Ken Hughes (director)
Studiocanal (studio)
15 (certificate)
103min (length)
14 November 2016 (released)
13 November 2016
This somewhat neglected ‘cult gem’ from 1963 has always been quite highly rated by a select few. Primarily a vehicle for the then near fashionable actor Anthony Newley (who achieved some level of success with the extremely offbeat and rather surreal TV-comedy series 'Strange World of Gurney Slade') the film’s rather simplistic plot focuses on a Soho strip-club compere falling foul of London’s seedy underworld.
This film - written and directed by the versatile Ken Hughes - had apparently done well as a TV play the year before and so made a natural progression as an extended celluloid edition. Newley was an actor/writer/singer & songwriter who people either seemed to really get or not at all. Here he is exceptionally well cast in the lead role of Sammy Lee, a peep-show compere with an addiction to gambling. Indeed, he has 'chancer' written all over his face! The film begins with a series of very early morning location shots filmed around the deserted streets of that well known London den of iniquity: sordid and sleazy Soho, handsomely photographed by the recently deceased Wolfgang Suschitzky (known for his photographs of this area). This scenery is accompanied by then top jazzman Kenny Graham's all too appropriate score. We then encounter our main protagonist in the early hours losing heavily in a Polka game in the basement of a club in Gerrard Street (what was formerly Ronnie Scott's). Cinematographer Suschitzky even filmed the people walking by. Sammy’s main work place is a nearby strip joint (this is obviously a studio and not a location) run by Gerry Sullivan (a slightly miscast Robert Stephens with greased back hair. When not working as a compere then Sammy is gambling… every time he manages to get himself ever deeper in the s**t and now owes 300 quid! Connor, a gangster we never get to see, is sending his ‘boys’ round to collect the sum. Main collector Fred (Kenneth J.Warren) is not your one dimensional 'recovery agent' and even tells Sammy it is 'nothing personal' before generously giving our Sammy an extra five hours to raise the dough - much to the chagrin of his sadistic sidekick.
Sammy, although knowing full well the trouble he’s in, proudly refuses a loan from well-meaning neighbor Joan (Toni Palmer) – the proverbial 'tart with a heart'. Touches like this give this offbeat number a nice edge. Between compering throughout the day (a few bad and sarcastic jokes introduce the strippers and mock the male audience), Sammy will do everything he can to raise the money or he’ll face a terrible beating. Himself a boy from the East End, he goes to see his long-suffering brother Lou Leeman (Warren Mitchell) at his deli-shop in Whitechapel for a loan. Huge as the amount is, Lou is going to give it to him and would have done… had it not been for the intervention of his wife Milly (Miriam Karlin) who does not like Sammy at all. As the seconds are ticking away, Sammy has got to pull all the punches to get this money by means of buying and selling all and sundry to make as much profit in the shortest possible time. He can't do it all himself so his old mate and oppo Harry (Wilfred Brambell) has to work as a pick up and delivery boy…. and Sammy is never off the phone setting up deals! If this isn't enough on his plate, old flame Patsy (Julia Foster) who’s a mere eighteen years old, has come down from Bradford and got herself a job as a stripper at the very club where he works. His boss Gerry is of the opinion that any woman who takes her clothes off for a living is a ‘slag'. About half an hour before having reached his goal Sammy is being sacked from the club for telling the punters what the strippers think of them and a few home truths about the management. This is no doubt one of the highlights of this film. Will Sammy make the ungenerous deadline?
Newley excels in the lead and is ably supported by Foster's gauche northern girl 'lost in the big city ', plus a huge team of actors from various TV sitcoms. Ken Hughes' film may not have quite the dimensions of other ‘kitchen sink dramas’ from that time but survives as a unique document of the period.