Category: British identity


The above two film stills are from Performance directed by Donald Cammell and Nicolas Roeg. In the first Chas (James Fox), is in a bathroom and the mirror image he sees is of a hard man, a tough guy. Chas looks too much like the person he is : a gangster on the run. He is not pursued by the police but by the violent mob he has worked for. A loaded gun won’t set him free. His only hope of escape is to change his physical appearance. In the second image he is bewigged and feminized so that he resembles the woman in the hand mirror who is witnessing his transformation.

These scenes take place while Chas is hiding out in a seedy basement flat in North London. His unconventional landlords are bohemian dropouts Turner (Mick Jagger) and Pherber (Anita Pallenberg).  At its heart, Performance is a clash of two subcultures: the criminal underclass and the post-hippy subculture.

Studios were uncertain about how to pitch this hybrid film and nervous about the controversy it seemed destined to cause. As a result, its release was delayed for two years. When it did finally reach cinemas in 1970, the promotional posters reflected ambiguities towards the content: “This film is about madness. And sanity. Fantasy. And reality. Death. And life. Vice. And versa.” As this slogan suggests, Performance defies easy categorization.

 Although Donald Cammell is credited as co-director, Performance is Nicolas Roeg’s cinematic vision and features his signature cut-up style editing technique. This creates a sense of menace and nervous energy by jumbling up the linear flow of the narrative.

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The distorted images in a convex mirror on the living room wall of a well-furnished luxury home in London reflect some uncomfortable truths about the British class divide.

Beneath an apparently civilized veneer, The Servant (Joseph Losey,1963) evokes a power struggle with a homoerotic subtext. One critic pronounced it “a kind of Sadeian prison theatre in which the class system is picked apart in clashes of manners and morals.”  

Freely adapted from a 1948 novel by Robin Maugham, this was the first of three movies directed by Joseph Losey to be based on screenplays by Harold Pinter.  Losey found exile in the UK in 1953 during the McCarthy era after being blacklisted by Hollywood.  Pinter was an Englishman motivated more by the language of human interaction than the rhetorical conventions of agitprop. His writing is so distinctive that an eponymous adjective was coined to describe his style. Sinister ‘Pinter-esque’ pauses are a recurring  feature of stage plays that have been characterised as ‘comedies of menace’.  Pinter’s ambiguous dialogues and brooding silences highlight the way in which communication often takes place beyond words, something the Swedish writer Per Wästberg called “the abyss under chat.” 

Pinter’s rage against the complacent upper classes is evident from his venomous screenplay. Tony (James Fox)  epitomises the unmerited arrogance that often comes from inherited wealth and privilege. He boasts pompously of planning to construct low-income housing for the people of Asia Minor but does no work to bring this project to fruition. This pipedream merely serves to emphasise his idleness.

Hugo Barrett (Dirk Bogarde) is his punctilious manservant full of very specific design tips e.g. “Mandarin red and fuchsia is a very chic combination, sir”. Barratt’s obsequious professionalism and intelligence contrasts with his master’s self-satisfied smugness and stupidity. Slowly but surely the power relations between these two men are reversed. The strong implication is that power and privilege are ubiquitously corrupting influences.

What we are witness to is not merely a fictional guide in how to overturn an archaic class structure but a suggestion of a rottenness at the core of the supposedly civilised society. The rich overlord is seen as an such an anachronous figure that the film carries the hope that he is representative of a dying breed. The continued appeal of Downton Abbey proves that this dream is far from being realised.

This is the third of a series of blog posts tied to mirror images in British films based on themes contained in a soon to be published book entitled  “Mirror Visions – From the New Wave to the New Wyrd. Reflections on British cinema.”

Echo and Narcissus by John Waterhouse (1903 oil painting – Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool)

When we face the world we need to know what we look like. The practical importance of mirrors is undeniable. You can check for blemishes, spots and general presentability.

On the downside, they can also be objects which encourage vanity and give sustenance to bloated egos.

In Greek mythology, Narcissus fell in love with his own image reflected in a pool of water. He became so hopelessly besotted with his reflection that he lost all sense of his true self.

The myth warns against the worship of one’s own outward appearance to the point that it results in alienation from others. I guess one modern equivalent might be an addiction to selfies.

In everyday life when we look at our reflections we commonly ask questions like :

•             Is this what I really look like? 

•             Is this how I want to look?

•             Is this what I have become?

The link between these questions and self-identity are obvious. Mirrors say a lot about how we see ourselves.

In the context of movies, mirror images can be applied themes like class, gender and education. A wider connection to concepts of cultural and national identity is also possible.

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One notable omission from almost all of ubiquitous ‘best films of the year’ lists is Steve McQueen’s Blitz. This film certainly has not generated the kind of the buzz one might have expected from such a high profile director dealing with such a timeless (at least to we Brits) subject matter.

When it comes to the cinematic treatment of race and identity in the UK, all paths sooner or later lead back to Empire. Although much is made of the cultural ‘revolution’ of Beatlemania and the sixties, the collective trauma of the second world war remains a watershed event for the nation’s self-image. There is an abiding myth that Britain alone defeated the Nazis; that the triumph over fascism came about because of the oratory of Winston Churchill and the songs of Vera Lynn. This is why, almost three quarters of a century after the end of empire, wartime events remain a potent reference point on the question what it means to be British

Despite this, McQueen’s tortuous Occupied City about the aftermath of wartime trauma in Amsterdam in the Netherlands gained more plaudits than the story of a bombed out London, England. Perhaps it was an the error for Blitz to go to streaming (on Apple TV) rather than trying to built momentum in cinemas. Is this the modern equivalent of straight to video releases? Ironically, McQueen was on record as aiming to reach as wide an audience as possible. For the moment at least he seems to have failed.

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TYRANNOSAUR Written and Directed by Paddy Considine (UK, 2011)

As part of my ongoing research into British films and national identity, I have just re-watched Paddy Considine’s Tyrannosaur (2011), one of a small but select sub-genre of films directed by well-known actors exposing the menace of toxic masculinity. Others are Gary Oldman’s Nil By Mouth (1997) and Tim Roth’s The War Zone (1999).

The working title of my book is Mirror Visions and will look at how British cinema has reflected and shaped national identity from the 1960s to the present day. The above three films will be included in a chapter entitled ‘Unbecoming Masculinity’.

Tyrannosaur was developed out of a 15 minute short  Dog Altogether (2007) whose stated aim was  “to start a film with a man kicking a dog to death, and  to try and get an audience to end up caring about him.”   This is a tall order and within this short time frame there’s little to indicate why this hate-filled, violent and destructive man should be deserving of our sympathy. One viewer on You Tube was unconvinced and commented  “Films like this should be banned, no wonder we’re in a sick world.”

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