The BFI’s laudable mission to
preserve some of the best examples from the wide selection of independent
features, produced in the UK under the Children’s
Film Foundation banner from the mid-1950s onwards, continues with this
second volume in the proposed series of individual DVD issues, which will be grouping
together three films from each decade of the CFF’s thirty year-long history
around a specific related theme or topic. This volume follows up on last year’s
collection of urban adventure stories (released under the broad, and fairly inclusive
title, London Tales) with a trio of films
about competition and childhood -- featuring plucky, inquisitive, outdoorsy
youngsters who are shown using their drive and industriousness to create or
modify various contraptions capable of being raced, with the ultimate aim of entering
into competitive endeavours and emerging from them victorious … but
still with an appreciation for the importance of moral qualities such as decency
and fair play, of course! Together, the three films which come under
consideration in Volume Two – collected
under the title The Race is On -- span the 1950s, ‘60s and ‘70s, and in doing so also
incidentally highlight the changing face of postwar Britain (or more
specifically, England) during the same period, up to around the late-seventies.
Setting these works side by
side helps to turn each one of the films into fascinating social documents in
their own right, charting not only the transformations in the landscape and
layout of modern cities & towns and their surrounding suburbs across three
decades, but also revealing subtle shifts in the imaginative role played by the
concept of childhood itself which is a construct presented here by a series of
writers and directors for a particular popular form of pictorial children’s
fiction which was always intended to be seen by a wide audience made up of
varying age groups. Relationships with parents and authority figures, and
attitudes to play and competitiveness are seen to evolve as the focus shifts from
implicitly middleclass values in the black-and-white era to a more socially
inclusive and regional, mullti-racial outlook by the start of the eighties, while the core
aims of the CFF are broadly adhered to throughout.
The Children’s Film Foundation was first created by the Odeon and
Gaumont cinema chain owner J. Arthur Rank in 1951 using money from the
Government’s British cinema ticket tax known as The Eady Levy, with the
intention of providing good, clean wholesome fun for younger audiences, in a
period when the egalitarianism which had been recently introduced into British
society during the war years, vied with still lingering respect for social
hierarchy and all the deference, restraint and conformity such traditionalism
seemed still to guarantee. As David Kynaston writes in Family Britain: 1951 -57 children were still thought of very much
as trainee adults in the mid-1950s,
but an emerging youth culture and the rise of the teenager was contributing to
a public perception that delinquency was increasing its hold on the nation’s
young, with all sorts of bad influences competing to corrupt from afar – most
of them, it seemed, American.
The CFF’s programme, headed
by respected producer Mary Field who was appointed Chief Executive of the
Foundation by Rank (the organisation's self-appointed Chairman), came of age when Saturday
morning picture clubs for children were still a commonplace, and, as Vic Pratt
writes in the accompanying booklet for this BFI release, ‘a house with a
flickery, black-and-white television set was still a novelty’. These weekly
matinee screenings offered a broad diet of continuing weekly serials, American
Westerns, comedy shows and old cartoons. It was clearly the intention of the
CFF to counter the perceived alien-ness of the American influence with a
home-grown form of drama that exemplified more culturally innate values,
practices and beliefs. Nevertheless, modern viewers of the first of these films
might find themselves in for a bit of a shock, especially if they are parents:
while writer and director Darcy Conyers’ wonderful film Soapbox Derby (1957) – made by the independent production company
Rayant Pictures Limited – aims to depict an excitable group of 1950s twelve
&thirteen year olds learning about responsibility, hard work, passion,
commitment and endeavour, it also suggests an ideal of boyhood that is marked by a
remarkably boisterous, rough & tumble attitude to life that demands a
certain amount of everyday knocks and scraps, quite often risking injury as
part of the natural growing up process that is necessary as part of learning from experience. The film
concocts an representaton of childhood that seems like it’s a million miles away from
our own far more protective and paranoid ideas about what constitutes an
appropriate level of risk for children to be exposed to, despite the lost
world of structured, adult-conceived and-approved organised hobbies and
past-times the film portrays as being the norm. Girls, on the other hand, of
course, are much more flighty beings: unpredictable, scatty little things,
requiring constant looking out for.
The story revolves around the
rivalry that exists between two youthful South London gangs of schoolboys, but
is cleverly organised into a narrative form suggesting the structure of a
wartime industrial espionage adventure. One of the gangs, The Battersea Bats, is led by Peter (the fifteen-year-old Michael
Crawford): he’s an earnest but energetic, tousle-haired blonde lad who
organises his members around the need to honour their gang with undivided
loyalty, solemnly insisting they swear a pledge to always protect its secrets
-- the latest of which is a plan for the
Bats to make their own racing Go Kart in time to enter the heats for the
upcoming Soapbox Grand Prix.
The members of the rival
gang, The Victoria Victors, seem to
prefer to spend most of their time snooping around their enemies’ ‘secret’
headquarters: the innards of an disintegrating, derelict haulage crane, once
used to supply Battersea Power Station, whose chimney flues can still be seen
here, belching smoke in the background of shot from across the Thames. Trying
to find out what their enemies are up to is seemingly their only Raison d'être , but it's an activity which
results in the first of many skirmishes breaking out between the two rivals
near the beginning of the picture. In the seventies, kids in children’s films
who recklessly played about and fought each other -- like this bunch do -- in
an abandoned dockyard full of empty warehouses, surrounded by piles of bricks,
unstable coal slag, rusting cranes and bits of old digger machines, long since
discarded among abandoned coal carts and train waggons, would probably be
expected to suffer dire consequences as an warning to any young
viewers watching not to copy such an example. This safety conscious attitude can
be seen in some of the later CFF films -- and it’s an outlook we’ve certainly
inherited today. Here though, when a member of the Victoria Victors drops in on the Bats while they’re discussing their plans for the up-coming race,
it kicks off a bout of energetic fisticuffs outside The Battersea Bats’ secret base, involving much dangerous-looking
activity taking place amongst surroundings that look like a veritable death
trap for small boys. Yet the whole sequence is scored by composer John
Wooldridge with perky, frivolous brass cues and directed to appear like an appealing,
exciting and enthralling piece of action rather than an ominous prelude to a
serious accident. The general tone suggests that this sort of thing is all
good-spirited roustabout behaviour that one should expect from healthy young
lads. This despite the punch-up ending with one of the Victoria Victors’ members falling off the embankment wall into the
Thames (actually he’s clearly pushed in by his opponent!) and consequently
having to be rescued by Peter and the local Watchman -- a rosy-cheeked old
duffer who turns out to be the Grandpa of one of the other Battersea bunch’s key members (Mark Daly – his last screen credit
after a career made up of playing innumerable amiable old timers), who
scurries to the rescue brandishing an inflatable rubber ring.
The Battersea Bats’ three members divide neatly into certain character ‘types’, possessing a portion
each of the positive qualities that are so vital to this race to make a
successful vehicle from scratch. Michael Crawford was only around fifteen when
he starred in this film, one of his earliest screen roles. His character,
Peter, is clearly the leader of the bunch -- a freckle-faced group captain in
knee-length shorts, coming up with the plans, enforcing the pledge to secrecy
and spurring on his troops to stick with it when the going gets tough, although
there is a potentially negative aspect to his character which comes out later
on. Crawford’s future prowess at physical stunt work is already in evidence
here as he -- along with several of the other boys, it has to be said -- is
allowed to perform some remarkably hazardous-looking activities in front of the
camera that would most definitely be frowned upon these days, further bringing
home the point that ideas about what childhood play could justifiably entail
have since become less tolerant of avoidable danger across the intervening
decades. Peter comes up with “Operation Scrounge” – the plan to find all the
bits and pieces the gang will need to create their Go Kart by begging and
scrimping; while saving their limited funds to spend on the all-important
wheels - which will need to be bought direct from the race organisers to make
sure they come up to scratch.
The brains and planning
behind the actual design for the vehicle belong to Bats founder member Foureyes Fulton (Roy Townsend – according to IMDb, this was his
only acting gig), whose intellect proves him adept at piecing together a set of
plans at home that will make an efficient, fast-moving machine, after he
secures some cranks and a three-speed gear from a cyclist neighbour who
promises to look in his shed for some spares. Foureyes (even his little sister
refers to him by this politically incorrect nickname), is the most like a mini
adult of the three protagonists, dressing in a little tweed suit and tie and
looking like a slightly dishevelled miniature Charles Hawtrey in his bottle-top
spectacles.
Finally Legs Johnson (Keith
Davis) is the brawn of the gang: a toothy, thick thighed lad with an untidy
‘pudding bowl’ haircut who’s the other boys’ choice to drive the vehicle in the
tests, the heats, and the final should they get that far. The film chronicles
the Bats’ endeavours as they work to
secure the nuts and bolts they’ll need for the build; as well as the steering
wheel, wire cables and aluminium sheeting (which are all acquired from a car
breakers’ yard) -- and then shows them diligently coming together back at base
to realise Foureyes’ brilliant plans. They encounter problems during the
construction that require a re-think of the whole design, but eventually the
gang end up with a working vehicle that they can test out at the local park.
All of this character-forming hard work and responsible, committed action is
shown to be in marked contrast to the methods of the Victoria Victors, who quickly cobble together an unwieldy-looking
beast without any proper planning, and are merely relying on materials supplied
by Lew’s dad, who himself displays an unhelpful and unsporting attitude which
has clearly rubbed off on his yobbish son. led by Lew Lender, the Victorias spy on the Bats’ test run in the park from behind
bushes and plot sabotage and then theft of Foureyes’ secret design sketches,
which are hidden in the living room clock cabinet in his house.
The girl is clearly also
being set up as a potential weak link in the gang’s armour, who might
accidently blab their secrets to the other side. In actual fact, we’re also
being encouraged to feel protective towards her; it is part of the same
construction of responsible boyhood being promoted in the film, to see girls as
cute, docile and inherently domestic. While the boys’ hobbyist’ pursuits are
categorised as a means of a play-form of acquiring necessary experience of the
complexities of adult life, a girl is merely a pleasant diversion from the
stresses and strains of work, an adornment that has to be cared for as part of
the male’s inherited societal responsibility, but who plays no active part in
the shaping of events. That’s why Lew’s actions towards her ultimately make him
the unredeemable bad guy of the film when he breaks into the Fultons’ house,
rifles through their living room drawers and cupboards to look for the plans in
front of a bemused Betty, then tricks the girl into giving up their location –
threatening to smash her doll Maureen if she tells on him. Lew’s actions
inadvertently cause a life-threatening accident involving Betty, and a rift
between the Bats lads after Peter
sees Lew looking at the stolen plans in the street and hastily draws the wrong
conclusion that Foureyes has betrayed the gang, cornering his chief designer on
his doorstep and accusing him: ‘you’ve given away our secrets – that’s what
matters! You deserve to be chucked out of the gang!’ Peter’s lack of trust
provides Lew (under guidance from his unscrupulous father, who has clearly
brought the lad up as a wrong ‘un) the chance of recruiting Foureyes to the Victoria Victors for real, since the
gentle bespectacled lad is unaware of
Lew’s culpability in Betty’s accident and that it was he who originally stole
the plans from his house. Lew tricks Foureyes into feeling an obligation to help
the Victorias by offering to help him
to pay for a new doll for Betty as a replacement for the destroyed Maureen –
the doll being the ultimate symbol of the boys’ failure to protect their giggly pig-tailed
mascot, who now lies injured in hospital.
While the children in the story
are always the prime movers in generating action and moving the plot forward,
adults are presented as benign but passive authority figures, mostly kept in
the background. They set parameters for the youngsters but are not really part
of their world. Thus Mrs Fulton unknowingly makes a suggestion that undermines Foureyes’
status within the group when she offers his old pram wheels for the Go-Kart
(‘Oh mummy! This is a proper racing car!’) and treats the project like a
child’s fancy rather than a serious endeavour. Other adults offer their help in
various ways but don’t view the boys’ efforts as being particularly worthy of
serious consideration. The only real exceptions to this rule are Legs’ Grandpa
and Mr Lender, each of whom behaves more like an overgrown schoolboy than the
heroes themselves: Grandpa Johnson provides bubble car transport and causes
chaos through his inability to reverse properly, while the childish bully Mr
Lender is so invested in his son coming out on top that he even takes part in
fights against Lew’s young opponents! And if one thought the opening dockside
punch-up was promoting dangerous activity then just look at what these supposed
adults get up to after Mr Lender encourages his son to steal the Bats’ Go Kart when it trounces their
effort in the Stage One heats, helping Lew out with a plan to throw it into the Thames! When
they’re disturbed before they can dispose of it, the father & son villains load it onto the back of
Mr Lender’s truck instead and take it to a sand pit to be buried. The resultant
climactic punch-up before the racing finale would’ve got both Grandpa Johnson
and Mr Lender locked up for quite a while for their part in it, and their
encouragement of some very reckless activity on a dangerous work site!
The final act contrives to
have Peter being forced to replace Legs as driver in the racing face-off
between The Battersea Bats and the Victoria Victors, while Foureyes ends up
taking control of the rival’s contraption (after Lew earlier predictably
cheated to earn the gang’s place in the final -- but has since been ‘detained’
at the sand pit showdown). The end of the film has Betty make a recovery just
in time to reveal all and bring about a reconciliation between Peter and her
brother, before Lew and Mr Lender are ritually humiliated in the traditional
CFF chase scene climaxing with the bad guys slipping and falling over in some
mud, while the rest of the cast stand aside pointing and laughing at their
plight!
Like most of the CFF’s output, almost all of the action is shot on
location, affording lots of glimpses of a changing London: the gritty
black-and-white photography captures collier boats steaming across the Thames,
supplying a smoking Battersea Power Station; crowed pedestrian streets and
marketplaces full of now-unfamiliar store names display late 1950s London and
its contemporary traffic in all its authentic glory; while clean-looking new
build, identikit terraced housing provides the setting for the Fultons’ neat
house with its flock wallpaper and 14” Bush TV set in the corner.
Come 1967,
the earthy black-and-white grittiness of Soapbox
Derby has been exchanged for glorious colour, and city locations for green
and leafy English suburbia in the equally enchanting The Sky-Bike. This is a slightly more whimsical picture about a boy
called Tom Smith (Spencer Shires) who loves flight and dreams of nothing but
being able to fly. Literally: his bedroom wall is plastered with pictures of
planes and flying contraptions and he has an out-of-body-experience while he
sleeps as the film’s chirpy sing-along title number by Frank Goodwin and Harry
Robinson pounds out, in which he dreams of his spirit rising and leaving his
sleeping body and flying out of the window at night. The boy spends most of his
time daydreaming and walks about imagining himself as a pilot receiving
instructions from ground control – to the extent that he ends up in a heap at
the bottom of the stairs when he gets up in the morning after fantasising that
he’d be able to sail down to breakfast using his dad’s umbrella, Mary Poppins
style.
Tom has a best mate called Bill
(nicknamed Porker because he’s slightly on the chunky side, played by Ian
Ellis) and goes for bike rides at an old abandoned airfield with him and his
sister Daphne (Della Rands). But when he encounters an eccentric old man called
Mr Lovejoy (who turns out to be the local funeral director, Mr Graves –
geddit?) while out on a solitary ride with only his fantasies of flight for
company, he gets drawn into the old man’s quest to build a foot-peddled flying
contraption for a local competition run by the aeronautics society, that’s
aiming to find the first person who can build and fly such a device in a
figure-of-eight pattern, unaided by a motorised engine. Lovejoy’s flying
machine is built from an old tandem bicycle fitted with flapping wings, and is
clearly an unworkable Heath Robinson contraption; but Tom names it the Sky-Bike
and commits to helping the old man (Liam Redmond, Night of the Demon, 1958)
perfect the impossible machine, even creeping out at night to work on it in the
shed at the airfield where it’s secretly being kept, and emerging in the early
hours of the morning on the day his family is meant to be going on their
holidays, too tired to stay awake during the car journey as his good natured,
pipe-smoking dad attempts to point out local sights of interest: ‘kids these
days just aren’t interested in anything anymore,’ bemoans Mr Smith (William
Lucas).
The Sky-Bike conjures
up a blissful, nostalgic world of endless blue sky summer holidays where birds
chirp melodiously in bucolic country lanes and the red telephone boxes gleam
bright and new in the sun which blazes down from cloudless skies onto the
crunchy gravel driveways and freshly cut park lawns of sixties suburbia.
Whereas Soapbox Derby was a down to
earth, to some extent realistic, portrayal of boys coming of age and entering
into the values of a middleclass adult world of responsibility and fair play
(unlike the shifty working class Lender clan and their ilk), this film presents
a protagonist who is more of a dreamer, and who lives in his own head half the time,
and who worries and annoys his mum (Ellen McIntosh) because he’s always late home
for tea and forgets to run simple errands through being so caught up in his
fantasy world of play (he gets sent to the library to return a book but gets so
engrossed in searching for Mr Lovejoy’s address in the Records Department that
he ends up coming back with it still secured to the back of his bike!).
Tom’s
obsessions bind him to the eccentric pursuits of Mr Lovejoy, who is clearly
too old and out of puff to get his flying contraption off the ground, despite
his unending enthusiasm. Nevertheless, the film essays a version of essentially
the same plot seen in the previous 1950s film, in which the couple’s commitment and effort
literally see their dreams come true when the ramshackle device does somehow gain
the ability to fly (giving the story a magical, much more fantastical quality
than its predecessor); but the duo then have to contend with sabotage and
kidnap from a jealous rival group who have also entered the same competition
and have been using the same strip of ground to test their much more
sophisticated machine.
Once again, the rivals are a wealthy bunch of authority
figures that include David Lodge as a ‘little Hitler-ish’ airfield guard, Bill
Shine as upper crust busybody Wingco, and Guy Standeven as a stiff-lipped
squadron leader who has a WW1 fighter plane in tow for creating a slipstream to
help his team’s device get off the ground. Just as we saw in the first film of
this set, the rival competitors are not content with this kind of flagrant cheating
to ensure they win, they also trick a disgruntled Porker (angry about being
left out of Tom and Mr Lovejoy’s secret plans) into giving away the location of
the Sky-Bike, which they then smash up, for good measure abducting Mr
Lovejoy as well -- just to make sure he won’t be competing with them -- and leaving him bound,
gagged and locked up in a public convenience while they prepare to make their
bid to snatch the competition prize.
The thrust of this version of
the same narrative becomes about Tom’s world of apparently unrealisable fantasy
being made the reality. Initially, all adults apart from Mr Lovejoy (and by
implication the rival competitive group) are out of the loop with regard to the
existence of the Sky-Bike and Tom’s involvement in the competition, but after
the machine is destroyed, everybody in Tom’s life is drawn into coming together
to make the impossible happen. Daphne, as the only girl in the film, is
naturally tasked with sowing the shredded ‘wings’ back together and Tom’s mum
and dad are there for support when Porker comes to his senses, realises he’s
been used by the others, and reveals the whereabouts of the kidnapped Lovejoy.
It ends up being Tom and Porker who take to the skies in pursuit of their
competitors’ craft when the old man admits that he’s too old to take part, and
the race becomes an enjoyable fantasy spectacle of impossible flight as
cumbersome peddle bikes with flapping wings vie for control for the skies in
what is a charming, easy going tale made
that much more watchable thanks to some gorgeous photography courtesy of Straw Dogs and Witchfinder General cinematographer John Coquillon and some artful
direction by The Cruel Sea director
Charles Fend, who injects some of that late-sixties ITC drama feel into the
pacing, having worked on so many episodes of such dramas, including Danger Man and Man in a Suitcase before helming this -- his last directorial work.
And very fine it is too.
Jeremy Summers is even more
of a name to be reckoned with when considering adventure TV and film series of
the 1960s and 1970s: numerous episodes of Danger
Man, The Saint, Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), Jason King, UFO and The Protectors stand
out in his filmography, while in the ‘80s and ‘90s everything from All Creatures Great and Small and Tenko to Howard’s Way and Hollyoaks, Brookside and The Bill mark Summers down as one of the most ubiquitous directors
to have worked in British TV. He also directed Tony Hancock in the film The Punch and Judy Man (1963) and Christopher Lee in The Vengeance of Fu Manchu (1967).
The CFF film Sammy’s Super T-Shirt (1978)
sits respectably in the middle of this list, having become one of the most
popular and affectionately remembered of the entire Foundation series. The film builds
on the fantasy elements essayed in The
Sky-Bike but there had clearly been a shift in tone by the late-seventies.
Now young Sammy Smith (Reggie Winch) is a cockney rather than an impeccably
middleclass young chap, and his best friend Marv (Lawrie Mark) is of West
Indian origin. Although filmed in leafy Surrey, the skies are perpetually
overcast and grey and the surroundings mainly redolent of brick and concrete,
with dull patches of overgrown urban field and the local cinder athletics track
being the main focus of play. The film was written by Frank Goodwin and Harry
Robertson who, you may have noticed, provided the upbeat theme song for The Sky-Bike. Godwin also produced this
film for the Foundation and Robertson again provides a catchy sing-along theme
song for it, which is even more chipper than the previous effort, helping to
establish the broader tone of fantasy comedy the film will deal in and which
had become the vogue by this period in the CFF’s history. Sammy’s Super T-Shirt is essentially a charming, knockabout parody
of the popular American TV series The
Six Million Dollar Man, which
ran from 1973 to 1978 and was a big hit in the UK with a young male
pre-secondary school age group. The central premise involves young Sammy
gaining super powers after his T-Shirt is accidently made the subject of a
special research programme that gives its wearer extraordinary strength and
speed. It succeeds largely on the excellence of its perfectly chosen cast of
British character actors who bring perfect, nuanced comic performance skills to
abet the likable personalities of the two child leads.
The film opens in such a way
as to suggest Sammy Smith is the only child of a one parent family, although
the narrative is never so heavy handed as to make this an overt theme of the
piece. It is notable though that we never see a male presence in the home, as
we certainly do in the other two films of this collection. Instead, Sammy’s
rather small and prosaic, two-up, two down terrace is run solely by his
harassed mum, played nimbly in a handful of scenes by Carry On series veteran and comedy actress Patsy Rowlands. Sammy’s
concerns and obsessions revolve around physical fitness. We see him in the
first scene of the film ‘working out’ with a bull worker chest expander while
listening to a self-motivation body-building course of cassette tapes on his
portable tape recorder. We can’t help but notice that every wall of the bedroom
is plastered with posters of male role models, famous at that time during the
1970s for promoting a masculinity defined by sporting prowess and/or physical excellence:
figures such as Barry Sheen, James Hunt, Sebastian Coe and numerous footballing
heroes and, with pride of place on the inside door of the room, the fictional
character of Steve Austin, as played by Lee Majors in The Six Million Dollar Man series. This again suggests a child
overcompensating for a lack of a male presence in the home by focusing on these
popular male heroes and consequently taking an excessive interest in building
up his puny frame and increasing his running speed in time to compete in a local long
distance track race being organised in his area for the local children.
The film furnishes the
archaeologist of ‘70s pop culture with innumerable tiny details that add
considerably to its enjoyment factor. Trotter’s first tentative success with
his experiments, for example, manage to imbue a tatty David Essex T-shirt with
superpowers, but it’s ascension thankfully proves short-lived (otherwise we
might have had to endure a super powers face-off between Sammy’s lucky tiger T
and whoever originally owned this dolorous item). However, while the Prof is
out of the research lab, attempting to persuade Mr Becket of his big
breakthrough, the kids sneak in to the Complex through a window, only to find
that Sammy’s shirt has been placed out of reach in a high-tech cabinet, hooked
up with wires and clothes pegs and surrounded by the usual beakers and tubes full of coloured
smoking liquids familiar from Hammer films of the late ‘50s and ‘60s.
Determined to retrieve his rightful property, Sammy perseveres in straining to
reach for it but accidently sets in motion the workings of the electrical
apparatus it’s enmeshed in, inadvertently blasting it with a dose of
“radiation” which presages the use of some 1970’s animation effects which give
the shirt a cartoony Ready Brek glow and cause the tiger transfer on the front
to briefly flash a luminous red. The shirt thereafter gains amazing powers which
allow it even to deflect bullets. Most of the film from then on involves the bowler hat
wearing Becket and a bespectacled Holloway chasing after the two boys in order to
retrieve the shirt, because they expect to make a fortune from its unique
properties in the future and they want to keep the whole experiment under wraps
until that time.
We must pass lightly over the
slightly dodgy image that’s cast by the sight of two middle-aged men being
shown calling at rows of houses, pretending to be officials for a promotions
company that’s offering fifty pounds to the owners of tiger T-shirts as their
excuse for being allowed to root through laundry baskets-full of children’s
clothes on the childs' parents’ doorsteps, before then literally abducting a small
boy off the street in broad daylight and bundling him into the back of a
speeding van, as being an inevitable consequence of the disjunction between the
light-hearted fictional world created for this comic fantasy drama, and the
somewhat less benign reality usually associated with such activities. But the
boys’ subsequent escape attempts and their grown-up foes’ increasingly hapless
pursuit of them along a river as Sammy “power-paddles” in a canoe, lead to
plenty of good natured hijinks and comic interludes (Marv even manages to fool
Trotter by scrawling a crude tiger drawing with a biro onto a white replacement
T-shirt) in the ensuing extended chase scene which makes up the majority of the
rest of the picture.
Another element of peril is introduced when it is revealed
that the shirt’s altered molecular properties have become unstable, making it
dangerous and its powers correspondingly unpredictable. The CFF’s perennial
message, imparting the importance of fair play and self-belief, comes through
in the end when Sammy manages to join the race at the track just in the nick of
time using his super-speed to catch up after Big Sid trips him up at the
starting line, but is thereafter forced to rely on his own determination to
win and all the training and self-improvement he’d previously been engaged in
before his shirt acquired its power, when the tiger shirt suddenly starts to
“malfunction” and attempts to force him to run backwards, or else glues him to
the spot on the track as the other competitors race towards the finish line.
Marvin has to persuade his disheartened friend that he still has the inherent
ability to succeed anyway, and to discard the t-shirt and carry on under his
own steam.
Director of photography
Norman Jones (a former camera operator for a host of genre films like The Blood Beast Terror, Corruption, Tower of Evil and The Fiend)
lends this quirky classic its air of everyday ordinariness with his simple,
straightforward location lighting, while the content remains attractively
comic-book and light-hearted in tone. The younger performers all acquit
themselves with an unpretentious naturalness that helps the film remain as
delightful a watch today as it was back in 1978 and then in the television
repeats of the 1980s which later helped it become the most requested of CFF titles.
All three films appear on a
single dual-layered DVD disc, all with their original aspect ratios, and they
have been restored in high definition from the original interpositives stored
in the BFI National Archive. The 2.0 mono audio tracks generally retain some
background crackle but everything possible has been done to minimise this with
the available technology, and in truth it barely registers at all after the
first few minutes. The films have been digitally re-mastered to remove the
worst instances of ‘dirt and sparkle’ and the anamorphic transfers all look
wonderful, fully preserving the original aesthetic of each film. All three features
are enchantingly watchable classics. The disc comes with a small booklet with a
short essay on each film, screen credits and cast lists for each film and
overviews by Andrew Roberts and Vic Pratt. Here’s looking forward to volume three, scheduled
for June!
Soapbox Derby (1957)/The Sky-Bike (1967)/Sammy's Super T-Shirt (1978)/Releasing Company: BFI/Genre: Children's Fiction/Format: DVD/Region: ALL/Aspect Ratio: 2x1.66:1 /1x1.85:1/Directed by Darcy Conyers/Charles Frend/Jeremy Summers/Cast: Michael Crawford/Spencer Shires/Reggie Winch
Soapbox Derby (1957)/The Sky-Bike (1967)/Sammy's Super T-Shirt (1978)/Releasing Company: BFI/Genre: Children's Fiction/Format: DVD/Region: ALL/Aspect Ratio: 2x1.66:1 /1x1.85:1/Directed by Darcy Conyers/Charles Frend/Jeremy Summers/Cast: Michael Crawford/Spencer Shires/Reggie Winch