X-rated... SCALA!!! (2023), BFI and on general release

Imagine a world without digital media, a world in which a few people may have had VHS, Betamax or Video2000 video recorders and in which, if you wanted to see a specific film after it’s general release had concluded, you had to wait and hope that it would turn up on TV. What if very few of the films you liked or had heard about from books, or the niche-cultural NME, Time Out or Sight and Sound, were suitable for television either because of their subject matter or perceived worthiness? This was the world of the mid-1970s and it is so far removed from today’s streaming, downloading and digital home media, that many under the age of say 40 might struggle to understand.

 

SCALA!! Or to give its full title of, SCALA!!! Or, the incredibly strange rise and fall of the world’s wildest cinema and how it influenced a mixed-up generation of weirdos and misfits… sets out to explain how we lived in those dampened times, gathering in venues with sticky carpets, rumbling inner city traffic and an audience some of whom were there for the cheap accommodation all-nighters would provide – and I knew a few who would sleep there on trips to the capital.

 Kings Cross 1981: Alan Gregory, manager,Jayne Pilling, programmer and Stephen Woolley (Photo David Babsky)

 

Stephen Woolley founded The Scala in 1978 in order to programme films outside the mainstream; the forgotten or the forbidden and material even the BFI wouldn’t touch. There was a growing interest in obscure, quirky and classic cinema pre-dating the Scala, and grindhouse, sleazy and arthouse porn in the seventies and Woolley, Jayne Pilling, Helen de Witt and Jane Giles may not have been the only ones observing this but, kids… they put the show on right here! 

These were the films the NME (which I devoured every week as my teenage training for the counterculture I expected to find down south) covered and celebrated, the works of John Walters, Russ Meyer, Derek Jarman, young David Lynch and other emerging outsiders. The venue also screened classics such as King Kong, and the likes of Laurel and Hardy or days devoted to The Saint or The Avengers, stylish sixties. It was part of that cultural re-evaluation inspired by punk and new wave and there were outposts across the country linked together by the NME and others; Eric’s club in Liverpool would screen Enter the Dragon before gigs, and more – membership there was also 50p a year, I think?

 

The Scala opened in 1978 in Tottenham Street in a 350-seat cinema that had been built in the basement of an office building, Scala House which replaced a rather splendid theatre… such is progress. The newly formed Channel Four Television moved into the building forcing the Scala Cinema to relocate to the circle of the former King's Cross Cinema in July 1981.

 

Lemmy in The Decline of Western Civilisation, as usual...

This is where I first started to go to the Scala but, I must confess, not quite in the way that some of those interviewed for this documentary did. I remember one especially good double bill with Penelope Spheeris’ jaw-dropping The Decline of Western Civilization Part II: The Metal Years (1988) supporting the mighty Talking Heads in Stop Making Sense (1984), still the greatest concert film ever made and the perfect balance to the dinosaur world depicted in “The Metal Years” but this is the art of programming and the team at the Scala were masters of it.

 

The Scala felt like the biggest cinematic jukebox in London and whilst they revelled, as do some of the talking heads in the film, in its cult, “outsider” status, most of the films shown there were not being shown anywhere else or, in many cases, not before the Scala had shown that prints were available. Being a student at the start of the 80s, we watched so many films that were not doubt inspired by the Scala and then brought to the sticky-carpeted, quirky, independent Penultimate Picture Palace off Cowley Road in Oxford. That’s where we saw Walerian Borowczyk’s Immoral Tales (1973) on a double bill with La Bête (1975), exactly as seen at the Scala, along with so many others including classics like Blondes Have More Fun all on 35mm... imagine that?!

 

Co-directed by Jane Giles a Programme Director for many years, and Ali Catterall, who credits the venue with turning him into a film critic, the film features contributions from the people who worked at the Scala as well as those who were there simply to watch the films, or to get a late-night drink and, possibly more in the darkness of the auditoriums’ upper rows… Actor/writer Ralph Brown (you know, Danny the Dealer in Withnail) worked in the bar and has some high quality tales to tell as does DJ Mark Moore, Gay’s the Word bookshop manager Jim MacSweeney, Adam Buxton, Caroline Catz and others. There’s a glint in everyone’s eyes about the moments and the extremes that sometimes occurred.

 

Ralph Brown rages against the machines

Stewart Lee’s story about Thunderclap! (1975) stands out when a man who had wandered in not knowing what to expect and, after gradually realising the way the film was going – multiple sexual encounters, hardcore and probably illegal – turned to the audience and asked them what they were watching and why. As Stewart says, you don’t get this in the multiplex…

 

Barry Adamson, who I first saw playing bass for Magazine at Eric’s in 1978, provides a suitably dynamic score, influenced by sixties beats, surf guitars, and the cinematic references he’s so adept at. He too was a Scala regular and in addiction to his many scores, the musical vibrancy of these films is reflected in his solo albums like Moss Side Story (1989) and Oedipus Schmoedipus (1996) – containing the swaggering brilliance of The Big Bamboozle! – which are designed as soundtracks for imaginary films.

 

Scala!!! Celebrates its influence on these creators and the cineastes, but more than anything else it marks the spirit of enquiry that made us all seek out the films and the spirit of this place that, ultimately, was all things to all people. Café, monkey house, venue, meeting place, hotel… inspiration.

 

You can experience/re-experience the Scala for yourself this month as the BFI is not only showing the documentary itself from 5^th January but also a number of the films that it championed including Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill!, Pink Narcissus, Pink Flamingos, La Bête and, amazingly Thundercrack! – not for the easily offended as the programme notes (I wonder if Ricky Gervais will come along?).

Long live The Scala spirit!!!

 

Details of the BFI’s season of films screened by the Scala are to be found here.

Scala!!! screenings on the Southbank and elsewhere can befound here.

 

It’s not the same as the old A3 printed schedules, which were a work of art in themselves from Mike Leedham and Patricia McGrath of 2D design but things have moved on in some respects. I may have some in the loft, excuse me while I get the ladder…

The Scala Programme for January 1986, a real mix with three silent GW Pabst films on 8th - Secrets of a Soul hasn't been screened in decades by the way! - zombies, Woody Allen, Hitchcock, classic gay marathon, Madonna, Letter to Brezhnev and Stop Making Sense. 

Scala Programme, January 1986, Taken from Scala Cinema 1978-1993 by Jane Giles

Nothing proved… Scandal (1989), BFI Blu-ray/DVD out now

Hot on the heels of the recent BBC series, and thirty years on from its release, it’s interesting to learn that Scandal was originally conceived as a three-part TV series by producer Stephen Woolley and writer Michael Thomas who felt that was the best medium for what is still a news story. Indeed, even in 1989 the Profumo scandal was very much alive with the “establishment” obstructing this film where they could – the BBC and others went cold after initial interest, locations where hard to find and which actor was brave enough to play the role of one of Mrs Thatcher’s best friends.

Interesting also is the initial take of director Michael Caton-Jones on meeting Woolley and the team at Palace Pictures who he thought were more about marketing stylish stories than content. Caton-Jones' graduate film at the National Film and Television School – included here – was after all, The Riveter (1986) a tough tale of working-class folk in Glasgow whilst Woolley had just made Absolute Beginners (1986); was this going to be another case of nostalgia for cash? After roughing them up on first encounter he decided they were serious about the subject matter and the potential the project had to make a political point as well as right some of the wrongs of recent history.

Amazingly Ian became Sir Ian in spite of the film, Joanne became Whalley-Kilmer and that's a whole different story.

My memory of the film did have it closer to Caton-Jones’ initial impressions – especially with the Pet Shop Boys and Dusty coolly stylish theme, Nothing Has Been Proved -  but watching it again now you can understand why John Hurt listed it among his favourite films. Hurt plays a blinder as Dr Stephen Ward who’s lust for life is as apparent as the determination of the powers that be to set him up as the fall guy for the infidelity of the Minister of War. Of course, John Profumo (Ian McKellen) also made the foolish decision to lie to Parliament about his involvements not just for his unfaithfulness but also because of the links Keeler and Ward had with a Russian spy.

Hurt plays Ward with a confident sensitivity, there’s even an innocence in his game playing with the swinging set and his picking up of young women to provide illicit thrills for strait-laced former public-school boys in select parties in Knightsbridge. He’s attracted to Christine Keeler – played here by the It Girl of the era, Joanne Whalley (who I once saw as Lulu in Pandora’s Box at the Almeida…) – perhaps more for what she can provide to others than himself and – she says – moulds her from show girl to high-class “companion” if not escort.

The Man, John Hurt

There’s another silent film link as the nightclub in which Christine works is set in the Café de Paris, the location used for Piccadilly (1928) with Anna May Wong. Here we also meet Mandy Rice-Davies played by Bridget Fonda with decent English accent and enough sass to earn her a Golden Globe nomination. As my daughter observed, the two actresses are more “objectified” than in the recent TV series and even though Joanne Whalley refused to do nude scenes and a double had to be used, the camera lingers long on the two as they put on their “warpaint” as The Shadows Apache plays. Even 1989 is a long way away when you’re 21 and when you’re older you just forget how much you’ve changed. The film was made 27 years after the scandal and released 31 years ago… which makes it braver than it seemed at the time given the posthumous handling of Profumo’s affair.

Ian McKellen is excellent as the Minister in question even though Profumo’s pattern baldness has clearly challenged make-up teams all along. He captures the sympathy in ways which balance out the narrative, he was as a victim too albeit one with more resources and friends in high places enough to allow him to carry on his life working for a charity. There’s one lovely moment when he’s in bed with Christine as she opens her moth in what initially looks like ecstasy before covering it to stifle a yawn… yes, there was clearly something else about the rich and powerful middle-aged man that attracted the teenager other than his animal magnetism.

Getting ready for battle

There’s also super support from the likes of Roland Gift as Christine’s lover Johnny Edgecombe, the legendary Jean Alexander as Christine’s Mum and Leslie Phillips as Lord Astor, one of Stephen’s better friends and therefore one of his biggest betrayers when the need to make him guilty arose. The police are a motley duo of Alex Norton and Ronald Fraser whilst the press couldn’t get any sleazier than young Keith Allen and the brilliant Ken Campbell.

Deborah Grant plays Valerie Hobson and is identified only as Mrs. Profumo in the film’s credits… even then there were some lines that couldn’t be crossed and it’s a wonder that this film was able to tread the path it did.

The BFI set includes a making of film with contributions from Hurt as well as Woolley and the Michael’s Thomas and Caton-Jones along with extended interviews with both director and producer. There are commentaries from all three along with the documentary Cabaret Girl (1956, 26 mins) on Murray’s Cabaret Club, shot shortly before its owner hired Christine Keeler and Mandy Rice-Davies as dancers. There’s the usual essay-packed booklet and you even get the Dusty/PSB video.

It’s available on 24th February from the BFI shop on and offline.