Life In Brexit Britain

Life In Brexit Britain.

This is a free of charge series of small articles I've written about that thorniest of subjects - Brexit - and other matters too. It's pretty short (so not too time-consuming), light-hearted and will hopefully engage some debate and thinking.

To purchase Life In Brexit Britain please click on the link or copy and enter https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/749868

The Idol

“The Idol” is my first novel. I wrote it back in 2005/2006 and wanted to write about a village with a physical resemblance to the one I grew up in (Eckington) and possessing a certain atmosphere, which I have to admit has been rather changed for dramatic effect!

Dani Thomas, the heroine, has grown up in a tiny house back in Bangor, North Wales, with a humourless Dad and an ever-busy Mum. She fears that her father’s apparent homophobia will destroy her life once he realises her own sexuality, and this is an underlying theme throughout the book - of a fear that by sticking up for herself and for what she believes she will be crushed. In her home life this would be a psychological destruction, but in the village of Radlington, set among the deceptively-tranquil riverside lushness, gently-slanting fields, rolling hills and rural lifestyles of Worcestershire, when faced by the sheer murderous hostility of the villagers, it would be an all-too-physical destruction, too.

I wanted to show a community that could turn from apparent normality and cautious homeliness to a savage rage upon perceiving a clear threat to it. This isn’t full of larger-than-life characters - small villages like Radlington often aren’t - and the village elders remain low-key throughout - and they, like Dani’s Dad, feel their traditions and history could be wiped out if they allow her to take their Idol, the entitled but weak-willed Sissy, away. Whether this act from Dani is driven by reckless, fearless decency, a sheer hatred for the bullying she perceives Sissy as enduring or simply something more desire-driven is debatable, perhaps all three reasons combined. Yet Dani ends up finding reserves in herself that she never thought she possessed. Her tiny frame, underdog mentality, foul mouth and lack of money or respectability have all contributed to her sense of being seen as inferior, and her closeted nature also gives her the ‘cornered rat’ approach to life, though ironically this may be what gives her a chance of survival.

Having originally written the book some time ago I was undecided whether to leave it as a standalone novel or develop a series, and I am currently in the early stages of creating a sequel. It will focus on the aloof, sneering and mysterious out-of-towner who haunts Dani like an androgynous ghost, and finding out what her agenda is and whether Dani could fit into this. But above all, if you like a book with thrills, scares, bad language, cliffhanger chapter-endings and a touch of black humour then please buy this - and if you’d like to do this, or read a sample first, please go to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/714374

Mandy And The Missing: A Deadly Deception

This is the second in the series of the Mandy And The Missing novels, and follows on shortly after the events of the first.

It continues Mandy Murray’s adventures down in Southampton, having gone down there to study after her upbringing in Scotland and her brief time in the Midlands helping her Mum get to grips with her father’s walking out on the family. However, this isn’t the only betrayal to hit Mandy, as she looks to come out of her shell again after the scares she suffered upon arriving at the college.

As a teenager, and one who’s had to do a lot of growing up in a short space of time, Mandy is both wary of people and keen to seen the best in them - she’s well aware that she is a crossroads in her life. She is also now aware that if she gives in to her more negative, introspective qualities she could yet end up as one of the Missing herself, just as Merrick did in “Ascent Of The Absent”, and her future would be destroyed perhaps as his was. She is quietly determined not to give in, and to allow the seemingly-unhinged Jennyfer to defeat her or harm her friends and housemates.

Unsurprisingly betrayal is the key theme to this instalment. Not only does Mandy carry baggage from her father’s actions (she had actually been closer to him when growing up than to her mother) but she constantly finds herself on the receiving end of others’ deceits. Blossom, Mick and even her student union colleague act in a way which leaves her shocked, but it isn’t just Mandy who suffers - a fellow student, Lindy, finds herself feeling stunned when the Scots girl breaks it to her that her housemates have tried to get her turfed out of her residence, even if Lindy hasn’t been totally honest in return. But eventually Moh - a musician whose self-doubt and introversion is as attractive to Mandy as his on-stage persona, and befriends her - is devastated when, before Mandy can help him he too becomes one of the Missing, and comes to believe the half-truths that the ever-scheming Jennyfer has told him. Now he is prepared to trick her in return, and even if poor Mandy can escape from the trap that has been laid for her there may be one more betrayal in store for her from the one man she has no choice but to trust...

Do any of us really know what the person we’re speaking to is thinking, or planning? That’s something which becomes clear to many characters in the novel - the duality of human nature, and of the dangerous effects this can have, particularly on friends. If you’d like to buy the book or read a sample please go to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/700083

Mandy And The Missing: Ascent Of The Absent

This is the first book in the series "Mandy And The Missing". "Ascent Of The Absent" is the tale of an 18 year old Scottish-born girl, the titular Mandy Murray, who goes to college in Southampton, but soon finds her worries over leaving her old life behind pale into insignificance when an act of sabotage leads to the town - and her campus - being haunted by mysterious, invisible people with dangerous intentions.

I wrote the book as a comment on my time as a student in Southampton in the 1990s, and whilst it’s set in the present day (!) I wanted to tap into the experiences I had, some way from home, with a house full of strangers and a boarding-house type atmosphere, whilst the Missing themselves represent the feelings of alienation and ‘difference’ that adults and students can feel. The book’s themes are of a new start, and this theme links the protagonist (Mandy), the book’s antagonist (Merrick) and the series’ long-term villain (Jennyfer) : how will they deal with their new beginnings? For the guileless but good-hearted Mandy it’s her start in a new locale, and making a course she’s already dubious about work; for the self-loathing Merrick it’s a beginning to a social life which has always been limited back home and seems non-existent here, and for the troubled, seething Jennyfer it’s the start to her life as one of the Missing - having felt all but invisible to the man she secretly adores she has now literally disappeared - can she use her new ability to manipulate others and take revenge on the people who seem to be foiling her plans?

I hope that anyone who buys this book enjoys it, and if they’ve been to university or college they recognise the feelings within. It’s aimed at the young adult market but also at a general mainstream audience, with humour, drama and danger all thrown in. If you’d like to buy the book or read a sample please go to https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/554582

Bond Films – Worst To Best. By Laurence Buxton. 2018

Bond Films – Worst To Best. By Laurence Buxton. 2018.

Any aspiring writer with a love of films (and bank holidays) has probably ended up wondering which the best Bond film, or the best actor to play the part of the secret agent, is. However I’ve gone one further and listed the 007 films, from worst to best. It’s all down to a matter of opinion, but here’s mine and I’d be keen to hear yours (civility included!) Here goes…

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26th Casino Royale. Directed by Ken Hughes, John Huston, Joseph McGrath, Robert Parrish, Val Guest, Richard Talmadge (1967)

Oh dear. It seems ridiculous including this farrago of a film in among the other movies, and simply confusing to anyone who would never have come across this and realised it had any connection to the 2006 movie, yet as Never Say Never Again gets in and the original Casino Royale was intended to be a serious competition to the main series, then in it goes too. David Niven uneasily takes the role of an aged, stammering 007, tending to his garden and refusing to come out of retirement until his country residence is destroyed, killing M (who was the one behind the destruction in the first place). This opening sequence, by far the most restrained part of the film, sums up the confused tone of the movie, which even for a 1960s-style romp is utterly chaotic.

There are numerous bewildering plots featuring a succession of characters masquerading as Bond (including Peter Sellers and Woody Allen, both of whom have rarely been used this badly). An all-star cast, including George Raft with a backwards-firing gun, Stirling Moss, Peter O’Toole and even Ursula Andress as Vesper Lynd, indulge in behaviour which is too odd to be funny and too strangely-edited to make sense, and bigger chuckles will be elicited by the spotting of Ronnie Corbett and Bernard Cribbins in minor roles. The centrepiece of the movie, buried amid surrealist and impressionist nightmares, is still the game of baccarat at Le Touquet between a surrogate Bond (Sellers) and Le Chiffre (Orson Welles), but due to a falling out Sellers notoriously refused to appear in the same scene as Welles and had to be re-shot: nonetheless it’s the nearest the film gets to the source material. The picture allegedly suffered from Sellers’ behaviour onset, and ended up being fractured into several different productions in different locations, the end results never gelling. It’s a total car crash and as an attempt to lampoon the Bond series it missed the mark by miles, but for the same reason it is anything but dull to watch.

25th Die Another Day. Directed by Lee Tamahori (2002)

Brosnan’s farewell to the role and one of the least distinguished outings for the legendary spy. It’s a movie which initially promises so much: in the pre-credits sequence there’s a rare foray into the brutal and mysterious North Korea, with a downbeat end to the normally triumphant opening sequence, and the sun-kissed, more glamorous side of Cuba is used for some of the series’ most effective location work, only for the picture to stupidly tap into the growing penchant for superhero tropes (the villain has a special Iron Man-style suit), jaw-droppingly bad CGI – notably during the Korean scenes later in the movie – and gadgets which change the once-cool to pure geek (the notorious invisible Aston Martin).

The picture takes a nosedive once Madonna, who also provided the stuttering, cringeworthy theme song, and a leering Damian Lewis (who would later admit he disapproved of the way he’d had to play the antagonist Rupert Graves) appear halfway through, and it never really recovers, despite Halle Berry doing her best to combine Ursula Andress-style sultriness with a more modern action heroine aesthetic. With a ridiculous plot, hammy performances and confused tone, Die Another Day ends Brosnan’s time in the role in disappointing style.

24th A View To A Kill. Directed by John Glen (1985)

Even by his self-effacing standards Roger Moore had little time for this final hurrah, another example of a tenure going on too long. Here, pushing 60 (and with the even older Patrick Macnee alongside him at one point), he’s engaging in sub-Carry On antics with Tanya Roberts, clowning around on the back of fire engines and trying to stop Christopher Walken’s increasingly undisciplined and demented Max Zorin, who seems to pose more of a threat to his own people than anyone else.

It’s not without memorable moments: Walken is certainly effective in the earlier, more restrained parts of the film(in a part once offered to David Bowie), Grace Jones’ May Day is both intimidating and her changing loyalties are intriguing, and the Golden Gate bridge finale is one of the series’ most striking, but it’s a very roundabout trip to get there. The film’s San Francisco segments drag badly until the final showdown and the use of The Beach Boys’ California Girls as comedy background music robs a vital chase scene of any tension or danger. Whilst the film was yet another massive commercial success Timothy Dalton’s more serious and restrained approach was probably overdue.

23rd Diamonds Are Forever. Directed by Guy Hamilton (1971)

With this film Sean Connery, lured back by a huge fee, started to turn into the character that Roger Moore would eventually embody, notably A View To A Kill. Looking older and carrying a few more pounds he spends much of the movie stateside, hanging around in hotels with Jill St John or other assorted lovelies, and the structure of the film seems oddly episodic, with a dragging pace. It also contains the famous ‘car on two side-wheels’ stunt: can you spot the continuity error?

Generally the action is distinctly comic-tinged (Bond finds himself talking to rats in underground pipes, indulging in car-destroying antics around Las Vegas, stealing moon buggies or fighting off camp assassins Mr Wint and Mr Kydd), even whilst you’re not sure if that was the intention. It’s a far cry from the lean, menacing character who thrilled in Dr No, and despite the weighty musical score it’s closer to the lighter, tongue-in-cheek style that the Roger Moore-era stories would lean increasingly towards than to the vintage Connery years. Diamonds Are Forever is James Bond at its campest, even including Charles Gray – famous from the Rocky Horror Picture Show – as a Blofeld with a penchant for cross-dressing.

22nd. Quantum Of Solace. Directed by Marc Forster (2008)

This sophomore, ultra-serious Daniel Craig effort attempts to continue the storyline from the series’ successful relaunch with Casino Royale, but straight away it’s in trouble – the pre-credits car chase sequence is dizzying and almost impossible to follow, the locations are largely bland and featureless and the emotional relationships which Bond was building up in the previous instalment are kept oddly behind the shutters. Even the subplot mirroring Bond’s own revenge storyline falls oddly flat, as does a parallel plotline concerning the monopolisation of Bolivia’s water supply.

In the film’s favour is its finely-directed opera house standoff scene where the musical score perfectly builds the tension, Daniel Amelric’s quirky villain Dominic Green (according to the actor the character was intended as a dark take on Nicolas Sarkozy), and an unusually brutal final fight which evokes memories of the thrilling clash between Connery and Robert Shaw in From Russia With Love, but the film doesn’t just lack humour, it lacks heart.

21st The Living Daylights. Directed by John Glen (1987)

An oddly bland start for Timothy Dalton, who had turned down the part post-Connery due to his youth. The Cold War era was approaching its end but is the central plotline here, despite a well-shot opening stunt on the Rock Of Gibraltar. If Diamonds Are Forever is the forerunner of the Roger Moore era then this is the Daniel Craig era’s prototype: a grittier, more serious take on the role, with a little less mindless philandering and a few more glowering standoffs.

The film’s attempts to play things a little more modestly are both welcome and unintentionally silly: one of the most prominent baddies is introduced as a killer milkman, evoking memories of the opening scene from Carry On Spying, whilst the Napoleon-complex nemesis Brad Whittaker, though well-performed by Joe Don Baker, is one of the series’ most forgettable villains. Maryam d’Abo’s Bond girl is elegant yet has an oddly emasculating effect on 007 and Dalton misses the mark with his character’s trademark quips, lacking his predecessor’s light touch. Yet the leading man does look the part and grounds a character who had become anything but believable, Jeroen Krabbe adds a touch of comedy and complexity with the character of Koskov, and the film at least puts an end to the farcical clowning that had palled in recent years.

20th Tomorrow Never Dies. Directed by Roger Spottiswoode. (1997)

A curiously flat outing, despite an interesting, topical storyline (the domination of saturation news outlets and its unscrupulous bosses) and an effective enough retread of the plot from You Only Live Twice, where two national powers are tricked into thinking the other is sabre-rattling. Jonathan Pryce , whilst a fine actor, is a mixed success as the Randolph Hearst-influenced villain presented here: effective enough in the scenes opposite Teri Hatcher yet less so in those against Bond where he seems to be on the verge of bursting into tears or having a Dr Evil-style tantrum. He’s not helped by his henchman, Stamper, being neither menacing nor distinctive.

Michelle Yeoh’s martial arts expert Colonel Wai Lin is often held up as one of the finer examples of a more independent Bond girl but the actress has little chemistry with Brosnan here, and the action sequences, such as when the two heroes are chased by a helicopter through Saigon, somehow fail to thrill. According to the normally genial Irish actor himself the movie experienced other clashes between its leading performers, notably himself and Hatcher. It’s not Brosnan’s best 007 film, but neither is it his worst: that ‘honour’ goes to Die Another Day. It’s just a shame that the corrupt media mogul theme didn’t get wedded to a more gripping action film.

19th Moonraker. Directed by Lewis Gilbert. (1979)

Bond at its silliest and also at its most genre-jumping. 007 goes into space when would-be God figure Hugo Drax decides to create a perfect race of humans, and annihilate everyone else. A clear cash-in on the then (and now) Star Wars craze, the film also strolls through lush country estates and tourist-trap Venice, leading to perhaps the stupidest stunt in a spy film which contains laser fights among the stars – the gondolier sequence in Venice, with watching birds doing double-takes. The once-ruthless and frightening Jaws is reduced firstly to cartoonish bumbler (falling off waterfalls, crashing through building roofs and reappearing afterwards without a scratch) and then to lovesick gentle giant.

Yet, because rather than in spite of this, the film remains one of the best 007 films to enjoy with friends and a drink: a camp foray into the greatest excesses of the genre to the point even the Austin Powers series struggled to parody it. It even manages to pull off the occasional more serious moment, such as when Bond is almost killed in a centrifuge chamber after Drax coolly says to his henchman “see some harm comes to him”. Like many of the Moore films it justifies its commercial success: just don’t take it too seriously.

18th The Man With The Golden Gun. Directed by Guy Hamilton. (1974)

The most ‘1970s’ of the films, this includes everything from chop-socky kung-fu, louche playboy mansion-dwellers, psychotic midgets, energy crisis storylines, funky theme songs and vapid leading ladies. There’s also some frequently bizarre humour (Scaramanga’s flying car, Goodnight’s name being used for puns, the cereberally-challenged agent being locked in the boot and the even broader jokes from the returning JW Pepper character that first appeared in Live And Let Die).

Whilst this was his second outing the increasingly irreverent approach of the Moore era really starts here and the film’s reputation has taken a battering because of this, but Maud Adams makes an effective first appearance in the series in this outing (before taking the titular role in Octopussy) and any scenes with Christopher Lee’s Scaramanga, played as a shadowy version of Bond, are immediately lifted by his on-screen presence. It also contains one of the most memorable, and surreal, showdowns of the series in Scaramanga’s crazy fun house, which shows an ambition not always shown elsewhere in the franchise.

17th The World Is Not Enough. Directed by Michael Apted. (1999)

On paper this should have been a classic outing for Brosnan, with all the ingredients there: a solid theme song performed by Garbage, Robert Carlyle as the villain, and Sophie Marceau as the curiously complex Elektra King. Indeed on a first viewing it’s largely effective, its set-pieces are well-staged and it throws in a few new ideas – Carlyle’s doomed Renard is also a faceted character. There’s a welcome larger role for Judi Dench’s M, which would add greatly to later movies such as Skyfall, and Robbie Coltrane makes a strong return too. There’s also some strong location filming in Eastern Europe and Turkey, and a twist around the halfway point that dramatically changes the course of the movie.

But the twist, when it comes, is rather predictable, and on repeated viewings the film’s flaws seem to magnify: notably Denise Richards’ utterly implausible nuclear physicist Dr Christmas Jones and Bond’s cringeworthy one-liners mostly to her and at her expense. The World Is Not Enough is a middle-ranking 007 movie, but it ticks enough boxes to make it an entertaining outing and its pre-credits sequence with the chase up the Thames is one of the franchise’s most memorable: with laughs, gadgets and action in equal measure.

16th For Your Eyes Only. Directed by John Glen. (1981)

The decision was made to tone down the daftness of recent outings such as Moonraker for this film, which takes some of the elegance, complex character histories and more restrained approach of From Russia With Love and updates it to the glitzy 1980s. It’s aided no end by the presence of a strong supporting cast, the best being Julian Glover as Kristatos and Michael Gothard as the stone-faced and unscrupulous contract killer Largo.

But whilst it’s good to see Moore playing the role more seriously for once, and being more convincing doing this than he’s often given credit for – there’s a particularly surprising execution of an opponent – the humorous elements then feel a little jarring. A Citroen 2CV chase finishes upside-down, with jokey asides from the hero rather dampening the serious moment experienced beforehand, and an initially-menacing ice-hockey sequence finishing with a hooter celebrating each bad guy ending up dumped in the goalmouth. There’s also the now-mandatory ‘Bond caught in flagrante with the leading lady’ closing scene. The revenge storyline, foreshadowed by Bond apparently killing off Blofeld in the pre-credits sequence in an oddly offhand manner, perhaps deserved better.

15th License To Kill. Directed by John Glen. (1989)

This is John Glen’s final directorial credit for the Bond franchise and considering how successful he had been with the lighter touch (notably during the Moore movies) this is surprisingly as dark and gritty as the series ever got. It’s a rare foray by the series into South American drug barons, brutal retributions and acts of vengeance. The plot is a distant cousin of previous ‘score to settle’ adventures such as Thunderball or For Your Eyes Only, but this time it’s with a more graphically violent approach that brings the series more into line with then-current thrillers like the Die Hard or Lethal Weapon series. It also taps into the American locations of those films.

The early sequence of Bond’s best friend Felix Leiter (in his latest guise) losing his leg in a vicious retributive punishment was enough to push the film’s recommended age rating up for the first time in the franchise, whilst one where Anthony Zerbe’s typically oily character also falls foul in an even nastier fashion is just as unsettling. There’s a particularly violent streak running through the film: a young Benicio del Toro makes a major impression as the fiery, murderous Dario, and his employer Sanchez, played by Robert Davi, is an underrated Bond villain, his brutal behaviour offset by a curious obsession with loyalty. The final clash between a vengeful Bond and a betrayed-feeling Sanchez has more of an emotional kick than many of the movie climaxes. Despite Q’s extended appearance this time round, though, it doesn’t quite feel like a Bond film, though this doesn’t mean the movie isn’t worth a further evaluation.

14th Never Say Never Again. Directed by Irvin Kirshner (1983)

Released as a Taliafilm/Warner Bros rival to the Roger Moore Eon Bond movies, Never Say Never Again is a rather odd concept for a 007 movie. It’s a Thunderball update, and Connery’s age and physical condition are played for Moore-style laughs throughout, with disparaging references to his out-of-date car and poor medical condition. Adding to the comedy there’s even a role from Rowan Atkinson as his bumbling, naive ally. falling into pools and shouting for the secret agent in a manner which would alert even the dimmest of enemy agents.

It’d appeal more to Moore fans than Connery diehards, with its central computer game face-off between Bond and Largo that’s a mile away from anything in its source material, enlivened as it by rising tension amid the worsening electric shocks for the losers. But despite the odds being stacked against the film – it isn’t just Connery’s Bond which seems dated here – there are plenty of sequences that hold up reasonably well: Klaus Maria Brandauer makes a genuinely unpredictable villain and the scene where Connery tricks a hotel worker into thinking his cigarette case is a bomb is brilliantly played; a rare moment of subtlety for a normally larger-than-life character. Never Say Never Again is, ultimately, far from being the worst onscreen outing for Ian Fleming’s creation, and no worse a send-off for Connery in the role than Diamonds Are Forever twelve years previously.

13th Spectre. Directed by Sam Mendes. (2015)

The latest 007 flick at the time of writing, Daniel Craig’s fourth outing is perfectly decent, if paling in comparison to its predecessor. The decision to recruit Christoph Waltz as Bond’s nemesis Blofeld is a shrewd one (and the torture scene is one of the series’ ickiest) but the backstory, which weaves a family history between Bond and Blofeld into series lore doesn’t quite convince: unlike Skyfall the storyline threatens to swamp the narrative.

For all the huge hype around the film, and for all of Craig’s huge fee to remain in the role, it’s a bit of a mixed bag. The Day Of The Dead opening sequence has plenty of thrills, spills and destruction of scenery, but doesn’t really seem to fit with the theme or action of the film, and the chase sequence between henchman Mr Hinx and Bond completely lacks any semblance of tension; indeed the former might just be the series’ least memorable henchman of all. There are high points: the direction of Bond’s unexpected reunion with Mr White is a highlight, and Sam Smith’s winsome ballad “Writing’s On The Wall” is one of the better theme songs for the series and deserved its Academy Award and Golden Globe, but whilst it’s solid throughout it’s difficult to see the film as a crowning glory.

12th Live And Let Die. Directed by Guy Hamilton. (1973)

Roger Moore was already 46 by the time he took the role of 007, far older than Connery was when he first appeared in the part, but he brings a certain youthful naivety to this tale of voodoo, heroin smuggling and assassinations. Tapping into black cinema – curiously Felix Leiter is played by African American actor David Hedison and gets the finest line in the whole film when he mocks 007 for being the only white man in Harlem – and with a less out-and-out comic performance from its star than would be the case later, it’s a constantly startling adventure with dramatic and sometimes brutal setpieces: the moment where Bond is literally cut open to attract sharks is particularly wince-inducing.

There’s even a supernatural element in the consistently-reborn Mr Kananga which is unsettling and silly at the same time. On top of this there’s perhaps Paul McCartney’s finest moment in the dynamic brilliance of the title song, Yaphet Kotto pulls off his dual role as Dr Kananga and Mr Big excellently and is frighteningly intense throughout, and Bond’s offhand trickery to seduce the virginal Solitaire (Jane Seymour) is both admired and shown to have serious consequences. It’s a unique, memorable encounter, and even the comic interlude with JW Pepper punctuating a boat chase sequence is well-staged. Live And Let Die was a striking entrance for Moore, different to anything before and to what was to come in the rest of his commercially-rewarding tenure.

11th Octopussy. Directed by John Glen. (1983)

After For Your Eyes Only throttled back on the tongue-in-cheek elements of the series, Octopussy reintroduced them. This time the comedy is largely focused around the lead character himself, whether he’s swinging through the trees doing a Tarzan-style war cry (absurdly whilst he’s trying to remain inconspicuous from his pursuers), dressing as a clown to sneak into a circus and defuse a bomb or even using a mechanical crocodile to infiltrate Octopussy’s island, which with its nubile, exclusively- female inhabitants would be a schoolboy’s wet dream.

All ludicrous, of course, but it’s enormous fun. An expanded role for Q gives some enjoyable comic chemistry between Roger Moore and Desmond Llewellyn, Maud Adams plays it straight and makes the most of a role that could have been campily ridiculous, Louis Jordain’s ultra-smooth villain is a joy and some gorgeous location filming in India makes the whole thing play like an Alan Whicker travelogue. Taken in the right spirit even Steven Berkoff’s performance as General Orlov, one of the most OTT in the series alongside Christopher Walken’s Max Zorin, is just something else to savour.

10th Dr No. Directed by Terence Young. (1962)

The brutal elements of Bond’s first outing are all the more notable now. Connery’s character is surly, bossy, brutal and downright aggressive, making Daniel Craig’s outing more of an updating than exploring brand new ground. The film looks both backwards and forwards: backwards with its 1950s-styled laboratories and offices and parochial behaviour – the manner in which Bond barks out orders to Quarrel, for example, not to mention at the villains in their lair later on – and forwards with its fire-breathing mechanical dragon and Ursula Andress’ iconic first appearance out of the sea. In this movie you can feel the sensible 1950s giving way to the glamour of the 1960s.

007 here is cold, unflinching, stone-faced and assertive, an alpha-male like no other before in a beautiful but dangerous ‘paradise’. It’s naturally dated in place and it’s quickly clear from watching it that this is the series debut, but it’s also notable how many of the series tropes (such as the theme tune and animated titles) were introduced, and with such confidence. With the leading man’s instant impression, garish filming and a lack of polish that makes it a far cry from future instalments Dr No starts the massively successful franchise in a curious and captivating fashion.

9th Thunderball. Directed by Terence Young (1965)

The great success of the Bond series, following the particularly populist Goldfinger (for many the best of the movies) led to Thunderball. The West Indies setting wasn’t entirely new to the series, having been explored in Dr No, but by now the stunts and gadgets were more uninhibited than ever, with a jetpac being produced to facilitate the hero’s escape.

Yet the film’s actually a slower-paced affair than expected, lingering for a long time on scenes such as the Junkanoo or the underwater sequences. As such the movie tends to suffer in relation to its lofty predecessor, and is accused of dragging. But Adolfo Celi (dubbed in a similar fashion to Gert Frobe in Goldfinger) makes a distinct visual impression as Largo, and Domino is one of the more underplayed and sympathetic Bond girls, notably when discovering her lover is responsible for the death of her brother. The movie is probably superior to its 1980s remake, Never Say Never Again, and whilst more leisurely and not in quite the same league as its two predecessors it’s another fairly strong outing for Connery.

8th Goldeneye. Directed by Martin Campbell. (1995)

A real reinvention for the series for the mid-1990s, Goldeneye means business from the outset. There’s a spectacular Russian base invasion by Brosnan and Sean Bean, a fine Tina Turner performance in its title song, genuinely amusing innuendo with the vampish, murderous Onatopp – a sly update of Fiona Volpe from Thunderball – and other brilliantly-played supporting characters including Alan Cummings as the comic computer expert Boris, Izabella Scorupco as the leading lady gets some decent dialogue and dramatic clout, reflecting a more enlightened time, and the stunts are memorable throughout: even Bond in a tank crashing through St Petersburg isn’t as out of place as it could have been.

There’s a dramatic plot twist (yes, another one!) which gives an emotional as well as a dramatic kick to the second half of the movie, Judi Dench makes a brief but brilliant debut as the feisty new M and there’s a great Robbie Coltrane cameo too (as well as a concurrent one by Minnie Driver). Sexy, sassy, funny and dramatic and even enhanced by the release of one of the finest videogame spinoffs of all time, Goldeneye was a crowning glory Brosnan would never top in the role.

7th The Spy Who Loved Me. Directed by Lewis Gilbert. (1977)

Often hailed as Moore’s finest hour in the role, this third outing for him gives him an underplayed adversary, Stromberg (Curd Jurgens) and a particularly memorable henchman, Jaws (Richard Kiel). There’s iconic material everywhere – the pre-credits sequence where Bond opens his union jack parachute to the Bond theme is probably the finest opening scene in the franchise – or the Lotus Esprit which doubles as a missile-launching submarine.

However there’s a grittier approach to the ‘base under siege’ battle sequence near the end which offsets some of the location filming and more comic moments elsewhere, whilst the scene where Jaws rips a van apart to try and get hold of Bond and Barbara Bach’s agent, Anya Amasova, is a good example of playing a scene both for laughs (Moore’s calm reaction contrasting with Bach’s panic) and in establishing the relentless powerful menace that pursues them. Carly Simon’s song Nobody Does It Better perfectly fits this era of the films, celebrating the fun, confidence and style of the character and the sparkling glamour of 007’s world too. It’s not my personal favourite of the Moore movies but it certainly holds up as extremely accomplished and firmly in the top echelons even by those who prefer the films at their most serious.

6th You Only Live Twice. Directed by Lewis Gilbert. (1967)

Connery was starting to tire of playing the world’s favourite secret agent by this point, although there’s so much original content thrown into this adventure (set in the Far East) and tropes that the Bond films would corner it’s an absolute thrill ride. This is the story that brought giant spaceships that can consume other spaceships whole, underwater volcanoes which contain massive hidden bases, Ernst Stavro Blofeld with his Nehru suits, scarred face and nasal voice, Q’s contraptions becoming more and more implausible yet delightful (the helicopter Little Nellie) and the use of a helicopter with a huge magnet that can pick a car up and dump it in the drink.

There are great set pieces here, ranging from the moment when Bond is attacked on the tops of the buildings by more and more enemies, reminiscent of the scene from The Matrix Reloaded but far more disciplined, and the ninja attack on Blofeld’s base later on. The quieter moments are also well-directed (when Bond is attacked by an assassin trying to get him to ingest poison whilst unconscious). Apart from a slightly odd assassination early scene on (with Charles Gray making a brief appearance in the series before taking on the larger role of Blofeld) and an Asian makeover to disguise 007 that is more laughable than offensive it’s full of spectacle, glamour and oriental intrigue. The original Austin Powers spoof could virtually have been taken from this movie alone.

5th Casino Royale. Directed by Martin Campbell. (2006)

Despite great reservations from the media about Daniel Craig’s suitability for the role (because of his height and hair colour in particular) the actor made a fantastic impression in his debut and managed to completely turn around the critics. Cold-eyed and cynical, but finally thawed out by his love for the mysterious Vesper Lynd, Bond here is played as an almost unstoppable force, and he’s matched all the way by the chilling performance of Mads Mikkelsen as Le Chiffre. Both are shown to be incredibly tough yet curiously vulnerable at the least expected moments.

The always-excellent Eva Green plays Vesper and shares excellent sexual chemistry with Craig, though the train scene is a little tarnished by the blatant product placement that would become an unfortunate element of this era of Bond films. Yet it’s a fine movie: a desperate chase sequence through an airport veers from subtle (where Bond and the enemy agent silently battle for supremacy) and plane-threatening spectacle, there’s a fist-in-mouth nasty torture scene and the baccarat game, interspersed with more than one of the lead characters having life-and-death moments, remains tense and gripping throughout, not least when Bond cuts his losses and grabs a knife to finish off his foe once and for all. After a tragic denouement which evokes memories of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service the film ends with a cliff-hanger which is new ground for the series but would arguably harm its successor; nonetheless this is a superb renovation of a series which had badly run aground.

4th On Her Majesty’s Secret Service. Directed by Peter R Hunt. (1969)

The loss of Sean Connery could have sunk the franchise before the 1960s were out, but this entry, with the unlikely and controversial hiring of George Lazenby, who lacked acting experience, to replace him, is held in the highest regard by the likes of Christopher Nolan and Steven Soderbergh: both claimed it to be an influence on their own work. A far more bittersweet tale than anything before or since, the film immediately sets out to cut Bond down to size (“this never happened to the other guy” he complains after saving the beautiful Tracy (Diana Rigg) from suicide only for her to flee: a rare fourth-wall breaking moment. The gorgeous Alpine cinematography comes to make 007 feel oddly overwhelmed, and even the theme music, composed by John Barry, has an ominous refrain to it which suits the material to follow. This atmosphere means that moments such as the murder of one of Bond’s allies, seen hanging upside-down, leave a nastier taste than normal.

Indeed familiarity is thrown out of the window. Blofeld’s blackmail plot, in order to obtain respectability and amnesty, is new territory for the series, as is the battle between Bond’s womanising ways and the potential monogamy of settling down with Tracy. The ending, of course, remains the franchise’s most tear-jerking moment, and further emphasises 007’s increased humanity and the loss of his old invincibility. Some will always think the Bond series was finest with Connery as the lead and see Lazenby’s awkwardness as a fatal impediment in his sole outing. Yet others applaud the more fragile nature of Lazenby’s incarnation, his accomplishment in the fight scenes and the storyline as being one of the series’ greatest, and in this regard Lazenby’s sole outing in the lead remains unique in the canon. It’s an unusually cynical and doomed outing for the character of Bond, reflecting the year it was made in, and of all the 007 flicks it’s probably the most haunting.

3rd Skyfall. Directed by Sam Mendes. (2012)

As excellent as Casino Royale was this is arguably Daniel Craig’s finest hour in the role to date. Taking the dramatic momentum of his debut whilst injecting enough humour and connection to past iconic successes (such as the character of Miss Moneypenny and Bond’s Aston Martin) Skyfall pits 007 against former agent Silva, played by Javier Bardem (who had provided such a memorable, unsettling villain in No Country For Old Men).Together with Judi Dench’s M, who moves centre-stage, there’s a dramatic, personal narrative between this triangle.

Craig’s masculinity is offset by the strangely fey menace of Bardem, and the first appearance of Silva, long-delayed, is a brilliantly-played psychological face-down more than the expected torture scene. The final shootout at the family home of the title is a tour-de-force, and the denouement in the church at the end is full of symbolism and metaphors of betrayal, which is one of the film’s principal themes. Adele’s song is naggingly memorable and beautifully-performed. It’s one of the best Bond films of the whole series, let alone of recent times, and shows just how nostalgia, action, humour and distinctive location shooting could all blend together to create the perfect package.

2nd Goldfinger. Directed by Guy Hamilton. (1964)

Still ranking as the nation’s favourite Bond movie in polls taken years after its release, Goldfinger is the quintessential action-packed thriller, larger-than-life, exciting and stylish throughout. All the elements that were played straight in From Russia With Love are taken to the max here – whether it’s the ejector seats in the Aston Martin; the development of Desmond Llewellyn’s deadpan inventor into a grumpier yet more engaged character who would go on to spar affectionately with our hero in future films; the outrageous Goldfinger himself played memorably by German actor Gert Frobe (dubbed by Michael Collins), as showy and extravagant in his schemes as the likes of Blofeld, Klebb and Grant in the previous outing were subtle and shadowy; the innuendo-laden Pussy Galore and her fellow female pilots and, of course, Shirley Bassey’s lung-busting title song, perhaps the series’ finest of all.

The film’s got everything and makes everything in it memorable. There’s Shirley Eaton’s alluring appearance and unforgettable exit, gold-painted to death; Harold Nakata’s mute yet brutish Oddjob; unexpected betrayals among the villains and the expertly-structured and directed Fort Knox set-piece. The incidental music is used expertly throughout to heighten tension, and even the shock late reappearance of the title villain feels effective and fresh. Along with The Great Escape it’s the films bank holidays were made for.

1st From Russia With Love. Directed by Terence Young (1963)

It’s all subjective, but this is perhaps the high watermark for the James Bond films. Sean Connery had added a touch more sophistication and restraint to his portrayal of the character here, and the plot moves away from the bright colours and sun-kissed menace of the Caribbean to a more low-key, Cold War-styled plot, the kind of which would be mined by the Harry Palmer series subsequently. Connery is brilliantly opposed by a number of unforgettable villains: Robert Shaw is 007’s darker alter-ego, Grant, and the scenery possibly shakes as the two slam into each other in their final confrontation on the Orient Express; Rosa Klebb, the cold and cruel villainess who leers suggestively over Bond’s love interest Tatiana Romanova and kills her victims with the poisonous spikes in her shoes, and last but not least there’s Anthony Dawson as Blofeld (albeit with Eric Pohlmann’s distinctive tones), who at this point never shows his face and is given a mystery that would be removed later on.

Although there’s genuine emotion running through the story: the gypsy fight, Ali Karim Bey’s battle for vengeance and Tatiana’s feelings for our hero there’s also a real espionage and ‘don’t trust anyone’ streak running through the film to contrast with the more broad characters that would dominate from Goldfinger onwards. Just to top it all of there’s Matt Munro’s voice in the theme song. From Russia With Love is a spy film for those who aren’t necessarily big fans of James Bond, and a peak for the series with regards to mature storytelling.

THE END. Please get back to me if you have any comments or opinions of the subject or the article. Many thanks.

Carry On films: Worst to Best. By Laurence Buxton 2018

Carry On films: Worst to Best. By Laurence Buxton 2018.

The Carry Ons remain a ‘marmite’ kind of experience. Many adore them, decades after their heyday, many others denounce them as being either outdated black and white irrelevances (the 1950s and early 1960s entries) or sub-Confessions, regressive sex comedies (the late 1960s and 1970s movies). Yet for many of us that caught them on terrestrial television in passing – an increasingly outdated concept in these days of downloads and binge watching – they remain something to treasure, a glorious example of great comic talent, in front of and behind the camera, working together to make something so seemingly effortless sidesplittingly funny. Furthermore the list of genres the films parodied: from Western to Horror to espionage to seafaring epics – is in my opinion unsurpassed in a movie series, particularly where the cast and crew: notably producer Peter Rogers and director Gerald Thomas: were so unchanged.

So with no further ado here is my list of worst to best Carry On films : -

*

31st. Carry On England (1976).

A largely new cast (Patrick Mower, Diane Langton) for this WWII barracks-set caper, with just the odd familiar face backing up stalwart Kenneth Connor and the redoubtable Windsor Davies, appearing here alongside It Ain’t Half Hot Mum co-star Melvyn Hayes. The lack of veteran performers isn’t necessarily a dealbreaker, but the newbies don’t feel like they belong in the Carry On series: their charmless characters are sex-obsessed and obnoxious to Confessions-like levels and are given some excruciatingly childish behaviour and dialogue.

The toilet humour feels uncomfortable in a Carry On film, and the topless scene is far more overtly smutty than Barbara Windsor’s in Camping, with series regular Jack Douglas later stating it made him uncomfortable. Even late appearances from Peter Jones and Peter Butterworth fail to lift proceedings, and despite a rousing finale, a genuinely committed, intense tour-de-force by Connor as the unpopular but determined Captain and Davies successfully reprising the Sergeant Major part he’d perfected in then-recent sitcoms England sees the series on a permanent downward trajectory.

30th. Carry On Emmanuelle (1978).

Another busted flush for the series, this production strays even further into the gratuitous, very dated sex comedies of the late 1970s UK cinema scene than England. Kenneth Williams goes completely OTT here, parodying his on-screen persona as the frigid, prudish French ambassador. Suzanne Danielle, as his frustrated wife, lacks the sparkle of Elke Sommer in Carry On Behind, and the film somehow falls between two stools: not erotic enough for the mid to late seventies sex comedy audience but too leering for the more family-friendly Carry Ons, which would be a problem which would increasingly afflict the films as the 1970s progressed.

In fairness there’s some solid support from the underrated Larry Dann as Emmannuelle’s repressed admirer, some surprisingly understated material for Kenneth Connor, Peter Butterworth and Joan Sims, and a very amusing scene late on where Benny Hill’s straight man Henry McGee gets seduced on-air by the nymphomaniacal titular character. Overall, however, this is one to avoid.

29th. Carry On Columbus (1992).

A doomed attempt to resurrect the series in the 1990s, this is effectively an update of the lesser-remembered Carry On Jack, with a rather more ribald approach (it would be difficult to imagine Julian Clary’s camp one-liners being uttered by Hawtrey back in the day). There’s an all-star cast (Maureen Lipman, Alexei Sayle, Sara Crowe, Keith Allen, Rik Mayall, Nigel Planer, Martin Planer and Rik Mayall, to name but some) yet the only actors from the series’ heyday to get any significant screentime are Jim Dale as Christopher Columbus himself and Bernard Cribbens as Mordecai Mendoza.

On paper the 'retro-happy' nineties might have been a good time for the series to be resurrected, but the stars of the more politically correct and challenging alternative comedy scene don’t really translate their style of televisual humour into the tight, constrained style of the Carry Ons films or onto the big screen generally. It’s a sad waste of genuine comic talent such as Rik Mayall, whose own forays into feature films never quite matched his success on the box. The film was deemed a major flop and the critically mauling of more recent 1970s-style farces (take the Danny Dyer vehicle Run From Your Wife, for example) would seem to indicate the chances of another Carry On resurrection, even in our current reboot-heavy times, are slim to none.

28th. Carry On Cruising (1962).

Although it’s the first Carry On in colour this is actually one of the more dated of the films. Hudis’ innocent, philosophical humour feels increasingly out-of-place by this point and its early ‘Doctor’ films-style pacing and lovelorn romance feels too old-fashioned and quaint: Kenneth Connor’s pursuit of Dilys Laye being sweet but sluggish. Lance Percival does his best in a Charles Hawtrey-style role as the ship cook but he isn’t given the best of dialogue, Sid’s potential feels hemmed-in as he acts submissively in the face of female temptation whilst Kenneth Williams’ character tries the audience’s patience as much as he does Sid’s Captain.

On the plus side there’s a particularly fine performance from the underrated Esme Cannon – look at the sequence where she challenges Laye to a drinking contest, with increasingly inebriated results – and Ronnie Stevens’ cheerful drunk is always good company, but it’s not the best of the early movies.

27th. Carry On Constable (1960).

Sid James makes a big impression on his debut and certainly looks the part, even though it’s a bit of a patchy affair. Like the film that follows (Carry On Regardless) it’s an episodic affair, though this time that clearly wasn’t the intention. Stepping away from the rogues and heavies he’d mostly played in his earlier film career in England James runs his police station with no-nonsense common sense and glowering authority. As well as sharing an amusing rapport with Hattie Jacques’ startled Sergeant – the Carry Ons would get as much comic ground out of his partnerships with Jacques or Joan Sims as spouses as it would from his all-too-real chemistry with Barbara Windsor – his sense of naturalism is an instant success, grounding the film and giving the bumbling recruits (chinless wonder Leslie Phillips, clever-dick Kenneth Williams, giggly Charles Hawtrey and superstitious Kenneth Connor) someone to bounce off and be cowed by.

In truth not all the material works, with Connor’s character being downright odd and his fledgling romance with the rather more able Joan Sims simply not working, and Phillips is strangely subdued. Yet Williams and Hawtrey have at least one delightful scene where they go undercover dressed as women. That, and the famous shower scene, hint at a naughtier future for the films.

26th. Carry On Dick (1974).

A bit of a tired outing for an ageing cast, Sid’s final film, as Dick Turpin, gives him a chance to balance his familiar roguish, cackling persona with his alter-ego, the Reverend Flasher, in order to give the Bow Street Runners the slip. Some of the support is strong, such as Bernard Bresslaw’s angry Sir Roger Daley, Hattie Jacques’subtle and lovelorn Martha Hoggett and Kenneth Connor’s aged Constable.

However the movie is hindered by some more choppy editing, a general feeling that this ground had been covered more effectively in Don’t Lose Your Head and Kenneth Williams’ bizarre, overacted portrayal as Sid’s nemesis, which derails a potentially promising double-act with the more level-headed Jack Douglas. This would be the last time such a large collection of the old faces would be present, and it’s not as successful a send-off for the gang as, say, Abroad would have been.

25th. Carry On Again Doctor (1969).

Jim Dale severely hurt his back doing his own stunts making this movie, but from the seemingly-harmless collapsing hammock scene rather than from his other madcap antics. Along with his typically strong performance in what is effectively the lead role there’s a starring credit (albeit with limited screentime) for Sid after his then-recent heart attack, a less camp, more malicious role for Hawtrey and a particularly revealing part for Barbara Windsor.

The entire direction of the film changes around the point Sid is found on an island, which makes its structure rather disconcerting. However the scenes where Dale careers wildly around the hospital are striking even now and are the best remembered part of the picture. Not among the finest Carry Ons but it’s worth enjoying occasionally, if only for Jim’s fine farewell to the series (at least until Columbus).

24th. Carry On Henry (1971).

There’s a slightly uncomfortable feel about this flick, with a semi-serious Sid executing, roaring and ordering his way around as the Tudor despot. He’s on fine form but some of the jokes are a bit black for comfort (the opening scene where jokes are made about imminent execution leave a sour taste which never quite goes away), and some of the treatment of women feels backwards even amid the Benny Hill era. Reminiscent of the first Blackadder series at times there are further gags featuring torture – such as the famous ‘punctured Hawtrey’ visual joke – and it’s very difficult to warm to Sid throughout, which hadn’t even been the case in a darker role such as in Cowboy.

There’s also a repetitive feel to the latter part of the film, where an impatient Henry overreacts to setbacks by constantly sending Williams’ Thomas Cromwell and Terry Scott’s Cardinal Wolsey to be executed when he changes his mind about his intentions. However Barbara Windsor lifts the movie with her scenes, and there’s some pleasant location filming around Windsor to give the film a lush glamour.

23rd. Carry On Up The Jungle (1970).

Like Carry On Again Doctor this is a film of two halves. The first contains a lot of fun, particularly from the precious Frankie Howerd and the gun-toting hunter Sid, and the snake scene, whilst obvious, is superbly played and directed. It highlights the strength of the film: the very different interplay that Joan Sims has with rough-and-ready Sid, refined and prissy Frankie and upwardly-mobile but inferior Kenneth.

Despite some truly groanworthy gags such as Frankie’s “vindscreen viper” and some of the physical gags at their least subtle (Sid’s self-cocking gun) and the limitations of the tiny jungle camp the cast and crew do a fine job –even the Tarzan & Jane parody with Terry Scott and Jacqui Piper is sweetly done. Then, sadly, the gang come across the Lost World Of Aphrodisia, which despite the ever-welcome presence of Charles Hawtrey (basically reprising his cameo from Cowboy) descends into cringeworthy chanting (“Tonka, Tonka, stick it up your honker”), obvious spliced footage of the jungle animals and an outlook on women that even a Carry On fanatic would find rather backward. This latter quality was perhaps a key element of all the films, however, and Up The Jungle remains amusing in parts, if very much of its time.

22nd. Follow That Camel (1967).

The sole appearance of ‘Bilko’ himself in the series, Phil Silvers, effectively putting his own spin on the Sid role. The American comedy legend had a great working rapport with the likes of Dale and Bresslaw; not so much with Kenneth Williams. Although it’s a little close to Up The Khyber in its feel (and ultimately falls short of that film’s standard) it’s actually good fun, with some memorable creations, notably Bresslaw’s menacing Sheikh Abdul Abulbul and William’s pompous commandant.

Angela Douglas does well with her role, though with her character being seduced by virtually every male stranger in the movie it would probably cut little ice now. The final siege is staged well, with a clever decoy tactic to fool Bresslaw and some inventive ways of repelling his forces. Curiously the use of Camber Sands as a location works well to represent the Sahara and shows the inventiveness of the cost-aware production team once again.

21st. Carry On Matron (1972).

The most colourful of the medical-themed Carry Ons, this very 1970s outing sees Terry Scott in particular at his randiest, playing Doctor Prodd. The bizarre plot is driven by Sid and his gang trying to steal birth control pills from the maternity department. There’s some strong scenes with the three of them: the one where (argue over bus routes) is superbly done, with each gang member reluctantly being drawn into the disagreement, and Sid delivers some of his most stinging putdowns. There’s also a couple of funny running jokes around the perpetually-eating and expectant Joan Sims and her railway worker husband Kenneth Connor, but the real star here is Hattie Jacques, who perhaps should have had top billing as the generally calm and dry-witted title character who rules the ward with gentle authority.

Not everything hits the mark: Cope doesn’t seem totally at ease in his dragged-up role and Williams and Hawtrey’s behaviour is as unhinged as it is funny, whilst Terry Scott’s sex-crazed behaviour is a little excessive, though he does get one great gag where he adapts his ‘good news’ to ‘bad news’ on hearing that a would-be mother is not married after all. A little patchy, but Carry On Matron has got enough good writing and familiar performances to lift the spirits.

20th. Carry On Nurse (1959).

As the second entry in the series this is unsurprisingly the most restrained of the medical Carry Ons, lacking a wimpish, complaining Frankie Howerd or the innuendo of the later movies. Everyone’s in similar roles to Sergeant – Williams is again the know-it-all rather than the increasingly camp, sneering and sometimes cerebrally-challenged persona he would later adopt, and there’s a welcome addition of Leslie Phillips whose ‘jolly good show’ character adds a touch of fun to proceedings. Hattie Jacques makes the part of Matron her own and is easily the standout here.

There’s a touch more energy to the film than Sergeant with the mock operation scene, whilst the ‘daffodil’ finale, with Wilfred Hyde Whyte, is perhaps the film’s most famous scene and one of the series’ warmest. Like Sergeant it’s a throwback to more innocent times and though lacking Sergeant’s streamlined resolution or its sense of the character’s personal growth it was successful enough in its setting to make the hospital an area the series would revisit a further three times.

19th. Carry On Girls (1973).

Girls is about as ‘cor, not ‘alf’ as the Carry On films get (though a few later entries would run it close). However it holds up pretty well, despite disregarding the near-the-knuckle but not-too-near ethos which set the movies apart from more tawdry fare. Newcomers such as Jack Douglas’s character is a delight, as is Peter Butterworth’s aged but mischievous Admiral, though the show is stolen by the brilliant Kenneth Connors creation, forming brilliant double-acts both with his downtrodden wife (played by Patsy Rolands) and with the imperious, strident feminist Mrs Prodworthy (a wonderful June Whitfield).

The setting is as cheap and cheerful as it gets, the editing is all over the place –notably in the second half of the film – and precious modern critics would pour scorn on the sexism of the Miss World storyline, not to mention the stereotypical gay and lesbian characters, but Rogers and Thomas never said they were changing the world. The scenes with Bernie Bresslaw are arguably the funniest ‘drag’ scenes in the series, and taken on its own terms it’s still a funny movie, even if Williams and Hawtrey are missed.

18th. Carry On Jack (1963).

A bit lighter on the belly laughs and a bit heavier on the seafaring scenes and genuinely dramatic actors featured (Peter Gilmore, Donald Houston, Cecil Parker), this slightly atypical Carry On is bolstered by a very effective lead performance from national treasure Bernard Cribbens. He’s a boy thrown into the man’s world of naval warfare after being pressganged aboard the Venus, and finds himself dealing with Charles Hawtrey’s jewish cabinboy and Kenneth Williams’ sickly Captain Fearless.

Both are on top form and there’s a wonderful early appearance by Jim Dale, whilst the crew do a surprisingly good job at convincing they’re not just filming around Pinewood. It might be old-fashioned in places and the pace seems to sag as the plotline meanders in the middle, but it’s also proof that the series could lampoon whichever genre it felt like.

17th. Carry On Loving (1970).

This movie plays closer to straight farce than most others in the series. To this end it’s driven not so much by the regulars – though Sid’s using of his love agency in order to get his leg over drives the plot – but by Richard O’Callaghan’s inexperienced, Kenneth Connor-like Bertram Muffett, a wonderfully funny creation with just as more quirkiness but even more loveability, and Jacqui Piper’s sparkling and warm Sally Martin, who takes an instant shine to the naïve and virginal bumbler.

There’s effective humour elsewhere too with Sid being tailed by Charlie Hawtrey’s inept private eye, and a genuinely funny denouement where Kenneth’s private homelife is wrecked by the arrival of more and more characters including loved-up and psychotic wrestler (played by Bernard Bresslaw). One of the less-remembered films (apart from the well-paced custard pie fight), but with plenty of other funny scenes and well worth a look.

16th. Carry On Teacher (1959).

Ted Ray takes the lead role for the first and only time here, and adds a special sensitivity and melancholy to his role as ‘Wakey’, a headteacher looking to leave to take on a new school. Ray’s presence gives a unique bittersweet quality to this Carry On: even for an early entry it’s got restrained moments and some well-balanced Hudis dialogue which balances the teachers who favour subtle corrective methods with the pupils (such as Kenneth Williams), and those who prefer corporal punishment (such as Hattie Jacques), and the script shows that all of them might ultimately fall into the grey area in the middle.

Leslie Phillips provides good fun, Joan Sims gets the chance to make a major first impression as enthusiastic but accident-prone Miss Alcock who attracts Leslie’s eye, and there’s yet more Kenneth Connor romantic yearnings. It’s one of the stronger early movies, with well-drawn sympathetic characters and semi-serious performances, though whilst Ray’s sole film as lead is sadly unappreciated his replacement, a certain Sidney James, was ready to grasp his chance.

15th. Carry On Cowboy (1965).

Another bold choice to parody a genre which, like Jack, was not an obvious one for the very British Carry On films. Sid relished taking the chance to take the villainous role, which due to his swarthy appearance, masculine demeanour and harsh timbre, he’d had plenty of experience playing before in films. However he largely underplays his ruthless role, contrasting with Kenneth Williams’ prudish and devious Judge Burke, Jim Dale is outstanding in the lead role of Marshal P Knutt and Charles Hawtrey plays to his Carry On persona in the unlikely form of Big Heap: in a role where you’d expect the formidable Bresslaw to make an appearance it’s one of his funniest entrances.

Joan Sims and Angela Douglas, as the leading ladies, also glide through the unfamiliar setting with surprising ease. The final showdown between Dale and James is brilliantly built-up to by Thomas, with the former facing a race against time to master gunplay from the rather more self-assured Douglas – a rare chance for traditional gender roles to be reversed. Achieving a remarkable level of conviction and atmosphere on a typical low budget, Cowboy has plenty to recommend it.

14th. Carry On Regardless (1961).

This frantic film is almost as much a variety sketch show as a film with a feature-length narrative. Sid James runs a job agency, and the rest of the cast are largely workseekers who are given, and engage in, a number of quirky tasks. The finest of the bunch are Kenneth Williams’ character being employed to look after a chimpanzee (which at one point is confused for his brother) and Charles Hawtrey ending up in a boxing ring.

It’s a bit of a mixed bag, however, as not all of the other sequences are quite as memorable or coherent – Connor’s celebrated Strangers On A Train-style spoof is well-shot but makes little sense, and Sid’s ‘inspection’ of the nurses is too tame to lead anywhere funny – but the regular appearances of Stanley Unwin spouting his unique brand of gobbledegook are great fun, with James as bewildered as the multi-lingual Williams is in complete understanding. There’s also a particularly uplifting ending when the team work together on cleaning a property, with unexpected results. It’s not perfect but it’s still one of the finer of the earlier, Norman Hudis-penned movies, with less clunky dialogue and a tendency to play to its most talented comic actors’ strengths, and a breezy, fun way to pass a rainy afternoon.

13th. Carry On At Your Convenience (1971).

The title makes a wry comment at the critical treatment of the Carry On films as being like toilets coming off a conveyor belt. Nonetheless there’s some strong performances here and some excellent material, notably during the Sid-Hattie home scenes where the two bicker (and in an unexpected development discover they have a bird that can predict the future): both are given a chance to flex their comic chops as they points-score off the other. By this stage Sid’s more homely image was being well catered for, and in this regard the tentative romance between next-door neighbours and colleagues Sid and Joan even contains a touch of pathos rare to the later entries in particular.

The high jinks where a union meeting gets disrupted and the work trip to the seaside are very enjoyable too, making the viewer feel like they’re in a big party and purely British. The film suffers a little from O’Callaghan’s arrogant Lew Boggs character being rather less endearing this time around than Bertram Muffett, and love rival Kenneth Cope’s rather stereotypically ‘bolshy unionist’ character didn’t sit too well with the films’ traditional working-class audience. Yet despite this the movie finds plenty for its cast to do and shares the funny lines out well.

12th. That’s Carry On (1977).

With Sid having sadly passed away and the films running down by the late 1970s this ‘best of’ is actually a lot more fun than it could have been, blessed by the fabulous on-screen comic chemistry of Kenneth Williams and Barbara Windsor. The two play up their more extreme personas – Kenny is flamboyant, full of mock-Churchillian pomp and increasingly fraught facial expressions as he struggles with his full bladder, while Babs cackles, giggles and takes the mick with great timing throughout.

The two longterm friends walk the audience through a series of the series’ most famous sequences, largely in chronological order. This would probably have been the ideal time to call it a day; sadly it was not to be. Well worth catching if it appears on the television and a good way to remind yourself of the sheer range of genres lampooned and classic moments in the franchise, this might just be the ideal way to introduce a newbie to the world of the Carry Ons.

11th. Carry On Sergeant (1958).

A world away from the nudge-nudge, wink-wink of later films, this was where it all started. There’s no Sid (William Hartnell is the figure of authority here), Williams’ persona is snooty and intellectual rather than camp, and only really Kenny Connor and Charles Hawtrey are in the kind of roles they would be playing for the next decade plus. There’s the curiosity of seeing Bill the likes of Owen of Last Of The Summer Wine fame (he would go on to appear again in the series) and Bob Monkhouse as the closest thing to a romantic lead.

However with support from the likes of Hattie Jacques you can see the seeds of a successful series start to be sown. There’s also a majestic role for Hartnell as the title character Sergeant Grimshaw, some fine work by Connor and a wonderful if slightly unlikely finale where the recruits finally make their leader proud. It’s a pretty solid entry in the series in its own right, and for those who prefer Norman Hudis to Talbot Rothwell as scriptwriter it adds a touch of psychology and intelligence to the standard barracks movies of the era.

10th. Carry On Camping (1969).

Often top of the ‘favourites’ charts along with Screaming and Up The Khyber, Camping’s notorious out-of-season filming doesn’t hinder some wonderfully funny performances by the main cast in roles that had now become utterly comfortable. Sid’s at his most comfortably lecherous, trying to lure his mate and their girlfriends to a nudist camp, Kenneth is attempting to run a girls’ and fight off Hattie Jacques’ Matron, and Charles Hawtrey attempts to get a free spot in the tent with the sex-starved Terry Scott and the eccentric Betty Marsden.

The film makes no concession to the changing times: if anything it actively rebuffs them, with Sid and co disguising themselves as hippies in order to sabotage a ‘peace and love’ festival in the next field. But if the Carry Ons were dubious about progressive ideals then it doesn’t hinder the humour – Barbara’s top flying off is just one of many hilarious setpieces (Sid & Bernie’s tent accidentally being inflated, Kenneth being wooed by Hattie, Hawtrey, Scott and Marsden struggling to get three into a two-man tent).

9th. Carry On Behind (1975).

This entry generally gets shoved near the bottom (pun intended) of the ‘best of’ lists, which I respectfully disagree with. Behind takes the aforementioned Camping and updates it to the caravanning era of the mid-1970s. Despite Sid being absent Windsor Davies forms a brilliant Sid-Bernie style partnership with Jack Douglas. Kenneth Williams’ Professor Crump is one of his funniest characters, running into trouble in the opening scene where his archeology lecture is derailed when a smutty film is put into the projector instead and struggling to share a ‘dirty caravan’ with Elke Sommer’s free-spirited Professor Vooshka.

There’s also a grounded quality with the addition of the ‘three’s a crowd’ holidaymakers of Bernie, Patsy and mother-in-law Joan Sims, and Ian Lavender, Adrienne Posta and their dog. There’s even a minah bird with a tendency to say the muckiest things at the worst moments and a plot development that reunites Joan Sims with husband Peter Butterworth. A plot development with sink holes all over the campsite helps brings the movie to an end: perhaps the series too. But despite the occasional scene that feels uncomfortably forward even for its time (the moment near the end where one of the archaeological students blatantly grabs the nearest cleavage) the film is full of some great two-hander dialogue, such as the scenes where Windsor and Jack discuss their different priorities in going on a camping holiday, as well as some surprisingly sly observations about marital ennui.

8th. Carry On Doctor (1967).

Filming of this latest medical comedy could have been severely hindered by Sid James’ real-life heart attack. However the addition of series debutant Frankie Howerd, filling some of the screentime where the reduced Sid would have been, is a masterstroke: his hyperchondriac charlatan takes the lion’s share of the laughs as his belief in faith over medicine is severely tested when he suffers a tumble.

There’s good supporting humour from Sid with his secret smoking under the bed covers, Charles Hawtrey’s ‘sympathetic pregnancy’ when his screen wife goes into labour, and there’s another fine performance from Jim Dale, whose sympathetic Doctor clashes with Williams’ heartless, cackling surgeon, and he also handles himself well in the rooftop scene (complete with dutch angles and dramatic strings). Truth be told it’s probably the finest of the hospital-themed Carry Ons, and on the basis of this performance it’s a shame that Howerd would only appear in one more movie with the gang.

7th. Carry On Cabby (1963).

One of the grittier offerings in a series that wasn’t generally known for its kitchen-sink melancholy and frustration. Carry On Cabby sees Sid play the boss of his cab company, whilst getting behind the wheel himself, and he bounces well off his two most prominent drivers: the downtrodden Kenneth Connor and the camp, enthusiastic Hawtrey (who had to take a crash course in driving before filming).

Jim Dale, still yet to take a leading role in the show, makes an early cameo here and impresses. But playing perhaps her finest role in the films Hattie Jacques, as Sid’s lonely and neglected wife, sets up a rival firm whose ‘Glam Cabs’ challenge the old-fashioned patriarchy of Sid’s world of male-only cab drivers, and threatens to steal the show. The climactic hijack sequence is a little ‘damsel in distress’ (as ever the Carry Ons tended to support old values rather than challenge them) but it’s well-staged and convincingly filmed.

6th. Carry On Screaming! (1966).

With Harry H Corbett taking the lead role from the indisposed Sid (for his one and only Carry On) it’s difficult to imagine anyone else in it: the Steptoe And Son star, equally adept playing comedy and drama, is outstanding. Actually everyone’s on great form here: Kenneth Williams as the white-faced, twitching Dr Watt and the late Fenella Fielding as his sister, the sultry Valeria Watt.

There’s also brilliant support from Charles Hawtrey’s Dan Dann and Jon Pertwee’s Doctor Fettle: wherever you look there’s funny characters, sarcastic observations and, crucially, a genuine sense of foggy tension and peril. Screaming often vies for the best Carry On and it’s easy to see why: far funnier than many of the subsequent attempts to pair horror and comedy outside the series. It’s a camp delight throughout.

5th. Carry On Spying (1964).

Despite a reduced cast of Carry On stars in comparison to even the then-recent movies, Spying – sensibly filmed in black and white – is one of the more accomplished films. Whilst the core characters are down to a quartet they’re all well-developed and written for here. Superior but guileless Kenneth Williams leads the quartet which includes quick-learner Barbara Windsor, wimpish Charles Hawtrey and determined Bernard Cribbens, and the group spend their time blundering around Vienna (in a clever parody of The Third Man) and Morocco, accidentally foiling Jim Dale’s rather more accomplished spy.

These make up some of the funniest scenes in the movie, his reaction shot when Williams apparently takes vital paperwork from Victor Maddern’s enemy agent only to give it straight back to him is one of the best parts of the movie. There’s solid support from the likes of Eric Barker and Richard Wattis and the movie is in some ways a more gentle, enjoyable spoof of the James Bond series than the rather more brash Austin Powers films. As a final observation the chief antagonist is revealed to be non-binary: perhaps the Carry Ons weren’t quite as socially regressive after all?

4th. Carry On Cleo (1964).

A joy from start to finish, Carry On Cleo is plotted in an almost Shakespearean fashion, with the plot driven by mistaken identities, but there’s also classic sequence after classic sequence: the ‘infamy’ scene, Connor’s fake battle, Hawtrey hiding in the urn and calling himself “Little Ernie”. Kenneth Williams and Joan Sims spark off each other brilliantly as Caesar and his wife, and Sid James, hitherto loyal, is turned against his leader by Amanda Barrie’s dim yet alluring Cleopatra.

If Kenneth Williams arguably steals the show as the wimpish, complaining Caesar then Barrie, James and Connor aren’t far behind, whilst E V H Emmett’s pompous but dry-witted narration adds further chuckles. Most of the Carry On films are embellished by strong double-acts and this has plenty: Williams and Sims, Williams and James or Connor and Dale: the incompetent Hengist Pod is one of the long-serving Connor’s funniest characters and contrasts nicely with Dale’s dashing heroics. Carry On Cleo is an excellent comedy film, unquestionably one of the series’ high points.

3rd. Don’t Lose Your Head (1966).

Boasting wonderful location filming outside of Pinewood Don’t Lose Your Head is a far lusher, more satisfying picture than the rather tired, derivative Dick. The Kenneth Williams-Peter Butterworth duo of bickering villains is one of the most satisfying double-acts the series produced. Like in Carry On Dick Sid again gets to play two roles, this time the camp, Hawtrey-like role of Sir Rodney Ffing – and that’s before you get the chance to catch James in his unforgettable drag scene getting to kiss Williams: who says James always played it butch?

There’s barely a weak moment, apart from a bit of padding before James, Dale and Hawtrey (stealing the show with a sparkling performance, particularly in the side-splitting guillotine scenes at the start) attack at the end, but it’s a film that takes the best of the historical Carry Ons, plenty of derring-do, a cast at their most inspired and fresh and some sumptuous locations.

2nd. Carry On Abroad (1972).

The cheap and not-always-cheerful world of the package holiday, as relevant in these times as then, is brilliantly lampooned here. This is a perfect example of how well-observed and sharp the satire of the Carry Ons could be, behind all of the 'oo-ers' and ‘not ‘alfs’. A fine collection of regulars all get funny material in the excursion to the Elsbels Spanish resort, whether it’s the love triangle of Sid, Babs and Joan Sims, the sexless marriage of Kenneth Connor and June Whitfield or the cheerfully inebriated Charles Hawtrey’s random but always delightful appearances.

There’s plenty of great material for guest star Jimmy Logan, such as the running gag where he goes out onto the balcony only to have it collapse – twice! – and there’s even a rare, successful romance between Kenneth Williams and his besotted assistant Miss Plunkett. Peter Butterworth and Hattie Jacques make a fine, bickering couple as they try to run the (literally) crumbling hotel, and the fantastically-paced finale is one of the most successful in the series’ history, packed with great sight gags and a feeling of impending chaos. The end party at Sid’s party is a fine send-off, not least for Charles Hawtrey who would not make another Carry On film. A delight, from beginning to end.

1st. Carry On Up The Khyber (1968).

It’s more difficult to come up with reasons against this affectionate mocking of colonial Britain winning ‘best Carry On’ than for. Sid is at his most effortlessly dominant, bouncing brilliantly off the likes of Joan Sims, series one-off Roy Castle (in a Jim Dale-style role here but with a little less romance and a touch more stuffiness) and Julian Holloway. Rothwell’s script allows the chance for the British pomposity to be pricked, notably by Peter Butterworth’s terrified audience identification figure. Meanwhile Kenneth Williams, underplaying very effectively at times (which later films lacked) gives and takes frustrated observations on British behaviour with the menacing, brutish Bresslaw.

The cameos are quite wonderful – Cardew Robinson’s ever-enthusiastic fakir, even after losing his head – Terry Scott’s bellowing Sergeant Major is probably his finest hour, combining laughs with authority and constantly clashing with Hawtrey’s reluctant Private Widdle. There are too many classic scenes to mention; the dinner scene where the British cheerfully disregard the palace slowly being destroyed around them, Scott and Hawtrey’s disastrous last stand, Williams misunderstanding the Burpas ways of communicating (“they do everything backwards”) the trouser-dropping farce of James being caught out by Sims after ‘going for tiffin’ one too many times.

Brilliantly funny, sharp yet endearing, Up The Khyber stands as not just the Carry On films’ finest moment but arguably British comedy’s too.

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THE END (please comment if you have any thoughts on this article or the subject).