Wednesday, 30 September 2020

CARRY ON CARRYING ON: THE MOVIES

 


CARRY ON CARRYING ON

 
Forget Powell & Pressburger, forget Stanley Kubrick 
and ‘Hammer Horror’, the most distinctively British post-war film genre, 
like it or not, are the ‘Carry On's’. Thirty-one ludicrous comedies 
filmed between 1958 and 1978, with occasional attempted revivals. 
They have entered our vocabulary. They are part of our culture. 
But were they any good…? 
Andrew Darlington re-watches them all, and decides.




  
CLEO, CAMPING, EMMANUELLE & DICK… 

Joking aside, it was the brand that was most important. We all know the ‘Carry On’s…’ Sid James’ lecherous laugh. Hattie Jacques’ billowing voluminous matron. Barbara Windsor’s perky boobs. Kenneth Williams anguished braying ‘no’. But not all of these distinctive ingredients are present in all of the films. The recipe altered. And although we feel cosily over-familiar with the format, it was never as constant or as predictable as we imagine, it even evolved. The first few plots involve romantic, rather than merely saucy encounters. The films don’t hit their defining seaside-postcard stride with arguably their best moments, until say, ‘Carry On Camping’ or ‘Carry On Up The Khyber’… or maybe ‘Carry On Cleo’. Through repetition and familiarity many of the moments and phrases from those trashy exploitation films are firmly fixed in the national consciousness, funnier now when viewed in clip-compilation shows, than they were then. Barbara Windsor’s career may have graduated to become the respected matriarch of ‘Eastenders’, but she’ll never be allowed to escape the exercise routine in ‘Carry On Camping’ where her bra spectacularly releases and achieves escape velocity. And people use the ‘infamy, infamy, they’ve all got it in-for-me’ Kenneth Williams line from ‘Carry On Cleo’ in the way that they used to quote lines of verse, even when they’re not fully aware of its provenance. 

As a cine-addicted teen I was more obsessed with ‘Saturday Night And Sunday Morning’ (1960), George Pal, ‘King Creole’ (1958), ‘If’ (1968), ‘Up The Junction’ (1968), Jean-Luc Godard, ‘Blow Up’ (1966)… but as a regular gawper from the stalls of the Hull ‘Tower’ or ‘Regent’ fleapits on Anlaby Road, the ‘ABC’ beside the bus-station, or the ‘Criterion’ on George Street, sometimes with girlfriends, sometimes not, the ‘Carry On’s’ were unavoidable. Some were better than others, and oddly, in retrospect, the best of them now seem funnier and better than they were at the time. An odd series of quirkily distinctive snapshots of a lost Britain, populated by a familiar cast of eccentric characters. 

Sixties British cinema was sustained by three lucrative franchises, Hammer Horror, the James Bond films that began in 1962… and the regular ‘Carry On…’ instalments. Each of them provided varieties of the social glue, or achieved the status of national institution, that TV soaps tend to provide today. ‘Carry On Sergeant’ was the first of what ‘Observer’ film critic Philip French acknowledges as both ‘a cinematic landmark’ and the first ‘an interminable series of British comedies’. During the hot summer of 1958, a time of declining cinema attendance, it was pulling in big crowds. Although it starred Bob Monkhouse and an irascible central performance by William Hartnell – later the first and grumpiest ‘Doctor Who’, it also introduced the nucleus of the familiar team of Charles Hawtrey, Kenneth Williams and Kenneth Connor. Its premise was a fairly obvious target for cinema comedy at the time too, with direct connections to most lives. The ‘call-up’ was a defining aspect of late-teen reality. Everyone had experience of it. As French adds, ‘its treatment of National Service Army life was rooted in reality’. 



In fact the Norman Hudis screenplay was based around RF Delderfield’s play ‘The Bull Boys’ – a serious thesis about the effects of conscription on a pair of ill-prepared ballet dancers. It was filmed for a modest £75,000 at Stoughton Barracks, just two miles from Guildford centre, in Surrey. Now turned to residential use it’s possible to occupy a two-bedroom flat in the Cardwells Keep block – named after Edward Cardwell, one-time Secretary of State for War. Back then, it was still a genuine functioning barracks. Hartnell was reprising the definitive platoon sergeant role he’d played in Carol Reed’s 1944 ‘The Way Ahead’. Another member of Hartnell’s unlikely squad was Norman Rossington in an early example of small-screen crossover, since he was by then established as Private Cupcake in ITV’s ‘The Army Game’ – a series mining the same comedic vein that was commercial television’s first comedy smash in the era of two-channel TV. 

Despite its poor critical reception the film hit no.3 in that year’s UK box-office listing. With the team in place, Producer Peter Rogers and Director Gerald Thomas – who would jointly oversee the whole series, and Norman Hudis screenwriting the first six, the potential for sequels based around other institutions was obvious. So the NHS, Comprehensive Education, and the Police provide targets for the next three. The Navy? – well, there was already Leslie Phillips’ HMS Troutbridge on the radio, so a neat sidestep into the new leisure industry introduced ‘Carry On Cruising’, opening up a further range of variants. To Rogers it was a case of ‘same story, different title’. While Thomas was a director with lots of class. All of it bad. If the Ealing Comedies dealt with class, the Carry On’s reflected the classlessness of the sixties. They had no class at all. By the time the series had run its full arc into the seventies – twenty-nine films across twenty years, social changes had made the world of Hartnell’s call-up squaddies virtually unrecognisable. They reveal England in a curiously dated way, a time when reference to widdles, hamptons and sennapods provoke gut-laughs, words that mean little or nothing today.


 
To some extent the ‘Carry On’s’ reflect the altering moral climate, not always in a positive way. Conscription ended on 31 December 1960, soon after the first film (although for some squaddies, deferred service dragged on until May 1963). ‘Carry On Nurse’ was doing no.1 UK box-office the year ‘Raymond’s Revue Bar’ opened in London, sparking the sexual revolution. One interpretation claims that when Talbot Rothwell took over writer-duties, often working up scripts from title-ideas thrown out by Peter Rogers, the plots became less music-hall slapstick, and more nudge-nudge sexually upfront. More likely they were merely keeping pace with social changes. 

The ‘Carry On’ continuum was seldom overtly political. But in the zones where the personal is the political, it charts the shifting gender divide and the loosening up of the restrictions that apply. From the proto-Woman’s Lib of ‘Carry On Cabby’ where the wives and girlfriends of cabbies set up their own rival taxi concern, clear through to the reactionary ‘Carry On Girls’ championing the rights of a trashy seaside Beauty Contest over dour Feminist objections, mocking Women’s Lib with a bra-burning sequence – ‘call the Fire Brigade someone’ panics June Whitfield. Trapped in the mid-decade cultural crossfire, ‘Carry On Camping’ opens with a retro-glimpse of those sly naturist films which offered the only opportunity to see naked bodies on the big screen – ‘so this was paradise, she stepped out from her tent as naked and free as nature intended’ (‘it’s disgusting, that’s what it is, disgusting’ protests Joan Sims. ‘What’re you talking about – disgusting’ protests Sid James, ‘it’s ARTISTIC!’), until the film ends with a rather poorly contrived love-in festival with The Flowerbuns hippie group performing to represent the decade’s new freedoms. Then there’s ‘Carry On Matron’ where Hattie Jacques’ matron asks Kenneth Williams if he believes in Free Love – ‘well, you don’t believe in paying for it, do you?’ he snorts! Actual politics, of a kind, crops up… and is flushed away in the Trades Union activism of ‘Carry On At Your Convenience’.


 
Instead, Gay sex is the great unspoken theme that runs through the films. When Charles Hawtrey warns ‘beware the Ides of Mars’, in ‘Carry On Cleo’, Kenneth Williams tartly retorts ‘Oh shut up, you silly old faggot!’ Later Kenneth complains ‘oh, I do feel queer.’ Double-entendre, of course. Even if the audience didn’t know, it suspects. After all, until well into the cycle of films, homosexuality was a crime punishable by prison. But it was an ever-present subtext. ‘I’m sure sex with a woman is nice, but it’s not as good as the real thing’ Charles Hawtrey is quoted as saying in his biography. At its best the ‘Carry On’ is ‘cinematic pantomime’ in Janet Street-Porter’s phrase. Jack Douglas defines its formula as ‘naughty, but not filthy.’ Until, into the late-seventies, forced to compete with the greater gratuitous-nudity content of the ‘Confessions Of…’ series, it fell into a sad decline. By the time of ‘Carry On Emmannuelle’ it’s not that the content was necessarily offensive, I’ve viewed more offensive soft-porn material, but worse, it wasn’t funny. That was unforgiveable. 

As regards comedic innovation, for those who enjoy the ‘Austin Powers’ or ‘Johnny English’ spoof-spy romps, ‘Carry On Spying’ was doing the James Bond send-up thing as long ago as 1964. Sure, Ian Fleming’s Double-O agent presents such an obvious target for satire he was instantly pounced on for laughs. Kenneth Williams was already appearing as inscrutable villain Chou-En Ginsberg versus Kenneth Horne Super-Spy in weekly instalments of the BBC Light Programme ‘Round The Horne’ shows. On balance, perhaps Michael Myers films are funnier. But compare and contrast, say, ‘Carry On Cleo’ with Mel Brooks recreation of Ancient Rome for ‘History Of The World, Part 1’ (1981) and the ‘Carry On’ crew vindicate themselves very favourably indeed. Amanda Barrie stands, in my estimation, among the teasingly best Cleopatra’s in movies, Liz Taylor notwithstanding. Sid James as a lustfully ribald Mark Anthony. Kenneth Williams, of course, as Julius Caesar. And a wonderfully absurd performance by Charles Hawtrey as the mad Seneca, complete with historically inaccurate spectacles. 

The film commences in a prehistoric confusion of cave-dwelling Briton Hengist Pod (Kenneth Connor) – inventor of the square wheel, whose mother-in-law was eaten by a brontosaurus! With the arrival of Mark Anthony’s legion, reciting ‘SINISTER DEXTER, SINISTER DEXTER’ (left right, left right, and maybe a future-reference to the ‘2000AD’ characters?), Hengist and Horsa (Jim Dale) are captured and taken to Rome to be sold as slaves at Warren Mitchell’s ‘Marcus & Spencerus’ auction. There are a number of irresistibly stupid comic sequences, Caesar’s non-sensical Churchill-ian speech to the senate is Kenneth Williams at his ludicrously best oratorical style. While Mark Anthony complains about the emperor’s dalliances, ‘while I’m busy trying to wage war he’s busy trying to make a piece.’ Or more simply, mangling Latin further, he exclaims ‘blimus!’ Cleopatra recognises Caesar because ‘I have seen your bust.’ He pointedly responds ‘I wish I could say the same.’ In an epic tale ‘immortalised in McCauley’s famous poem ‘The Lay Of Ancient Rome’ – ‘although certain liberties have been taken with Cleopatra’, the action shifts to Egypt where ‘they’re intense lovers’ says Seneca. ‘Of course, they do everything in tents’ confirms Sid James. And the slaves scheme their escape. ‘If anybody asks, say we’re eunuchs’ advises Horsa. ‘Yes, what have we got to lose?’ adds Hengist disingenuously. Until Caesar admits ‘I am undone, my end is in sight.’ ‘Then you’d best do them up again’ suggests Mark Anthony helpfully. The Carry On’s seldom came better. Or maybe they did, once or twice…


 
From first take to final edit the entire cod-epic was done between 13 and 28 July 1964. Two weeks. With Peter Rogers ruling proceedings with a rod of iron and a famously tight-fist. Notoriously autocratic, he quipped that he would ‘do anything for my actors except pay them,’ and rarely budgeted more than £200,000 on a film. Top names Sid James and Kenneth Williams would pocket £5,000 tops. So they enjoyed celebrity, without proportionate financial reward which led – for Charles Hawtrey in particular, to an obsession with his position on the bill. He grumbled he was paid £5,000 in 1958, an inadequate pay-cheque that stayed the same for twenty years. But the female stars were even less favoured, they got around half that amount – £3,000 for the bubbly Barbara Windsor, £2,500 for Joan Sims. To make matters worse, they were one-off payments with no royalties. 

Rogers and Gerald Thomas, by contrast, prospered, picking up £15,000 from each film, plus a reported one-third of the spoils. Rogers treated himself to a new Rolls-Royce each year, while ensuring expenditure was screwed ever lower. All thirty-one films were shot at Pinewood, and even when venturing beyond the studio’s back-lot location-shots were restricted to Snowdonia standing in for the Khyber Pass, Kew Gardens for the African jungle, Buckinghamshire for France, and Camber Sands representing the Sahara. Yet at their best the films transcend age and gender. Forget Powell & Pressburger, forget Stanley Kubrick and ‘Hammer Horror’, the most distinctively British post-war film genre, like it or not, are the ‘Carry On’s’, where no entendre is left undoubled. The formula, to academic Malcolm Bradbury, reflects the ‘folk-loric figures’ of saucy Donald McGill postcards – ‘bottoms, bosoms, bodily functions of every kinds, going to the lavatory or FAILING to do so, a very important theme. The idea of humour as a broad expression of English vulgarity is actually very famous. The English were always famous for that. In the eighteenth century people were amazed at the things the British laughed at. And that has gone on. The British do have a quite different tradition which is elegant wit – but that’s not here, is it?’ Some may call Rabelaisian what others find something slightly more than the sum of their often rather ropey parts. Jack Douglas adds that ‘if a ‘Carry On’ is innocent, then I’ve been doing it wrong all these years. Maybe there IS an innocence ABOUT them. Maybe that’s why they get away with the comedy? 

Joking aside, it was the brand that was most important. But knowing the cast better, through repetition, through various bio-pics recreating their troubled lives, through biographies and critical re-evaluation reclaiming them for their good-bad trash-aesthetic, the best of the films even seem to grow in stature. No one member of the crew was in every film. With Kenneth Williams as the most consistent presence, amassing twenty-six ‘Carry On’s’ to his credit, including narrating the ‘That’s Carry On’ compilation. It’s something of a cliché to suggest that he amounted to far more than the visible sum of his slapstick parts. But in this case it’s probably true. Kenneth Williams was both an immensely talented, yet intensely private man who refused to own a TV set and wouldn’t allow visitors to use his toilet due to hyper-hygiene issues. A master of the camp riposte and eloquently flared nostril, but also a whingeing, doom-laden mother’s boy, given to complaining about either his fee or his haemorrhoids. In his radio and screen performances he affects outrageousness, but despite his haughty-camp screen affectations, his fiercely-controlled sexuality contrasted to Charles Hawtrey’s later uninhibited ‘out’ life-style. 



‘Kenneth W isn’t able to have sex properly with man or woman’ gossips Joe Orton in his candid diaries, ‘his only outlet is exhibiting his extremely funny personality in front of an audience, and when he isn’t doing this he’s a very sad man indeed.’ A gulf between public persona and personal torment that is deeply apparent when he decries the superficiality of his critics, ‘one spends a great deal of energy, time and vulnerability trying to raise a laugh, and one is accused of being outrageous…!’ Probably the most meaningful relationship of his life was with his mother. Brought up in Islington’s Caledonia Road, with a homophobic father, his assumed ‘superior’ persona – adopted as early as 1949 by mimicking the old character actor ‘Felix Aylmer’, deliberately disguises this working-class childhood. He revelled in the fame and recognition the ‘Carry On’s brought him, but considered the films themselves intellectual slumming. He ‘loathed playing that part’ recalls Ken Russell, ‘he was a terribly good actor’ who only suffered the ‘debasing experience’ of doing ‘Carry On’s’ because all that cinematic slap-&-tickle paid his income tax. According to Michael Freedland’s biography, the ‘Carry On’s’ were the day job he was terrified to give up for monetary, rather than cultural motives. His sad and cynical diaries and letters (edited by Russell Davies) are deliciously catty, with a caustic wit he was equally capable of turning on his own ‘spiritual nihilism’. Reviewing his autobiography, George Melly points out that ‘someone who disliked him intensely couldn’t have done a better hatchet job.’ Kenneth Williams died in his Euston flat from an overdose of barbiturates, a self-confessed ‘suicidalist’. The coroner recorded an open verdict. The press for Saturday, 16 April 1988 announced the death of the ‘Tragic Lonely Genius’. 

Kenneth Williams once made a platonic marriage proposal to Joan Sims. And in terms of screen-presence, she comes next, with twenty-four appearances. Sid James’ crinkly battered mug, combined with the dirtiest laugh in film history, provides the core ingredients of nineteen ‘Carry-On’s’. Yet the self-assured cockney spiv, the eternal ‘rough-diamond’ with the face of a walnut, was of Jewish South African origins. Married to Berthe Sadie ‘Toots’ in his native Johannesburg from 1936-1940, and already a father to Elizabeth, with three illegitimate children, his self-invented history had begun long before he left for England. Following army service, he arrived in London aged thirty-three, and ran directly into fresh complications. Married to wife number-two, dancer Meg Williams from 1943-1952 he began picking up bit parts as crafty cockneys in post-war cinema, including Ealing classic ‘The Lavender Hill Mob’ (1951). A character-actor rather than a comedian, he played a journalist in the second ‘Quatermass’ (1957) film. Recognisably himself, yet interpreted through a straight role. An occasional wife-beater, his characteristic visage ‘etched with the joint pleasures of whisky and sex’ he was also enjoying new affairs.


 
In 1952 third wife Valerie Ashton tried to control his race-horse gambling addiction by applying restrictions to his spending money. Then came his first ‘Carry On’. And it was only the timely intervention of the celebrity it brought that funded his lifestyle. Even then he would seldom share lunch with the rest of the team, preferring to stay in his dressing room entertaining a succession of ‘lunchtime ladies’. Yet the tumble of ‘Carry On’ roles includes his finest screen moment, the climax of ‘Carry On Up The Khyber’ where he conducts the stoic colonial dinner-party in defiance of the Burpa bombardment going on all around them. If his homophobic tendencies, detected by Kenneth Williams in his diaries, were hardly best-placed on the drab ‘Carry On’ sets, the friction it generated added frisson to their comedic exchanges. Unlike Kenneth Williams, Sid harboured few pretensions. ‘I’m just a jobber, not a star. I just act myself.’ Sixty-two year-old Sid died on stage at the Sunderland Empire while touring ‘The Mating Game’ through the spring of 1976. 

Among other regulars, Peter Butterworth manages eighteen, Kenneth Connor seventeen, with Bernard Bresslaw and Hattie Jacques scoring fourteen apiece. In the restricted world of British comedy, the connections inevitably extend beyond the films themselves. Hattie had emerged through radio work, first as Sophie Tuckshop in Tommy Handley’s ‘ITMA’ (1948-1949), followed by her Agatha Danglebody in ventriloquist Peter Brough’s ‘Educating Archie’ (1950-1954), then – as Griselda Pugh, forming the supporting cast for radio’s top-rated ‘Hancock’s Half-Hour’ alongside Sid James and Kenneth Williams. Rumour suggests that the notoriously insecure Hancock later dispensed with them all because their popularity was eclipsing attention away from himself. John Le Mesurier, Hattie’s indulgent cuckolded partner in their unconventional marriage also featured in ‘Hancock’. Hattie, a women of formidable appetites, not too far removed from her man-devouring ‘Matron’, enjoyed a successful post-‘Carry On’ career as Eric Sykes’ unlikely brother in the long-running TV sit-com ‘Sykes’

Those off-screen connections extend into the confused postcard-glamour world of Barbara Windsor, who recalls Kenneth Williams accompanying her on her honeymoon. One of the most instantly recognised names, Barbara Windsor, only actually managed ten films. To me, there had been far prettier and sexier ‘Carry On’ girls before her, but she arrived with exactly the correct balance of dead-common dodgy-bird tarty-innuendo to steam up Doctor Nookie’s stethoscope and provoke the rich throaty ‘COR!’ from lusty Sid James. A chirpy, cheeky, flirtatious Cockney sparrow, she was as shrewd as she was warm-hearted. Notoriously married to gangster Ronnie Knight from 1964-1985, she nevertheless found time for a three-year affair with a married Sid James. Twenty-five years her senior, he’d pursued her since her first ‘Carry On’, across rain-drenched locations between shots, with her crouched scantily-dressed over an electric heater in Sid’s trailer while Sid and Kenneth Williams sniped at each other. But it wasn’t until they were thrown together overnight following a live Pete Murray radio show guest appearance from the Victoria Palace in 1973. They were filming ‘Carry On Girls’ together, and she reasoned ‘I like Sid. I’ve slept with plenty of men I don’t like, so why shouldn’t I sleep with him?’ Soon, with Barbara still living with her first husband in Stanmore, there were assignations in a shared Pimlico flat. Once the affair, and the ‘Carry On’s’ themselves were history, she went on to enjoy a new career as Peggy Mitchell, landlady of the Queen Vic in ‘EastEnders’. Frankie Howerd – who was in two ‘Carry On’ movies, died Easter Sunday 1992, the same day as Benny Hill, who wasn’t in any of them. 



But favourite ‘Carry On’ star? Own up. It has to be Charles Hawtrey. The child star and former boy soprano had appeared with Will Hay in the silent 1930s and 1940s, and worked with the top comedy stars of the day, Max Miller, Groucho Marx and George Formby. His penchant for self-invention deluded people that he was the son of theatrical actor-manager Sir Charles Hawtrey. He wasn’t, but – like Kenneth Williams, his early career was more serious than his legend allows. He appeared in the classic Ealing comedy ‘Passport To Pimlico’ (1949), but of greater relevance he was cast in the first two series of ‘The Army Game’ (1957-1958), as Private ‘Professor’ Hatchett, as well as its big-screen spin-off ‘I Only Arsked’ (1958) – a film titled for Bernard Bresslaw’s catch-phrase as Private ‘Popeye’ Popplewell. With William Hartnell already playing the grouchy Sergeant too, it formed a vital precedent to ‘Carry On Sergeant’. Although the film rescued Hawtrey from years of sporadic unemployment, the typecasting across twenty-three ‘Carry On’s’ soon became a source of profound frustration. If he was not always an easy colleague to work with, a desperately frugal alcoholic who talked to his dead mother in his hotel room, he was ruder to his fans, telling autograph-hunters to ‘piss off’. His part in his final ‘Carry On’ – ‘Carry On Abroad’, satirised an alcohol habit that had taken him ‘from the Khyber Pass to the bottom of a glass.’ Kenneth Williams diaries conscientiously record that his co-star’s ‘average evening tippling comprised two-&-half bottles of port, a quantity of whisky and a pot of tea.’  

Long-running friction over his billing and what he considered Roger’s shabby treatment, was brought to a head by Hawtrey pulling out of the 1972 ‘Carry On Christmas’ TV special. Sacked from the series, but lacking the intellectual compensations of literature and the circle of arty friends enjoyed by Kenneth Williams, he misbehaved his way through a gay and increasingly eccentric retirement. 6 August 1984 found him trapped upstairs in his Deal residence by a fire rumoured to have been ignited by a disgruntled rent-boy, only for him to be rescued in a state of undress carried across the shoulder of a young fireman, yielding the local press headline ‘NAKED ORDEAL’. He was no longer loved, described by one neighbour as ‘a nasty piece of work’ (in ‘Charles Hawtrey: That Funny Fella With The Glasses’ on Radio 4, April 2009), another recalled him passing out in one of the few bars in Deal that would still serve him, ‘people was spitting on him, they were’. A few years later, although a blood-clot threatened the amputation of both legs, complications from his alcohol abuse killed him before an operation was possible. 



Although Charles Hawtrey’s seafront smuggler’s cottage now bears a blue plaque commemorating his stay, his post-‘Carry On’ career was never rewarded with Sid James’ safe sit-com popularity, or Barbara Windsor’s iconic Soap afterlife, although – to be honest, it’s difficult to imagine a tele-context in which he could have done either. So did this lack of creative fulfilment mean his life was essentially sad? If so, to Ben Summerskill, it was nothing to do with any psychological analysis of his sexuality, his tragedy was merely ‘to become old, even more drunk and lonely,’ something ‘hardly exceptional for retired actors’ (in ‘The Observer, 18 November 2001). But he’d appeared in some seventy films, even if his most high-profile legacy was chirpy ‘Carry On’ moments. It’s the delightfully absurd persona he conflates around his skeletal physique and exaggerated ‘Oh Hello’ mannerisms – character acting rather than gag-based comedy, that survives him. The backpacker in ‘Carry On Camping’ who encounters the farm-girl leading the bull across the lane to its breeding assignation with the cow – ‘can’t your father do that?’ he enquires helpfully. ‘Oh no, it has to be the bull!’ she tells him. 



The ‘tears-of-a-clown’ slant is a useful journalistic device, and the tormented personal lives of the central ‘Carry On’ crew has been valuably well-documented in recent years. Until it sometimes seems the flexible ensemble nature of their teamwork made their variously dysfunctional lives possible. It’s important that these back-stories and known and related to their on-screen performances. But it’s just as vital to enjoy the films, as they are. The ludicrous comic mayhem these oddball misfits create together, is still being reissued in new digital formats, rerun on a variety of media-channels and spliced into compilations. A cornucopia of comic genius pass through the films, Frankie Howerd may only have managed two (‘Carry On Doctor’ and ‘Carry On Up The Jungle’), but his contributions are as priceless as they are iconic. And there’s a wikipedia-full of less prominent characters who appeared, came, and went. Norman Rossington first appeared on screen in a weak 1956 adaptation of ‘Three Men In A Boat’. Two years later, he featured in ‘Carry On Sergeant’, which led to three more ‘Carry On’ roles (including the 1972 TV-only ‘Carry On Stuffing’), but more significantly to appearances in the Beatles’ ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ (1964) and Elvis Presley’s ‘Double Trouble’ (1967). 

Leslie Phillips seems rather put out that he’s so associated with the ‘Carry On’ series in the public mind – ‘I only did three of them’ he protests, ‘people seem to think I did a hundred-and-three.’ He admits he only appeared in the sad final instalment of the series – 1992’s ‘Carry On Columbus’, as a favour to Gerald Thomas. The announcement of a planned follow-up to the poorly-received ‘Columbus’ was greeted with little more than curious interest. Meaning that the omens for yet another revival of the franchise are less than good. Leslie Phillips’ attack on the prospect was reported in the ‘Independent’ (10 October 2003). He condemned it as ‘a cheat’ while labelling the producer Peter Rogers as ‘too old’. ‘The Carry On’s are gone, they’re in the past’ he declared in an interview at the Loaded Comedy Awards, ‘they haven’t asked me to do it, but I wouldn’t anyway. I think it’s a cheat.’ Yet when Peter Rogers died in April 2009 he was said to be still working on new title – ‘Carry On London’

If there’s a contemporary version, it’s best to look elsewhere – albeit with an American spin, it’s there in the Zucker-Abrahams ‘Naked Gun’ and ‘Airplane’ films with Leslie Nielsen, with their genre send-ups, scattergun good/bad gags and non-stop silliness. When the joke doesn’t work, don’t worry, there’s another coming along hot on its heels. And if Michael Myer’s ‘Austin Powers’ films do all the same old innuendos with a knowing postmodern awareness that ‘Carry On Spying’ merely did straight, the laughs are the continuity that unites them. 

But joking aside, it was the brand that was most important. We all know the ‘Carry On’s…’
  

CARRYING ON… THE CARRY ON’S… 



(1958 August) CARRY ON SERGEANT (Producer/Director team of all 31 ‘Carry On’s’. Producer: Peter Rogers. Dir: Gerald Thomas) Script: Norman Hudis (who writes first six ‘Carry On’s’). Distributed by Anglo-Amalgamated. A relatively realistic National Service comedy, in which Sergeant William Hartnell attempts to knock new recruits Charles Hawtrey, posh Kenneth Williams and hypochondriac Kenneth Connor into shape. Bob Monkhouse is an unlikely romantic lead. The music is by Bruce Montgomery, a prolific composer who wrote the music for both ‘Doctor In The House’ and the script and music for ‘Raising The Wind’ (see ‘Related Carry-Ons’). A lifelong friend of his Oxford contemporaries Kingsley Amis (with whom he collaborated on an opera) and Philip Larkin, Montgomery is most famous for the whodunits written under the pseudonym Edmund Crispin – who also edited seven volumes of ‘Best Science Fiction’ during the sixties (84-minutes)


 
(1959) CARRY ON NURSE The ‘Carry On’ crew enjoy hospital high jinks in the second of the series. Hattie Jacques is the matron trying to keep control as the rest of the gang, including Kenneth Williams (studying nuclear physics), Kenneth Connor (as Boxer Bernie Bishop), Michael ‘Ginger’ Medwin (as his manager) and Charles Hawtrey, run riot. There’s Bill ‘Compo’ Owen as Percy, wed to Irene Handl. Joan Sims as accident-prone Nurse Dawson, and Joan (Miss Marples) Hickson as Sister. There’s gender-humour, but romance and pathos too, plus the famous Wifred Hyde-White daffodil-up-the-bum thermometer gag (later reprised by Frankie Howerd in ‘Carry On Doctor’ with ‘oh no you don’t, I saw that film’ as a nurse arranges daffodils in a vase by his bed-side). ‘The sex-mad fools!’ accuses Williams (86-minutes)


 
(1959 August) CARRY ON TEACHER ‘You ROARED at Carry On Sergeant, HOWLED at Carry On Nurse, You’ll be CONVULSED by Carry On Teacher’ promised the posters. Chaotic classroom fun in a venture into ‘Bash Street Kids’ territory with Drayton Green Primary School, in West Ealing standing in as rowdy ‘Maudlin Street Secondary Modern’. ‘Do you favour the Swedish method?’ enquires the School Inspector. ‘Well, I always say it’s the same the whole world over’ suggests gym teacher Sarah Allcock (Joan Sims) helpfully. ‘Shall we have a demonstration, Miss Allcock?’ prompts harassed headmaster William ‘Wakie’ Wakefield (Ted Ray in his only ‘Carry On’). There were problems with the censor over Leslie Phillips’ (as Alistair Grigg) pronunciation of ‘All-Cock’. But with Kenneth’s Williams & Connor, Charles Hawtrey, & Hattie Jacques (as Grace Short), things can only go from bad to worse. There’s a young Richard O’Sullivan (as pupil Robin Stevens), Carol White (later of ‘Poor Cow’ movie, as a schoolgirl saboteur), and schoolboy Larry Dann who would return for three more ‘Carry On’s… Behind, England, & Emmannuelle’. Music by Bruce Montgomery (86-mins)


 
(1960) CARRY ON CONSTABLEThree new recruits – PC Charlie Constable (hypochondriac Kenneth Connor), PC Stanley Benson (intellectual Kenneth Williams) and PC Tom Potter (womanising Leslie Phillips) overcome their own comic ineptitudes to arrest the robbers and succeed in the end. Sid James is Sergeant Frank Wilkins and Joan Jims as WPC Gloria Passworthy. Highlight is Kenneth Williams and SPC Timothy Gorse (Charles Hawtrey) as ‘Ethel & Agatha’ in a drag sequence, ‘Do you know, I haven’t done this since I was in the army. At a Camp Concert’ says Hawtrey (86-minutes)


 
(1961 April) CARRY ON REGARDLESS(premiered April Fool’s Day) Bert Handy (Sid James) & Miss Cooling (Esma Cannon) launch ‘Helping Hands’ job agency. Their confused clients get into predictable comic scrapes. The first ‘Carry On’ with Liz Fraser (as Delia King), Kenneth’s Williams & Connors (Sam Twist), Charles Hawtrey (Gabriel Dimple), Joan Sims, Bill Owen, Hattie Jacques, Stanley Unwin (as the Landlord), Betty Marsden (Mata Hari) and Fenella Fielding (Penny Panting) (90-mins)


 
(1962) CARRY ON CRUISING The first colour ‘Carry On…’, and the last to be written by Norman Hudis (from a story by Eric Barker) – the title alone is enough to cause sniggers these days. The sixth and one of the most charming in the series is an old-fashioned farce, which favours slapstick over the smut of the later films. Sid James is the grizzled veteran Captain piped aboard the luxury cruise liner ‘SS Happy Wanderer’ for his final voyage before retirement. ‘I want to do my packing in the bags beneath your eyes’ one girl says to him. He’s saddled with a crew of hapless recruits attempting to find their sea legs, and has to keep his beady eyes on lovesick passengers too. With Kenneth Williams, Liz Fraser, and Kenneth Connor. Charles Hawtrey was ‘unavailable’ – his demands for star-rating above other names results in his absence, according to Peter Rogers, so Lance Percival’s role was expanded to fill in (89-mins)


 
(1963) CARRY ON CABBYScreenplay by Talbot Rothwell (from a story by ‘Morecambe & Wise’ script-team Sid Green & Dick Hills). Back to black-&-white. Taxi wars break out when minicab boss Sid James finds his firm, Speedee Cabs competing with the comely charms of Glamcabs – run by his wife Hattie Jacques. How can our Sid possibly compete? Features prominent use of Ford Consul Cortina’s as an early example of product placement. Told to collect a ‘gentleman’ from 32 Dortan St, dolly-bird cab-driver Anthea (Amanda Barrie) says ‘of course Darling, I’ve been picking up gentlemen since I was seventeen.’ Then Hattie Jacques advises her on how to attract customers – ‘just flash your headlamps at them!’ Although Kenneth Williams is missing, Charles Hawtrey is Terry ‘Pintpot’ Tankard, with Kenneth Connor, and Sid carries his role as ‘Charlie Hawkins’ over into ‘Sid Stone’ for the TV spin-off series ‘Taxi’. This is the first of eleven ‘Carry Ons’ to feature Jim Dale, in the minor role of ‘expectant father’. Prior to that he’d tried out for Parlophone records as a proto Rock ‘n’ Roll singer – reaching no.2 in the charts with “Be My Girl”, and appeared in the film spin-off of BBC-TV’s ‘6:5 Special’ serenading young ladies in a railway compartment with “The Train Kept A-Rollin” (91-mins)


 
(1963) CARRY ON JACK ‘Naughty, Bawdy & Hilarious’ – according to the movie-posters, the first foray into historical ‘Carry On’s’ is seafaring camp taking the mickey out of movies such as ‘Mutiny On The Bounty’, following the maritime misadventures of the motley crew of ‘HMS Venus’ (‘twas on the good ship Venus’) on its way to fight the Spaniards. With Kenneth Williams as Captain Fearless, Anton Rodgers, C Cecil Parker, Charles Hawtrey (as Walter Sweetly) and bumbling adversary Bernard Cribbins (as Midshipman Albert Poop-Decker – ‘with a hyphen’, RN), and Juliet Mills (as Sally from ‘Dirty Dicks’ bawdy house, who assumes Poop-Decker’s role in disguise to search for her lost love, Roger). Patrick Cargill is Don Luis, with Jim Dale and Donald Houston. Despite their best attempts, this is a limp contribution to the cycle (Dir: Gerald Thomas. 91-mins)


 
(1964) CARRY ON SPYING For the last black-&-white ‘Carry On’, the gang are licensed to take the mickey as an incompetent group of spies in this James Bond spoof with Desmond Simpkins (Kenneth Williams) as 003-&-a-half – ‘that three-&-a-half is very important, Darlin’, and Barbara Windsor in her debut ‘Carry On’, as ‘Trainee Agent Daphne Honeybutt, sir.’ ‘Number?’ ‘38-22-35’ ‘No, your number, not your vital thingamyjigs’ ‘Oh, I’m sorry sir, I forgot where I was for the moment, actually it’s 4711’ ‘Have you had any experience?’ ‘Oh yes – a little!’ Also set on foiling the plans of STENCH – the Society for the Total Extinction of Non-Conforming Humans, is Bernard Cribbins (as Harold Crump), Charles Hawtrey (Charlie Bind), Jim Dale (Carstairs) and Eric Barker as ‘The Chief’. Oddly, decades later it was still considered funny to spoof Bond films with Michael Myers ‘Austin Power’ and Rowan Atkinson’s ‘Johnny English’ both doing good box-office (87-minutes)


 
(1964) CARRY ON CLEO Screenplay by Talbot Rothwell, ‘from an original idea by William Shakespeare’, although it warns that ‘certain liberties have been taken with Cleopatra.’ Kenneth Williams, as Caesar, sits on the throne with his feet in a bowl of water, says he has ‘sniffed the sweet smell of success and eucalyptus.’ Sid James – as Mark Anthony, refers to Cleopatra as ‘that bird that rules Egypt.’ ‘I’m sorry, Vestal Virgins are off tonight’ warns Peter Butterworth. Jon Pertwee, another ‘Doctor Who’, is ‘Soothsayer’. Amanda Barrie had appeared in ‘Carry On Cabby’, and would later be Alma in ‘Coronation Street’, but some may feel her portrayal as Cleo in the best thing she ever did! One of the most enjoyable Carry On’s (92-mins)


 
(1965) CARRY ON COWBOY ‘I wonder what they wanted?’ enquires black-clad gunslinger the Rumpo Kid (Sid James) after shooting three men dead in a ‘High Noon’ spoof sequence, before altering the Stodge City population sign from 204 to 201. ‘We are fully temperance’ the mayor warns him. ‘I don’t care if you’re full of flatulence’ retorts Rumpo. Jim Dale is sanitary engineer P Knutt who travels to the Wild West and ends up as the new Stodge City marshal after some confusion about him ‘cleaning up’ the town. Unfortunately, he can’t shoot to save his life, which is a shame, as Rumpo Sid is out to get him. ‘My, but you’ve got a big one’ says ‘Belle’ (Joan Sims, indicating his pistol). ‘I’m from Texas Ma’am, we all have big ones down there’ drawls Sid. Fortunately, sexy Annie Oakley (Angela Douglas) is quite handy with the six-shooters. Also stars Kenneth Williams and Joan Sims, with both Bernard Bresslaw & Peter Butterworth in their first ‘Carry Ons’ (93-mins)


 
(1966) CARRY ON SCREAMING Distributed by Warner-Pathé. A mash-up of two great British sixties franchises as the ‘Carry On’s’ spoof ‘Hammer Horror’, one of the best and maybe one of the funniest with great sight gags and silly innuendos. There’s no Sid James, but Harry H Corbett stands in brilliantly as a Sergeant Sidney Bung, the police detective investigating the mysterious disappearance of Doris Mann (Angela Douglas). ‘You took her into the woods, how far did you go?’ he enquires. ‘Oh, not very far, ‘cos I’ve only known her a year’ admits Jim Dale. Bungling Constable Slobotham (Peter Butterworth) is not much help. Could the mystery have anything to do with vampish Fenella Fielding and her camp, deranged brother Kenneth Williams (who, as mad-scientist Doctor Orlando Watt, utters his famous ‘Frying Tonight’ – as he fries in his own vat)? The voluptuous Fielding soon has Corbett all steamed up – maybe he’ll overlook the two hulking hairy werewolves in the cellar of her spooky ‘Bide-A-Wee Rest Home’ mansion. Also stars Charles Hawtrey, Jon Pertwee (as Dr Fettle), Frank Thornton (later of ‘Are You Being Served’), Bernard Bresslaw (as ‘Lurch’-like Butler Sockett) and Joan Sims (as Emily Bung). An un-credited Ray Pilgrim sings the title song (97-mins) 



(1966 December) CARRY ON, DON’T LOSE YOUR HEAD(Director: Gerald Thomas) For the thirteenth ‘Carry On’, and the first from the Rank Organisation following changes at Anglo-Amalgamated, the team visit the home of the double entendre, adding vulgarité to the liberté, égalité and fraternité of their French Revolutionary japes, sending-up Baroness Orczy’s ‘Scarlet Pimpernel’. ‘Paris 1789. The Great Revolution has begun’ opens Patrick Allen’s voice-over narration, ‘the hands of the masses are smeared with the blood of the poor bleeding aristocracy… Dukes and Duchesses, Lords and Ladies, men and women of both sexes.’ Sir Rodney Efing (Sid James) – pronounced ‘effing’, assumes the persona of ‘The Black Fingernail’ to rescue Aristos, along with pal Lord Darcy Pue (Jim Dale). Their antics enrage Citizen Camembert (Kenneth Williams) – ‘I’m the big cheese’, and dim-witted Citizen Bidet (Peter Butterworth). ‘Remember, we must be circumspect’ cautions Camembert. ‘Oh, I was Sir. When I was a baby!’ Charles Hawtrey at his best as the Duc de Pommfrit, receives a letter just as he faces Madame Guillotine – ‘toss it in the basket, I’ll read it later!’ While the dashing Sir Rodney hosts a lavish dance, to be complimented ‘I must congratulate you, you’ve always had magnificent Balls’, by Lady Binder (Elspeth March) (90-mins)


 
(1967) CARRY ON, FOLLOW THAT CAMEL The Rank Organisation brings in Phil (‘Sergeant Bilko’) Silvers in an attempt to gain access to the US market – and also as a philandering replacement for Sid James following his heart-attack. Songster Anita Harris also gets sand in her shoes (as Corktip) for a ‘Beau Geste’ Foreign Legion romp, with no expense spent. Broken-hearted Bertram Oliphant ‘Bo’ West (Jim Dale) with manservant Simpson (Peter Butterworth) leave England to join the Legion. Assisted by Sergeant Nocker (Silvers) – but only after they discover his ‘on patrol’ duties involve amorous liaisons with café-owner Zig-Zag (Joan Sims). Meanwhile, Bo’s lost love Lady Jane Ponsonby (Angela Douglas) follows the pair, to make amends, but ends up being abducted into Abdul Abulbul’s harem. There’s the oasis El Nookie, the Legion Fort Zaussantneuf (‘69’), Charles Hawtrey as Captain Le Pice (which allows Kenneth Williams’ ‘Commander Maximilian Burger’ to ask ‘Are you taking Le Pice?’), and gags such as ‘The pill? What do you suppose they use that for?’ asks Silvers, ‘I can’t conceive’ says Kenneth Williams. Finally Abdul (Bernard Bresslaw) attacks the Fort, which the mismatched cast heroically defend until relief arrives. Filmed among the Sussex sand-dunes (95-mins)


 
(1967) CARRY ON DOCTOR aka ‘Life Is A Four-Letter Word’ or ‘A Bedpanorama Of Hospital Life’. Rank’s ‘Don’t Lose Your Head’ and ‘Follow That Camel’ were both tentative attempts to drop the ‘Carry On’ prefix – with their last-minute loss of nerve resulting in their unwieldy restoration. So ‘Carry On Doctor’ serves as a return to basics, to a direct title, to the present day, and to the series’ original public service premise. A skewed glimpse of hospital life in which most of the patients are middle-aged lechers and the nurses are nubile sexpots. Patient Ken Biddle (Bernard Bresslaw) tells Nurse Clarke (Anita Harris) ‘I dreamt about you last night.’ ‘Did you?’ she replies. ‘No, you wouldn’t let me’ he responds glumly. Faith healer, Francis Bigger (in Frankie Howerd’s first ‘Carry On’) won’t take his own medicine, when he has an accident on stage. Instead, he finds himself at the hands of Doctors Jim Kilmore (Jim Dale) and preening Dr Kenneth Tinkle (Kenneth Williams). Kilmore, through a series of misunderstandings, soon loses his job and it’s up to the patients to convince Doctor Tinkle and Hattie Jacques wonderful Matron to give him his job back. Meanwhile, Tinkle is amorously pursued by Matron – ‘Young chickens may be soft and tender, but older birds have more on them’ invites Hattie, ‘true, and take a lot more stuffing’ – Tinkle is not impressed! The patients rebel against the medical staff, but it’s really the gags that are revolting. Patient Sid James (Charlie Roper) is henpecked by wife Dandy Nichols, while Charles Hawtrey (Mr Barron) frolics. Nurse Sandra May (Barbara Windsor) is lusted over. Also Deryck Guyler, Pat Coombs, Peter Jones (of TV’s ‘Rag Trade’ and ‘Hitch-Hikers Guide To The Galaxy’) – and the Invisible Man! (94-mins)


 
(1968) CARRY ON UP THE KHYBER Kiplingesque Raj-set frolics, with the kilted ‘Third Foot & Mouth Regiment’ – the Devils in Skirts, showing their true colours – mainly blue! along the North-West Frontier in imperial Victorian times, with a five-bar gate in Wales standing in for the Khyber Pass. ‘May his radiance light up your life’ sneers Kenneth Williams (as Randy Lal, the Khasi of Kalabar). ‘And up yours’ responds Sid James (in top cackling form as aptly-named Provincial governor Sir Sidney Ruff-Diamond). ‘This will teach them to bang two-pence on the buses’ says Bernard Bresslaw (Bungdit-Din, chief of the revolting Burpa tribe) as he bombards Ruff-Diamond’s immaculate colonial dinner party. But the visual proof of the rumour that the regiment wear no underpants beneath their kilts is enough to scatter the attackers. Cardew Robinson, as a Fakir, allows Bresslaw to say ‘Fakir Off!’ There’s a romantic sub-plot with Captain Keene (Roy Castle) and the Khasi’s daughter (Angela Douglas). Charles Hawtrey is Private Widdle, Joan Sims as Lady Ruff-Diamond, and Terry Scott as Sergeant-Major MacNutt all enjoy their tiffin (88-mins) 



(1969 July) CARRY ON CAMPING ‘The Carry-on Team: Refusing To Let Sleeping Bags Lie’ announce the posters. When scheming Sid Boggle (Sid James) and dim-witted pal Bernie Lugg (Bernard Bresslaw) take girlfriends Joan Fussey (Joan Sims) and Anthea Meeks (Dilys Laye) to see a ‘Naturist’ film at the local cinema it gives the ‘boys’ the idea that a nudist camping holiday might thaw the girl’s reserve (the clips of the naturist film they see onscreen gets chastely edited out for a 2012 TV repeat). Peter Butterworth is ‘Fiddler’, the grasping owner of the ‘Paradise’ campsite – disappointingly normal, until the girls of ‘Chayste Place’ Finishing School arrive, with Dr Soaper (Kenneth Williams) and Miss Haggard (Hattie Jacques) attempting to keep them in line! An equally amusing sub-plot shows magnificently absurd hiker Charlie Muggins (Charles Hawtrey) encountering reluctant camper Peter Potter (Terry Scott) and braying wife Harriet (Betty Marsden) (88-minutes)


 
(1969) CARRY ON AGAIN DOCTORMore hospital high-jinks with Jim Dale getting his stethoscope in a twist (as Dr Jimmy Nookey) – his last ‘Carry On’ until ‘Columbus’, and Charles Hawtrey in drag as ‘Ladyship’. Opens at the Long Hampton Hospital with Nookey asking patient Peter Butterworth, ‘my friend and I, we’re doing spot diagnosis, and I was wondering if you could help us. Now I’d say you’ve got hemorrhoids, and he thinks it’s a slipped disc, now could you tell us?’ Butterworth replies ‘let me see now, you thought it was a slipped disc? I’m afraid you were wrong. And you thought it was hemorrhoids? I’m afraid you were wrong.’ ‘Well, what then?’ Jim persists. ‘As a matter of fact, I thought I was going to break wind’ admits Peter with pained expression, ‘I’m afraid I was wrong!’ With disaster-prone Nookie exiled to join old South Seas quack Sid James on the tropical Beatific Islands, then returning to England with a miracle native slimming potion Nookie sets up the Moore-Nookey Clinic. Full back-view nudity from saucy patient Barbara Windsor, and Joan Sims disrobes in front of a startled Hawtrey-in-drag. Also features Wilfred ‘Steptoe’ Brambell (86-mins)


 
(1970) CARRY ON UP THE JUNGLEAn inept expedition into ‘Darkest Africa’ led by lecherous white-hunter Bill Boosey (Sid James) and native guide Upsidaisi (Bernard Bresslaw) includes Professor Inigo Tinkle (Frankie Howerd) who is searching for the elusive Oozlum bird, comely June (Jacki Piper), botanist Claude Chumley (Kenneth Connor) plus Lady Evelyn Bagley (Joan Sims) who is hoping to find her lost husband and their son. They are captured by the all-girl Nosha tribe who have breeding in mind. June meets local ‘Tarzan’ and lost-son Ugg (Terry Scott) and educates him in the ways of ‘six’. While ‘Tonka The Great’ – lost-husband Charles Hawtrey, is quite happy to remain tribal chief (89-mins)


 
(1970) CARRY ON LOVINGIn a partial reworking of ‘Carry On Regardless’ Sidney Bliss (Sid James) runs the ‘Wedded Bliss’ dating agency which claims to use hi-tech computer-matching for its Lonely Hearts, but clients are actually paired-up at random by Sid’s long-suffering girlfriend Sophie Plummett (Hattie Jacques). As Sid pursues Esme (Joan Sims), Sophie hires James Bedsop (Charles Hawtrey) to spy on his activities. All the while their clients have various confused adventures in Much-Snogging-In-The-Green. ‘The first wife died from eating mushrooms’, ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that’ ‘So was she.’ ‘The second wife died from a fractured skull’ ‘Fractured Skull? How did that happens’ ‘She wouldn’t eat the mushrooms!’ Confirmed bachelor Percival Snooper (Kenneth Williams) seeks a ‘career wife’, Terry Philpotts (Terry Scott) eventually ends up with Jenny Grubb (Imogen Hassall), Richard O’Callaghan (as Bertrum Muffett) and Jacki Piper (as model Sally Martin) are brought in as young new love interest (88-minutes)


 
(February 1971) CARRY ON HENRY Filmed at Knebworth House. Tudor history put through the mangle, spoofing Richard Burton in ‘Anne Of A Thousand Days’. The posters call Sid James’ King Henry VIII ‘A Great Guy With His Chopper’ as he cackles and cavorts around Merrie Olde England. Sid has just executed his latest wife (Patsy Rowlands) in favour of garlic-scented Marie Of Normandy (Joan Sims) at the instigation of inept Cardinal Wolsey (Terry Scott), but he spies Bettina (Barbara Windsor) instead, and the customary smut and innuendo ensue amid much throwing of turkey drumsticks. As they dance a gavot. ‘you see, there’s these two things’ explains Barbara. ‘Yes, I’d noticed those’ leers Sid. ‘They call them castanets’ ‘Oh, that’s a new name for them’ ‘And all the time you’re dancing, they keep knocking together’ ‘Yes, I’d noticed that too.’ With the usual gang dressed up in period costume, the frustrated Marie gets it on with womanising Sir Roger de Lodgerley (Charles Hawtrey playing very much against type!) and Cromwell (a Machiavellian Kenneth Williams) schemes with Lord Hampton of Wick (Kenneth Connor) to kidnap the King, sizeable guffaws and comic complications ensue (89-minutes)


 
(1971 December) CARRY ON AT YOUR CONVENIENCE The ‘Carry On’ team ‘plumb the depths of toilet humour’ puns the blurb, as Factory owner WC Boggs (Kenneth Williams) faces bolshy union shop steward Vic Spanner (Kenneth Cope). Foreman Sid Plummer (a subdued Sid James) helps smooth over tensions. Charles Coote (Charles Hawtrey) introduces a bidet into the product-range, to further unsettle the situation. Subplots include Sid’s wife Beattie (Hattie Jacques) getting horse-racing tips from her budgie Joey! Class-war differences are reconciled in a boozy works outing coach-trip to Brighton. Maybe this innuendo-strewn satiric skit on industrial unrest was too close for comfort, resulting in this ‘Carry On’ under-performing at the Box-Office (90-mins)


 
(1972) CARRY ON MATRON Crook Sid Carter (Sid James) schemes to nick contraceptive pills from a maternity ward, by sending his son Cyril (Kenneth Cope) in drag as a nurse. Cyril winds up sharing a room with chirpy Nurse Susan Ball (Barbara Windsor). Hattie Jacques is the formidable Matron, Kenneth Williams as Sir Bernard Cutting. The first ‘Carry On’ to feature Jack Douglas, and the last for Terry Scott (as Dr Prodd) and Jacki Piper (Sister) (87-mins)


 
(1972) CARRY ON ABROADArriving in Elsbels, Package-Tourists find the hotel half-built. ‘Have you got a large one?’ asks Sadie Tomkins (Barbara Windsor). ‘I’ve had no complaints so far’ replies leering Bar-Man Vic Flange (Sid James). ‘Seeing’s believing’ she says. ‘You won’t need a magnifying glass, Haw-Haw-Haw’. Later ‘Bottoms up’ she says. ‘Is that what it is?’ he drools, looking down her cleavage, ‘you could have fooled me!’ The hotel is run by Pepe (Peter Butterworth) and wife Floella (Hattie Jacques). Jimmy Logan is tourist Bert Conway. During its filming Charles Hawtrey (as Eustace Tuttle) had a violent falling-out with Peter Rogers. He never appeared in another Carry On’ (88-mins)


 
(1973) CARRY ON GIRLS Beauty Contests, bolshy Feminists and dirty old men are the targets of the twenty-fifth ‘Carry On’. There’s no Charles Hawtrey or Kenneth Williams. But Councillor ‘Sid Fiddler’ (Sid James) suggests a beauty contest will boost tourism for seaside resort Fircombe (with Brighton standing in). He’s supported by Mayor Frederick Bumble (Kenneth Connor), but kill-joy women’s libbers led by Augusta Prodworthy (June Whitfield) fight-back. Bernard Bresslaw acts as PR man Peter Potter, with Joan Sims as Connie Philpotts who owns the Palace Hotel venue. Contestant Barbara Windsor – as Hope Springs, has a bikini-clad catfight with Margaret Nolan. There’s also Robin Askwith (of the later ‘Confessions Of…’ film-series), Arnold (‘Dad’s Army’ Private Godfrey) Ridley, and Wendy Richard (88-mins)


 
(1974) CARRY ON DICK Some claim this as the last genuine ‘Carry On’ – the last to be written by Talbot Rothwell, and the last full outing for Sid James (as both Reverend Flasher & his secret identity ‘Big’ Dick Turpin) and Hattie Jacques, with Barbara Windsor who will return only to narrate ‘That’s Carry On’. Bow Street Runner’s chief Sir Roger Daley (Bernard Bresslaw) assigns Desmond Fancey (Kenneth Williams) and Jock Strapp (Jack Douglas) to catch Dick, working on information that the notorious Highwayman has a birthmark on an unusual extremity not unrelated to his name (91-mins)


(1975) CARRY ON BEHIND Rank. Written by Dave Freeman, replacing long-serving Talbot Rothwell. One of the last, and least ‘Carry On’s’. Uptight archaeologist Kenneth Williams (as Professor Roland Crump) and his lovely assistant Elke Sommer (Russian Professor Vooshka), excavate a Roman ‘NAAFI’ while sharing a caravan site with a motley crew of ne’er-do-wells and sexy young babes, where the usual mayhem results. Peter Butterworth virtually reprises his ‘Fiddler’ role from ‘Carry On Camping’. Regulars, Joan Sims, and Bernard Bresslaw are joined by Windsor Davies and Ian Lavender, but by this stage much of the cheeky charm has gone (90-mins)

 

(1976) CARRY ON ENGLAND A return to the military – eighteen years on from ‘Carry On Sergeant’, with Captain S Melly (Kenneth Connor) striving to impose discipline on a carousing mixed-sex anti-aircraft battery somewhere defending England in 1940. ‘Carry On’ newcomers khaki-clad Patrick Mower and Judy Geeson are joined by Windsor Davies, and although Joan Sims and Peter Butterworth make welcome appearances, it suffers from having few of the original team on board. Saucy innuendos and topless girls can’t rescue the film. ‘The cold wind of change is going to blow through this camp’ warns Connor, unfortunately he’s right (89-mins)


 
(1977) THAT’S CARRY ON! (Compilation) Kenneth Williams & Barbara Windsor narrate highlights from earlier films. Linking screenplay by Tony Church. Original cinema release as ‘B’-feature to Richard Harris film ‘Golden Rendezvous’ (95-mins)


 
(November 1978) CARRY ON EMMANNUELLE Rank/Hemsdale. ‘When It Comes To Foreign Affairs… It’s Carry On Emmannuelle!’ Suzanne Danielle as the spoof erotic-heroine, trying to amorously arouse her French Ambassador husband Emile (Kenneth Williams), in the only ‘Carry On’ to yield an ‘AA’-rating. Kenneth Connor, Joan Sims and Peter Butterworth feature. Written by Lance Peters. Music by Kenny Lynch and Eric Rogers (88-mins)


 
(October 1992) CARRY ON COLUMBUS ‘Up Your Anchor For A Well-Crewed Voyage’ Gerald Thomas’ ill-advised return and last film (1920-1993), with Leslie Phillips retained from the original crew, as King Ferdinand to June Whitfield’s Queen Isabella. Jim Dale is Columbus ‘Sharks? Man-eating sharks? You don’t think they’d eat me whole?’ ‘No, I’m told they spit that out’ responds Jack Douglas. With Bernard Cribbins joined by Jon Pertwee (a third ‘Carry On’ Dr Who), Richard Wilson, Peter Richardson and New Wave comedians Rick Mayall (the Sultan), Nigel Planer, Julian Clary, and Alexei Sayle. Written by Dave Freeman & John Antrobus (91-minutes)
 

 RELATED CARRY-ON’S… 



(1951) THE LAVENDER HILL MOB Dir: Charles Crichton. A sparkling comedy, one of the most authentic jewels in the Ealing Studios crown, directed by the man who made the first authentic Ealing comedy, ‘Hue And Cry’ (1947). Crisply scripted by Ealing stalwart TEB Clarke, it was the model for John Cleese’s ‘A Fish Called Wanda’, which Crichton was brought out of retirement to co-direct. Alec Guiness plays a timid bank clerk who, with his sly sculptor friend Stanley Holloway, stages a large-scale bullion robbery. So why the ‘Carry On…’ connection? they are assisted by two ineffably inept ‘professional’ crooks – Sid James and Alfie Bass. Sid also appears as gangster ‘Benny’ in ‘The Belles Of St Trinians’ (1954, Director: Frank Launder), which also features Joan Sims (as Miss Dawn), Beryl Reid and Irene Handl. Stars Alastair Sim (in drag as Miss Millicent Fritton, and also brother Clarence), Joyce Grenfell and George Cole… and an uncredited schoolgirl Barbara Windsor! 

(1960) OUR HOUSE (ITV sitcom) written by Norman Hudis. Season One: 11 Sept – 4 December 1960 (13 episodes), Season Two: 16 September 1961 – 21 April 1962 (26 episodes). House-share comedy with Hattie Jacques as librarian ‘Georgina Ruddy’, Bernard Bresslaw as ‘William Singer’, Charles Hawtrey as ‘Simon Willow’, plus Hylda Baker as ‘Henrietta’, Joan Sims & Frank Thornton 

(1961) RAISING THE WIND Dir: Gerald Thomas. A ‘Carry On…’ in all but name, to Philip French, in ‘The Observer’, it is a ‘predictable combination of the ‘Carry On’ and ‘Doctor’ cycles’, with the same director and the same style of instantly familiar humour. Set with some accuracy in a London music academy where students Sid James, Leslie Phillips, Kenneth Williams and others blow some blue notes and deliver the usual corny and un-politically correct gags with great skill, much to the annoyance of, and beneath the twitching whiskers of, their stuffy old tutor, the venerable James Robertson Justice. Badly dated, but still good fun and in many ways more palatable than some of the later, smuttier efforts. The great radio comedian Eric Barker gives a lovely performance. Music by Bruce Montgomery 

(1969) CARRY ON CHRISTMASthe first of four fifty-minute Thames-TV specials, based around a Pantomime version of Dickens’ ‘A Christmas Carol’, with Sid James as Scrooge, Frankie Howerd & Hattie Jacques as the poet Robert Browning & his lover Elizabeth Barrett. A Frank N Stein sketch too with Terry Scott, Barbara Windsor as Cinderella, and Charles Hawtrey as the Spirit Of Christmas. Less ribald that the by-then current cinema content, with writer Talbot Rothwell, 1970, 1971, 1972 & 1973

(1972) BLESS THIS HOUSEProd: Peter Rogers. Dir: Gerald Thomas. Sid James and Diana Coupland are the married couple with two grown-up children in this spin-off from the cosy feel-good seventies TV sitcom. Terry Scott, June Whitfield and family move in next door and the couples soon grow to loathe each other. However, there’s more trouble afoot when two of the kids from opposing houses fall in love. With Robin Askwith, Peter Butterfield and Sally Geeson. Dated, and not that funny


 
(1975) CARRY ON LAUGHING two series of 25-minute episodes (13 in all) made for ITV, Rogers & Thomas in charge, with new writers Barry Cryer and Dick Vosburgh contributing. Some episodes feature Sid James, Barbara Windsor, Joan Sims, Peter Butterworth and Kenneth Connor – but no Kenneth Williams. (1) ‘The Prisoner Of Spenda’ 4 January 1975, to (6) ‘The Nine Old Cobblers’ 8 February 1975, then season 2 (1) ‘Under The Round Table’ 26 October 1975, to (7) ‘Lamposts Of Empire’ 7 December 1975 

(1983) WHAT A CARRY ON thirteen TV-episodes compiled from old movie-clips, screened 9 November 1983 to 1 February 1984 

(1996) STOP MESSING ABOUT: THE VERY BEST OF KENNETH WILLIAMS (Pearson New Entertainment, VHS) An exhaustive selection of ‘Carry On’ clips, plus Ken’s interview snippets from Terry Wogan and Michael Parkinson chat-show, plus Barbara Windsor reminiscing. Narrated by Barry Took who met, and scripted for him on the ‘Beyond Our Ken’ and ‘Round The Horne’ radio comedies 

(1998) A PERFECT CARRY ON Channel 4 celebrates forty years since ‘Carry On Sergeant’ 

(November 2001) ‘THE MAN WHO WAS PRIVATE WIDDLE: CHARLES HAWTREY 1914-1988’ by Roger Lewis (Faber, £9.99, 115pp) 

(October 2009) SID JAMES: THE AUTHORISED BIOGRAPHY by Robert Ross’ (JR Books Ltd)



Tuesday, 29 September 2020

KENNETH WILLIAMS: 'BEYOND OUR KEN'

 

KENNETH WILLIAMS: 

‘BEYOND OUR KEN’

 
‘OOOH – NO, Stop Messin About’… 
the outrageous diaries of ‘Carry On’ star Kenneth Williams 
only reached the Bookshops after his death, often irascible, 
 candid and scurrilous, but seldom boring. It was only in 
that way that he was able to dish the dirt on Tony Hancock
Joe Orton, Stanley Baxter, Barbara Windsor
and on his own tortured sexuality. 
ANDREW DARLINGTON 
takes a sly retrospective peek…
 



‘Prick Up Your Ears’ (1987) is a salacious movie bio-pic which explodes the short, brutal and sexually incandescent career of playwright Joe Orton across the screen. It’s also a hugely acidic black comedy of the submerged Gay sixties subculture. Orton – played by Gary Oldman, is eventually murdered by his more staid live-in lover Kenneth Halliwell (Alfred Molina), yet this is a film simultaneously brilliantly funny, provocatively vulgar, and ravenously hungry for experience. A life that burns meteorically through encounters with Paul McCartney all the way through to anonymous blow-jobs in the Holloway Road gents, from scripting mischievous movies like ‘Loot’ (1970) and ‘Entertaining Mr. Sloane’ (1970), to lustful group-sex with Arab boys in Tangiers. The film leaves nothing to the imagination…

…except the real-life presence of Kenneth Williams. 

The movie-maker’s extreme discretion edits the ‘Carry On’ star clear out of the story. But he was there. He was the neurotic Inspector Truscott in a role especially written for him by Orton in the original stage production of ‘Loot’. But, uneasy with the character, he played it ‘like Himmler’. In John Lahr’s definitive biography on which ‘Prick Up Your Ears’ is based, a smugly preening Kenneth Williams is also photographed lounging between the thuggishly rough-trade Orton and Halliwell in Tangiers in 1965. 

And, in Williams’ posthumously published diaries*, he leaks more details. ‘Went up to see Joe Orton and Kenneth. Both were so kind. We talked a lot about homosexuality… John (Joe) walked me all the way to Kings Cross…’ But unlike Orton who delights in sleaze and its capacity to shock, Kenneth Williams was never at ease with his sexuality. And Orton playfully finds such reticence an irresistible target. One of the last people to see the duo alive, Williams humourlessly confides to his diary his continuing indignation at Orton’s transparently teasing accusation that Williams ‘posted’ used condoms into pillar boxes.


 
Kenneth Charles Williams was born 22 February 1926, maintaining a close ‘open’ intimacy with ‘Louisa’, his mother, throughout his adult life. He began writing details of his thoughts and experiences at fifteen, in a Collins Emerald Diary, recording everything clear down to his collar and hat size (14 and 7 respectively). Edited into a hefty 827-page but still manageable book form by Russell Davies and published by Harper Collins (£20) the diaries are often unsavoury, irascible, candid and scurrilous, but seldom boring – acid drops, a kind of sour confection, is an apt description, with Williams dishing the dirt in uncensored musings on his contentious relationship with Tony Hancock, Joe Orton, Stanley Baxter, Barbara Windsor, and more. His early publicity photos show him striving for conventional Matinee Idol good looks. His role as ‘James Bailey’ in the first ‘Carry On Sergeant’ (1958) has him as the highbrow University-graduate, superciliously intellectual rather than effete. In the December 1959 ‘Hancock’s Half Hour’ episode the East Cheam Scribes effectively mock modernist poetry with Kenneth dramatically declaiming ‘straw in the wind, straw in the wind, straw in the wind, fly, fly, fly’. Yet he was drawn to the warm approval of reassuring audience laughter, dropping his character traits even into supposedly serious repertory stage roles. 

In life Kenneth Williams claimed to be celibate, and the diaries more or less confirm this. He seems never to have engaged in ‘penetrative intercourse’, while fearing and loathing the spectre of his desire to do so. His movie image may have been to ‘Carry On Camping’, but he confined his own sexual activity to the long wank sessions his diary-entries detail. He records the duration of some wrist-jobs in exact minutes and seconds, fuelling them on mildly masochistic fantasy. ‘Masturbatory success is the result of imaginative conceit’ he pronounces vainly. 

‘Williams was surprising to meet’ confides Lahr. ‘A complicated, touching man who bore no apparent relation to the haughty buffoon of the ‘Carry On…’ films or the whining camp voice from ‘Round The Horne’ or ‘Beyond Our Ken’. His actual speech was clipped, animated and vivid – but in recounting his stories his voice slipped easily into the wide range of delicious postures that had made him one of England’s most popular comedians, sprouting plummy and pinched vowels as it swooped from posh to ‘dead common’. Williams made the act of speaking funny.’ More than that, he transmuted it all into comedy gold, in a style uniquely his own. 



Those complications go way beyond the ‘tears of a clown’. Kenneth Williams veered between narcissism, and self-disgust. Prurience and prudery. His comedy always tinged with neurotic hysteria. His sexual itch attracted to, and repelled by the Gay life-styles (what his coded diaries refer to ‘traditional matters’ or ‘tradiola’) which his most outrageous routines lampoon. ‘Curious how far away I feel from all this sex twaddle’ he writes (26 February 1962). ‘People wanting to possess people. Ridiculous.’ 

He achieved stardom through radio, yet never considered it a ‘serious’ medium. He will be best remembered for the affected anguish of his performances in the ‘Carry On…’ films, theatrically shocked by the enveloping avalanche of Hattie Jacques’ amorous advances, or outraged by Sid James’ earthy innuendos. As trash movies they are now the subject of reappraisal as the quintessence of bawdy English smut. Yet he despised them too. His primping limp-wristed style is best captured in ‘Carry On Dick’ (1974), or ‘Carry On At Your Convenience’ (1971) in which he plays Mr W.C. Boggs, a lavatory manufacturer on a Works Outing to Brighton. On the pier he debates the validity of ‘Gipsy Rose Lee’-type clairvoyance with Sid James… 

‘Fortune Tellers? They’re all fakes, looking in their crystal… er…’ ‘Balls?’ suggests Sid helpfully. ‘I quite agree’ flounces Williams with a haughty snort, and immaculate comic timing. 

His diary entry (for 20 February 1964) records ‘the script of ‘Carry Of Spying’ (1964) is so bad that I’m really beginning to wonder. I’ve changed one or two things but the witless vacuity of it all remains…’
 


---0--- 

When radio star Kenneth Horne died in February 1969, a Kenneth Williams tribute ‘soundbite’ catches his bitchiness in full flood. ‘Horne’ he says, was the ‘rock’ around which all the comic insanity revolved. A double-edged scratch-your-eyes-out that infers more at second glance. Kenneth Horne was an established figure in BBC radio comedy with appearances dating back to ‘Much-Binding In The Marsh’ during the war years. His was the star name that provided Williams with his point-of-entry to a mass audience. ‘Beyond Our Ken’ ran from Tuesday 1 July 1958 to 16 February 1964, seven seasons (108 episodes), written by a fledgling Barry Took and Eric Merriman. It was immensely successful, remaining a big-selling item today through a series of BBC cassette and CD editions. Horne’s rich indulgent tones provide the framework for absurd sketches, ‘Panel Shows’ and songs spoofing styles and genres through the surrealism provided by the visual third eye of the listener’s imagination. It was followed by ‘Round The Horne’ (from 7 March 1965 to 9 June 1968, four seasons, 66 episodes) with Took now in partnership with Marty Feldman. Together they scripted fifty out the sixty-six episodes.


 
Kenneth Williams had appeared in the ‘Hancock’s Half-Hour’ radio and TV-shows, but fell out with Tony Hancock and was subsequently dealt smaller and smaller bit-parts until he was effectively written out. Behind the rumour-mill of jealousies, insecure geniuses, conflicting egos, tantrums and intrigue lies the clear fact that ‘Hancock’s Half-Hour’ was becoming increasingly an ensemble show operating from the group dynamic of Bill Kerr and Hattie Jacques as well as Kenneth Williams and the sly Sid James. But despite the popularity of the format that was not the way Hancock saw his career developing. He preferred the high-wire strategy of risking failure alone, rather than succeeding as merely one of a group. Kenneth Williams, by contrast, was never a ‘comedian’ in the stand-up or solo sense, he was more a ‘comic actor’ who excelled in situations that thrive on interactions within such groups. Later in his career he could turn in what amounts to bravura solo performances on chat-shows, but his most memorable work always took place as part of the ‘Carry On...’ crew, or the Kenneth Horne teams. Indeed, when he moved centre-stage to front his own radio ‘Stop Messing About’ show, following Horne’s death, it survived for just two Sunday lunch-time series. 

Instead, it was Horne’s radio shows that enabled him to develop his persona through the grotesque vocal exaggerations Lahr describes. He became ‘Ramblin’ Syd Rumpo’ the Protest Folk Singer with an ersatz-dialect style verging on the edge of blue in opuses like “The Ballad Of The Woggler’s Moulie” or “Green Grow Your Nadgers-O”. ‘Keep it clean’ urged producer Jacques Brown, ‘precious rather than poufy.’ Some chance! He was also the wheezing old pervert ‘J. Peasemould Gruntfuttock’ in sketches including one about telephone bugging. He shrills ‘Hold on, there’s someone on my extension!’ then ‘my private discourses are being interfered with!’ Each innuendo delivered through a full lubricious wealth of meanings. ‘It’s hard to tell whether you’re boasting or complaining’ comments Horne, adding ‘we’d never get away with this on television’ in a knowing aside. 



But Williams’ richest subterfuge came in league with Hugh Paddick as the mincing ‘Julian and Sandy’, lifting the secret gay code of ‘polarè’ and inflicting it into the airtime of a million Sunday lunch-time nuclear families. Developed by the Gay subculture as an internal language to confuse and baffle outsiders, Kenneth Williams’ game drew it through the airwaves in delicious satires of ‘omi palone’. An omi is a man, palone a woman. So, taken together, the phrase denotes a gay man. To vada his lallies is to look at his legs, his face is eek, so a good-looking boy is bona eek, with nice riah (hair). The words might have French or Italian derivations, elements of polarè can be traced back to the eighteenth century, some claim to find evidence of it in Shakespeare. Williams and Paddick requisition it as their own private in-joke, both party to its double-meanings, and ridiculing the community from which it sprang. 

As a kid I loved the characters. I imitated their vocabulary in the school playground without being remotely aware of its gay connotations, “OOO – inn’e bold!”, which must have sent out confusing messages to any uninitiated passersby! To me, Julian and Sandy weren’t sexual. They were just brilliantly funny. They still are. One week Mr ‘Orne visits them, this time in their Advertising Agency bijou studio-ette. ‘I used to specialise in cigarette adverts. I was never alone in the Strand’ vamps ‘Julian’ Williams. ‘Whatever the pleasure – I completed it. I used to sit on this horse in a polo-neck, all butch and dominating. Then I’d take a puff, and gallop off…’ And as if that’s not quite close enough to the edge, the punch-line to the sketch is that his advertising career has been brought to a halt by anti-smoking legislation, when ‘THEY BANNED FAGS FROM TV!’. The delivery lusciously exploits every possible nuance of double entendrè to the maximum, the two voices building and developing the camp saucy characters into beautifully realised absurdity. 

Mary Whitehouse and Conservative MP Cyril Black weren’t so amused. But BBC Director General Hugh Green defended and supported the programme, because he liked ‘dirty shows’. 

Kenneth Horne provided Williams with the opportunity to become a national star. Yet rather than acknowledge that debt he used the posthumous tribute soundbite to demonstrate just how his own talent tended to reduce Horne to the role of straight-man in what was nominally his own show. An act of hideous disloyalty – even if there is a trace of truth in what he says.


 
Audiences love some comedians with a warmth that transcends their often poor material. Eric Morecambe. Or Tommy Cooper. Even Frankie Howard. But Kenneth Williams is not loved, he’s laughed at, admired for his endless excess of comic talent. But not loved. He could be an unpleasant man. Unlikeable, even to himself. To ‘Observer’ journalist Peter Conrad, the Kenneth Williams revealed in his diary-pages regards his sexuality ‘as a jest of nature for which he could not forgive himself.’ Also, for most of his life – with homosexuality illegal, it was an orientation that made him technically a criminal. Unlike Joe Orton, he was never able to ‘come out’. A reticence that forced him to repress, distort and caricaturize himself through the merciless comedic flagellation of Julian and Sandy, and beyond. 

Yet he was always quick to detect traces of his own effeminacy. ‘I heard me on the radio doing ‘Desert Island Discs’’ he writes (22 May 1961). ‘Not bad really. Voice came over a bit common and pouffy.’ And later, with a near-tragic irony, ‘I am now looking like the elderly preserved queen I used to meet pityingly at parties.’ Nothing seemed to give him real pleasure. He visits Dublin to guest on ‘The Gay Byrne Show’, staying at Bloom’s Hotel, unimpressed by what he finds there, ‘…only in Ireland could you have found such an incongruous and unfunny mixture.’ He could have been writing about himself. 

The ‘Carrying On’ came to a halt on the 15 April 1988 with a barbiturate overdose. His last entry in his diary reads ‘oh – what’s the bloody point?’ It sometimes seems as though Kenneth Williams was a character inhabiting a Joe Orton black comedy, ripped apart through psychological and sexual warfare for our amusement. 

But we WERE amused…


 

KENNETH WILLIAMS 
22 February 1926 – 15 April 1988 

Kenneth Williams’ first TV appearance was as an angel in the BBC-TV adaptation of H.G. Wells’ ‘The Wonderful Visit’, broadcast 3 February 1952 

He appeared in 26 ‘Carry On...’ movies, from ‘Carry On Sergeant’ as the haughty proud and intellectually superior ‘James Bailey’ of Able Platoon (in 1958), to ‘Carry On Emmannuelle’ as ‘Emile Prevert’ (in 1978) 

Access the ‘Round The Horne’ & ‘Beyond Our Ken’ complete Episode Guides at: www.britishcomedy.org.uk/kwas/rth 

Stop Messing About BBC Radio 2 with Kenneth Williams, Hugh Paddick, Joan Sims and Douglas Smith. Series 1 (6 April to 29 June 1969 – 13 episodes written by Johnny Mortimer, Brian Cooke and Myles Rudge) Series 2 (19 April to 12 July 1970 – 13 episodes by Myles Rudge, David Cumming and Derek Collyer) 


* Kenneth Williams Diaries edited by Russell Davies (Harper Collins, 1993 – ISBN 0-00-255023-7, paperback 0-00-638090-5) 

Just Williams: An Autobiography by Kenneth Williams (Dent, 1985 – ISBN 0-460-4688-8) 

Kenneth Williams: A Biography by Michael Freedland (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1990 – ISBN 0-297-79701-8) 

The Complete Acid Drops by Kenneth Williams (Dent, 1980 expanded into Orion, 1999 – ISBN 0-75281-835X)



Monday, 28 September 2020

Radio Comedy: 'ROUND THE HORNE'







GOING 

‘ROUND THE HORNE’ 

 …AGAIN 


 And suddenly – Radio Comedy is back, in a big way. 
As stage presentations of favourites such as ‘ROUND THE HORNE’
‘THE GOONS’, and ‘MORECAMBE & WISE’ are starting out in 
new West End productions, and playing to full houses. 
  ANDREW DARLINGTON catches up with them in Leeds...
 

 


 ‘BEYOND OUR KEN’... 
“My Lords, Ladies and Gentlemen 
Master of the Hounds, Mistress of the Ostler, 
Stable-Boys and Un-Stable-Boys, 
Ladies in Waiting, Ladies who’ve given up waiting, 
Whippers-in and Whippers-out, please be up-standing…” 


That stage up there is a giant radio, dull nut-brown with a luminous-lime tuning band. At the same time it’s also a sound-stage in the basement of ‘Paris Studios’, Lower Regent Street, the BBC annexe to the towering edifice of Broadcasting House. There’s a sound-effects booth stage-left, while overhead-panels illuminate, informing the audience to ‘APPLAUSE’ when necessary. And to the right, another dual sign that alternates ‘RECORDING’ with ‘REHEARSAL’. 

‘We start with the answer to last week’s photographic question,’ drolls Kenneth Horne, with only the barest hint of lurking humour. ‘Which was… that the big one belongs to Sean Connery, and the little one belongs to Cliff Richard.’ He’s talking about pens, of course, but this is a quiz to which no-one ever got to hear the question, and it’s a question that’s not previously been posed anyway. But after all, a photographic competition – on radio, is itself a surreal absurdity. Yet it sets the tone for the rest of the evening as laughter-detonations equal – and exceed the high expectations of a capacity-packed Leeds Grand. There’s always the risk of legendary radio-comedy becoming static during its translation to the stage. After all, this mismatched rabble of an audience have come on an impossible mission… to rekindle their years spent beside that radio the stage is designed to resemble. Yet no-one’s disappointed. 

Stephen Critchlow looms large as obligatory straight-man host Kenneth Horne, the ultimate foil around whom all else orbits. But Paul Ryan and Jonathan Moore ignite a riptide of applause the moment they mince ‘Hello, I’m Julian and this is my friend Sandy.’ They seem genuinely shook-up by the audience-wave of instant recognition (‘he gets touched, he gets easily touched… and moved, touched and moved, every time he goes to the Theatre he wilfully suspends his disbelief…’). Arguably theirs is tonight’s most daunting task, for the camp duo remain the show’s most recognisably memorable characters... unless, perhaps Rambling Syd? But this eerily accurate take on the limp-wristed bona pair, out of work ac-tors ‘between engagements’ who fill in with ‘Bona Drag’ or ‘Renta-Chap’ (‘domestic chores undertaken’), succeeds in eroding your most stubborn critical instincts. And how bona it is to vada their jolly old eeks again! Although – to be fair, the whole show is never less than a team affair, with Stephen Boswell as bumbling announcer Douglas Smith and Sherry Baines as Betty Marsden both punching above their weight. Surreal jokes rattle off like Gatling-gun fusillades, leaving no time for breath before the next wave of ‘insinuendoes and catch-penny horseplay’.


 
Just five microphones. Five actual performers. Surely not. My imagination is populated by dozens of outlandish characters. But of course, they were – they are created from the voice-pool of just five people. I always knew that. But knowing is an unreliable instrument when placed against the mind’s eye. Surely, Rambling Syd Rumbo is a kind of sleazy version of Donovan, all faded denim jacket, frayed cap, guitar and harmonica harness, singing “The Ballad of the Loom-Bogglers Boom” or “The Toddle-Groper’s Dance”. I see him now in my head exactly as I could see him then. Only, it’s not like that. ‘Kenneth Williams’ steps up the mike in his suit and does the vocal ‘dangle-oh my dearies’ stuff on “What Shall We Do With The Drunken Nurker”. Those weirdly dialected lacerations of Folk songs dug from his ‘ganderbag’, for which no-one knows exactly what he means but everyone has a damned good idea. And of course, that’s how it really was. Despite everything your brain tells you to the contrary. 

Attempts at re-conjuring past showbiz magic carries a high risk of failure. But this combination has already ‘done several exciting things in the West End, now we want to do something risky in Leeds’ to paraphrase Julian & Sandy. Now: 

‘Jules and I are going to do something we’ve always wanted to do, we’re going to mount a musical…’ ‘Mount a musical what?’ enquires Horne disingenuously. 
‘Well, it’s too early to tell…’ 

Really, it’s all in the delivery, the voices loaded with multiple-meaning, but hear it in its original and it’s enough to turn your lallies to water! Yet this stage version pulls it off better than most, because it’s largely made up of original material tweaked by Brian Cooke, the last surviving member of the original writing team. And it’s the scripts that are the genuine stars. Even if, for long-term devotees, it still takes some getting used to seeing performers other than Kenneth Horne, Kenneth Williams (in the original stage-version played by Robin Sebastian), Hugh Paddick, Betty Marsden and Douglas Smith delivering the bawdy jokes and smutty puns that so shocked Mary Whitehouse and disgusted MP’s. During its original radio-runs, J. Peasemould Gruntfuttock – ‘the world’s dirtiest old man’, drew predictable complaints from the Mary Whitehouse tendency while MP Sir Cyril Black raised questions-in-the House over Gruntfuttock’s free-wheeling lack of religious regard. 

And just perhaps – according to their own repressive Right-wing agenda, they had a point? Perhaps there is artful subversion in there? The tie-in radio docu-programme (BBC3, Sunday 13 June 2004) is preceded by a ten-minute exploration of ‘Polari’, the secret dialect adopted by the 1960s gay scene – pre-Wolfenden Report, which is used to such outrageously ‘bona’ effect by ‘Round The Horne’. And at a time when homosexuality was still illegal, Julian and Sandy’s camp sauciness does allow suburbia to laugh openly along with what had been strictly taboo. ‘OOOO – in’he BOLD!’ But – as Barry Took observes, ‘if you find some of the references in the show baffling just think how puzzled the hierarchy of the BBC were back in 1967’. 


 ‘YOU’RE NEVER ALONE WITH A SPLIT PERSONALITY...’ 
‘Round The Horne: For the young at heart, and the weak in the head…’ 

Meanwhile, over at the ‘West Yorkshire Playhouse’, you could be watching ‘Ying Tong’ written by Roy Smiles and produced by Michael Codron. A homage to ‘The Goons’, and especially the deranged genius of Spike Milligan, it sees Spike under increasing pressure to create The Goon Show to end them all, while simultaneously planning his escape from St Luke’s Psychiatric Hospital dressed only in pyjamas. Losing his grip on reality even further he applies to the British Museum to get his marbles back, while threatening to murder Eccles, the most notorious of the Goons menagerie of characters. And on. While later, here at ‘The Grand’, there’s ‘The Play What I Wrote’ replicating Morcambe & Wise, elaborated from Eddie Braben’s original scripts by Hamish McColl and Sean Foley. That same Braben, you recall, who penned for the duo for fourteen years. Originally produced for its West End run by Kenneth Branagh, there’s a vague plot-line in which Kim (Wall) has wrote a play – an epic set in the French Revolution called ‘A Tight Squeeze For The Scarlet Pimple’. While Clive (Hayward), on the other hand, wants their double act to continue. He believes that by performing their tribute to Eric & Ernie, Kim’s confidence will be restored and their act will go on. But first Clive needs to persuade a guest star to appear in the play what Kim wrote… you know the routine. Own up. You know you do. But, taking these three stage productions together – alongside Rhys Ifans impersonating Peter Cook in Channel 4’s Xmas 2004 ‘Not Only But Always’, the biopic written and directed by Terry Johnson around the careers of Pete and Dudley Moore, there’s definitely something stirring. A preoccupation with days of comedy past. And, at least on a two-thirds basis, with radio comedy. 

Around the time the comedy ‘New Wave’ was erupting it was fashionable to denigrate such stuff, Ben Elton referred derisively to radio shows made up exclusively of catch-phrases, ‘The Fast Show’s ‘Ken & Kenneth’ deliberately satirise punch-lines that aren’t funny and only become funny through relentless repetition. But in ‘Round The Horne’ it’s easy to spot prototypes for much of the BBC comedy that’s followed. Critic Stephanie Merritt points out that ‘where would ‘Little Britain’s ‘only gay in the village’ be without the pioneering innuendo of Kenneth Williams and Hugh Paddick as former chorus boys Julian and Sandy?’ (‘Observer’ 9 January 2005). Of course, she’s right. This is family tree material from which everything else grows.


 
Radio comedy still exists. Often it’s very good. Although sometimes not quite as smart as it thinks it is, with clumsy supposedly-satiric stabs at George Bush and Tony Blair to denote its alleged topicality. It’s just that then… way back then when the Goons and the ‘Round The Horne’ crew were at their peak, television had yet to completely dislodge radio as the dominant source of home entertainment. It defined its own time simply by being there. Radio could demand the most highly-regarded writers, performers and production teams. The kind of talent soon to be creamed off by TV. There were other programmes, equally as legendary. Tony Hancock, Sid James and Kenneth Williams in ‘Hancock’s Half-Hour’. Leslie Phillips and Jon Pertwee in the chaotic nautical escapades of ‘The Navy Lark’. A mischievous Jimmy Clitheroe in ‘The Clitheroe Kid’, all of which briefly – and with varying degrees of success, transfers to black and white TV. Plus Ted Ray starring in ‘Ray’s A Laugh’. And Jimmy Edwards as the devious headmaster in ‘Wacko’, which didn’t.


 
So, what brings the audiences trolling in ‘ere?’ Well, ‘Round The Horne’ was always that bit different. Avuncular’s always the easy term to describe Mr ‘Orne, a benignly indulgent uncle, a ‘master of the revels’ to the anarchic misfits and deviants he presides over, an impression emphasised by his stature, and his rich eyebrows which compensate for the total lack of hair above them. Essentially a solid establishment figure with a broad streak of silliness, Charles Kenneth Horne was born 27 February 1907 in Anthill Square off the Tottenham Court Road, within a stone’s throw of Broadcasting House. According to Leslie Philips he was ‘not a comedian, a singer or even an actor, he was a successful business man who had a way with words, words which he used to sell everything.’ They’d once appeared together in a stage version of Jerome K. Jerome’s ‘Three Men In A Boat’. Horne began as the youngest of seven – four girls and three boys, in the close-knit family of Congregational Minister Sylvester Horne. He went on to Cambridge and the LSE, but was ‘sent down’ in 1927 after an all-play and no-work regime devoted to rugger and tennis. For a time he played tenor sax in Dance Bands and sold records part-time while working for a Safety Glass Firm in Birmingham… before the RAF intervened. 

Like many comedy-activists of his generation, National Service, the War Years and the immediate adjustment-period after provides career-opportunities. As Spike Milligan’s autobiographies indicate. So his slightest of show-biz experience determines that Acting Pilot Officer Horne is recruited to organise an ‘Ack-Ack Beer-Beer’ outside radio-show (1939-1944), where he meets up with Richard ‘Stinker’ Murdoch. They discover – apart from an affinity for irreverent humour, that they’d been Cambridge contemporaries, although they’d never actually interacted before. Yet from there, they soon graduate to working together on the cult war-time radio series ‘Much-Binding In The Marsh’, working alongside moustachioed future-DJ Sam Costa, Maureen Riscoe, Maurice Deham, and Dora Bryan. Originally part of the BBC General Forces Programme it runs to five series, and translates to both the new ‘Light Programme’ from 28 July 1945, as well as prime-time Radio Luxembourg. In a pervasively monochrome pre-TV Britain lit by this single Pop-orientated radio-channel, this strange sit-com of mildly comic songs, inoffensive running gags and catch-phrases soon becomes part of the national vocabulary, a show that hits massive response, and survives until 1954. And within which Horne and Murdock’s scripts were already exploiting the inner-CGi of pure-sound to conjure the confused ineptitude of this fictional RAF base, in ways that would escalate into what follows.


 
Horne graduates to hosting the BBC’s follow-up – ‘Beyond Our Ken’, despite the interruption of a violent stroke in February 1958 which necessitates speech therapy. He’s joined by ENSA and Stage School-graduate Betty Marsden, by Kenneth Williams – already what Leslie Phillips calls ‘a refugee from the Hancock purge’, and the rest. Linked by the continuity of Horne’s rich, urbane and genial tones, it’s an instant success. Until, after a falling-out with the BBC in 1964 writer Eric Merriman opts out of the show – taking the title with him, so collaborator Barry Took – commissioned to create a replacement, teams up with a young Marty Feldman. Hence the first fifty-ish scripts of ‘Round The Horne’ are created by the Took/Feldman team. With a final season involving Johnnie Mortimer, Brian Cooke and Donald Webster – although Marty is still on call for consultation over the ‘Julian & Sandy’ sketches. 

Horne also finds time to DJ for ‘Housewives Choice’, guests with Ted Ray on ‘Does The Team Think’ – a kind of panel-game precursor to ‘Have I Got News For You’, and reads ‘The Art Of Coarse Acting’ for ‘Woman’s Hour’, although his deteriorating health mean he’s by now on long-term anti-coagulant drugs and physiotherapy – and even has consultations with a Faith Healer. But it’s the two shows operating around elements of his name that define his celebrity. And after its full four seasons, plus occasional Xmas specials, and a peak audience of fifteen-million, ‘Round The Horne’ is only brought to a halt by Horne’s untimely death. He falls off the podium mid-speech at the ‘Annual Guild of TV Producers Presentation’ at the Dorchester Hotel, and dies shortly afterwards. It is 14 February 1969.


 

‘KEEP TAKING THE (ROMAN) TABLETS…’ 
‘That sinful city of ancient times, the seat of a corrupt empire which 
 wallowed in bacchanalian orgies and sadistic spectacles…’ 
 ‘Oh, Bognor?’ suggests Horne 

Each radio edition of ‘Round The Horne’ has a dramatic presentation from Horne-Ographic Productions, frequently a ‘Kenneth Horne: Master Spy’ James Bond spoof, or perhaps a ‘The Palone Ranger’ Western, The Three Musketeers or a ‘Little Caesar’ Mafia quasi-epic. On stage tonight they adapt two such scripts, ‘The Lost Island Of Gonga’ – first broadcast 2 April 1967 (in association with Pound-A-Flesh Ltd, the ‘friendly loan company’), and the Movie-Go-Wrong film adaptation ‘Continuum Medicum Romanum’, from 19 May 1968. This ‘Gladiator’-style swords-&-sandals drama concerns a second-hand British slave in good nick – Frigidius Maximus (Horne), the girls call him Frigid Maxie for short (‘…but not for long!’). He’s sold to new master Glucosius (Kenneth Williams). ‘I sprawled at his feet, all I could see was the rays of the setting sun gleaming on the strap of his sandals – yes, just a thong at twilight!’ ‘Gird up your loins, I can’t bear an ungirded loin’ demands his new master, a Tribune who hopes to be a New Statesman. He ‘tugged me to my feet by pulling at my chain… I flushed!’ (a lavatorial reference that now probably requires explanation). His new role – from when he ‘sundials on in the morning until he sundials off at half-past V’ is to wait on Glucosius hand and foot ‘and any other part of me that requires waiting upon.’ Until – Russell Crowe-style, he’s sent to ‘St Hilda’s Gladiatorial School’, and from there to the arena. He whets the edge of his sword (‘well, it takes some of us that way’). Douglas Smith plays the lion – ‘growl growl, roar roar’. And an impressed Nero (same Kenneth Williams, different voice) recruits him, so he changes ‘to Praetorian Guards’. Nero is ‘a nervous man and would allow no weapons in his presence, so day and night I stood at his side with a drawn cucumber’… and on. There’s a special civic orgy, a splendid affair where ‘wine flowed like water, the fountains gushed with milk stout, and scantily-clad maidens performed wild sinuous dances – it was all I could do to keep my cucumber steady.’ Seduced by Nero’s wife Popaia (pronounced ‘Popeye’), Frigidius protests ‘but I’m Nero’s guard, Madam, love is a word that’s forbidden to me.’ ‘Oh very well’ she responds, ‘tonight is made for politics. Come with me.’ So he goes and ‘all night long I politiced her’… until they wake, ‘no, it can’t be dawn, it’s only X-to-IV’, to find Rome in flames while Nero fiddles the closing number, a square dance ‘doin’ the Appian Way’. Of course, some of the humour depends on your familiarity with now-lost cultural references. Toilets that flush when you pull the chain. TV cigarette-ads. And cheesy old Pop hits.


 
But then again, the show’s surreal invention was never pointedly satirical. There’s clear topicality in the person of inept chat-show host Seamus Android (Eamonn Andrews), Fanny Haddock (a survivor from ‘Beyond Our Ken’ modelled on domestic goddess Fanny Craddock), and the movie-spoofs featured in ‘Armpit Theatre’. Even Julian & Sandy were originally based (although subsequently caricature-exaggerated) on West End Musical writers Sandy Wilson and Julian Slade. You can guess at the archetypes behind ‘Charles & Fiona’, with Betty Marsden as Dame Celia Molestrangler and Hugh Paddick as ‘aging juvenile’ Binkie Huckerback, those dated cinema idols engaged in their stilted Noel Coward-style dialogue – ‘I know’, ‘I know you know’, ‘I know you know I know’, pause – ‘I know’. But among the further cast of absurd creations, from Kenneth Williams’ Dr Chou En Ginsberg MA (failed), with his ‘lovely concubine’ Lotus Blossom played by lumbering Hugh Paddick, to Betty Marsden’s seductive Daphne Whitethigh and astrologer Madam Osiris Gnomeclencher, you’re left to draw your own conclusions. All that’s now left to mention is the music of Edwin Braben & The Hornblowers. A mid-point close-harmony song from the Fraser Hayes Four. And… of course, Ramblin Syd’s “The Ballad of the Woggler’s Moolie” or his paean of praise to “My Grandfather’s Grunge” – ‘they don’t make them like that anymore, you can’t get the drippets’ he explains, ‘limply but cunning’. 



And ultimately – own up, watching ‘Round The Horne’ on stage can add a shared contact-high appreciation to the experience. Giving you the chance to see, for the first time since select studio-audience’s saw it first time around, how Horne and the gang performed the show in its heyday. This is actually how it must have been. ‘Kenneth Williams’ tends to steal the show. But then Kenneth Williams always stole the show anyway. This version comes to Leeds with a lot was riding on it and a reconfigured cast from the one that made ‘Revisited’s first London run such an odd success – but, if anything, they deliver more doppelganger-accurate performances that their West End counterparts. ‘What brings you down to these parts?’ ‘I’ve got a lousy agent’. Until there are moments when it’s almost possible to forget you’re not still at home, ear pressed to your Bacolite Bush. It’s a unique experience, an event, and unbridled fun en masse. In fact, I remember one episode in which J Peasmould Gruntfuttock applies for a job with the ‘stuffy and hide-bound’ BBC intent on bringing ‘the fresh clean wind of reality up your corridors of power’, only to be told ‘your work is obviously the product of a one-track degenerate childish mind.’ ‘I suppose that means you’re giving me the sack?’ he queries. ‘Oh good heavens no, you’re just the chap we need to write for ‘Round The Horne’!’ It’s almost possible to believe that almost, just possibly, it might really have happened something exactly like that. Fantabuloso... 

‘wonders will never cease, but for the time being, 
‘Round The Horne’ will, so – till we meet again, 
from all of us, ALL OF US, cheerio…’


 

BEYOND OUR KEN 
From Tuesday 1 July 1958 to 16 February 1964. Seven Seasons (108 episodes) 

ROUND THE HORNE 
From 7 March 1965 to 9 June 1968. Four Seasons (66 episodes) 
Complete Episode Guide: www.britishcomedy.org.uk/kwas/rth 

SOLO FOR HORNE 
biography by Norman Hackforth 


 Excerpt published in: 
‘SELEXIO’ edited by Andy Robson 
(UK – September 2020)

Sunday, 27 September 2020

COMEDY RECORDS OF THE ROCK 'N' ROLL ERA



ON THE TRANSISTOR RADIO: 

COMEDY RECORDS 

OF THE ROCK ‘N’ ROLL ERA 



Pop Novelty records – we loved them, didn’t we? 
from the Goons to the Goodies, 
from Charlie Drake to Jasper Carrott, 
they’ve tickled our chuckle-muscles, 
and how tickled we were…!




Any survey of UK comedy records of the Rock ‘n’ Roll era has to start with the Goons. Not only because their “Bloodnok’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Call” c/w “The Ying Tong Song” was a September 1956 ‘New Musical Express’ no.3 – below Doris Day and Anne Shelton, and a few positions above Elvis’ “Hound Dog”, but because it sits at the ignition-point of a web of interconnections into Pop culture that leads directly through to the Beatles and beyond. Yet bizarrely, that wasn’t the oldest record to chart. 20 December 1975 saw Laurel & Hardy at no.2 with “The Trail Of The Lonesome Pine”, originally featured in the 1937 movie ‘Way Out West’, but gathered as part of a comedy compilation from which it was championed on Radio One by John Peel. The original film-clip shows Stan Laurel miming to the deep bass voice of Chill Wills, with the last few falsetto lines – after he’s been hit on the head by Ollie’s mallet, by Rosina Lawrence. A fitting extension to the duo’s long and distinguished career. But the Goons should be the starting point. 



“The Ying Tong Song” is brilliantly timeless insanity, virtually impossible to evoke in flat text, it shifts through a sequence of gentle soothing orchestration, into an operatic lullaby his mother used to sing as she tucked him in when he was ninety-three, interrupted by Spike Milligan’s ‘who what that bum?’, directly into a nonsense sing-along chorus, a rasping horn break, an angelic voice, a rude raspberry… disrupted by an explosion, hasty footsteps dashing into the adjoining room – ‘LOOK OUT!’ another explosion, after which they sing in posthumous speeded-up voices. At a time of dull buttoned-down conformity the Goons radio-show was a force of chaotic anarchy, virtually incomprehensible to adults, but just as much a vital release as the incendiary insurrection of Rock ‘n’ Roll itself. Largely the manic creation of an inspired Spike Milligan, with co-conspirators Harry Secombe and Peter Sellers, the radio episodes form a kind of embryonic adolescent counter-culture, a style of absurdist surrealism featuring “The Search For The Bearded Vulture”, “Ten Thousand Fathoms Down In A Wardrobe”, “The Dreaded Batter-Pudding Hurler (Of Bexhill-On-Sea)” and “The Mystery Of The Fake Neddie Seagoons”, routines imitated by schoolkid listeners including John Lennon, the future Monty Pythons… and me. An earlier single – “I’m Walking Backwards To Christmas” c/w “Bluebottle Blues”, hit no.4 in June 1956. There had never been anything remotely resembling the Goons, and there never would be again. 



But Peter Sellers went on to have a couple of duet hits with the very wonderful Sophia Loren with whom he was filming the romantic comedy ‘The Millionairess’ (1960). Originally intended for – but omitted from the soundtrack, they were taken instead from the 1960 ‘Peter And Sophia’ album. For “Goodness Gracious Me” – a no.4 hit on November, ‘conceived and instigated’ by none other than George Martin who also carries producer credits, Sophia is the patient in love with Sellers’ examining Doctor Ahmed el Kabir, done in exaggerated Asian accent. Her heart goes ‘boom-biddy-boom-biddy-boom’ in his presence. Was it racially offensive? Possibly it could be retrospectively interpreted that way, at the time it was purely seen as evidence of Sellers’ talent for amusing mimicry. “Bangers And Mash” – no.22 in January 1961 has Sellers as the Cockney Tommy who marries the Italian Sophia, but he prefers simple English home-cooking to her macaroni and minestrone. 



There’s an irresistible sixties Pop-culture gravitation connecting George Martin, the Goon’s electronic experimentation with bizarrely edited sound effects, and the Beatles, which result in Peter Sellers’ no.14 hit reading of “A Hard Day’s Night” in December 1965, delivered as a Shakespearian soliloquy. Granted, at that point, anything with a Beatles-link was likely to chart. Comedy actress Dora Bryan had already got to no.6 with “All I Want For Christmas Is A Beatle” in December 1963. While the Beatles connection extends into the Peter Sellers movie of Terry Southern’s novel ‘The Magic Christian’ (1969), which had Ringo following him around like a big amiable dog. 



By which time Harry Secombe had returned to the charts with the syrupy sentimental mush of “This Is My Song”, with Wally Stott’s string arrangement taking it up to a high of no.2 – despite a rival version by Petula Clark at no.1, at the same moment that Jimi Hendrix and “Strawberry Fields Forever” were charting. The song is only salvaged by its being composed by an ageing Charlie Chaplin, the century’s first and enduring comic genius, as an almost fitting deliberate eulogy to the nostalgic ideal of romance. And yet the Goons were not quite finished. “The Ying Tong Song” was reissued in July 1973, when it climbed back into the charts, as high as no.9, illuminating a new generation with its inspired madness. 



Novelty records have a long history. A catchy tune, a nonsense lyric – ‘mairzy doats and dozy doats and liddle lamzy divey,’ that briefly but persistently stick in the brain, and it’s a fad, even in sheet-music editions. “The Sheik Of Araby” was written in 1921 in response to the success of the Rudolph Valentino film ‘The Sheik’, and became an early jazz favourite notably performed by song-&-dance star Eddie Cantor. In a unique constellation of connections, the Beatles perform it as part of their failed Decca audition, with George Harrison taking lead plus John and Paul adding silly-voice interjections. Accelerated by the potential of studio technology to create amusing effects, as well as by the ingenious radio drama and comedy department’s ability to conjure vast mental images through the strategic manipulation of evocative sounds, the 78rpm single, and then its 45rpm successor became the perfect accessible low-budget vehicle for novelty. Including the speeded-up voices of – for example, the 1958 US no.1 “Witch Doctor” by David Seville (the real-life Ross Bagdasarian) and his spin-off creation the Chipmunks. In the days before VHS – the first home-recording technology, the only way to hear favourite comedy routines over and over again, was through record albums. And before video killed the Radio Stars, the 45rpm single offered the useful career bonus of a marketable promotional opportunity. 



Most comedians made records. Tommy Cooper had “Don’t Jump Off The Roof Dad” (1961), issued through the small Palette label. Punctuated by Tommy’s infectious laughter, he sings about how ‘Daddy came home from work tired,’ and after a particularly arduous day he decides to end it all with a suicidal leap from the roof, only for his kids to shout up at him, concerned not for his welfare but for the damage he’ll cause to mother’s petunia flowerbed below. They advise him to drown himself in the local park instead! Only Tommy Cooper could make suicide funny. The ‘Two Of A Kind’ Morecambe And Wise recorded one of their most popular comedy routines – “Boom Oo Yata-Ta-Ta”, written for them by Sid Green and Dick Hills, but shaped and evolved through a series of performances. Eric decides to go solo as a leather-clad Pop singer. Ernie says no, he needs a backing group, who just happen to consist of him, Sid and Dick. Although it doesn’t work out quite as intended, until the group take lead vocals and Eric is no longer required. ‘It’s tough at the top’ he complains into the fade-out groove. Popular, but neither Tommy Cooper nor Morecambe And Wise actually chart. 



‘The Lad Himself’ Tony Hancock and his ‘Hancock’s Half-Hour’ regular guest-voice Kenneth Williams had singles together – the 1963 Galton-Simpson penned “Wing Commander Hancock: Test Pilot” – in which the airborne Hancock discovers mechanic Ken still sitting on the airplane fuselage, and Ken’s solo “Hand Up Your Sticks” (Decca, 1961) written by Peter Cook – in which Ken rehearses his lines in order to rob a bank, but messes up with ‘hold hands, this is an up-stick’ during the raid itself. Both are clever and extremely funny, they receive plenty of radio airtime, but are essentially comedy routines, not songs, and hence don’t bother the chart compilers. 



Unlike the diminutive Charlie Drake, popular enough to star in his own front-cover ‘Radio Fun’ comic-strip (art by Arthur Martin), with his ‘Hello, My Darlings’ catchphrase. He was first levered into the chart by an opportunistic cover version of Bobby Darin’s US novelty Rocker “Splish Splash” which reached no.7 in September 1958, winning out over Darin’s original. Relaxing in the bathtub – with watery sounds, he doesn’t know there’s a Rock ‘n’ Rolling party going on below. He follows it with another cover, this time taking Larry Verne’s US no.1 “Mr Custer” – a comedy song about a cavalryman reluctant to ride into the ill-fated Battle of Little Bighorn massacre. Taking elements from its style as his starting point, “My Boomerang Won’t Come Back” was co-written by Drake himself, with a Johnnie Spence arrangement and George Martin production sheen. The story-song of the boy who was ‘a big disgrace to the Aborigine race’ forms a complete self-contained audio comic-strip in itself, with the kind of sound effects – the exploding Flying Doctor’s plane, and silly voices – the annoyed kangaroo, that prefigures “Yellow Submarine”. It peaked at no.14 during October 1961. He followed it with “I Bent My Assegai”, a similar scenario transplanted to an African setting. 



In order to demonstrate their All-Round entertainer versatility, Music Hall stars frequently finished their sets with a song. Hence the biggest-selling comedy star of the sixties, bizarrely, was the Squire of Knotty Ash – the tatiffilarious Ken Dodd, although his numerically-impressive string of nineteen Top 50 hits are only laughable in the broadest sense of the word. The tickling-stick wielding Liverpool star discovered an alternate career as a romantic balladeer of big overblown cheesy Italianate dirges, starting with the pre-Beatles “Love Is Like A Violin” (no.8, July 1960), then going on to dominate the chart at no.1 for six weeks with the execrable “Tears” through October 1965 while Manfred Mann, the Yardbirds and Small Faces had to be content with lesser positions below it. In his defence, one of his TV shows has Doddy warble his November 1965 no.3 hit “The River” in its original impeccable Italian as “Le Colline Sono In Fioro”, only for him to hastily produce a lyric-sheet to then sing it in English. How tickled we were. With his theme-song “Happiness” Ken Dodd was still touring and performing until his 11 March 2018 death. 



But when it came to strict comedy-records, naughty mischievous Benny Hill not only took the cover of the ‘Radio Fun Annual’ (1960) but was still around in 1975 for the cover of ‘Look-In’ with ‘The Many Faces Of Benny Hill’. With only mild innuendoes, “Gather In The Mushrooms”, a song sung ‘in the modern idiot’ with accompaniment directed by Tony Hatch, gave him not only his debut hit (no.12, February 1961), but a first outing for his joke about bathing in ‘pasteurised milk’ – ‘I’ll be happy if it comes up to my chin.’ “Transistor Radio” (no.24, June 1961), co-written with Hatch (under his ‘Mark Anthony’ guise), is even better. Taking the fad for portable music, Benny’s attempts at love-making are consistently thwarted by interruptions from his girlfriend’s radio, allowing him to spoof various current music styles. She first tunes into a speeded-up Chipmunks-Pinky & Perky insert, then an Elvis voice ‘I do not have a wooden heart, I have a wooden head’, followed by a ‘Two-Way Family Favourites’ announcer making dedications to ‘Ngia Gooki of British Honduras, Umbongo Appledory of New Guinea, and Fred Glockenlocker of British Hartlepool’, and – in Jimmy Jones “Handy Man” falsetto style, ‘you told me you were just eighteen on the telephone, I thought that you meant eighteen years, but you meant eighteen stone’. The record’s punch-line closer is that when she turns to him with romantic intentions in their honeymoon hotel room, he asks ‘ere, where’s the radio?’ to her dismissive retort ‘Music he wants!’. 



A more complex character than surface impressions suggest, Benny insisted on writing his own material, unlike many of his contemporaries. Which worked well during these inventive early years of his career. The next hit single – “Harvest Of Love” (no.20, May 1963), is an innuendo-laden rural romp, ‘I’m gonna sow the seed of deep devotion, fertilize it with emotion, water it with warm desire, and then I’ll reap the harvest of love,’ adding cheekily, ‘if the wife ever finds out she’ll kill me.’ By 1965 his “I’ll Never Know” was an affectionate Doo-Wop parody, and with the arrival of the ‘Protest’ boom, he was singing “What A World” while wearing a mop-top wig – ‘now the folksinger came from America, to sing at the Albert Hall, he sang his songs of protest and fairer shares for all, he sang how the poor were much too poor and the rich too rich by far, then he drove back to his penthouse in his brand new Rolls Royce car,’ a snipe at Bob Dylan just that’s as acutely perceptive as Chumbawamba’s “Give The Anarchist A Cigarette” would be decades later.


 
But as the pressures and demands of fresh TV series intensified he fell back increasingly on the racial stereotypes and the sketches in which an attractive girl’s clothing gets ripped away to reveal designer underwear, resulting in speeded-up chase sequences through the park. The comic potential of repellent old men letching after beautiful younger girls may have a history that goes back as far as the ribald humour of ancient Rome, but it set Benny Hill up as the most obvious target for the more idealistic non-exploitational New Wave of comedy. His career suffered, and has never fully recovered, although he retains a cult following in the most unexpected of places. Dolly Parton plays his “Yakety Sax” chase theme during her Glastonbury set, and Rapper Snoop Dogg cracks up laughing while he describes how he loves to watch the sketches in which Benny slaps ‘Little’ Jackie Wright on the bald-head. Yet there’s a sense in which Benny Hill gets the last laugh, when his single “Ernie (The Fastest Milkman In The West)” topped the chart – no.1 for five weeks through December 1971, above T Rex, Slade and the mighty Who. Reprising his line about bathing in pasteurised milk, ‘Ernie, I’ll be happy if it comes up to my chest’, the story of Ernie facing off in a Western-style duel with Two-Ton Ted from Teddington for the love of a widow known as Sue, ends with the sound of ‘Ernie’s ghostly gold top a-rattling in their crate’. I hated the record’s success at the time. After the sensational evolutions of music through the build-up last few years of the sixties, it seemed a poor portent for what was to come in the new decade. Looking back now, I quite enjoy its harmless silliness. 



For the era of ‘Dark Side Of The Moon’ (1973), ‘Hotel California’ (1976) and ‘Rumours’ (1977), no suburban ‘Abigail’s Party’ was complete without the comedy album revolving on the front-room stereogram turntable, usually either Monty Python or Billy Connolly. For less confrontational evenings there was always the more mild-mannered humour of ‘The Two Ronnies’ – Barker and Corbett, with their amiably twee repertoire of amusing songs. But Python records sold like Rock albums, with all the generational cult following once enjoyed by the Goons. Fans recite sketches word-for-word, the Dead Parrot, the Five-Minute Argument, Spam Spam Spam and Spam. Inevitably there’s a hit single, in the belated shape of Eric Idle’s curiously whistleable existentialism. “Always Look On The Bright Side Of Life” is sung during the crucifixion scene of ‘The Life Of Brian’ (1979) – ‘life’s a piece of shit, when you look at it, life’s a laugh and death’s a joke, it’s true, you’ll see it’s all a show – keep ‘em laughing as you go, just remember that the last laugh is on you.’ When reissued as a single it became a no.2 chart hit, 26 October 1991, and despite all the Moody Blues Prog-Rock profundity posturing, this could just about be the most philosophical truth ever committed to vinyl. 

Connolly albums were a private pleasure that involved liberal naturalistic use of ‘adult’-content four-letter words, something you couldn’t hear elsewhere, outside of demolition-raconteur ‘Blaster’ Bates or Roy ‘Chubby’ Brown. The Big Yin started out as a Glasgow Folk musician, with Gerry Rafferty (and originally Tam Harvey) in the Humblebums, recording three albums for Transatlantic alongside near-hit 1970 single “Shoeshine Boy”. Solo, his freewheeling between-songs banter expanded in exact ratio to the reducing song-content. Seemingly unscripted, rampaging off into expletive-laden improvisational forays, his huge albums included ‘Cop Yer Whack For This’ (1974) – done live at the Glasgow ‘Kings Theatre’, and ‘Get Right Intae Him!’ (1975), at the Glasgow ‘Apollo’, which spun-off the Tammy Wynette-spoof “D.I.V.O.R.C.E” which took him to no.1 for the single week of 22 November 1975, more in recognition of his contagiously enjoyable performance than for any incidental cleverness involved, burbling with laughter at his own bleeped-out tale of taking his dog to the vet. Although he followed it with another parody, “No Chance (No Charge)”, no.24 the next July, his future lay in movies and TV rather than hit singles. 



Meanwhile, Tony Blackburn introduced Jasper Carrott on ‘Top Of The Pops’ (28 May 1975), to lip-synch his no.5 hit “Funky Moped”, recorded with the full Brummie Jeff Lynne ELO mafia on hand to play back-up. This Shangri Las-referencing refutation of the Heavy Rock ‘Born To Be Wild’ Biker-chic was the acceptable ‘A’-side way of navigating around the BBC ban on his even more popular “Magic Roundabout” ‘B’-side, supposedly a filched advance-script in which Dougal and Dylan speculate about Florence’s ‘horizontal pleasures’ and her Toy-Town promiscuity with Noddy. The audience instantly pick up on and respond to each sniggery in-joke about the innocent children’s animation with a disturbing familiarity. 

With the advent of ‘Alternative Comedy’ The Young Ones found it necessary to hijack an unsuspecting Cliff Richard – who may have assumed the anarchic foursome to be some kind of tribute act, and a more knowing Hank Marvin, in order to return “Living Doll” to no.1 (5 April 1986), as a Comic Relief charity single. Although Nigel Planer’s ‘Neil’ took Dave Mason’s “Hole In My Shoe” – with lyrics that even his fellow Traffic members considered a tad risible, and tipped it over into pure comedy with very little added effort, equalling Traffic’s chart place by taking it up to no.2 (21 July 1984) just below “Two Tribes” by Frankie Goes To Hollywood.


 
But – unless we’re compelled to include the Wombles, it was the Goodies who proved to be the biggest comedy chart act of the period with five hits promoted by regular ‘Top Of The Pops’ spots spaced between the December’s of 1974 – with a bowdlerised version of ‘Rugby Song’ “Oh Sir Jasper” reconfigured into “Father Christmas Do Not Touch Me” (no.7) and 1975’s “Make A Daft Noise For Christmas” (no.20). Although they share histories across an impressive spread of radio and TV projects with Marty Feldman and various Pythons, including ‘I’m Sorry, I’ll Read That Again’ and ‘At Last The 1948 Show’, their own series – launched on BBC2 in November 1970, was more wacky than subversive. It was a kind of sit-com flaunting Monkees-style surreal touches with bits of stop-motion animation (including the rampaging ‘Kitten Kong’), dismissed as a ‘kid’s programme’ by John Cleese in a guest appearance – as the Genie, in ‘The Goodies And The Beanstalk’ episode. 

The trio enjoy their biggest Pop moment with the “Funky Gibbon” spoof dance-disc (no.4), romping around the TV-studio stage making knuckle-dragging monkey sounds. Principal songwriter Bill Oddie urges ‘will you give me an oooh? (to an answering ‘Ooooh’), will you give me another oooh? (‘Ooooh’), and will you give me an oooh? (‘oooh’), now put ‘em together, what’ve you got (to much manic ‘Oooh-oooh-oooh-ooohing’)’. “Black Pudding Bertha” (no.19) saw them trading Simian behaviour for hugely exaggerated flat-hats and northern accents, ‘when she starts to dance she shimmies like a plate of tripe’ sings Oddie, as backing-voices Graeme Garden and Tim Brooke-Taylor chant the ‘tripe and cowheels, tripe and cowheels’ chorus. With their tagline ‘We Do Anything, Anytime’, there was much harmless fun to be had on their Goodies-bicycle made for three.


 
It’s worth remembering that despite virtually inventing the cars and girls Rock ‘n’ Roll genre, the most respected guitarist and songwriter in the history of Rock, Chuck Berry’s only UK and US no.1 hit was with the silly suggestive nudge-nudge novelty of “My Ding-A-Ling” in 1972, a song that even Chuck himself was subsequently too embarrassed to play live. While Lonnie Donegan’s Music Hall “My Old Man’s A Dustman” with its drop-in comic gags – recorded live at Doncaster’s Gaumont cinema not only gave him a massive million-selling single and his final no.1 in March 1960, but virtually destroyed his credibility as Skiffle King. But Pop singles have always been an awkward contradiction of art and commerce, as well as being a novelty impulse-purchase, a disposable souvenir of passing fads and transient trends. There have always been comedy records, from Mike Sarne (“Come Outside”, with Wendy Richard, a 1962 no.1) to Bernard Cribbins (“Right Said Fred”, with George Martin magic, no.10 in 1962), from Ray Stevens (“The Streak”, no.1 in 1974) to Russ Abbot (no.7 with “Atmosphere” in December 1984), which gave way to TVs Spitting Image (“The Chicken Song” written by Rob Grant and Doug Naylor, no.1 in 1986) or the Firm (“Star Trekkin’”, no.1 in 1987). Or even – gulp, “Mr Blobby”, the Christmas no.1 for 1993 from Noel Edmunds inexplicably popular ‘House Party’ show. Popular. Forgotten. But also tangled up in ludicrous memory of time and place. Old singles found in dusty boxes stashed away in the loft. Oh yes, I remember that one, it was fun. That’s more than enough.