Film Reviews by Steve

Low budget black comedy which bombed in the UK but was a cult hit in USA. It's an unusual film, but imagine a seventies British horror rewritten by Joe Orton. The four title characters are a family of posh psycho-killers who bring strangers back to their derelict mansion to role play nursery games, and then murder them.

So, not for all tastes. This could be video nasty material except there is no onscreen gore. But for those with relish for the genre, this is my pick for the best horror-comedy ever made. The situations are genuinely strange and, after a slow start, it is grotesquely hilarious.

Girly (Vanessa Howard) is a mature woman but acts like a pouty nymphette to attract unattached men to their stately home, which is decked out in Edwardian nursery clutter. And where Mumsy (Ursula Howells) is in charge. But when they capture a tough, chippy prole (Michael Bryant) he fights back by introducing a few new rules of his own.

The cheerful cruelty of the four murderers makes this a guilty pleasure that will offend some. There is interesting subtext about rules and role playing (which anticipates the Stanford Prison experiment), and how that relates to social class. And some satire of the aristocracy. But it chiefly succeeds as a bad-taste comedy and a surprisingly clever psychodrama.

This faithful biopic of the life and death of the famous Australian outlaw is flawed, but still the best big screen account. Its strength is the incredibly authentic recreation of the period, leading up to Ned Kelly's hanging in Melbourne jail in 1880. The most powerful episode is the graphic, gruesome prologue recreating his execution, shot inside the prison, which conveys genuine horror.  

Most prominent is the stunt casting of Mick Jagger as an Irish-Australian bushranger. At the time Mick had an image as a rock and roll outlaw, so maybe it made sense in 1970. And while quite subdued, he isn't actually bad. But the role is too demanding for a dilettante; his character must completely dominate the screen, and his dialogue becomes increasingly lengthy and poetic.

Plus, with hindsight, Jagger doesn't seem like much of an outlaw anyway. The support roles- played by Aussie actors- are diminished. It's really all Jagger, and the pungent recreation of the squalor of the Victorian outback. Eventually Ned becomes less of an outlaw, and more of an Irish rebel, fighting a civil war against the English political establishment.

The big disappointment is how much the story becomes like a conventional western. Especially the commentary of folk songs recorded by Waylon Jennings. Presumably to sell the film to a US audience. Maybe this- and a Pom playing Ned- is why it bombed down under. But there is a strong sense of colonial Australia, and the Kelly gang's legendary shootout, in their ploughshare armour, is haunting.

Maybe the best film for children ever made in this country. Sure it's old fashioned and cosy and its assumptions about class are dated, but it hits a special sweet spot for British audiences of family films. This is the setting of the story in the early Edwardian period against the background of steam railways...

Add in the splendid locations in rural Yorkshire and this gentle drama attains a state of bliss. Like most films for children, it's a story about the family under threat. The kindly father is- wrongly- sent to prison for treason. So for financial reasons, the mother and three children relocate to the north where the youngsters must adapt and learn life lessons...  

Sadly, these don't include not patronising the lowly station master (Bernard Cribbins). Jenny Agutter's performance as the eldest child on the threshold of womanhood is legendary. Twenty year old Sally Thomsett is remarkably convincing as the 11 year old middle child. And Dinah Sheridan is warm and comforting as the best possible mother.

The story is prefaced by an older Jenny Agutter looking back. And the film has the feel of an idealised memory.There is little realism here. It's an adventure, a daydream of a far away age when girls ran through the green fields in pinafores and old gentlemen were kindly and wise. When there were buns for tea. A long, long way from now.

This frantic black comedy adapted from Joe Orton's controversial stage success no longer has the power to offend. But the satire about the British establishment, the catholic church and the police is still relevant and funny. Hywel Bennett and Roy Holder play a couple of bisexual longhairs who rob a bank and stash the loot in the coffin of Holder's recently dead mother.

Which leaves them with a body on their hands. The play was controversial and some were affronted by the comic use of a corpse! Which hard to work out, because this is farce. It's all slamming doors and bare behinds. Gradually their caper unravels thanks to an incredibly mercenary and sexy Irish nurse (Lee Remick) and a brutal and corrupt copper (Richard Attenborough).

And so the swag has to be split into ever smaller shares. The whole bundle is directed with great energy and the well chosen cast makes the most of some great dialogue. There's a genuinely eccentric gimmick in just about every shot. It now feels cartoonish, with the gaudy primary colours, the eye-popping edits and the commentary of rock and roll songs.

Joe Orton was reinventing the farce in the context of the revolution of the late sixties counterculture, to represent the generational divide and a growing suspicion of authority. It was intended to be confrontational. It no longer has that impact, but it's still a breathless, spontaneous bad-taste comedy which is full of surprises.

Tale of the occult set in rural England in the early 1700s, which is the definitive example of what came to be known as folk horror. Without Blood on Satan's Claw, it's difficult to imagine this sub-genre would exist at all... After a mysterious, furry skull is unearthed by a plough on the remote country estate of a lazy aristocrat, the children of his feckless peasants begin to worship the devil.

And then they ritually murder each other. The details are murky, but it seems the kids intend to coat a devil-beast with the uncanny patches of hair that now grow on their bodies. Which may be a metaphor for puberty! The rituals of the satanic children are actually quite extreme, and include the sexual assault and sacrifice of one of their group.

The film conveys its frisson of arcane wickedness with solemnity. It's the decadence that sells the tickets. It is most remembered for the famous scene when the naked leader of the cult (Linda Hayden) attempts to seduce the village priest: 'do you like what you see'. Then climaxes abruptly with the landowner (Patrick Wymark) cutting down satan with a sword.

The acting is unsubtle, but then this is exploitation horror. The plot is erratic. This is a cult item for blokes of a certain age, who remember seeing it- and particularly Linda- on tv as teenagers. But even without the lure of nostalgia, it is an eerie film which became quite influential. There are a couple of big scares, but its appeal is in the deviant mood of long ago occultism.

Mike Leigh's debut film is a characteristic exploration of the comedy of awkwardness. He received meagre funding from the BFI set aside for experimental cinema. And it was well earned. While this eventually becomes grimly funny, it seems like the intention is to achieve a heightened realism rather than to conventionally entertain. Some scenes are excruciating.

Anne Raitt plays a desperately lonely typist approaching middle age who looks after her sister, who has learning disabilities. Though the carer is profoundly inhibited, it eventually becomes clear that everyone she knows is even more shy and frustrated. Including her colleague, brilliantly performed by Joolia Cappleman, who fills the emptiness with crackpot gimmicks.

The scene when the unloved secretary has a date with an incredibly repressed middle aged teacher is close to being unwatchable. And yet it is uncomfortably funny. Leigh has a rigid technique which enhances the atmosphere of terrible anxiety. Repetitive sounds are amplified until they become irritating. Characters are isolated in wide, empty streets.

The camera tilts, but never tracks or zooms. The characters feel trapped in close up within the static frame. There is no soundtrack, just the ambient noise of a badly played guitar and an out of tune piano. But, we come to care for these people, isolated and tortured by their inability to communicate. There is no politics. Just an overwhelming pity for human sadness.

Maybe purists will be dismayed by Roman Polanski's adaptation of the mythic tragedy of Macbeth, but it shows another way of presenting the plays of William Shakespeare on the big screen. While the text is changed, the celebrated monologues are left intact. New lines are inserted to explain the narrative, so no-one should get lost.

And there is an extraordinary amount of exciting, bloody, brutal action. Medieval Scotland is presented plausibly and in rich detail. And the gloomy atmosphere of the grey skies, the soaking hillside in the constant rain makes the mood dark and oppressive. Weather on screen is rarely compelling as this... Which complements the pessimism of the bard's cycle of ambition and guilt.

The film benefits from casting younger actors in the lead roles. Jon Finch is a charismatic, brooding Macbeth. He actually has a greater rapport with Martin Shaw as Banquo than Francesca Annis playing Lady Macbeth. She is insubstantial, though beautiful. But they are at an age when they might be recklessly driven. And it makes their ruin even more powerful.

The soliloquies are presented as voice-overs, which Finch delivers movingly. It made a huge loss. But for my money, it's the best screen version. While the famous lines are deeply poetic, the film feels persuasively realistic. Every single scene is presented with invigorating imagination. It remains intensely fatalistic, but also rousing, and spectacular.

This big screen version of the legendary BBC sitcom does little to tweak the formula, and is all the better for that. Most of the situations are repeated from the series, and they are still funny. And best of all, the incredible all-time-great tv comedy cast is all present. Their roles are mere caricatures, but the brilliant actors made them all national treasures.

My personal favourite is John Le Mesurier as the effete and ever-so-reasonable Sergeant Wilson. The few alterations are all fine. There is a different location used for Walmington-on-Sea, but it still conveys the impression of an idealised English village. Liz Fraser steps in to play Wilson's lady friend, but she is actually perfect.

It's an origins story of how the Walmington Home Guard came together under the bumptious leadership of Captain Mainwaring (Arthur Lowe). And spread chaos over their corner of the south coast. Until, inevitably they prove themselves against the enemy. Creators Jimmy Perry and David Croft, and the incredible cast had already made three series, and were well drilled... ...

Even if the Home Guard wasn't. By 1971, the British film industry was in decline. Big screen spin offs from tv series were money makers, if unambitious. It was a chance to see popular favourites in widescreen with much bigger budgets. Dad's Army is easily the best of these. Not because of these production values, but because its characters and the ensemble cast are immortal.

This loose adaptation of Muriel Spark's novel- via a stage production- is a satisfying brush with quality. There is an intelligent, witty script, evocative use of Edinburgh locations, a persuasive impression of the 1930s and its fashions, with a large, excellent cast, all stunningly photographed in sumptuous colour.

The film is primarily a vehicle for Maggie Smith's spectacular, charismatic performance in the title role, for which she won the Oscar. And the fascinating character of Miss Jean Brodie dominates the story; a naive schoolteacher in a private school who instills in the girls her own approval of the growing fascism movement in Europe.

And like Mussolini she appeals through emotion and personality rather than truth and egalitarianism. She satisfies her own needs before the wellbeing of her class. Which ultimately leads to tragedy. She is destroyed by one of her most precocious girls, formidably played by Pamela Franklin, who with chilling inevitability assumes the attributes of her mentor.

Robert Stephens is convincing as Jean Brodie's bohemian lover, a mediocre artist and teacher whose elitist sense of entitlement is as prodigious as hers. The awareness of where this authoritarianism is heading makes this an unsettling experience. While there is a compelling study of a misguided woman portrayed by a great actor, it is also a warning from history.

Rambling version of DH Lawrence's modernist novel mainly succeeds thanks to its period production and Glenda Jackson's Oscar winning performance as a sexually emancipated single woman living among the intellectual elite of a mining town after the '14-'18 war. It's handsomely shot around the midlands and the north of England, but its location is vague.

It's a film of ideas, expressed through long conversations about love and sex, work and freedom. It's a period piece, but when the actors are advancing theories on free love, gender roles and communal living it feels like it's more about the late sixties. The trend for Edwardian fashion and beards in the hippie era, and the psychedelic inserts, also suggest this duality.

The two most famous and effective scenes have no dialogue. The naked wrestling between Alan Bates and Oliver Reed in front of a blazing fire. And Jackson channelling her inner psychic bull by chasing a herd of cows across a field. But mostly this is a film of digressive philosophical talk. This is often fascinating, but eventually grows tiresome.

The later scenes in Switzerland are hard work. Ollie gives a strangely stoned performance as Glenda's repressed lover. Bates and Jackson give era defining performances, but are hardly ever on screen together. And if the film remains interesting as an insight into a long ago culture, this is England at the turn of the '70's, rather than after the great war.

Oddball survival adventure which seems to combine the action genre with the theatre of the absurd! The pitch should have been to imagine a novel by Alistair MacLean adapted for the screen by Samuel Beckett. So two handcuffed prisoners in an unnamed country (it was shot in Spain) attempt to escape a military government in the pursuit of an illusory freedom...

... while chased from above by a sinister black helicopter. Actually, there is hardly any exposition at all. This is a head movie and anything resembling a MacGuffin has been stripped out. Essentially, these people are running away because they are running away. The men (Robert Shaw and Malcolm McDowell) have contrasting personalities, but their motives are mysterious.

Shaw gives a charismatic performance, but his character is a cypher. The enemy is menacing, but obscure. The film is about the action, and vaguely about human entrapment. Of course, many will find this pretentious. But those who buy into it may particularly be rewarded by the incredible Spanish landscapes that the fugitives are pinned against.

Howard Hawks eventually decided that a logical plot doesn't matter and punters just want dialogue and action. This takes that premise as far as it can go. And while the lack of motivation makes the film feel empty, that void just deepens the theme of human futility. It is too long, but it is encouraging that such an abstract film got made, and is still watched.

Michael Powell's final release is an adaptation of a banned autobiographical novel by Australian painter/sculptor Norman Lindsay. So it belongs in a group of the director's work about the psychology of the artist. James Mason is a nonconformist, a middle aged bohemian who searches for inspiration in the tropical backwater of the Great Barrier Reef.

He finds his muse in a wild girl who has grown up uneducated on the remote island. She is played by Helen Mirren in her first significant film role. This child of nature is uninhibited and awkward, but when swimming down among the coral and the fish she acquires a primal grace. The story reflects upon their freedom, and how it is compromised.

Like most of Powell's films, there is a strong, spiritual undertow to the flow of the narrative. This one is more comical than most, with some knockabout comedy, including an astonishing performance from Godfrey, the dog. It looks stunning, capturing the exotic grandeur of the Queensland coast, particularly the spectacular underwater photography.

Mason's Aussie accent comes and goes and Mirren doesn't even try. It was a big hit in Australia, but a flop elsewhere, and sadly Powell's final project was for the Children's Film Foundation. But this is a typically offbeat venture from the great director, both personal and magnificent. And it captures a way of living which has been lost.

A boy and his pet film, with a difference. It is a critique of an education system which is complicit in the failure of the child; who will be just another kid sent down the mines. David Bradley plays a lonely, neglected working class kid from a Yorkshire mining town who finds self worth through his relationship with the wild kestrel he raises from a chick.

The teachers do not engage with him. His father has gone and his mother does not love him. But through the falcon he develops a capacity to understand, nurture, and be more fulfilled. This isn't like Disney, where the boy's dreams would come true. He is destroyed by others who are just as damaged as himself. He exists in a hierarchy of bullying.

At the apex is the disinterested headteacher who aimlessly hands out corporal punishment. Or more comically the resentful, intimidating games coach (Brian Glover) who act's like he's Bobby Charlton. Loach shoots this in a social realist style: the cast are amateurs; scenes are improvised in real locations; action is shown in long shots without montage.

This environment is absolutely real and Bradley is enduringly authentic. Sometimes momentum is lost while the director spells out what he presumes is unfamiliar to the audience. But Ken Loach's polemic, adapted from Barry Hines' classroom classic, connected with the British public more than any of his other films.

Funny, flashy relationship drama set in a gorgeous touristic France, which plays out over 12 years. A young, attractive couple meet on the Newhaven-Dieppe ferry, fall in love and marry, then have a daughter, while drifting inexorably apart. This is staged over five driving holidays. Episodes from these are shuffled together so the scenes move freely between each trip.

So experiences from different times of life are contrasted to comical or wistful effect. The dialogue which starts as flirtatious develops an edge. They acquire more money but have less fun. Their passion gets run down. And they have affairs. It's an old sad story.

Albert Finney as the husband is inscrutable, but Audrey Hepburn as his wife is hugely sympathetic and charming. The ostentatious, modernist style which once made it chic is now dated, but it has acquired enormous nostalgic appeal, including the cars and Audrey wears groovy Carnaby Street fashions. And the tourist sites are blissfully uncrowded.

The film ends with a romantic crisis, but it doesn't exhume their disappointments to much depth. Part of the problem is Finney doesn't give the impression he has much to lose. This is a light, entertaining film which is more comical than tragic. There is stylish direction, a clever script and Henry Mancini's lovely easy listening score applies plenty of surface gloss.

This kind of macabre, rural melodrama came to be called folk horror, but it isn't really a scare film at all. It's based on a historic public figure, Matthew Hopkins who ran witch trials during the English Civil War, principally for his own enrichment. It is mostly fictional. There is no supernatural theme. If this is a horror film at all it is because of the grotesque depravity of the period.

Vincent Price plays the witchfinder and he called it his greatest performance. It's still pretty unsubtle, though he does dial down the histrionics. Robert Russell is as effective, as Hopkins' (real life) strongarm John Stearne. Though the protagonist is Ian Ogilvy as a member of Cromwell's army, driven to revenge after the duo murder his father in law and rape his wife.

And he is handsome and virtuous and Price is corrupt and degenerate. As a moral tale, it's uncomplicated. This has become a huge cult item, partly because of the interesting fusion of real history and fantasy, though this is a mix which runs all the way back to Dracula. There is plenty of decadent wickedness. Best of all is the period atmosphere and East Anglian locations.

It's compelling, but the prurient violence makes this feel like a voyeuristic guilty pleasure. It's nowhere near as explicit as a modern horror film, but the cruelty is so creative that it eventually gets to feel unpleasant. This was legalised atrocity. Of course, many go to horror exactly for this. And at least it all ends unfavourably for the bad guys.