Archive for Thunderbirds

Sleepy Bobo

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , on April 3, 2008 by dcairns

tears before bedtime

One of the things that usually gets a gratifyingly big reaction from audiences in CRY FOR BOBO, the clown film I directed in 2001, is Little Joey the infant clown.

Played by three-year-old thespian Lewis Reid, he’s an endearing yet nightmarish figure, and his entrance is the point where the viewers realises they’re in a rather different kind of world. Coulrophobes start squirming immediately.

Lewis was used to the idea of acting and make-believe, like most kids, but especially because both his parents are actors, and he’d seen them at work in panto. He came to meet us while we were preparing the shoot at our studio/offices, having been suggested by one of our adult clowns, I think Stevie McNicoll. Lewis worked the room vigorously, seeming like a complete little grown-up, eagerly showing us his Thunderbird 2just the way an adult would. We were all immediately convinced he had what it took to play the part of Joey. “It was amazing — the whole time he was here I just assumed we were definitely going to cast him,” remarked costume designer Ali Mitchell, who had the substantial job of making both a clown wardrobe and a business suit for the little thesp.

So, Lewis’s first day of filming dawned. I screwed up. Lewis was so self-possessed and confident I failed to realise that a three-year-old is like an elephant, you have to kind of work around their needs. I devised a tracking shot that pulled back with our two clown protags, Mark McDonnell and Stevie, and then Lewis was supposed to walk in. But he was afraid of the tracks. He’d seen the camera dolly trundle along them and he was damned if he was stepping into its path.

On take one his dad sort of prompted him into shot, but got into shot with him.

For take two I sat Lewis in the foreground and let the camera reveal him. But he looked like a sort of abstract squiggle down at the bottom of the frame, a colourful hair in the gate or something.

Take three — I had Tracey Robertson, as Betty the clown housewife, carry Little Joey in. He’d been demoted from actor to prop. That seemed to do the trick.

carry-on baggage

Then we filmed other stuff. For hours. BIG MISTAKE.

This is what happened when we put Lewis in front of the camera just after his bedtime. Three-year-olds have an Off-Switch somewhere in their little brains, and when they get tired, it trips, and they’re out like a light.

“We’ll have to be quick,” I told cinematographer Scott Ward, “Lewis is falling asleep.” Scott assumed I meant “Lewis is tired,” until he looked through the camera at the close-up, and realised, NO, he’s LITERALLY falling asleep.

I promise, just about the cutest thing you’ll ever see.

Lewis was nothing short of magnificent for the rest of the shoot. While acting as an extra, Fiona asked him what his favourite film was. “CRY FOR BOBO!” he replied, without hesitation. Now that’s my kind of actor.

The Couch Trip

You can watch the whole film HERE if you like:

Cliff Richard IS Bongo Herbert

Posted in FILM, MUSIC, Theatre with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on January 6, 2008 by dcairns

 bachelor boy

Yeah, I laughed too, but that is the premise of this film (EXPRESSO BONGO) and we must ACCEPT IT UNQUESTIONINGLY.

Anyway, the good news is that Sylvia Syms is still VERY MUCH ALIVE, and first became VMA on this very day, some 74 years ago, and is still working. Long may she reign.

I saw S.S. talk at the Edinburgh Film Festival many yonks ago, and I remember her forthright and robust humour. During a lull in questions she ran through her entire C.V. — “ASYLUM, in which I get dismembered: I still get fan mail about that one. THE QUARE FELLOW with the terrible Patrick McGoohan…” I like McGoohan… but then I’ve never worked with him. Reminds me of Alan Bennett on Christopher Plummer: “Christopher is his own worst enemy, but only just.”

Look but don't touch.

Syms plays a burlesque artiste in Val Guest and Wolf Mankiewicz’s pop-culture spoof EXPRESSO BONGO, and shares the stage with go-go girls in pasties, mini-kilts and G-strings during an eye-poppingly bizarre “history lesson” number. No G-string for our Sylvia, though: as a highly-paid Featured Player she gets to wear Proper Human Underpants as befits a star. As a Scot, I detest all forms of Tartan pageantry, so I quite liked seeing it dragged through the sewer like this. There’s another good and weird tartan musical number in Bunuel’s first Mexican film. Nobody does Tartan like the Mexicans.

Mary Queen of Scots

Syms played a lot of what Jean Simmons calls “poker-up-the-arse” parts, which is not an Edward II kind of thing, but a reference to the straight back required to play stiff middle-class WIVES (Syms does this very well in the commendable VICTIM), so it’s great to see her excel here as a nice working-class girl who happens to earn a living in porn.

Guest’s movie HITS THE GROUND RUNNING, with titles spelled out in neon signs, restaurant menus and sandwich boards (production designer Tony Masters is the real mega-talent on this film — he went on to 2001 while Guest went on to CONFESSIONS OF A WINDOW CLEANER), and within instants we spot a nubile Burt Kwouk (“No, Cato, now is not the time!”) buying a hot-dog from a Soho stand, where eleven years later he will be seen working, in Skolimowski’s DEEP END. And they say there’s no such thing as progress.

a sandwich in soho

absolute beginners

And then we meet Laurence Harvey as a very yiddisher agent on the make (such ethnic overtness in a lead character would have been impossible in a Hollywood film, even one about Jesus). He’s like Tony Curtis in SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS or Richard Widmark in NIGHT AND THE CITY, except that the movie is more like THE GIRL CAN’T HELP IT, a brash, lurching satire about music and mammon.

Teen pop idol Cliff Richard (real name Harry Webb) plays teen pop idol Bongo Herbert (real name Bert Rudge) with his customary adequacy, but with a surprising Elvis sneer that was soon honed from his act as he went safe and mum-friendly. B.H. is Harvey’s discovery/creation, and we follows the ambitious fifty-per-center as he exploits the hapless naif through the London media world of 1960.

This is where the film works as a time machine: first, by transporting us back to a bygone age when Soho was the only spot where a cup of espresso could be obtained. We get real T.V. presenters and a checklist of then-current entertainers and location shots of an all-but vanished habitat. There are also topical film quirks, like a split-screen phone conversation between a semi-dressed Harvey and Syms, mirroring PILLOW TALK from the year before (Guest had a long-standing aim to get sex into British cinema, it seems).

But the film (Prophetic Cinema Alert!) also projects forward into the future, our present: in his desperation to leave no aspect of human life unexploited, Harvey yolks his prodigy to the cash-cow of RELIGION, having him sing a maudlin number about shrines and Madonnas: Mankiewicz and Guest obviously view this melding of pop and church as grotesque, vulgar and tittersome (and are laughing at how Jewish moguls churn out cynical Christian propaganda),  but it’s the exact path followed by Sir Cliff in subsequent years, and the results are just as awful, though more degrading to music than to faith.

(Cliff today is a still-virginal, botoxed crooner, who would surprise nobody if he came out of the closet, though I hasten to add that he’s not in the closet so far as I legally know and if he was he’d no doubt be sprinkling Holy Water in it and generally doing Good Works.)

Cliff went on to a film career of feelgood musical pablum (under the directorial aegis of Sidney J. Furie, among others) and thence to playing a plastic puppet in THUNDERBIRDS ARE GO, which is really typecasting when you think about it.

not gay

My favourite line in EXPRESSO BONGO: “And now, straight from New York, Hollywood and Las Vegas, we are very happy to be able to afford the fantabulous, the fantastico, DIXIE COLLINS!!!”

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