, Gaumont and Paramount chains.

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33 0019; cf. 0409. 34 0339. 35 0143. 36 0186. 37 0267; 0280. 38 0718. 39 0347; 0242. 40 0675. 41 0713. 42 0056; 0063; 0112; 0302; 0317; 0336; 0371; 0401; 0487; 0490; 0515. 43 This did not apply to large deluxe cinemas in major cities that programmed blockbuster films such as The Sound of Music (1965) essentially on a roadshow basis. 44 0492. 45 0741. ­46 0741. 47 0270. 48 Kuhn, An Everyday Magic, 226. 49 Ibid. 50 0741. 51 0365. See also 0323. 52 0421. 53 0110; 0194; 0301. 54 0764. 55 0704. 56 0035. 57 0772. 58 0772. 59 0268. See also 0035; 0080; 0116; 0159; 0207; 0245; 0331; 0344; 0412; 0457; 0490; 0549; 0643; 0644; 0945; 0949; 0704; 0764. 60 0055. 61 0057.

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62 0181; 0188; 0236; 0242; 0245; 0258; 0270; 0316; 0382; 0399; 0481; 0508; 0516; 0545; 0550. 63 0184; 0616; 0003. 64 0119. 65 0491; 0032. 66 0344. 67 0147. Also see 0090. 68 0133. 69 0688. 70 0302. 71 0112; 0536; 0569. 72 See 0029; 0200; 0280; 0383; 0413; 0444; 0524; 0695. 73 0283. 74 0566; 0583. Also see 0625. 75 0424; 0182. 76 0049; 0052; 0350; 0387; 0418; 0512; 0542; 0568; 0650; 0866. 77 0039; 0320; 0348; 0558. ­78 0435; cf. 0014. Also see 0076; 0089; 0101; 0119; 0132; 0163; 0172; 0174; 0236; 0280; 0295; 0335; 0346; 0383; 0409; 0413; 0421; 0434; 0482; 0506; 0507; 0531; 0532; 0536; 0562; 0612; 0618; 0636; 0661. 79 0536. 80 0654. 81 0076. 82 0399; 0329. 83 0090; 0315; 0555; 0582: 0618; 0712; 0781. 84 0196. Damon, by contrast, declared that ‘I did smoke – so much more personal freedom than today.’ 0897. 85 0246; cf. 0481. 86 0494. Also see 0124; 0133; 0143; 0163; 0207; 0214; 0321; 0342; 0344; 0401; 0491; 0501; 0574; 0686; 0731. 87 See ‘Key dates in tobacco regulation,’ Ash, 16 April 2020, https://ash.org.uk/ information-and-resources/fact-sheets/keydates/ (accessed 15 October 2021). 88 0327; cf. 0751.

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89 0399. Also see 0083; 0084; 0097; 0124; 0305; 0346; 0355; 0457; 0688; 0673; 0809. 90 0474. 91 0218. Also see 0003; 0057; 0280; 0283; 0317; 0401; 0403; 0627. 92 0246; cf. 0671. 93 0344. 94 0339. 95 0344. 96 0450 and 0946. 97 0515. 98 0539. Also see 0116; 0147; 0162; 0167; 0378. 99 0699. 100 0138; 0151; 0156; 0223; 0272; 0278; 0281; 0307; 0474; 0567; 0626; 0628; 0683; 0749. 101 0026; 0527. 102 0481; 0312. ‘A Soldier’s Farewell,’ episode 3, series 5, Dad’s Army, first broadcast 13 October 1972. 103 0077. ­104 0077; 0240. Unsurprisingly, perhaps, Rhiannon recalls that this was ‘the only time’ she ever went to the cinema with both parents. 0240. 105 0360; 0527. 106 0599; 0807; 0707. 107 0706. 108 0763; 0131. 109 0123; 0467. 110 0721.

Chapter 2 1 Michael Schofield, in collaboration with John Bynner, Patricia Lewis and Peter Massie, The Sexual Behaviour of Young People (London: Longmans, 1965), 57, 143. 2 Tosco R. Fyvel, The Insecure Offenders: Rebellious Youth in the Welfare State (London: Chatto & Windus, 1961), 107.

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3 0118; cf. 0271; 0448; 0599; 0762; 0795; 0945; 0986. 4 0448; cf. 0741; 0761. 5 0627; cf. 0445; 0467. Also see 0187; 0200; 0227; 0228; 0659; 0679; 0689. 6 0277; 0092. 7 0439; 0679. 8 0187; 0200; 0331; 0679. 9 0293; 0487; 0689; 0757. 10 0320. 11 0659. Fiona commented that she and her boyfriend normally sat near the front of the cinema ‘to see the film.’ But she also explained that her boyfriend was four years older and had a car for them to ‘snog’ in. 0763. 12 0311. 13 0600. 14 0770. Orson was later tamed when he ‘took a beautiful girl on a date to see The Graduate – and she later became my wife.’ 0770. 15 0174. 16 0321. 17 0320. Also see 0183; 0467. ­18 0246. Also see 0183; 0271; 0402; 0512; 0535; 0770. 19 0448; 0713. 20 0396. Also on back rows/double seats, see 0197; 0206; 0226; 0271; 0314; 0402; 0467; 0512; 0599; 0770. 21 0671; 0813. 22 0535. 23 0402. 24 0183. 25 0679. 26 0241. 27 0378. 28 0534. 29 0414. 30 0435.

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31 0759; 0764. 32 0059; 0760. Also see 0332. 33 0317. ‘Mac’ was a term commonly used in the 60s in reference to a type of man’s raincoat. The originals were made by the Mackintosh Company and based on Charles Macintosh’s pioneering use of a waterproof cotton fabric in the early nineteenth century. 34 0741. 35 0131. 36 0793. 37 0728. 38 0772; 0399. 39 0332; 0175. 40 0344. Mortimer regards this incident as ‘another example of how cinema staff in the 60s were a lot more dedicated. It was their job to keep order and intervene when required. Something that just wouldn’t happen today when the staff are all casual teenagers on minimum wage.’ 0344. 41 0367. 42 0692; cf. 0515. 43 0331. 44 0249. On the subject of double seats, Jarvis comments: ‘Bet those usherettes with their torches saw a few sights.’ 0313. 45 0948; 0435. 46 0341. 47 0271. 48 0772. 49 0741. 50 0763. Fiona’s memory fits well with Annette Kuhn’s identification of a comparatively rare type of remembered scene/image from films which she dubs ‘Type A.’ Memories of this kind, Kuhn notes, are distinctive in three respects: ‘Firstly, the descriptions have a vividness and a visual quality that is almost dreamlike . . . And yet these images are still obviously still resonant . . . It is clear that in the moment of telling in the present the remembered feelings or sensations associated with these memories are in some way being re-experienced.’ Secondly, ‘the remembered scenes or images are characteristically very brief and are always recalled in isolation from the film’s plot.’ Thirdly, ‘accounts of these remembered scenes or images characteristically re-evoke

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strong emotions or bodily sensations on the narrator’s part.’ Annette Kuhn, ‘What to do with cinema memory,’ in Melvyn Stokes and Zeenat Saleh, eds., Memory in/ of English-speaking Cinema/ Le Cinéma comme vecteur de la mémoire dans le cinéma Anglophone (Paris: Michel Houdiard, 2014), 27–9. 51 0118. The film concerned could be The Family Way (1966), Twisted Nerve (1968) or The Virgin Soldiers (1969). 52 See, for example, Bill’s comment about ‘naked wrestlers and all that stuff ’ – ‘things . . . where you wouldn’t have gone with your mum and dad.’ 0952. 53 0659. 54 0234. 55 0235. 56 0424. 57 0342. 58 0016; cf. 0379. 59 0040. 60 0722. 61 0703; 0763. ­62 0773; 0743. In contrast, Laura didn’t take the pill, in part because she was brought up within a strict moral culture that insisted sex only take place within marriage – and in part, it seems, for reasons of health (‘because they said you could eventually get cancer’ from it). 0761. 63 0200; 0703. 64 See Rebecca Café, ‘How the contraceptive pill changed Britain,’ BBC News, 4 December 2011, https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-15984258 (accessed 9 November 2019). One project respondent, Joseph, comments that ‘The pill didn’t arrive until the mid-1960s and wasn’t sort of readily available for even the articulate middle classes until probably ’67 or so.’ 0703. 65 0441; 0952. 66 0445. 67 0512. Birgit, who confesses that she personally disliked ‘the immorality’ of kitchen sink films, also concedes that they ‘may have been’ true to life. 0966. 68 0796. 69 0741. 70 0234.

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71 0583. 72 0775. Barry recounted his experience of watching A Taste of Honey in Manchester, a city with a tradition of anti-Liverpool feeling. He remembers Jo (Rita Tushingham) asking Black sailor Jimmy (Paul Danquah) if he comes from the jungle. His reply (‘No, I come from Liverpool’) ‘brought the house down!’ 0750. 73 0489. 74 0762; 0965. 75 0948. May also writes that she could identify with the principal character, noting that her own father had died when she was sixteen and, despite having an older brother, she had grown up feeling very much alone. Rita Tushingham’s Jo ‘was me, but under different circumstances.’ 0713. 76 It was pointed out by some respondents that the only alternatives for a single woman who found herself pregnant was to marry the father or have an abortion. It seemed unusual still in the 1960s for an unmarried young woman to bring up a child on her own: Molly comments that ‘my cousin, who I lived with, was particularly brave because she in fact had a baby out of wedlock and she kept it.’ 0794. 77 0618. 78 0706; 0336. 79 0762; cf. 0026. 80 0894; 0796. 81 0633. Julian also noted that ‘The Leather Boys [a 1964 film focusing on a gay motorcyclist “rocker” in London] also featured a gay relationship, and was easier to relate to, but it wasn’t really a very well-made film.’ 0633. 82 Colin, who is gay, writes that Victim was also a film he adored ‘because I’m also really interested in archive footage of what London was like.’ 0764. 83 0542. 84 0447. 85 0347; 0765. 86 American Time Magazine, ‘London: The Swinging City,’ 15 April 1966 issue, http:// content.time.com/time/covers/0,16641,19660415,00.html (accessed 26 July 2016). 87 See, for example, Robert Murphy, Sixties British Cinema, ch. 7. On Alfie, Georgy Girl and The Knack, Murphy makes the point that all three (and Morgan!, 1966), ‘were based on pre-Swinging London sources, and their attitude towards the new permissive climate is sometimes confused’ (143). 88 0057. 89 0365.

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90 0592. 91 0313; 0555. 92 0029. 93 0570. 94 0441. 95 0643. 96 0442. 97 0052. 98 0298. ­99 0512. Although it was not a Swinging London film (being shot in Stevenage), Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush (1968) had a not dissimilar pattern of gender reversal. Based on a novel by Hunter Davies, it told the story of teenager Jamie McGregor (Barry Evans) who sets out (successfully) to lose his virginity and then chases what Jason terms ‘an assortment of dolly birds.’ He meets his comeuppance from his dream girl (Judy Geeson) who makes it clear she wants to have other men as well as Jamie. This may have been why it appealed to Julia who ‘thought it was terribly cool and loved’ the film. 0776; 0774. 100 0245; 0298. 101 See, for example, 0104; 0133; 0143; 0167; 0170; 0224; 0252; 0258; 0259; 0275; 0277; 0382; 0393; 0519; 0687; 0697; 0720; 0783; 0787; 0809. 102 0644; cf. 0123; 0208; 0500; 0811. Michael Caine was not universally popular with respondents, however: ‘I wasn’t overly keen on Michael Caine,’ comments Lucinda and Jonas observes that ‘he wasn’t my cup of tea.’ 0983; 0987. 103 0326. 104 0716. 105 0234; 0308; 0486; 0548; 0718. 106 0123; 0559; 0768; 0823. 107 0280. 108 0780. Also see 0103. 109 0794. Rebecca comments on the nature of the attitudinal changes that had taken place since 1966. Watching the film again more recently, she comments that ‘changing social attitudes made Alfie seem very dated.’ 0474. 110 0313; 0950; 0175. 111 0467.

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112 0444. 113 0346. 114 0582. 115 0416. 116 0121. 117 0759. 118 0811. ­119 0795. In her own memory, Laura recalls the 60s as the time ‘when the pill came out and abortion and all this carry on. And Germaine Greer.’ Yet Greer’s classic radical feminist text, The Female Eunuch, in which she argued that the ‘traditional’ nuclear family located in consumerist suburbia repressed women sexually, was not published until October 1970. 0761. 120 0743. 121 0743. 122 0764; 0773. 123 0765; 0763. 124 0965. 125 0964; 0645. 126 0439; 0092. 127 0384; 0750. 128 0776. 129 0750; 0963. 130 0314; 0437. 131 0758; 0761; 0772. 132 The questionnaire completed by most respondents to our survey had a question about sexual orientation. The paragraphs that follow are based on the fifteen male respondents who defined themselves as gay. It has not been possible to discuss female gay sexuality in this way because of insufficient evidence (only one respondent) from the survey. 133 0619. 134 0633. 135 0764. 136 0129; 0707; 0494.

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137 0353. 138 0923; 0484; 0520. 139 0619; 0764. 140 Sexual Offences Act 1967, Chapter 60, http://www.legislation.gov.uk/ ukpga/1967/60/pdfs/ukpga_19670060_en.pdf (accessed 15 September 2021). 141 0764. 142 0633; 0520. Cf. 0973. 143 0619. ­144 One non-gay respondent notes that to some people in the 1960s ‘the sheer mention of homosexuality was like a red rag to a bull.’ 0773. 145 On this point, see 0494 and 0498. 146 0707. 147 0764. On the gay subtext of The Servant, see Peter Bradshaw, ‘The Servant: A 60s masterwork that hides its homosexuality in the shadows,’ Guardian, 27 March 2013, https://www.theguardian.com/film/filmblog/2013/mar/27/the-servanthomosexuality-harold-pinter and Geoffrey Macnab, ‘The Servant that led cinema into a new era,’ The Independent, 15 March 2013, https://www.independent. co.uk/arts-entertainment/art/features/the-servant-that-led-cinema-into-a-newera-8535019.html (both accessed 19 February 2020). 148 0129. 149 0773; 0952; 0589. This latter comment may be an example of someone remembering the ‘long’ 1960s: Sunday, Bloody Sunday was not released until 1971. 150 0762; 0761.

Chapter 3 1 Robert Murphy, Sixties British Cinema (London: British Film Institute, 1992), 256. 2 Ibid., 258. 3 Jonathan Stubbs, ‘The Eady Levy: A runaway bribe? Hollywood production and British subsidy in the early 1960s,’ Journal of British Cinema and Television 6, no. 1 (2009): 3–4, 6–13; James Fenwick, ‘The Eady Levy, “The envy of most other European nations”: Runaway Productions and the British Film Fund in the Early 1960s,’ in I. Q. Hunter, Laraine Porter and Justin Smith, eds., The Routledge Companion to British Cinema History (London: Routledge, 2017), 191–3, 196–7.

192

Notes

4 0762; 0578. 5 0758; 0950. 6 0758; 0760; 0724; 0765. 7 0948. Jeannie confesses that her own attempts to do her hair like Doris Day’s never really looked the same: the American actress had blonde hair while “I had mousy brown hair. 0948. 8 0765. 9 0750. ­10 0952; 0949. 11 0773. Quentin nonetheless conceded that ‘sweetness and light’ may have been ‘what a lot of people wanted.’ 0773. 12 0765; 0758. 13 0759. 14 See, for example, 0759; 0774; 0944; 0948; 0953; 0964. 15 See 0578; 0706; 0723; 0724; 0759; 0764; 0774; 0944; 0946; 0981. Two of these films, In Search of the Castaways and The Moonspinners, starred young British actress Hayley Mills, who made four other films for Disney between 1960 and 1965. 16 0953; 0723. 17 0764; 0944. 18 See, for example, 0774; 0791; 0946; 0964. 19 0964. 20 0762. The film may have been Young at Heart (1955), featuring both Day and Sinatra. 21 0945. The pair featured in seventeen movies together between 1949 and 1956. 22 0764. 23 0992. 24 0808. 25 0759. 26 0764; 0741; 0983. 27 0947. 28 0906. On Roy Rogers, see Alan Cackett’s website, https://alancackett.com/roy-rogersbiography (accessed 10 August 2019). 29 0945; 0775.

Notes

193

30 0950; 0808. Also see 0953. 31 0765; Mark Glancy, Hollywood and the Americanization of Britain: From the 1920s to the Present (London: I.B. Tauris, 2014), 213. 32 0949. 33 0750; 0765. 34 0726; 0964. For other recollections of The Magnificent Seven in particular, see 0589; 0704; 0808. ­35 0765. 36 0776. Stuart Hanson points out that the two major chains in Britain, together with smaller companies such as Essoldo and Granada, were quick to embrace widescreen formats such as Cinemascope, Cinerama, Todd-AO and Vista Vision during the 1950s. Stuart Hanson, From Silent Screen to Multi-screen: A History of Cinema Exhibition in Britain since 1896 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2007), 116. 37 0923. 38 0951. The same respondent noted that The Longest Day (1962) was a Second World War epic which had forty-two stars – but the two the same cinema named in its advertisement were not in the film. 39 Rhiannon experienced the very opposite of this. The Ten Commandments was the only film she ever saw with both her parents. Julia had a similar experience: ‘The last film my parents saw together was The Ten Commandments, and apparently put my father off [from cinema] for life.’ 0240; 0774. 40 0602; 0606; 0578. 41 0198. 42 0758; 0944. 43 0944; 0726. Patsy’s father, who had seen the original Ben-Hur (1925) with Ramon Novarro in the title role, was impatient at having to wait until the 1960s to see the new version in London. He apparently enjoyed it but ‘said it wasn’t as good as the original.’ 0965. 44 0116; 0758. Rhiannon ‘loved’ the man who played Jesus (probably Jeffrey Hunter in King of Kings). 0240. 45 0944. 46 0663. Also see 0016, 0076, 0438, 0458, 0601, 0754, 0916, 0964. 47 See, for example, 0038; 0275; 0352; 0422; 0438; 0754. 48 0093; 0537; 0601. 49 0954.

194

Notes

50 0491. Also see 0765 and 0808. 51 Leila comments that – with the single exception of this movie – she had never been interested in musicals. But she had fallen ‘passionately in love’ with Tom Drake, playing Judy Garland’s love interest in the film. 0675. 52 Jane comments that ‘a lot of the MGM musicals were still circulating in the 60s – e.g. Seven Brides for Seven Brothers – you could see them at Jarrow which was last in line for the film circuit and the stock by then was pretty scratched.’ 0086. Also on Seven Brides, see 0128; 0270; 0315; 0319; 0320; 0405; 0433; 0535; 0912;0760. 53 Walt remembered seeing High Society ‘3 times in the same day because I loved it so much.’ 0949. Also see 0078; 0216. 54 Some respondents went to see Oklahoma twice or more. 0270; 0308. It was one of the musicals Ciara recalls people singing along with. 0198. Also see 0059; 0074; 0186; 0405; 0410; 0619; 0760; 0762. 55 0249; 0425; 0761; 0762; 0967. 56 0186; 0240; 0446; 0508; 0660; 0775; 0950. 57 0759. 58 0425. Also see 0249; 0761; 0762; 0967. 59 0446; 0508. Also see 0186, 0240; 0660; 0775. 60 0534; 0317. 61 0277; 0553. 62 0292; 0777; 0778; 0627. Similarly, Sandra remembers making a rare trip from Marlow to London to see the film. 0097 63 0808. Also see 0793. For the history of the Dominion, see the Dominion Theatre Wikipedia page, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dominion_Theatre (accessed 24 August 2019). 64 0350. Dean similarly considered the huge Gaumont cinema in Manchester ‘fabulous for South Pacific’ and other epics/musicals. 0246. Birgit, who came from the Manchester suburb of Withington, also remembers seeing South Pacific at the Gaumont (0966). 65 0287; 0724; 0102. 66 See, for example, 0021; 0051; 0066; 0229; 0405; 0423; 0681; 0719; 0937. ­67 0161. 68 0724. 69 See 0280; 0644. 70 0586; 0214.

Notes

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71 0273. 72 0031; 0279; 0280; 0697. 73 0343. 74 0258; 0355; 0948. 75 0734; 0762. 76 Dick Clayton and James Heard, Elvis: By Those Who Knew Him Best (London: Virgin Publishing, 2003), 226. 77 0177. Abel comments that the same final credit sequence by graphic designer Saul Bass ‘blew my mind.’ 0182. On crying at the film as catharsis, also see 0575. 78 0419; 0252; 0342; 0444. 79 0535; 0242; 0277. 80 0317; 0545. 81 0164; 0024; 0206; 0757; 0634; 0034; 0419. 82 0336; 0080; 0246. 83 0529; 0347; 0287. 84 0009. 85 See, for example, 0303; 0308; 0319; 0529; 0696. The third of these subsequently himself became a professional musician. 86 0754; 0535. 87 0056. 88 0317. 89 0066; 0946. 90 0696; 0697; 0248. 91 0520. 92 0246. 93 0024; 0246. For other comments on the importance of watching The Sound of Music in widescreen with stereo sound, see 0051; 0174; 0655; 0915. 94 0762; 0354. For other memories of watching the film in Liverpool and Cardiff, see 0272 and 0523 respectively. ­95 0431. 96 0655 (Charlotte quotation); 0051; 0134; 0172; 0260; 0302; 0314; 0334; 0337; 0507; 0535.

196

Notes

97 0032; 0207. On other mothers who liked the film, see 0334; 0648. 98 0025; 0098; 0172. 99 0042. 100 See, for example, 0017; 0040; 0042; 0071; 0138; 0151; 0159; 0174; 0189; 0192; 0214; 0223; 0257; 0308; 0343; 0354; 0459; 0590. 101 0018. 102 0143; 0407. 103 0762; 0774. Julia’s lifelong engagement with the film included singing the songs as a child while her granny played the piano and, more recently, trespassing in the grounds of the Schloss Leopoldskron in Salzburg to see where part of the film had been shot. 104 0577 (Jeremy) and 0490 (Jody); also see 0215; 0330; 0507; 0508; 0535. 105 0432; 0151. 106 0407. On the appeal of the story, also see 0143; 0159; 0227; 0507. 107 0192 (Anne); 0040; 0257; 0138; 0143; 0227; 0257; 0492; 0508; 0736. 108 0535. Also see 0287. 109 0431; 0736; cf. 0090; 0302. 110 At least one respondent, Jason, was happy to see the back of what he referred to as ‘ghastly Roman and Biblical epics.’ 0776. 111 Thomas D. Snyder, ed., 120 Years of American Education: A Statistical Portrait (National Center for Education Statistics), 65, https://nces.ed.gov/pubs93/93442.pdf (accessed 18 September 2019). 112 ‘United States Crime Rates 1960–2017,’ http://www.disastercenter.com/crime/ uscrime.htm (accessed 27 August 2019). 113 Kent Germany, ‘Lyndon B. Johnson: Foreign Affairs,’ UVA Miller Center, https:// millercenter.org/president/­lbjohnson/foreign-affairs (accessed 19 September 2019). 114 See Peter B. Levy, The Great Uprising: Race Riots in Urban American during the 1960s (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2018). 115 ‘A brief history of the birth control pill,’ PBS, https://www.pbs.org/wnet/need-toknow/health/a-brief-history-of-the-birth-control-pill/480/ (accessed 29 August 2019). 116 ‘Stonewall riots,’ History.com, updated 25 June 2021, https://www.history.com/ topics/gay-rights/the-stonewall-riots (accessed 19 September 2019). 117 William L. O’Neill, Coming Apart: An Informal History of America in the 1960’s (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1971).

Notes

197

118 0948; 0952. 119 0750. 120 0260; 0553. Also see 0416; 0644. 121 Poitier’s 1967 film To Sir, With Love was a British production that dealt with the experiences of a Black teacher in a tough East End school in London. Indigo wrote that it had a ‘very moving story line’ and Poitier himself was ‘sexy.’ 0425. 122 0492; 0683; 0272; 0437. 123 0339. 124 0561. 125 0774. 126 0335; 0488. Also see 0125; 0479. 127 0284; 0391. 128 0764; cf. 0759. 129 0465; 0724; 0776. 130 0585; 0358; 0237. 131 0042; 0294. 132 0293; 0358. 133 0774. 134 0631. 135 0759. 136 0411. 137 0409. 138 0167. 139 0002. ­140 0670. 141 0197. 142 0313. 143 0500; 0421. 144 0245; 0421; 0488; 0534; 0631; 0653. 145 0118; 0120; 0170; 0232; 0313; 0425; 0500; 0619. Natalie was disappointed, after buying the soundtrack of the film, to find it was ‘not just Simon and Garfunkel.’ 0759.

198

Notes

146 0671; 0596; 0497. 147 0425; 0750. Barry also had a vivid recollection of Benjamin (Dustin Hoffman)’s ‘crassness . . . when he takes this young girl to see the strippers.’ 0750. 148 0759; 0675. 149 0759; 0703. 150 0596. 151 0137; 0781. 152 0759; 0101. 153 0792. 154 0167. 155 0593. 156 0795. 157 0704. Edgar similarly observed that ‘although on the whole I preferred films that depicted Britain, an American film such as Easy Rider conveyed better how I felt.’ 0409. 158 0759. 159 0635; 0182. 160 0952. 161 0795; 0197; 0442. 162 0528; 0103; 0589. Barry, in contrast, did not sympathize with the fate of the two principal characters when he saw the film: ‘I thought, hang on, they’re drug dealers!’ 0750. 163 0743; 0527. For a similar response to Maud, see 0583; 0759; 0964. 164 0721; 0792. 165 0808. On the music that accompanied the film, see 0160; 0294; 0409; 0442; 0526; 0745; 0759; 0958. 166 0979; 0759. Frances also emphasized the contrast between Butch Cassidy and other ‘frenetic, colourful’ films and ‘the grey, dull and miserable 50s, when the most you could hope for was a terrible western about one-dimensional, wooden cowboys!’ 0359. 167 0631; 0707. 168 0722; 0965; 0808. 169 0726. Schlesinger was a British director who had directed a series of classic British 60s films (A Kind of Loving, Billy Liar, Darling and Far from the Madding Crowd)

Notes

199

before making the Oscar-winning Midnight Cowboy (1969) for Hollywood. Hitchcock was also a British director who had based himself in Hollywood since 1939. 170 0772; 0808. For other references to Psycho and The Birds, see, for example, 0713; 0721; 0772; 0794; 0945. 171 0964; 0704; 0721; 0795; 0589. George actually saw a Warhol film (‘very tedious’) at the artist’s studio in New York and Oscar met Warhol a few years later. 0589; 0964. 172 Kuhn, An Everyday Magic: Cinema and Cultural Memory; Jackie Stacey, Star Gazing: Hollywood and Female Spectatorship. 173 0589; 0916; 0619. 174 0510; 0601; 0757; 0645. 175 0692. 176 0235. Patrick regards Taylor as his favourite actor/star from the 1960s ‘purely for Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?’ 0365. Nikhil recalls Taylor and Burton as among favourite ‘American actors we used to talk about’ (ironically both Taylor and Burton were originally from the UK) and George remembers ‘how one followed their ups and downs, and loved their movies.’ 0578; 0589. 177 0589; 0743; 0760. 178 0712; 0191; 0208. 179 Celeste remembers her as ‘soft and sexy’ and ‘luminous’ in how she sang ‘Diamonds are a girl’s best friend’ in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Leroy had a ‘crush’ on both Monroe and Jane Russell in the same film ‘for obvious reasons as a teenager.’ 0320; 0339. 180 0011; 0440. ­181 0763. Hugh went even further in his criticism of Monroe, comparing her unfavourably to Brigitte Bardot as ‘too much like a plastic person, a blonde celluloid goddess, created for the movies.’ 0568. 182 0036; 0133; 0722; 0432; 0604. 183 0518; 0252. Also see 0235; 0711. Rhian wrote wistfully that Hepburn always looked ‘so pretty, her hair so immaculate (unlike my frizzy hair).’ 0688. 184 0600. 185 0986. 186 0543; 0446. 187 0095; cf. 0765. 188 0778; 0985.

200

Notes

189 0118; 0750. 190 0950; 0983. 191 0726; 0675. 192 0200; 0965. 193 0260; 0718; 0697. 194 0284; 0430; 0533. 195 0116; 0457. 196 0634; 0180; 0256; 0954. 197 0510; 0507 (cf. 0303). 198 0758; 0595. 199 0965; 0633; 0325. 200 0695; 0508; 0510; 0634; 0645. 201 0510. Patsy was an exception to this, also referencing Exodus (1960) and Cool Hand Luke (1967) from the ‘lots’ of films starring Newman she had seen. 0965. 202 0947. 203 0303l 0595; 0915; 0954. 204 0974; 0679; 0458. 205 0947. Nobby added that ‘I’ve read about Steve McQueen in recent times and realised that . . . he was actually a . . . complete controlling sociopath, not a very nice person, but in the celluloid format he was a god.’ 0947. 206 0062; 0082; 0091; 0197; 0294; 0365; 0488; 0534; 0609; 0769; 0979; 0982. ­207 0303. Also see 0286; 0294; 0298; 0954. 208 0947; 0132; 0140; 0631. 209 0679; 0609; 0954. 210 0336; 0091; 0534.

Chapter 4 1 Robert Murphy, Sixties British Cinema (London: BFI, 1992), 5; Richard Farmer, Laura Mayne, Duncan Petrie and Melanie Williams, Transformation and Tradition in 1960s British Cinema (Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2019), 16.

Notes

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2 Farmer et al., Transformation and Tradition, passim. 3 John Hill, Sex, Class, and Realism: British Cinema, 1956–1963 (London: BFI, 1986); Murphy, Sixties British Cinema; Andrew D. Higson, ed., Dissolving Views: Key Writings on British Cinema (London: Cassell, 1996). 4 Yael Zarhy-Levo, ‘Looking back at the British New Wave,’ Journal of British Cinema and Television 7, no. 2 (2010): 232. 5 The project questionnaire asked respondents: ‘Did you like the gritty British films of the early 1960s that were often set in the North and featured working-class families (sometimes called “kitchen-sink films”)? These were films such as Saturday Night and Sunday Morning (1960), A Taste of Honey (1961) and The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner (1962).’ It is in response to this question that respondents discuss films beyond the established parameters of the New Wave or ‘kitchen sink’ films. 6 0313; 0308. 7 0279; cf. 0696. 8 0019. 9 0434; 0267. Also see 0105. 10 0607. 11 0052; 0236; 0246; cf. 0266; 0523. 12 0597. 13 0589. 14 0741. 15 0278; 0728. 16 0726. 17 On ‘Brit Grit,’ see 0166; 0280; 0419. On the film as ‘real,’ see 0233; 0278; 0439; 0490; 0523; 0607. Others make it clear they thought it reflected reality even if that reality was far different from their own lives. Some respondents also demonstrated their awareness of belonging to a different class now to the one they identified as in the 1960s. 0607, for example, recalls being working class ‘then.’ 18 0270; 0342. 19 0320; 0489. 20 0234. 21 0042. 22 0713. 23 0346.

202

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24 ‘Rita Tushingham was brilliant’ in the role of Jo. 0234; cf. 0589; 0914. 25 0603; 0249. 26 0796. 27 0261. 28 0721. 29 0011; 0725. 30 0725. 31 0750. 32 0704. 33 0726. 34 0675. 35 0268. 36 0118. 37 0705. 38 0294. 39 0444. 40 0346. 41 0285; 0326; 0356; 0416; 0618; 0653; 0697; 0722. 42 0722. 43 Caroline Seebohm, ‘English girls in New York: They don’t go home again,’ New York Magazine, 19 July 1971, 34. 44 Melanie Bell, ‘Young, single, disillusioned: The screen heroine in 1960s British cinema,’ The Yearbook of English Studies 42, Literature of the 1950s and 1960s (2012): 81; Sue Harper, Women in British Cinema: Mad, Bad and Dangerous to Know (London: Routledge, 2000), 101–2. 45 Bell, ‘Young, single, disillusioned,’ 81. 46 0001; 0027; 0061; 0064; 0091; 0144; 0166; 0310; 0326; 0525; 0593; 0594; 0603; 0639; 0670; 0713; 0721; 0743; 0780; 0910. 47 0713. 48 0603. 49 Christine Geraghty, ‘Women and 60s British Cinema: The Development of the Darling Girl,’ in Robert Murphy, ed., The British Cinema Book (London: BFI/Palgrave, 1997), 317.

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50 0743. 51 0439; 0523; 0547; O594; 0604: 0753; 0841; 0873; 0880; 0964. 52 0842; 0964. 53 0695. 54 0594. 55 0285; 56 0703. 57 0424. 58 0080; 0589; 0703; 0704; 0795. 59 0762. 60 0807. 61 0743. 62 0004. 63 0081. 64 0725. 65 0761. 66 0249. 67 0703. 68 Farmer et al., Transformation and Tradition, Appendix 1: UK Films at the Domestic Box Office 1960–9. 69 0002. 70 0721. 71 0949. 72 0111; 0950. ­73 0759. 74 0321. 75 0237. 76 0014; 0808; 0947. 77 0947. 78 0014. 79 0705.

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80 0950. 81 0947. 82 0713; 83 0728. 84 See Chapter 6 of this volume for an in-depth discussion of this. 85 0578. 86 0669. 87 0963. 88 0589. 89 0946. 90 On Alfie, see Chapter 2. 91 0795. 92 0703. 93 0808. 94 0494. 95 0571. 96 Petrie and Williams, ‘Introduction,’ in Farmer et al., Transformation and Tradition, 16. 97 Farmer, ‘Film and Pop Music,’ in Farmer et al., Transformation and Tradition, 333. 98 0006. 99 0006; 0007; 0512; 0595. 100 0705. 101 0595. 102 0750. 103 0194; 0706; 0723. 104 0118. 105 0009. 106 0081; 0589; 0706; 0796; 0947. ­107 0706; 0762. 108 0706.

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205

109 0706. 110 0724. 111 0794. 112 0944. 113 0948. 114 Williams, ‘Costume Design,’ in Farmer et al., Transformation and Tradition, 226. 115 0294; 0703; 0795; 0807. 116 0294. 117 0703. 118 0501. 119 0383; 0492; 0499; 0512. 120 0080; 0235; 0703. 121 0194. 122 0703; 0762. 123 0194; 0235. 124 0512. 125 0796; 0963. 126 0359. 127 0390. 128 0704. 129 0726. 130 0081.

Chapter 5 1 Sue Harper and Vincent Porter, ‘Cinema audience tastes in 1950s Britain,’ Journal of Popular British Cinema 2 (1999): 69–72; Sue Harper and Vincent Porter, British Cinema of the 1950s: The Decline of Deference (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 246, 251; Roy Stafford, ‘“What’s showing at the Gaumont?”: Rethinking the study of British cinema in the 1950s,’ Journal of Popular British Cinema 4 (2001): 100, 103–5, 108.

206

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2 Margaret O’Brien and Allen Eyles, eds., Enter the Dream-House: Memories of Cinemas in South London from the Twenties to the Sixties (London: MOMI/BFI, 1993), 77. On the background to the circulation of The Wages of Fear [Le Salaire de la peur] in the UK, see Lucy Mazdon, ‘Vulgar, nasty and French: French cinema in Britain in the 1950s,’ Journal of British Cinema and Television 7, no. 3 (2010): 433–6.­ 3 Pierre Bourdieu, Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgement of Taste, trans. R. Nice (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1984), passim. 4 According to Lucy Mazdon, French cinema during the 1930s became ‘the most prominent “continental” cinema in the United Kingdom.’ In the first three years after the adoption of the X certificate by British Censors in 1951, more than a third of films receiving an X certificate came from France, including Max Ophüls’ La Ronde (released in Britain in 1951), reinforcing ‘the long-standing perception of French cinema as more “risqué” than its British and American counterparts.’ Mazdon, ‘Vulgar, nasty and French,’ 426–8. 5 0360. 6 0516. ‘I think when I was younger I had a bit of confusion about what continental cinema meant,’ confessed Belle. ‘It did seem to have two meanings . . . one of being a bit dubious and the other really interesting stuff.’ 0807. 7 0236; 0182. On this point also see 0087; 0088; 0287; 0721; 0726. 8 0166; 0409; 0458; 0773. Susan was an usher at the NFT in the 1960s. She recalls seeing Gregory Peck and François Truffaut at screenings there – and being an extra in Truffaut’s Fahrenheit 451 (1966). 0740. 9 0481. 10 0740. 11 Frank remembered going to the NFT ‘outpost’ in Newcastle, which he recalls as being more ‘snobbish’ than other local cinemas. ‘Look where I’m going,’ he caustically summarized the attitude of some patrons, ‘I have to be able to read here because it’s all subtitles.’ 0772. 12 0320. 13 0060; 0177; 0589; 0274. Also see 0027, 0197, 0267, 0320, 0346, 0360, 0384, 0437, 0542; 0808. 14 0548; 0467; 0340. Also see 0285. 15 Sussex; East Anglia; York; Kent; Essex, Warwick; and Lancaster. ­16 Harold Perkin, ‘University planning in Britain in the 1960s,’ Higher Education 1, no. 1 (February 1972): 111. 17 See 0087; 0274; 0409; 0516; 0728; 0775. 18 0538.

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19 0317. 20 0055. 21 0172; 0384. Also see 0077. 22 0152. 23 0292; 0765. 24 See Bourdieu, Distinction. 25 Alan Burton and Steve Chibnall, Historical Dictionary of British Cinema (Lanham, MD: Scarecrow Press, 2013), 156. 26 0274. 27 0225; 0157; 0607; 0158. 28 0766; 0659; 0656. 29 0274; 0236. 30 Walt recalls seeing ‘a few’ of Bergman’s films, which ‘I didn’t really understand to be honest.’ But he did like The Silence ‘because it was more subtle.’ He was not so fond of Bergman’s earlier The Seventh Seal (1957): ‘Long conversations with Death, it didn’t really get me in those days.’ 0949. 31 0340. 32 0545; 0360. 33 0906. 34 0877. 35 0135. 36 Selma had recently re-seen the same film, describing it now as ‘the Bergman film about the murdered girl and the vengeance of her father. Can’t remember name. It was set in middle ages.’ 0135. 37 0330. 38 0713. 39 0135. 40 0340. 41 0424. 42 0055. ­43 0022. 44 0274; 0330.

208 45 0255. 46 0055. 47 0042. 48 0042. 49 0197. 50 0033. 51 0182; 0274, 0437; 0346. 52 0474; 0720. 53 0710; 0346; 0274. 54 0258; 0928. 55 0516; 0696. Also see 0740. 56 0009. 57 0076; 0952. 58 0129. 59 0129. 60 0510; 0765. 61 0239; 0613. 62 0248. 63 0172. 64 0292. 65 0325. 66 0043. 67 0992. 68 0004; cf. 0172. 69 0545. 70 0028. 71 See, for example, 0200. 72 0510. 73 0514. 74 0458; 0175; 0703. Also see 0763.

Notes

Notes

209

75 See, for example, 0228. 76 0119; 0706. 77 0807; 0307; 0775. 78 0043; 0063. George even recalled that he knew ‘some of the people’ involved in making the film. 0589. ­79 0004. 80 0026; cf. 0964. 81 0807. 82 0703; 0726; 0001. 83 0076. 84 0004; 0028. 85 0897; cf. 0055. 86 0283. 87 0206; 0332. 88 0434. 89 0766; 0889. 90 0725. 91 See, for example, 0450. 92 0283. 93 0182; 0807. Ewan was particularly interested in films like Breathless, which even though it was released earlier he remembered watching in the 1960s, because it had ‘a kind of edge’ to it and he liked movies of this type. 0808. 94 0185. 95 See, for example, 0283. Karina starred in several of Godard’s films, including Le Petit Soldat, Vivre sa vie and Alphaville. 96 0199; 0597. 97 0618. Also see 0105. 98 0707; 0228; 0326. 99 0413. 100 0043; 0267. 101 0274; 0182. Doinel, played by Jean-Pierre Léaud as an alter ego of Truffaut himself, was the principal character of three films produced before the end of the 1960s: Les

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Quatre Cents Coups [The 400 Blows] (1959), one of the pioneering films of the French New Wave, Antoine et Colette (short, 1962), and Baisers volés [Stolen Kisses] (1968). ‘I just wanted to be him,’ Abel wrote of Léaud. 0182. 102 0413. 103 0608; 0374. Lee, who now considers Truffaut’s first ‘Antoine Doinel’ film 400 Blows ‘amazing,’ confesses that ‘I didn’t like it a lot when I [first] saw it . . . it . . . had a slightly inconclusive ending, the boy runs away and kind of ends up staring at the sea.’ 0725. 104 0661; 0707. 105 0332. 106 0292. 107 0076; 0704; 0589. 108 0177; 0796; 0676; cf. 0794. 109 0653. 110 0434; 0416; 0949. 111 0332; 0206. 112 0557. For other references to Last Year at Marienbad, see 0008; 0022; 0034; 0046; 0137; 0172; 0238; 0292; 0326; 0379; 0528; 0542; 0582; 0589; 0593; 0614; 0647; 0659. 113 0004; 0585; 0885; 0469. 114 0267. 115 0347. For another comparison with Hitchcock’s ‘intriguing mysteries,’ see 0126. Other references to Chabrol occur in 0004, 0008, 0027, 0034, 0055, 0076, 0089, 0228, 0516, 0562, 0597, 0599, 0610, 0649, 0656, 0691, 0743. 116 0004; 0437; 0027; 0089. For other references to Rohmer, see 0004 and 0582. 117 0002. Also see 0034; 0157; 0264; 0582; 0743. 118 0905. 119 0089; 0332. For other references to Varda, see 0076, 0105 and 0264. 120 See, for example, 0152; 0409; 0542. 121 0384. 122 0454. 123 0597. Not everyone in the survey liked Buñuel: to one respondent ‘he seemed sleazy and shocking.’ 0042. Some seem to have been persuaded to see his films by others with cinematic pretensions: one woman commented that ‘I had an Oxford University undergraduate as a boyfriend who was keen to see these types of films!’

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0155. Another women may have had the anti-clerical Buñuel in mind when she wrote that ‘European films often had a lot about religion which was not relevant.’ 0042. ­124 0585. 125 0374; 0713; 0200; 0437; 0760. For other references to Buñuel, see 0022; 0028; 0042; 0198; 0213; 0264; 0289; 0416; 0450; 0582; 0588; 0604; 0653; 0885. 126 0949. 127 0236. 128 0141. 129 0023. 130 0172. 131 See, for example, 0009; 0063; 0076; 0348; 0986.

Chapter 6 1 Ashley Dawson, Mongrel Nation: Diasporic Culture and the Making of Postcolonial Britain (Michigan: University of Michigan Press, 2007), 2; Stuart Hall, Essential Essays, vol. 2: Identity and Diaspora (Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 2018). 2 Our project findings included eight interviews and seven survey responses from Black West Indian and South Asian participants. 3 Sheila Patterson, Immigration and Race Relations in Britain, 1960–1967 (London: Oxford University Press, 1969), 74–5; ‘Control of immigration: Statistics UK 1999: table 6.6 fn. 1,’ cited in ‘A summary history of immigration to Britain,’ Migration Watch UK, http://www.migrationwatchuk.org/briefingpaper/document/48 (accessed 2 September 2016). 4 Mike Phillips and Trevor Phillips, Windrush: The Irresistible Rise of Multi-Racial Britain (London: Harper Collins, 1998). 5 ‘Windrush Settlers Arrive in Britain, 1948,’ The National Archives, http://www. nationalarchives.gov.uk/museum/item.asp?item_id=50 (accessed 2 September 2016); Phillips and Phillips, Windrush, 1–7, 45, 47–8, 53–71. 6 Albert H. Halsey with Josephine Webb, eds., British Social Trends since 1900: A Guide to the Changing Social Structure (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 3rd edn, 2000), table 4.4, 143. G. C. K. Peach suggests that the figure for 1961 was probably ‘20 per cent too low.’ Peach, ‘West Indian migration to Britain,’ The International Migration Review 1, no. 2 (Spring 1967): 34.

212

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7 Alan Travis, ‘After 44 years secret papers reveal truth about five nights of violence in Notting Hill,’ Guardian, 24 August 2002, https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2002/ aug/24/artsandhumanities.nottinghillcarnival2002; Mark Olden, ‘White riot: The week Notting Hill exploded,’ The Independent, 28 August 2008, http://www.independent. co.uk/news/uk/home-news/white-riot-the-week-notting-hill-exploded-912105.html (both accessed 4 September 2016). 8 See, for example, Salim Lone, ‘The lost Indians of Kenya,’ New York Review of Books, 7 October 1971, http://www.nybooks.com/articles/1971/10/07/the-lost-indians-ofkenya/; Nina Lakhani, ‘After the exodus: 40 years on from Amin’s terror offensive against Asians in Uganda,’ The Independent, 23 June 2013, http://www.independent. co.uk/news/world/africa/after-the-exodus-40-years-on-from-amins-terror-offensiveagainst-asians-in-uganda-7869878.html; ‘Asians of Africa,’ Countries and their Cultures, http://www.everyculture.com/Africa-Middle-East/Asians-of-Africa.html (all accessed 4 September 2016). 9 Roger Ballard, ed., Desh Pardesh: The South Asian Experience in Britain (London: Burst and Co., 1994), 7; Wikipedia British Indians page, https://en.wikipedia.org/ wiki/British_Indian (accessed 3 September 2016). 10 Ibid. 11 Office for National Statistics, ‘Non-UK Born Census Populations 1951–2011. Full Infographic,’ 2013, http://webarchive.nationalarchives.gov.uk/20160105160709; http://www.ons.gov.uk/ons/rel/census/2011-census-analysis/immigration-patternsand-characteristics-of-non-uk-born-population-groups-in-england-and-wales/ non-uk-born-census-populations-1951—2011—full-infographic.html (both accessed 3 September 2016). 12 On the Commonwealth Immigration Act of 1962 and its consequences, see Patterson, Immigration and Race Relations in Britain, 18–35. For a good analysis of the ineffectiveness of the Act in relation to West Indian immigrants, see Peach, ‘West Indian migration to Britain,’ 39–41. 13 Stuart Hall, ‘Minimal Selves,’ in Lisa Appighanesi, ed., The Real Me: Post-Modernism and the Question of Identity, ICA Documents 6 (London: The Institute of Contemporary Arts, 1987), 44–6.­ 14 Rachel Dwyer explains the range of regional cinemas in 1930s India leading up to the partition in 1947 in Dwyer, ‘Planet Bollywood,’ in N. Ali, V. S. Kalra and S. Sayyid, eds., A Postcolonial People: South Asians in Britain (London: Hurst & Co., 2006), 263. On the reception – in the broadest sense – of Hollywood films in India, see Priya Jaikumar, ‘Hollywood and the Multiple Constituencies of Colonial India,’ in Richard Maltby and Melvyn Stokes, eds., Hollywood Abroad: Audiences, Reception and Cultural Exchange (London: BFI, 2004), 78–98. 15 For example, see 0577 and 0578.

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16 For further information, see ‘Black Britain on film,’ BFI Player, https://player.bfi.org. uk/free/collection/black-britain-on-film (accessed 23 April 2020). 17 Stephen Bourne, Black in the British Frame: The Black Experience in British Film and Television (London: Continuum Publishing, 2001), xiii. 18 Peter Robson, ‘Fade to grey: Portraying the ethnic minority experience in British film,’ International Journal of the Sociology of Law, 30 (2002): 240. 19 Bourne, Black in the British Frame, x. The degree to which Black actors were absent from British cinema and television during the 1960s has been disputed. Research by Eleni Liarou, for example, suggests that television dramas of the 1960s, particularly those produced by ITV, frequently captured and reflected the lives of the Black population in postwar Britain, in productions such as Break in Festivities and Paradise Walk. Liarou, ‘British television’s lost New Wave moment: Single drama and race,’ Journal of British Cinema and Television 9, no. 4 (2012): 612–27. 20 On the reaction to Griffith’s film, see Melvyn Stokes, D. W. Griffith’s ‘The Birth of a Nation’: A History of the ‘Most Controversial Motion Picture of All Time’ (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), chs. 6, 8. On the issue more generally, see Donald Bogle, Toms, Coons, Mulattoes, Mammies and Bucks: An Interpretive History of Blacks in American Films (Oxford: Roundhouse Press, 4th edn 1994); Thomas Cripps, Slow Fade to Black: The Negro in American Film, 1900–1942 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1977); Daniel Leab, From Sambo to Superspade: The Black Experience in Motion Pictures (London: Secker & Warburg, 1975). 21 See J. Ron Green, ‘Micheaux v. Griffith,’ Griffithiana 16, nos. 60–1 (October 1997): 22–49; Jane Gaines, ‘The Birth of a Nation and Within Our Gates: Two Tales of the American South,’ in Richard H. King and Helen Taylor, eds., Dixie Debates: Perspectives on Southern Culture (New York: New York University Press, 1996), 177–92. 22 See Sanjay Sharma, ‘Teaching British South Asian cinema – Towards a “materialist” reading practice,’ South Asian Popular Culture 7, no.1 (2009): 21–35, and Sarita Malik, ‘The Dark Side of Hybridity: Contemporary Black and Asian British Cinema,’ in Daniella Berghahn and Claudia Sternberg, eds., European Cinema in Motion: Migrant and Diasporic Film in Contemporary Europe (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010), 132–51. 23 Shoma A. Chatterje, P.C. Barua (New Delhi: Wisdom Tree, 2008), 104. 24 Tejaswini Ganti, Bollywood: A Guide to Popular Hindi Cinema (London: Routledge, 2004), 46–7. 25 C. P. Srivastava, Lal Bahadur Shastri: A Life of Truth in Politics (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), 138. 26 Heather Tyrell, ‘Bollywood in Britain,’ Sight and Sound 8, no. 8 (August 1998): 21.

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27 Jürgen Habermas, The Structural Transformation of the Public Sphere: An Inquiry into a Category of Bourgeois Society, trans. Thomas Burger with Frederick Lawrence (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1991), passim. 28 Miriam Hansen, ‘Early cinema: Whose public sphere?,’ New German Critique, 29 (1983), republished in Thomas Elsaesser, ed., Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative (London: BFI, 1990), 228–46; Miriam Hansen, Babel and Babylon: Spectatorship in American Silent Film (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1991). 29 Nirmal Puwar, ‘Social cinema scenes,’ Space and Culture 10, no. 2 (May 2007): 256. 30 Ibid., 256–7; Ziauddin Sardar, ‘Dilip Kumar Made Me Do It,’ in Ashis Nandy, ed., The Secret Politics of Our Desires: Innocence, Culpability and Indian Popular Cinema (London: Zed, 1998), 19–91. 31 Rajinder Kumar Dudrah, ‘Vilayati Bollywood: Popular Hindi Cinema-going and diasporic South Asian identity in Birmingham (UK),’ The Public 9, no. 1 (2002): 19–36.­ 32 Ibid., 25. 33 Ibid., 21. 34 Puwar, ‘Social cinema scenes,’ 258, 263. 35 ‘The making of a Sikh scholar: A new sikhchic.com series,’ sikhchic.com, http://www. sikhchic.com/people/the_making_of_a_sikh_scholar_a_new_sikhchic_com_series (accessed 21 July 2014). 36 See Sasha Josephides, ‘Towards a history of the Indian Workers’ Association,’ Centre for Research in Ethnic Relations, University of Warwick, December 1991, https://web. warwick.ac.uk/fac/soc/CRER_RC/publications/pdfs/Research%20Papers%20in%20 Ethnic%20Relations/RP%20No.18.pdf (accessed 14 September 2016). 37 0669. 38 Nikhil explained that he had first developed an interest in Bollywood films while living in Pakistan, where they were banned. ‘Sometimes,’ he recalled, ‘I used to go with a friend, across the border to Amritsar, to watch Indian films!’ 0578. 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid. On Kumari, see Vinod Mehta, Meena Kumari: The Classic Biography (London: Harper Collins, 2013). 41 0578. 42 Ibid. 43 0577. 44 Shakila Maan, ‘The history of film in Southall,’ http://www.thesouthallstory.com/ southall-in-film/ (accessed 14 November 2016).

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45 0989. 46 0990. 47 Malik, ‘The Dark Side of Hybridity,’ 133. 48 0970. 49 Ibid. 50 Ibid. 51 0969. 52 0985. ­53 Armen Karaoghlanian, ‘Little Black Dress: Audrey, Fashion and Fans,’ in Jacqui Miller, ed., Fan Phenomena: Audrey Hepburn (Bristol: Intellect, 2014), 77–82. 54 0985. 55 0983. 56 0983 57 0983. 58 0983. 59 0981. 60 Ibid. 61 Neil M. C. Sinclair, The Tiger Bay Story (Cardiff: Butetown History and Arts Centre, 1993). 62 0253; 0602; 0606; 0665; 0758; 0923; 0951; 0981. 63 Melanie J. Wright, Religion and Film: An Introduction (London: I.B. Tauris, 2007). 64 0606. 65 0602. 66 Ibid. 67 Ibid; The Birds (dir. Alfred Hitchcock, USA, 1963). 68 0602. 69 0985. 70 0578. 71 Ibid. 72 Wright, Religion and Film, 3. 73 Dudrah, ‘Vilayati Bollywood,’ passim.

216

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Afterword 1 Not everyone regarded this as an advantage, preferring to regard cinema as a place to go to avoid reality. And some respondents remembered being selective in greeting kitchen sink films, liking some and not others. 2 The present writer (northern grammar school lad, first in his family to go to university) was among those introduced to European cinema in this way during the 1960s. He recalls being challenged, entertained and frequently baffled watching continental European films at the Moulin Rouge and Scala cinemas in Oxford. 3 0764. ­4 See, for example, 0347. 5 Tobias Grey, ‘Out of the closet, on to the screen: The legacy of “Victim,”’ The Financial Times, 14 July 2017, https://www.ft.com/content/cac6e680-656d-11e7-9a6693fb352ba1fe (accessed 15 September 2021). 6 0246; 0603; 0633; 0970.

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Index NOTE: page references in italics refer to images/photographs À bout de souffle 143 ABC Cinemas European films rare in 129 foyers of 23–4 abortion in film 13, 51–2 legalization of 8, 51–2, 83 actors Black or South Asian 152 cultural identities and 162–5 Hollywood stars 93–9 advertisements, local businesses 27 Albee, Edward Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? 94 Alfie abortion and 13, 51–2, 176 chauvinist attitudes 118 sex and 48 social criticism of 12 Swinging London 54–7, 58 Alice’s Restaurant 84 Allen, Robert C. 17 Alphaville 143 An Everyday Magic: Cinema and Cultural Memory (Kuhn) 2 Andrews, Julie The Sound of Music 79, 81 stage My Fair Lady 78 Star! 81 Thoroughly Modern Millie 81 Tiger Bay audiences 166 ­Ann-Margret 164 Antonioni, Michelangelo atmospheric films 135

Blow-Up 15, 131, 140–2, 141 as Italian film-maker 139–42 L’avventura 140 L’Eclisse 140 The Apartment 92 Arran, Lord (Arthur Gore) 175–6 Arts and Humanities Research Council (AHRC) Cultural Memory and British Cinemagoing of the 1960s 2 Remembering 1960s British Cinemagoing events 4 Ashes and Diamonds 138 Astaire, Fred 93 audiences cultural studies and 1 declining attendance 10–12 see also cinema-going; postcolonial audiences Austin, Thomas 2 Autobiography of a Princess 153 Avant Garde Film Club, Hillingdon 129 Babel and Babylon (Hansen) 155 Baldwin’s Nigger (Ové) 153 Bambi 67 Bancroft, Anne The Graduate 88 as role model 56 Banks, Lynne Reid The L-Shaped Room 48, 110 Bardot, Brigitte Viva Maria! 145 Barker, Martin 2

224 Bassey, Shirley 165 Bates, Alan Far From the Madding Crowd 124 in A Kind of Loving 47 naked wrestling 47, 60 Women in Love 47, 60 Batman films 69 The Beatles 120 A Hard Day’s Night 10, 15, 121–2, 174 Help! 122 Yellow Submarine 122 Beatty, Warren Bonnie and Clyde 86, 87 ­Bell, Melanie 112 Belle de Jour 146 Belmondo, Jean-Paul 143 Ben-Hur 10, 72 Bennett, Hywel 47 Bergman, Ingmar 15, 129, 131–6 imagery and intellect 133–6, 139–40, 146 The Silence 133 venues and presentation of 131–3 Bernstein, Leonard West Side Story 78 Beymer, Richard 77 Bianchi, Daniela From Russia With Love 116, 117 Billy Liar as ‘New Wave’ 14, 107–8 Swinging London and 102, 112 Biltereyst, Daniel: cinemas as social 17 The Birds 92, 168 The Birth of a Nation 152 Black audiences 1960s Britain and 15–16 American films and 14 The Color Purple and 1 Tiger Bay community 16, 163–7 see also postcolonial audiences Black Britain on Film (BFI) 152 Black in the British Frame (Bourne) 152 Black Power movement 157 Blow-Up 140–2 Antonioni and 15

Index European aspects 131 Swinging London 54, 59, 113–14 Blue Hawaii 76 Bobo, Jacqueline audience of The Color Purple 1 ethnographic studies 5 Bogarde, Dirk 60 Darling 111 Victim 52, 176 Bollywood see films, Bollywood; postcolonial audiences Bond films see James Bond films Le bonheur 145 Bonnie and Clyde ending of 91, 92 ­as New Wave 85–8, 86 rebelliousness 174 social tension and 14 X-rated violence 85–7 Bourdieu, Pierre cultural capital 131 public tastes 128 Bourne, Stephen Black in the British Frame 152 Brambell, Wilfrid 121 A Hard Day’s Night 174 Brando, Marlon Mutiny on the Bounty 96 Brazzi, Rossano South Pacific 74 Breakfast at Tiffany’s Hepburn and 94–5 Breakwell, Ian 2 Brides of Dracula 119 Briginshaw, Valerie A. 5 Britain immigration and 150–1 memories of 1960s 7–8 political and legal reforms 8 Swinging London fashion 8–9 see also films, British; postcolonial audiences British Cinema of the 1950s (Geraghty) 2 British Film Institute (BFI) 4 Black Britain on Film 152

Index British Nationality Act (1948) 150 Bronston, Samuel bankruptcy 81 El Cid 73 The Fall of the Roman Empire 73 King of Kings 72 Brooks, Kate 2 Brynner, Yul The King and I 74 Bullitt Steve McQueen and 97 Buñel, Luis 15 Belle de Jour 146 The Exterminating Angel 146 Un Chien Andalou 146 Viridiana 146 ­Burt Lancaster The Leopard 96 Burton, Alan 131 Burton, Richard Cleopatra 73 Taylor and 94 Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? 68 Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid 164 Paul Newman and 97 rebelliousness of 88, 91–2 violence of 87 The Butcher 145 Caine, Michael admiration for 98 Alfie 52, 54–7, 55 Caine, Shakira 55 Candy 56 Capote, Truman Breakfast at Tiffany’s 95 Carousel 74 Carry On films beginning in 1960s 14–15 British identity 115 Carry On Camping 118 Carry On Cowboy 67 innuendo and chauvinism 118–19, 175 cartoons in programmes 27 Casino Royale 117

225

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof Paul Newman and 97 Chabrol, Claude 15, 142 Les Biches 136 The Butcher 145 Le Scandale/The Champagne Murders 145 Chelsea Girls 93 Cherry, Brigid 2 Cheyenne Autumn 71 Chibnall, Steve 131 children matinee programmes 69 parental judgement and 68 in queues 23–4 sexual harassment 44–5 unaccompanied 44–5 see also films, children’s ­Christie, Julie admiration for 95 Billy Liar 107–8 Darling 111 Doctor Zhivago 122, 123–4 Far From the Madding Crowd 124 identifying with 176 postcolonial audiences 164–5, 170 El Cid 73 The Cincinnati Kid 96, 164 cinema, art form of see film and filmmaking cinema buildings and business 70mm format 79 art-house/independent 15, 129, 132 auditoria 26–9 Cinemascope 71 Cinerama 11, 70 declining attendance 10–12 divided auditoria 11, 21 double/love seats 13 Eady levy 65 ‘flea-pits’ 25–6, 43 luxurious foyers 23–4 programmes 69 ticket prices 11, 157–8

226

Index

‘Cinema Culture in 1930s Britain: Ethnohistory of a Popular Cultural Practice’ (ESRC) 2 cinema-going memories in the back row 41–3 continuous programmes 13, 27 family experiences 14 food irritations 30–1, 32 immigrants and identity 151–4 journeys to and from 18–22 just passing time 158–9 the national anthem 37–9 queues 13, 22–4 re-runs 25 researching 1–12 sex and 13 smoking 32–4 social comment 11–12, 13–14 social space 17–18, 23, 155–61 study of 171–6 talking and disruption 34–7 Tiger Bay community 163–7 ­urban versus rural 18–22 see also postcolonial audiences Claire’s Knee 145 Cléo de 5 à 7 145 Cleopatra 73, 94 Clouzot, Henri-Georges The Wages of Fear 127 The Color Purple 1 Commonwealth Immigrants Act (1962) 151 Connery, Sean 60 admiration for 98, 117–18 British identity and 163 postcolonial audiences 170 From Russia With Love 116 Cool Hand Luke 164 Courtenay, Tom Billy Liar 107–8 Crawford, Joan Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? 12, 68, 93 Crawford, Michael 113 Cul-de-Sac 136 Cultural Memory and British Cinemagoing of the 1960s (AHRC) 2, 159

cultural studies, theoretical audience of 1 Curram, Roland Darling 53 Curtis, Tony Some Like It Hot 94 Dad’s Army (television), national anthem and 37 Dalí, Salvador Un Chien Andalou 146 Dallas (television) 1 Danquah, Paul A Taste of Honey 153, 153 Darling 111 abortion and 51 depiction of London 57 homosexuality and 53 sex and 9, 48 as social criticism 12 Swinging London 14, 102, 112, 172 Davis, Bette Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? 12, 68, 93 Day, Doris 66 The Day of the Triffids 35 Dearden, Basil Darling 53 ­Delaney, Shelagh A Taste of Honey 104 Delon, Alain 60 DeMille, Cecil B. The Ten Commandments 166, 167 Dickinson, Margaret 10 Dietrich, Marlene 56 Disney Studios children’s films 67, 69 family cartoons 14 divorce law 8 Divorce Reform Act (1969) 8 Doctor Dolittle 68 Doctor in Love 119 Doctor in the House 119 Dr No 115 Doctor Zhivago 122, 123–4 from the back row 42

Index social criticism of 12 documentaries in programmes 27 La Dolce Vita 139 Dominion cinema 169 El Dorado 92 Douglas, Kirk Spartacus 73 Dracula series (Hammer) 115, 119 drugs, in Swinging London 59 Dudrah, Rajinder Kumar cultural identity formation 170 immigrant advice cinemas 156 Dunaway, Faye admiration for 95 Bonnie and Clyde 86, 87 The Thomas Crown Affair 95, 97 Dylan, Bob ‘The Times They Are a-Changin’ 82 Eady (Sir Wilfrid) Levy 65 Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative (Elsaesser) 155 ‘Early Cinema: Whose Public Sphere?’ (Hansen) 155 East is East 153–4 Easy Rider anti-authority 88 rebelliousness 174 social tension and 14 the spirit of the times 89–91 ­Economic and Social Research Council (ESRC) ‘Cinema Culture in 1930s Britain’ 2 Eddy, Nelson 93 education Robbins report and 8 The Ten Commandments and 169 university film clubs 130 8 1/ 2 directed by Fellini 139, 140 Elliott, Denholm 52 Elsaesser, Thomas Early Cinema: Space, Frame, Narrative 155 Empire 93 Empire Windrush (ship) 150

227

ethnology: techniques for spectators 1–9 The Exterminating Angel 146 An Eye for an Eye 68 Eyles, Allen 2 The Fall of the Roman Empire 73, 81 Fantasia 67 Far From the Madding Crowd 123, 124 Farmer, Richard 101 Fellini, Federico 15, 135 8 1/2 139, 140 La Dolce Vita 139 Satyricon 139 The Feminine Mystique (Friedan) 83 Field, Shirley Ann Saturday Night and Sunday Morning 103 Fielding, Henry Tom Jones 48, 122 Fields, W. C. 135 film and film-making artistic expression 11–12 classification 44–5 Eady Levy 65 Hollywood funding 65 Film and Filming journal 53 film clubs Gothique Film Society 119 Indian 154, 169, 170 local 129 universities and 130 films, American 14, 65–7 Black representation 152 ­changing society and 82–5 children’s 67–9 compared to European films 130–1 directors 92–3 historical epics 71–3 Hollywood stars 93–9 as more colourful 66 musicals 73–82 ‘New Wave’ 85–93 westerns 69–71 films, Bollywood license for 160

228 social aspect of 155–7, 159–62 stars at cinema 160 films, British 101–3, 124–5 Black and South Asian 152–4 changing social attitudes 49–53 compared to European films 130–1 costume dramas/comedies 122–4 defining ‘the sixties’ 175 in foreign locations 174 franchises 115–19 generational differences 121–2 London reality and 57–9 New Wave 14, 101, 102–10, 173 non-London regions 104–9 popular music 120–2 postcolonial identification and 162–4 regions and accents 121, 176 sex and 47–9 social change and 173–6 Swinging London 14, 54–7, 101, 109, 111–15, 172–3 films, children’s 14 American 67–9 films, European 15 Antonioni 139–42 art-house cinemas and 129 Bergman 131–6 compared to American and British 130–1, 139–30 ‘cultural capital’ 131 French New Wave 142–5 Godard 142–3 Polanski 136–8 Wajda 138 films, historical and religious epics 14, 71–3 ­Ben-Hur 10 British costume dramas 122–4 films, horror 26 films, musical 14, 73–82 popular music and 9–10, 15, 120–2 films, New Wave American 85–93 European 127–31, 146–7 French 142–5

Index films, social realism 19 of 1960s 11–14 believability of 49–50 British New Wave 102–10 British versus American 66–7 social class and 9 films, war sixties youth and 10 Vietnam and The Green Berets 84–5 films, westerns 14, 69–71 Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid 91–2 running out of steam 81 Finch, Peter Far From the Madding Crowd 124 Finney, Albert Saturday Night and Sunday Morning 102–4, 103 Tom Jones 122, 123 Flaming Star 76 Flash Gordon series 69 Fonda, Henry The Tin Star 70 Fonda, Peter Easy Rider 90 food and drink chip shops 19–20 choices of 29–30 irritating in cinema 30–1, 32 Kia-Ora 31, 32 kiosk snacks 23 noisy crisps 32 popcorn 29–30 usherettes with trays 29 Ford, John How the West Was Won 92 The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance 70–1 westerns of 70–1 ­Foster, Julia Alfie 54, 55 400 Blows see Les Quatre Cents Coups/400 Blows Frankenstein series 115 Freud, Sigmund ‘Screen Memories’ 5

Index Friedan, Betty The Feminine Mystique 83 Friendly Persuasion 10 Funny Girl 81 Fyvel, T. R. 41 Le Gai Savoir 143 Gandhi 153 Gandhi, Indira 154 Gaumont cinemas 25 Gaynor, Mitzi South Pacific 74 A Generation 138 generation gap A Hard Day’s Night 174 Gentlemen Prefer Blondes Monroe and 94 Georgy Girl Swinging London 54 Geraghty, Christine British Cinema of the 1950s 2 feminine identity and sexuality 112 GI Blues 76 Gilbert, Lewis Alfie 55 Glancy, Mark 70, 81 Godard, Jean-Luc 135, 147 À bout de souffle 143 Alphaville 143 French New Wave 15, 143 Le Gai Savoir 143 Une femme mariée 143 Vivre sa vie 143 Goldwyn, Samuel Hans Christian Anderson 68 Gone with the Wind 68 audience analysis 1 Tiger Bay audiences 166 Gothique Film Society 119 The Graduate ­discontent of youth 174 as New Wave 85 social tension and 12, 14, 88–9 Granada cinemas 25 The Great Escape 97

229

The Green Berets 84–5 Griffith, David W. The Birth of a Nation 152 Griffiths, Trevor 2 Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner? 84 Guthrie, Arlo 84 Habermas, Jürgen 154–5 Halbwachs, Maurice 5 Hall, Stuart 151–2 Hammer films 15, 115 Brides of Dracula 119 Dracula 119 horror genre 119 King Kong vs. Godzilla 119 Kiss of the Vampire 119 Paranoiac 119 Hammerstein II, Oscar 73–4 Hammond, Paul 2 Hans Christian Anderson 68 Hansen, Miriam Babel and Babylon 155 ‘Early Cinema: Whose Public Sphere?’ 155 Hanson, Stuart 21 A Hard Day’s Night 10, 15, 121–2, 174 Hardy, Thomas Far From the Madding Crowd 123 Harper, Sue 127 Harrison, Rex Dr Dolittle 68 My Fair Lady 78 Hatari! 92 Hawks, Howard El Dorado 92 Hatari! 92 Hello, Dolly! 81 Help! 10, 122 Hemmings, David Blow-Up 141 Hepburn, Audrey admiration for 94 ­Breakfast at Tiffany’s 94–5 My Fair Lady 78–9, 95 postcolonial audiences 164–5, 170

230 Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush 56 Heston, Charlton 96 Ben-Hur 72 El Cid 73 The Ten Commandments 71 High Society 73 Hill, Annette 2 Hill, Benny 56 Hill, John Sex, Class and Realism 106 Hiroshima Mon Amour 144 Hitchcock, Alfred The Birds 92 children’s viewing of 68 Psycho 28, 92 wide reputation of 92 Hoffman, Dustin The Graduate 88 homosexuality in 60s cinema 60–3 audience awareness of 63 decriminalization of 8, 61, 175–6 film references to 13 gay liberation movement 83–4 homophobia 62 Sunday Bloody Sunday 10 in Victim 53 wrestling scene 60 Hopalong Cassidy 69 Hopper, Dennis Easy Rider 90 How the West Was Won in Cinerama 70 Hudson, Rock 66 Hull Central Library film club 129 Hullabaloo Over Georgie and Bonnie’s Picture 153 Huston, John 92 identity experience of cinema and 5 immigrants and film 173 postcolonial audiences and 170 In Search of the Castaways 67 In the Heat of the Night ­Sidney Portier and 84

Index Indian Film Society 154, 159–61, 169, 170 Indian Workers Association (IWA) 157, 161–2, 169 The Innocents 171 International Times 90 Isis Gay Film Festival 4 The Italian Job alternate memories of 22 Swinging London and 58 It’s a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World 68 Jailhouse Rock 76 James Bond films attitudes towards women 15 beginning in 1960s 14–15 British identity and 115–18, 163 Casino Royale 117 Dr No 115–18 Goldfinger 115–18 Hollywood funding 65 From Russia With Love 116, 117–18 You Only Live Twice 117 James, Robin 119 Jules et Jim 144 The Jungle Book 67 Jurgens, Curt An Eye for an Eye 68 Kanal 138 Karina, Anna 143 Kennedy, John F., assassination of 82 Kennedy, Robert F., assassination of 82, 83 Kerr, Deborah The King and I 74 Kerr, John South Pacific 75 Kes 102 A Kind of Loving as New Wave 106–7 nudity in 47 The King and I 74 King Creole 76 King Jr, Martin Luther, assassination of 82, 83 King Kong vs. Godzilla 119

Index King of Kings 72 Kiss of the Vampire 119 ‘kitchen sink’ films see films, social realism ­Kluge, Alexander 155 The Knack … and How to Get It realism of 58 Swinging London 54, 113 Knife in the Water 136–7 Kuhn, Annette An Everyday Magic 2 cinemas as social 17 ethnographic studies 5 Hollywood stars 93 interpreting memory 5–6, 7 Stacey’s study and 2, 3 ‘this is where I came in’ 28 Kumari, Meena 160 Kurosawa, Akira 135 British audiences 127 The Seven Samurai 70 The L-Shaped Room 48 abortion and 51 female character 110 social realism 102 Ladd, Alan Shane 70 Lady and the Tramp 27, 67 Lancaster, Burt The Train 96 Last Year at Marienbad 144–5 Laurel and Hardy afternoon programmes 69 L’avventura 140 Lawrence, D. H. Women in Love 60 Lawrence of Arabia Hollywood funding 65 homosexuality and 60 personal memories 12 Peter O’Toole and 123 Le Gai Savoir 143 Lean, David compared to Bergman 133 compared to Godard 143

231

Doctor Zhivago 122 Léaud, Jean-Pierre 144 L’Eclisse 140 Lee, Harper To Kill a Mockingbird 84 ­Lehndorff, Veruschka von 141 Lemmon, Jack The Apartment 92 Some Like It Hot 94 Lennon, John, taunts the grandfather 121 The Leopard Burt Lancaster and 96 directed by Visconti 139 Les Quatre Cents Coups/400 Blows 129, 144 Lester, Richard The Knack 113 Let’s Make Love 94 Lewis, Jerry, with Dean Martin 68 Liverpool, University of, Film Club 143 Loach, Ken Kes 102, 108 London see films, Swinging London Look at Life (documentary series) 27 Love Me Tender 76 MacDonald, Jeannette 93 McDowell, Malcolm 60 MacLaine, Shirley The Apartment 92 McQueen, Steve 98 admiration for 97–9 Bullitt 97 Cincinnati Kid 96 The Great Escape 97 The Magnificent Seven 97 rebellious roles 14 The Sand Pebbles 12, 97 The Thomas Crown Affair 97 The Magnificent Seven 70 Steve McQueen and 97 violence of 87 Malcolm X, assassination of 82 Malik, Sarita 162 Malle, Louis 15 Viva Maria! 145

232 Maltby, Richard 17 The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance 70–1 Martin, Andrew 2 Martin, Dean, with Jerry Lewis 68 Marx Brothers 135 Mary Poppins 67, 166 ­Meers, Philippe 17 Meet Me in St. Louis 73 Melvin, Murray A Taste of Honey 53 memory academic studies of 1 interpretation of 5–7 see also cinema-going memories Menon, Krishna cinema as education 169 India Film Society 154 Merchant, Vivien Alfie 52 Micheaux, Oscar Within Our Gates 152 The Misfits 94 Monroe, Marilyn admiration for 94 Gentlemen Prefer Blondes 94 Let’s Make Love 94 The Misfits 94 Some Like It Hot 94 Monte Carlo or Bust! 22 The Moonspinners 67 Moore, Roger 60 More, Thomas biopic A Man for All Seasons 123, 124 Moreau, Jeanne Viva Maria! 145 Morely, David Nationwide 1 Morgan – An Unsuitable Case for Treatment 114–15 Murphy, Robert American cinema 65 popularity of crime and comedy 101 Mutiny on the Bounty Marlon Brando and 96 My Beautiful Laundrette 153

Index My Fair Lady 78–9 Hepburn and 94 My Night at Maud’s 145 national anthem, standing for – or not 37–9 National Film Finance Corporation 65 National Film Theatre Bergman and 132 ­establishment of 15 shows foreign films 129 National Organization for Women (NOW) 83 Nationwide (television) 1 Naxalbari movement 157 Negt, Oscar 155 Nehru, Jawaharlal cinema as education 169 speaks at a cinema 154 Newman, Paul 60 admiration for 96–7 Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid 91–2, 97, 164 Cool Hand Luke 164 Sweet Bird of Youth 97 Nicholson, Jack Easy Rider 90 O’Brien, Margaret 2 Odeon cinemas 25–6 Oedipus Rex 139 Oklahoma 74 Old Yeller 67 101 Dalmatians 67 Ophüls, Max La Ronde 127 O’Toole, Peter Lawrence of Arabia 123 Ové, Horace Baldwin’s Nigger 153 Oz magazine 90 Pakistan bans The Ten Commandments 168 Parks, Ward 6

Index Pasolini, Pier Paolo 15 Oedipus Rex 139 Theorem 139 A Passage to India 153 Pasternak, Boris Doctor Zhivago 122, 123 Peck, Gregory admiration for 96 To Kill a Mockingbird 84 Penn, Arthur Bonnie and Clyde 88 Le Petit Soldat 143 The Pink Panther 12 Pinocchio 67 ­Plummer, Christopher The Sound of Music 81 Poitier, Sidney Guess Who’s Coming To Dinner? 84 In the Heat of the Night 84 Polanski, Roman 15 films in Britain 136 Knife in the Water 136–7 Repulsion 136–7 Porter, Vincent 127 postcolonial audiences 149–50 1960s Britain and 15–16 African immigrants 151 cinema as public sphere 154–7 cinema society and citizenship 156 film stars and 162–4 identity and 151–4, 162–4 Indian politicians and 154 locating 150–1 social aspect of cinemas 155–61 South Asian immigrants 151 The Ten Commandments 167–70 Tiger Bay 163–7 West Indian immigrants 150–1 see also Black audiences; race and ethnicity; South Asian audiences Presley, Elvis 76, 96 Psycho late entry ban 28, 92 personal memories 12 Puwar, Nirmal 157, 169

233

on immigrants and cinema 155–6 postcolonial identity 170 Pygmalion (Shaw) 78 Les Quatre Cents Coups/400 Blows 144 race and ethnicity ‘becoming Black’ 151–2 difficulties for immigrants 160 political movements 157 racial tensions in US 82, 83–4 representations in film 152–4 South Pacific 74–5 see also Black audiences; postcolonial audiences; South Asian audiences Rank cinemas European films rare in 129 foyers of 23–4 ­smoke-free areas 34 Ray, Satyajit 127, 138 Reckord, Lloyd Ten Bob in Winter 153 Redford, Robert Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid 91–2 Reed, Oliver naked wrestling 47, 60 Women in Love 47 Regional Film Theatres establishment of 15 foreign films and 129 Reisz, Karel Saturday Night and Sunday Morning 102 religion The Ten Commandments 167–70 see also films, historical and religious epics Religion and Film: An Introduction 167 Remembering 1960s British Cinema-going events (AHRC) 4 Repulsion 136–7 Resnais, Alain 15, 142 Hiroshima Mon Amour 144 Last Year at Marienbad 144–5 ‘more intellectual’ 139–40

234 Richard, Cliff Summer Holiday 15, 120–1, 174 The Young Ones 120 Richards, Helen 2 Richardson, Tony A Taste of Honey 153, 153 Tom Jones 48, 122, 123 Ritchie, June in A Kind of Loving 47 The Ritz cinemas 25 Robbins Report on Higher Education 8, 130 The Robe 71 Robinson, Edward G. Cincinnati Kid 96 Rocco and His Brothers 139 Rodgers, Richard 73–4 Rogers, Ginger 93 Rogers, Roy 69 Rohmer, Eric 15, 145 Claire’s Knee 145 My Night at Maud’s 145 La Ronde 127 Room at the Top ­as scandalous 47 social criticism of 11–12 Ross, Katharine The Graduate 88 Saga newsletter 4 The Sand Pebbles personal memories and 12 Steve McQueen and 97 Sardar, Ziauddin 156 Saturday Night and Sunday Morning 173 abortion and 51 changing attitudes and 50, 51 as ‘New Wave’ 14, 102–4, 103, 105 realism of 58 Satyricon directed by Fellini 139 The Scala, Charlotte Street 156 Indian diaspora and 159–61, 170 Le Scandale/The Champagne Murders 145

Index Schlesinger, John 92, 102 Darling 112 Schofield, Michael The Sexual Behaviour of Young People 41 Schofield, Paul A Man for All Seasons 124 Scott, Randolph 70 Sellers, Peter The Pink Panther 12 The Servant homosexuality and 62, 63 Seven Brides for Seven Brothers 73 The Seven Deadly Sins, boys disappointed by 46 The Seven Samurai 70 sex abortion and 8, 13, 51–2, 83 in the back row 41–3, 172 character of Alfie 54–7 in cinemas 13 contraceptive pill 48–9, 83 decent girls 42 double/love seats 42–3 European films and 128, 133, 146 fear of pregnancy 48–9 feminine identity 112–13 The Graduate 88 ­social stigma of 106 spirit of the 60s 47–9, 57–9 usherettes and 43, 45–6 Sex and the Single Girl, girls disappointed by 46 Sex, Class and Realism: British Cinema 1956–63 (Hill) 106 The Sexual Behaviour of Young People (Schofield) 41 sexual harassment 13, 43–5 Sexual Offences Act 61 Shane, boys relate to 70 Sharif, Omar Doctor Zhivago 122, 123–4 Shastri, Lal Bahadur 154 Shaw, George Bernard Pygmalion 78 The Silence 133

Index Simon and Garfunkel The Graduate music 88 Sims, Sylvia Victim 52, 53 Sinclair, Neil 166 Singh Mandair, Arvind-Pal 157 Sloman, Tony 127 Smith, Sarah 5 smoking 13, 18 irritation of 32–4 marijuana 32 smoke-free areas 34 Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs 67 social class cinema experiences and 9–10 education and 8 luxury of foyers and 25 New Wave films 14 othering of the north 107 working class consumerism 155 see also films, social realism social realism patriarchal culture 105–6 see also films, social realism social spaces see under cinema-going memories Some Like It Hot 94–5 Song of the South 68 The Sound of Music long queue for 23 popularity of 79, 79–81 ­South Asian audiences 1960s Britain and 15–16 Indian politicians and 154 see also Indian Film Society; postcolonial audiences South Pacific 74–5 Spartacus 73 Spraos, John 21 Stacey, Jackie ethnographic studies 5 Hollywood stars 1–2, 3, 93 Stafford, Roy 127 Stamp, Terence Far From the Madding Crowd 124

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Star! 81 Steiger, Rod In the Heat of the Night 84 Street, Sarah 10 Streisand, Barbra Funny Girl 81 Strick, Philip 143 Summer Holiday 15, 120–1, 174 Sunday Bloody Sunday love triangle 10 naughty gay kiss 62 Sweet Bird of Youth Paul Newman and 97 Swiss Family Robinson 67 The Sword in the Stone 67 A Taste of Honey 173 abortion and 51 Black character 153, 153 changing attitudes and 50–1 homosexuality and 53, 63 as ‘New Wave’ 14, 104–6 realism of 58, 59 sex and 48 social criticism in 12 Taylor, Elizabeth admiration for 93–4 Cleopatra 73 Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? 68 Taylor, Helen ethnographic studies 5 Gone With the Wind audience study 1, 3 television, cinema attendance and 10 ­Ten Bob in Winter 153 The Ten Commandments banned in Pakistan 168 cinema experience of 71–2 postcolonial audiences 167–70 Tiger Bay audiences 166 Theorem 139 They Shoot Horses, Don’t They? 84 Third Age Matters magazine 4 This Sporting Life 59

236 The Thomas Crown Affair 95 Steve McQueen and 97 Thoroughly Modern Millie 61, 81 Thumim, Janet 2–3 Tiger Bay, Cardiff, immigrant community 16, 163–7 Time magazine, Swinging London and 102 The Tin Star 70 To Kill a Mockingbird 14, 84 Tom Jones 122, 123 Hollywood funding 65 sexy dining scene 48 The Train Burt Lancaster and 96 The Trials of Oscar Wilde 60 Truffaut, François 135 French New Wave 142, 143–4 Jules et Jim 144 New Wave and 15 Les Quatre Cents Coups/400 Blows 129, 144 sense of alienation 140 Tushingham, Rita A Taste of Honey 51, 53, 153, 153 varying views of role 106 Tyneside Cinema Club 129 Ulysses at the flea-pit 26 Un Chien Andalou 146 Une femme mariée 143 United States Hollywood funding 65–6 racial tensions in 82, 83–4 social change in 14 University College London Union Drama Society 4 Up the Junction social realism 102 usherettes 13 ­alert to sexual behaviours 43, 45–6 deal with disruption 36–7 guides in the dark 29 sell refreshments 29, 31

Index Varda, Agnès 15, 142, 144 Cléo de 5 à 7 145 Victim homosexuality and 13, 60, 62 leads to legislation 175–6 Vietnam War 14 changing society and 82–3 The Green Berets 84–5 Viridiana 146 Visconti, Luchino 15 The Leopard 139 Rocco and His Brothers 139 Viva Maria! 145 Vivre sa vie 143 The Wages of Fear 127 Wajda, Andrzej 15 Ashes and Diamonds 138 A Generation 138 Kanal 138 Warhol, Andy 92–3 Wayne, John admiration for 95–6, 98 cultural identity and 163 westerns 69, 92 West Side Story remembered as a favourite 76–8 Tiger Bay audiences 166 Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? child’s viewing of 68 Davis and Crawford 93 personal memories and 12 Tiger Bay audiences 166 Whistle Down the Wind 9 Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? child’s view of 68 Taylor and Burton 94 The Wild Bunch, violence of 87 Wilder, Billy 92 The Apartment 92 Williams, Melanie 122 Williams, Tennessee ­Cat on a Hot Tin Roof 97 Wilson, Harold

Index film initiatives 129 NFT and RFT 15 social change and 8, 53 Winters, Shelley Alfie 54 The Wizard of Oz 68 women British New Wave characters 109–10 Carry On attitudes 118–19 chauvinistic treatment 175 Swinging London and 112

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Women in Love, naked wrestling 47, 60, 62 Wood, Natalie West Side Story 77 Wright, Melanie J. Religion and Film 167 Wyler, William 92 Yardbirds: in Blow-Up 142 Yellow Submarine 122 You Only Live Twice 117 The Young Ones 120

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