cinema
ABSTRACT
Film-makers have often used highly stylized representations of England to frame stories that accord to a particular vision of England. This is the Albion conjured up by Orwell, Betjeman and latterly Peter Ackroyd; it is the Albion that has been repeated in British filmed comedy over the last forty years and it is in sharp contrast with a strong history of social realism. It operates as a deflection from the realities of living in England but also as an attractive and exportable aesthetic.
‘THE SUET PUDDINGS AND RED PILLAR BOXES HAVE
ENTERED YOUR SOUL.’ (ORWELL 1957: 65)
Film-makers have often used highly stylized representations of England to frame stories that accord to a particular vision of Albion. This is the Albion conjured up by Orwell, Betjeman and latterly Peter Ackroyd; it is the Albion that has been repeated in comedy over the last forty years and it is the Albion which contrasts with a strong history of social realism. It operates as a
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deflection from the realities of living in England but also as an attractive and exportable aesthetic.
Edwardian Essex opens wide
Mirrored in ponds and seen through gates, Sweet uneventful countryside.
(Betjeman 1958: 185)
Albion lies in Essex county: in the comedy land of coarse girls in high heels and Ford Escorts, Bent Greatly has the largest village green in England. On lazy summer days, villagers sit and watch the local cricket team whilst sipping beer from The Plough. You can wander round the churchyard, the tiny pond with fish in and the Tescos which has put so many local businesses out of action. Here indeed could be Orwell’s ‘old maids hiking to Holy Communion through the mists of the autumn morning’ (Orwell 1957: 66), later bowdler- ized into John Major’s warm beer and old maids. It is the Albion of the imagi- nation, often consolidated by comic representation: an evocation as well an excellent marketing ploy.
The English are often defined by their humour. Previously, according to Orwell (and expressed without irony) ‘the common people … drink as much beer as their wages permit, are devoted to bawdy jokes, and use possibly the foulest language in the world’ (Orwell 1957: 67). This national sense of humour could be the result of many things: a substitute or expression of hos- tility or emotion; a relief from boredom and drabness; or an outlet for sexual frustration. The proliferation of jokes in English is the result of a fascinatingly complex linguistic entity that rapidly develops slang, absorbs other languages
Cricket. Photograph by Donna Hetherington.
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and is rich in synonym and wordplay: we joke because we can, or rather our language allows us to. Humour is the leavening of the dry social bread. As Paxman points out: ‘Does any other society put such a premium upon hav- ing a sense of humour?’ (Paxman 1999: 19). For humour has always been a social asset: wit was held in high esteem in Elizabethan times and enabled social advancement at the court of Charles II; it elevated poor bookseller’s son Doctor Johnson to a national icon; it has helped us through times when we have had to ‘grin and bear it’; ‘GSOH’ is a prominent acronym within lonely heart adverts; and being a bit of a joker means to be in possession of ‘char- acter’ (as Gervais’ creation of David Brent shows the modern English boss’ fear – to be seen lacking in ‘jokes’).
The English often do not take others seriously either: in 1592, a German wrote that the English ‘care little for foreigners, but scoff and laugh at them’ (Paxman 1999: 35). For Orwell, we ‘refuse to take the foreigner seriously’ (Orwell 1957: 74). A 1996 French tourist office text said that although the English ‘have a well-developed sense of humour and can laugh at themselves, they remain conservative and chauvinistic’ (Paxman 1999: 29).
The way in which England has been represented in comedy has alternated between romance and realism. The Ealing Comedies gave a very staid version of Albion: Passport To Pimlico (Henry Cornelius, 1949) shows the bomb sites of shattered post-war London with its stoical residents of uniformly good cheer;
The Man In The White Suit (Alexander Mackendrick, 1951) has several establish-
ing shots of factories and grim northern terraces asphyxiating under the excres- cence of the Industrial Revolution; and The Ladykillers (Alexander Mackendrick, 1955), filmed around Saint Pancras in the smog of the cuttings, sees the ‘help- less’ old lady at odds with the modern world. It is a ‘fact’ that an Englishman’s home is his castle and in much comedy it is often besieged: Alf Garnett’s East End terrace in Till Death Do Us Part (Johnny Speight, 1965) is the last bastion of working class Albion; the village in Dad’s Army (Perry & Croft, 1968) is quite literally awaiting invasion; Rigsby’s seedy realm in Rising Damp (Eric Chappell, 1974) is peopled by threatening students and foreigners; Alan Partridge (Steve Coogan, 1991) represents a desperate conservatism like Hancock or Basil Fawlty before him; and The Vicar Of Dibley (Richard Curtis, 1994) is a harbinger of modernity in its idealized village. This marketing of fairy tale Albion is some- thing American studios capitalized on: Mary Poppins (Robert Stevenson, filmed in America in 1964), Chitty Chitty Bang Bang (Ken Hughes, 1968) and Bedknobs
And Broomsticks (Robert Stevenson, 1971) are all played out against the back-
drop of a vision of true Albion, and the British comedy industry is also complicit in the continuation of this simulacrum.
‘IT’S GRAND TO BE AN ENGLISHMAN IN 1910.’
(GEORGE BANKS IN MARY POPPINS (STEVENSON, 1964))
Mary Poppins drifts into London over key Albion landmarks – Parliament, St. Paul’s, Tower Bridge – on a cloud of goodwill. It is a London bereft of squalor and full of cheeky sweeps, bankers in bowlers and bobbies. On Cherry Tree Lane the family house, staffed and situated in a charming square where nannies push prams and pointless miniature dogs are exercised, is overseen by a banker father and semi-neglected by a suffragette mother. Punctuality, the cooked breakfast and class hierarchy nail this to Albion’s unflappable mast. Against this, the magic of Poppins and the naïve Bert (played by an American with a Dutch name and probably the most famous ‘cockney’ accent in film
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36 1. http://www. boxofficemojo.com/ movies/?page=release s&id=marypoppins.htm. Accessed 15 September 2009.
2. The disused windmill can still be seen at Ibstone in Buckinghamshire. The film was made in Germany, England and at Pinewood Studios. 3. The explorer was always
the outreach worker for Albion.
history) is contrasted. The film grossed $102,272,727 1 so it is little surprise that
it has been reinvigorated on stage and been given many theatrical accolades: Poppins’ appeal to Albion is timeless, global and very profitable.