New from Studiocanal‘s Vintage Classics is this release of the 1964 British kitchen sink drama The Comedy Man. Directed by Canadian filmmaker Alvin Rakoff – who is still alive, at the age of 97, at the time of writing, and makes an appearance in the bonus features – the film stars Kenneth More, Cecil Parker, Dennis Price and Billie Whitelaw.
More plays Chick Byrd, an actor trying to make a living in 1960s London, having previously been let go from his job in provincial repertory theatre, having slept with the producer’s wife. Moving into a shared house with Julian (Edmund Purdom), he meets with continual failure to get work, while his new housemate finds success very quickly. At the same time he meets and falls in love with Fay (Angela Douglas), a woman more than twenty years his senior (and an actress with whom More fell in love in real life, marrying her a few years later). This is after a short fling with Whitelaw’s character, Judy, an old friend familiar with his history of womanising.
When an actor friend of his passes away, losing his life to suicide, having been tortured by his own lack of success, Chick is told by the friend’s widow that just before his death he had been offered a job by an agent, Tommy (Parker). Contacting Tommy, Chick is able to slot into the vacancy, gaining a role in a successful TV commercial, after which work begins to flow. Although happy at finding success for the first time, he then wrestles with the concern that he has sold out, in doing adverts rather than following his passion for the theatre. It is clear also that the material benefits of making it leave him feeling hollow. The film ends with his leaving the city to return to rep, having found that success for him was not simply a matter of money.
The film is lean at just under 92 minutes, and features a clean, well-restored transfer with a decent stereo soundtrack. The story is presented as though it will be a comedy, but it is really a tough tale of man for whom his peak years never really happened, and in his late 40s is left seemingly unclear as to who he is and what he wants from life. He sabotages a job he was in for a mere six months, then announces to the audience why – a move that would not enamour him to anyone hiring, surely. He chases fame and money, and a younger woman, without any clear idea that any of this will make him happy. Judy calls him out as wanting to be twenty-five still, and this is clear in everything we see of him, with clarity only coming to him at the film’s denouement.
We can see in this work cinema maturing into a much more naturalistic beast, and the film is unafraid to tackle some quite adult themes, and including nudity. Though it is clear to see why this failed at the box office, as it is sometimes a tonally confused work, starting on a note of black comedy, followed by an musical intro that would not sound out of place in a Carry On film. In fact the score for the film as whole feels misplaced in a work that has suicide, affairs, and despair in abundance – yet is full of light, playful dialogue. That said, it is a decent story, with a very strong cast indeed, and can be recommended for those wanting to learn more about the genre, and British cinematic history as a whole.
There are two interviews and a trailer to round out this set. The first is the aforementioned discussion with Alvin Rakoff, who would likely have been ninety-six at the time of filming this. He has a wonderful memory, talking very highly of the cast of talented British actors, and he even has a little bit of gossip that comes with age and no longer having to worry about PR or protecting his career.
He recounts once being asked by George Clooney to name the most difficult actor he ever worked with, and he responded by talking about many he found challenging – Bette Davis and Rex Harrison to name two – before settling on Edmund Purdom, who effectively, he calls deeply unintelligent. Without intending to patronise Mr Rakoff, this sort of feature is the greatest advert for these types of sets, as they capture people’s memories before it is too late. It is terrific to see him in – apparently – such good health, and with stories to tell; this is an excellent use of its circa18 minutes.
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The second interview is with Neil Sinyard and runs to around 24 minutes. Neil is a veteran of these sets and is emeritus professor of Film Studies at The University of Hull, though as is a complaint common to these types of set, we are never told his credentials. His interview is really chiefly about context, the films of this genre, the state of repertory theatre at the time. He also discusses the relative commercial failure of the film, explaining that British cinema was somewhat in transition at the time, with New Wave having peaked and started to die away. He cites This Sporting Life as an example of a critical smash from this time that failed to get a widespread audience. Similarly, he is able to tell us of some excellent notices for this film. Sinyard is knowledgeable on the trivia around the film and the people involved, but he is also excellent on his analysis of the work itself. This is a feature very standard to this type of release, but this is meant as a compliment, as he is a fine speaker with a full understanding of his subject.
A trailer then rounds out an okay release for an enjoyable film. Its chief selling point (other than for committed fans of the film) is that interview with the director, as, although not a particularly special discussion in itself, to capture a man of that advanced an age before it is too late is to be commended.
The Comedy Man is out on Blu-ray, DVD and Digital on 18th March from Studicanal.
