I’ve got a real soft spot for this film.
Maybe thats because 1960’s b/w Brit films “do it” for me in some kind of oddly nostalgic way. Its not as if I my own memories of the 1960’s fill me with any affection (misery more like) But maybe its a decade when being Alan Bates or Albert Finney or any young up and thrusting bloke was a lot more fun than my non-fun existence as a trapped kid. Or maybe, perversely, seeing the monochrome dinge of back then is a salutory reminder of the deprivation I’ve come from.
This film is alot better than the TV version that got made for ITV 20 years later.
Vic Brown fancies typist Ingrid. So he asks her to pay his bus fare. And then he asks her out.
What a handsome chap Alan Bates was/is. He wants Ingrid, because, well – he wants some.
The double-deckers, the co-op milk-float, the steamy trains and smokey stacks, the wet cobbles, the gas lamps, the gloom, the misery – you can’t beat it, it’s so beautifully dank.
Furtive kissing in the park shelter “I’m crazy about you Ingrid“. Vic doesn’t think she’s common; but he’d still like to get his leg over (her)
Being seen out with a lass – a sly business.
But before long Vic is realising what a dim bim Ingrid is. Well, is she going to go all the way with him or not?
No, not who he’d hoped or imagined her to be at all.
So getting a bit fed up and frustrated with her now.
Better to just dump her and be done with it. (yes, you should have Vic)
But she doesn’t want to dumped, is clinging on. So Vic de-dumps her.
All he wants, is to have his happy End away.
And now, at last, she’s going to let him have it/her.
Seems like it wasn’t much cop. By the looks on their post-coital faces a bit of a let down. More sad than happy end. More of a damp squib. Oh Vic, you pillock – was it worth it mate?
No. Its all downhill from now on. An unmitigated fucking disaster. End of. Loving over.
The 2nd half of this film is painful to watch. The consequence -cum-comeuppance of getting said leg over gets you trapped in schtuck.
Anyway, I’m not going to show the bitter rucks trapped Vic is going to have with Thora Hird (the Les Dawson mother-in-law from hell) But here are, Vic and Ingrid on their honeymoon.
Isn’t this whole seaside scene beautifully filmed? And at least we see Vic and Ingrid sharing a bit of sweetness with one another.
Married life lived with Mother-in-Hird-Thora-Law is killing all Vics happy dreams and hopeful ambitions. He’s not getting any, or any of what he wanted.
“Perhaps you’re sorry you married me” says Ingrid. “Theres no perhaps about it” says Vic.
If I were you Vic I’d get shot of Ingrid and her bloody snooty mother and buzz off bloody out of it. Which he does eventually. But not before he’s been sick on the old cows living room carpet
“How dare you! How dare you say such filthy, disgusting things! You come into this house drunk, filthy drunk! You’re filthy! You talk filth, you are filth! You’re filth! You filthy pig! You filthy, disgusting pig! Filth, filth! “ shouts Mother-in-law from Hell.
Ingrid has locked herself in mothers bedroom and won’t come out. Thats it. Vic has just about blumin had enough of this. Time to pack suitcase and scarper. Leave this bloody house.
But is he going to leave his marriage? Not really the done thing back in those days. You stuck with it through thick and thin. Even if you didn’t love your wife. And Vic doesn’t love Ingrid. Never has. His kind of loving was more like red-blooded male hormonal lusting.
So, a small Northern tragedy has played out. You’ve got an air brained blonde bird up the duff and then you’ve had to marry her. And, consequently, you’ve suffered your unloving lot. This is what could – and often did – easily happen when chaps let their unruly cocks rule their empty craniums.
Poor Vic. Poor Ingrid. Pooor the pair of them. I do, I feel sorry for them. Stuck hopelessly together. All through those black and white 60’s. Until the 70’s (and then he left her – I think?)
What warm melancholy this film seeps sweetly (and sadly) into me. Born earlier I could have been a Vic (I could have been me friggin dad. Fuck)
Dir: John Schlesinger, UK