volume 2
BRITSPLOITATION now that’s what icall
in the second part of our in-depth celebration of low budget rock ’n’roll celluloid we venture into the sleazy ’70s and beyond, with acast that includes the bee gees, paul nicholas, roger daltrey and more. let DREWE SHIMON be your guide
S
o, where had we got to again? Oh, yes, the Floyd. I think it’s fair to say that they sum up the idea of “counterculture”, particularly during that magical period of 1967-73, better than any other band. The
fact that we now tend to link the ’60s and ’70s together, even though in truth they were radically different, is in no small part down to them. This also reinforces a theory posited by horror historian Darrell Buxton that the ’60s didn’t end till the early ’70s, in the same way that the ’60s really only started in ’63/64 with the advent of Beatlemania. Ironically, ol’ Dazza isn’t much of a Floydian himself, so he’ll be pleased to see that we’re not about to go into further detail on the subject. Now is not the time. Besides which, there were others even less “underground” than Cambridge’s finest involved. They may have “forgotten”, but we haven’t…
Shortly before contributing to the kids’ film Melody (AKA S.W.A.L.K.) the soundtrack of which changes hands for ridiculous money, The Bee Gees gave us Cucumber Castle (’70), starring Vincent Price, Eleanor Bron, Spike Milligan, Frankie Howerd, Lulu and Blind Faith (I am SERIOUSLY not making this up), a film so inept it makes Magical Mystery Tour seem like Bergman by comparison.
And talking of a certain beat combo from Liddypool, let’s not forget Son Of Dracula. Like he’d never gotten over Painted Smile, Ringo became the Beatle most bitten by the film bug, appearing in Candy and The
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Magic Christian, but those were high- profile compared to this Freddie Francis- directed Apple oddity starring Lennon’s best mate Harry Nilsson alongside Frampers, Moonie and Bonzo. Only available via “dodgy” sources (both legally and visually), the film is enjoyable (especially the ‘Jump Into The Fire’
sequence) but ample proof that not every rarity is a masterpiece.
On the other hand, Don Sharp’s Psychomania (’72), despite what leading man Nicky Henson may claim to the contrary, is exactly that. His immaculately spoken cycle gang, The Living Dead (like a
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