BICC FILM SOCIETY - 1954 to 1987
Ted Morrison and Tom Ruben
In 1900 the Kensington & Notting Hill Electric Light Co opened its
new power station at 38 Wood Lane, Shepherd’s Bush, West London.
Eight years later the recently-signed Entente Cordiale was celebrated
in a Franco-British Exhibition in grounds the other side of Wood Lane,
nicknamed the White City, where the BBC TV Centre now stands. Also on
the exhibition site was an athletics stadium, the home of the 1908 Olympic
Games, later the White City greyhound stadium (the area in the 50s in
shown in The Blue Lamp). In 1925 the Wood Lane power station came into
ownership of the London Power Co, who closed it in 1928. Three years later
Callender’s Cable and Construction Co of Erith in Kent, took over,
moving their Outside Testing Department there and establishing a Research
Department, officially opened in 1934 by Lord Rutherford. In 1945, Callender’s
merged with British Insulated Cables of Prescot, Lancs, to form British
Insulated Callender’s Cables; in 1977 the name was changed to BICC.
The research department flourished, staff peaking at over 500. It had
an Athletic & Social Club, and in 1954 a Film Section was founded
by Don Tester and Alan Rogers, commonly known as BICC Film Society. The
post of secretary soon fell upon Ted Morrison, followed by Tom Ruben.
They tell the story of the society over the thirty-three years of existence.
One activity of the Athletic & Social Club, serving to knit together
its sections, was The Bush Telegraph. All but the last part of this history
saw the light of day in it.
In April 1954 Dr D. A. Tester of the Rubber and Plastics Dept, and Alan
Rogers of the then Electrical Section, formed the British Insulated Callender’s
Cables Athletic and Social Club (Wood Lane) Film Section (known outside
as the BICC Film Society). A constitution gave the objects of the Section
as:
1 To encourage interest in the film as an art and as a medium of information
and education by means of exhibition of films of a scientific, educational,
cultural and artistic character.
2 To promote the study and appreciation of films by means of lectures,
discussions, and exhibitions.
The Federation of Film Societies admitted us to membership; we were launched
in a canteen on Friday 23rd April 1954, when a large audience saw René
Clair’s Le Million, supported by Felix Wins and Loses (Felix the
Cat) and Ultrasonics. Norman Davis projected, using a 16mm projector borrowed
from Photographic Dept. This was followed in June by Brief Encounter (David
Lean). Canteen acoustics left a lot to be desired and the conference room,
with projection box, was taken over. The first show there was Citizen
Kane, the Orson Welles classic, followed by A Night at the Opera (Marx
Bros), Rome, Open City (Rosselini), Tony Draws a Horse, All About Eve,
Whisky Galore, Viva Zapata, The Grapes of Wrath and Sunset Boulevard.
Not a bad start, and good audiences were an encouragement.
Don Tester and Alan Rogers staged a programme of old-time movies: a great
success: five films, not one of them post-1919. The feature, The Road
to Ruin (1915) had them sobbing in the aisles (in 1915 that is). The first
Western then, Destry Rides Again, with James Stewart and Marlene Dietrich.
Films were regularly shown through the rest of 1955. On 30th May 1956
the classic silent Intolerance was screened before a large audience. Not
realized was the heart-ache of the committee in preparing the music. We
got the film on Monday to screen on Wednesday. Monday night we ran the
film, noting mood changes for appropriate background music: thanks to
‘Doc’ Watson, who provided a 78rpm record dual turntable and
mixer: tape-recorders then were a luxury item not possessed by the Social
Club. Tuesday saw a second run. By now we had seen these characters so
many times we could almost lip-read. One piece stands out –’A
Night on the Bare Mountain’ - we flogged it to death. The night
came, and as far as the audience were concerned it passed without incident.
Exhausted ‘djs’ in the box thought otherwise: records were
wrongly piled; the fade-in and outs came close to disaster. Still, it
was fun while it lasted: yet years before it was done again!
Our next adventure was not the success expected: we held a joint show
with Music Section to share the cost. I Pagliacci (Love of a Clown): music
lovers could sit back and enjoy, and the rest of us could sit back and
enjoy Gina Lollobrigida (the star with a dubbed voice but all else real).
It was a disaster: the projector was getting old: confronted with sound
covering ranges of octaves and decibels, it just gave up. The committee
felt the same—people’s memory is permanently scarred by that
episode. The unexpected success was purchasing a re-conditioned Western
Electric projector. Don Tester vacated the secretaryship and Ted Morrison
was ‘volunteered’.
The committee attended 16mm viewing sessions by the Federation of Film
Societies: organisers saw available films, rather than relying on catalogue
blurb. Every spring it was like running a marathon in hob-nailed boots.
Sessions started on Saturday at 10am, finished at 10pm; restarted 10am
Sunday and ended 10pm. About thirty-four films could be seen—anything
from digging coal in Wales to Japanese Opera. By Sunday night you had
square eyeballs, or felt marooned on a distant planet for the weekend.
At the 1956 View we came across La Fete a Henriette, Julien Duvivier’s
film about two directors arguing how to make a film about Henriette’s
birthday: one wanted a romance, the other a theme for gang warfare. The
resulting film was hilarious and well received when we showed it.
Through 1957 shows continued with varying success, and early in 1958 we
joined forces with Horticultural Section. With Photographic Section and
cookery experts they put on a combined social event, with judging, prizes,
and an evening dance. Film Section put on a show between afternoon and
evening events with The War of the Worlds, the film of H. G. Wells’
book with impressive special effects by George Pal. A captive audience—we
couldn’t go wrong. In June we screened The Wild One starring Marion
Brando when the film was banned to general audiences. It was a shrewd
move; we packed them in. Reeling from this success we embarked on ‘Foundations
of the Cinema’, an assortment worth listing: Origins of the Motion
Picture (1889-1897) Beginnings of the Cinema (Britain 1896-1900) The Great
Train Robbery (USA 1903) Lt Daring and the Plans of the Minefield (Britain
1911) The Masquerader (USA 1914 - Chaplin) Early Trick Films (1895-1912)
Bewitched Matches (USA 1913) Pathé Colour Stencil-Tinted Trick
Films (France 1910) and Early Sound Films (USA, France, Britain 1896-1926).
We think this show one of the most interesting we ever screened, and repeated
the experiment later but with fewer films. A horror programme was screened
about then—Vampyr—and the supports were extracts from The
Cabinet of Dr Caligari and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.
We started 1959 with an evening of amateur films, organised by Geoff Ward
and colleague, including an only copy of The Festiniog Railway (1958).
We screened such diverse titles as Arsenic and Old Lace (Capra), The Long
Voyage Home (Ford), Smiles of a Summer Night (Bergman), The Best Years
of our Lives (Wyler - which ran for c.2 years in the West End and collected
a record number of Oscars), The Devil’s General (Germany) and, for
Christmas, The Road to Bali starring Bob Hope, Bing Crosby, and Dorothy
Lamour. We had a ‘thing’ about Christmas films: they had to
be Christmassy but we never agreed what this meant. In 1954 it was Tony
Draws a Horse (about a little boy who used to draw rude pictures on the
walls at home - much to the consternation of his parents); in 1955 The
Private Life of Henry VIII (??); in 1956 Blue Skies (a weepy musical);
in 1957 The Road to Morocco (same crew); and in 1959 Easy to Love. See
what we mean?
And so we entered the 60s. Our first show had an oriental slant—The
Seven Samurai (Hollywood’s remake The Magnificent Seven, was not
then available on 16 mm). The print was poor and the action appeared to
be taking place at night. As the audience number understanding Japanese
was zero, it became a Japanese torture as time went on. Nerve-wracking,
as you never knew whether the audience might become violent (the committee
was locked in the projection box), being tolerant, they filed out silently
at the end—one of the few times we were glad to be ignored. The
following film was French in origin, Touchez Pas au Grisbi, and better
received. The Man in the White Suit starring Alec Guinness as a dedicated
scientist had always seemed a must, so we showed it: life at Wood Lane
was never like this—except right at the end when the indestructible
white suit fell to pieces, just like a lab coat! (We used the same model
of electron microscope as in the film.)
We had a second go at showing a full-length silent—this time with
a tape recorder and 33rpm records. Safety Last, starring Harold Lloyd,
was a huge success—so funny the audience largely ignored the background
music! In October we showed our second Western, 5.10 to Yuma starring
Glenn Ford, and in December, the Christmas kick again, it was Lili (colour)
starring Leslie Caron and Mel Ferrer. Our support, another feature, the
Czech comedy Old Man Motorcar, received a mixed reception. 1962 started
and finished with two triumphs. Sweet Smell of Success starring Tony Curtis
and Burt Lancaster was strong meat for an American film, beautifully directed
by a Scot, Alexander Mackendrick. Following films from Great Britain,
(The Naked Truth) and France (Les Enfants Terribles), the final show proved
one of the greatest: the American satirical musical Li’l Abner had
been well received by the critics at the Plaza but then mysteriously disappeared.
We decided to show it. The cast was largely unknown, except for Stubby
Kaye (of Guys and Dolls) and Stella Stevens (of Playboy). Full publicity,
including a giant professional poster and colour stills depicting gorgeous
girls: we couldn’t go wrong! Over ninety turned up and enjoyed a
good print of this wickedly funny film based on the characters of Al Capp.
Always striving for a novel twist, we screened Twelve Angry Men in September
1963, and a critical appreciation by John Freeman. An interesting experiment,
which didn’t quite come off. Next, we were to show The Old Man and
the Sea based on Hemingway’s story starring Spencer Tracy. The film
was booked, advertising in full swing, and the programmes written. Then
shock! Only one print and this would be in Scotland on the night: a renter
slip-up of the highest order. What a panic: Should we cancel? But we had
already sold programmes. The renter offered any alternative at reduced
rate: wechose Phffft!, appropriately, a comedy starring Jack Lemmon and
Judy Holliday. The audience was reduced, but our faithful band of supporters
came along and turned a disaster into a moderate success. Committees dread
the non-arrival of films. Once before (at Christmas) a film hadn’t
arrived hours before the show though the renters had posted it in plenty
of time. The committee paid a visit to Loftus Road sorting office to find
it. Another time the projector broke down on show day. Bloomsbury Street
HQ offered us one of theirs. People rushed to help, and it arrived about
two hours before the show, the sort of co-operation that kept us going.
Ted Morrison retired in 1964 after eight years as secretary, Tom Ruben
took over, followed briefly by Harry Shipley, then Stuart Castle, and
in 1967 Mike Dennis. It is not only the films that attracts an audience
but the ironing out of problems such as brightness of picture, quality
of sound, warmth of the hall, comfort of the seats, and so on. With varying
degrees of success these problems were tackled year in-year out by these
individuals working all hours behind the scenes. The most consistently
demanding job is secretary, people like Karen Jackson, Carol Tilbury,
and Annette Mattock. Aided by committee members, s/he organizes shows,
the programme selection, ranging from discussions of the whole committee
to setting up sub-committees, or even leaving the whole thing to the secretary,
who books the venue and contacts distributors to book selected films.
Usually, one or two titles are not available on the dates or fully booked
for the next year, or have been withdrawn, leading to last-minute changes.
In addition, looking after the section’s finances, and maintaining
contact with affiliates: the BFI, the Federation of Film Societies, and
the Council of the Athletic & Social Club. A great deal of hard and
unsung work. The Works Engineering Dept should not go unrecorded: responsible
for putting out chairs for the shows, and a duty engineer operating the
air-conditioning system.
Committees met in homes, offices, labs, over lunch, and on the lawn in
hot weather. Armed with catalogues and personal choices, they discussed,
argued and cajoled in an effort to get their choices accepted; and in
the middle, trying to maintain a sense of proportion and fair play—the
secretary. Even when a final list was produced, the dates, costs, and
bookings had to be resolved. Then the secretary checked hall availability,
chairs, and heating provision. A brochure must be produced, regular monthly
programmes written, printed, and sold. Posters purchased or, if not available,
designed by willing volunteers: Dennis Cooper was a tower of strength
here. Finally, the prompt arrival of the films to allow a pre-show run-through
is essential, and most secretaries suffered the agonies of late arrivals.
Frantic phone calls to distributors as the hours tick away is no way to
survive to pension! Most secretaries also organised tickets for outside
events such as national and local viewing sessions, and at the busy time
of year (with committee members) they booked and presented shows at children’s
Christmas Parties at Wood Lane and BICC’s head office in Bloomsbury
Street. The secretary organised the AGM as required by Social Club rules:
s/he could not cope without the able help of committee members, Management,
Social Club, Typing Pool, Studio, Works Engineering, General Office, Print
Room, Accounts Department, electricians, Bush Telegraph editors, and programme
sellers. Nevertheless, the secretary is the king- or queen-pin of the
organisation.
Committee members tackled problems, made improvements in presentation
quality, and improved the comfort and well-being of the audience, as well
as contributing to choosing films. The successful effort of Richard Grigsby
and Tom Ruben to improve picture brightness is mentioned later: at another
time they wrestled with the sound quality, though they succeeded in improving
this, there was no answer with a poor quality print giving the impression
it had been recorded in a motorboat, with the actors speaking through
cotton-wool! Thank God for tolerant audiences. Tolerance was also operative
with the seating, perhaps the most moaned-about subject of early shows,
as sitting on those ‘canteen couches’ could be an ordeal.
One patron swears the comfort of the seats (later replaced) was related
to his interest in the film; if he didn’t like the film the seats
became progressively harder—and vice versa. He felt the seat was
the best film critic.
The 1965 season started with one of the most successful shows, when over
eighty crowded into the Lecture Room to see Peter Sellers and Mai Zetterling
in Only Two Can Play. The next was unexpectedly topical: on the day Krushchev
was ousted as First Secretary of the Communist party, and the eve of the
general election when Labour was returned to power, we showed the cartoon
of Orwell’s Animal Farm, by John Halas and Joy Bachelor, supported
by our second sci-fi, Village of the Damned (we had shown The Shape of
Things to Come in our second season). Then our first revival: Oh Mr Porter
had been shown in 1955, but this Will Hay classic was shown again in a
special programme of railway films organised jointly with Railway Section.
The remainder of that season is notable for another silent, The Cabinet
of Dr Caligari. As with Intolerance, a musical accompaniment was provided.
Members’ record collections and local record libraries scoured for
records listed in the cue sheets, but this time live turntables were dispensed
with. Instead, a tape was made to run in synch. with the film, which eliminated
the hard work of the previous occasion; just as well, for the projector
broke down during the last hour and the take-up spool had to be hand-wound.
The 1965-6 season started with a repeat, The Wild One, directed in l954
by Laslo Benedek and starring Marion Brando as the leader of a gang of
motor-cycle hooligans who terrorise a small Western town. Banned by the
British Board of Film Censors, it was shown at only one English cinema
(with local watch committee approval). As the censor’s edict does
not extend to film societies it had been shown at Wood Lane in 1958. The
second showing proved that what seemed close to life in 1958 now was hackneyed,
and Lee Marvin as a ‘ton-up’ boy just didn’t ring true.
Other films this season included a Western, Gunfight at the O K Corral,
and two comedies - one British (Doctor at Large) and one Italian (Divorce
- Italian Style). In addition, we screened during Eileen King’s
Christmas Children’s Party, a duty cheerfully performed by the committee
for many years: film became a traditional and very popular part of the
festivities—we found Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck consistent favourites.
The Wood Lane party took place before Christmas. Bloomsbury Street had
a similar event after New Year.
1966-7 saw the beginning of expansion. One distributor cut prices by half
during the summer, and we took advantage by increasing shows from six
to seven. Most features were selected to the theme ‘A Season of
Suspense’: Hitchcock’s North by North West, Clouzot’s
The Wages of Fear, Frankenheimer’s The Manchurian Candidate and
Cayatte’s Eye for an Eye. Another venture was a complete documentary
programme, including Charles Frend’s San Demetrio, London, based
on a true episode on the war-time Atlantic convoys. Worthwhile shorts
were an important part of our shows, and we introduced a new feature by
including an animated short by Norman McLaren of Canada’s National
Film Board in each programme, including Neighbours, Begone Dull Care,
Rythmetic, and Pen Point Percussion. One programme was devoted entirely
to shorts, including Great Britain (The Tortoise and the Hare and Muloorina)
Canada (the abovementioned Begone Dull Care), Russia (The Wedding), the
USA (an extract from An American in Paris), Poland (Red and Black) and
France (Incident at Owl Creek). The season closed with Haroun Tazieff’s
spectacular documentary compilation Volcano, a pictorial presentation
of hiss vocation—filming volcano insides. To Wagnerian music the
earth erupted in glorious colour and sent the audience home stunned, overawed,
and perhaps a little apprehensive as to screenings next season.
The 1967-8 season brought a feast. We started with the support of Jazz
Section, showing Jazz on a Summer’s Day, filmed at the Newport (Rhode
Island) Jazz Festival. Then in November over eighty turned up in the Main
Hall to see what a mess we would make of CinemaScope. For this we hired
an extra-large screen and an anamorphic lens. Instead of a mess they got
a successful screening of Francois Truffaut’s Mexican adventure
Viva Maria, starring Jeanne Moreau and Brigitte Bardot. Our next show
threatened disaster when the projector seized just before the interval:
we had visions of having to cancel Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger’s
A Matter of Life and Death. During an extended interval we got hold of
the company’s projector, but the film had to be projected slightly
out of focus, and sound track reproduction was poor. Next, the Japanese
Kurosawa’s Rashomon, followed by Joseph Losey’s Eve. Then
in April a spectacular double bill attracted an audience near that for
Viva Maria. The main film was Peter Watkins’s controversial The
War Game, showing the probable effects of a nuclear war on Britain, made
for the BBC, which then refused to show it as too horrific. After a public
outcry BBC made the film available to the BFI. This was supported by The
Balcony, Joseph Strick’s film of the play by Jean Genet. Through
the season we included shorts of the great silent comedians: in addition
to Keaton and Chaplin we featured W C Fields, Laurel and Hardy, Harold
Lloyd, Barney Oldfield, and Mack Sennett with his Keystone Kops.
The season finished with the most unusual programme of any year. We planned
to show Luis Bunuel’s The Exterminating Angel on 29th May, but as
the day approached it was realized there was a rival attraction: the European
Cup final, when Manchester United played Benfica at Wembley, and unless
we did something we were in danger of having no audience. So we re-arranged
the schedule, starting half an hour earlier, showed the feature, and had
a break for the audience to watch the match on TV without leaving their
seats. After United had won, film resumed at l0.30 with two shorts, finishing
at 11.10 p.m. to be, at 5hr 10min, the longest show in our history.
Nearing the end of our 15th season, we saw another landmark in expanding
to nine shows, monthly from September to May. No easy decision since with
few exceptions we lost money on each show, made up by a subsidy from the
Athletic & Social Club to whom we owed a great debt of gratitude.
Expansion was possible by two factors: introduction of Season Tickets
in 1967 assured us a basic minimum support, and a special hire rate for
block bookings by some distributors meant substantial savings.
The 1968-9 season opened with our second CinemaScope picture, The Pink
Panther. Later we showed It Happened Here by Kevin Brownlow and Andrew
Mollo, showing what might have been, under a WWII Nazi occupation of Britain.
The film was made over eight years at weekends and in spare time by a
mainly amateur cast and crew, graphically described in a tape-recorded
talk by Kevin Brownlow played after the film. This produced a very large
audience of 80, and nearly as many came a couple of months later to see
an International Selection of Underground Cinema - a USA feature-length,
Chafed Elbows, and shorts from the Netherlands and Great Britain.
1969-70 started with our 100th show, Tom Jones starring Albert Finney—top
in the third Film Poll. Being in ‘Scope, we had to screen the film
in the Main Hall. Just as well, because we had a record audience of 140,
perhaps because the audience were invited to a ‘Soirée’
in the Lecture Room, with food and wine provided; so successful it became
annual. Another innovation was the Brochure. We replaced the single sheet
listing the season’s films with a multi-page illustrated booklet.
In oblong A5 format, it contained 32 pages, unashamedly modelled on the
Cambridge Film Society programme. We had been encouraged by high attendances,
averaging over fifty, the previous year, when the season had been extended
to nine shows, and we decided to increase it again by having a show in
June 1970. We over-extended ourselves, for we didn’t consider the
counter-attractions of summer, or the inadequate black-out of the Lecture
Room curtains, which combined to produce a small audience watching a pale
image of Stanley Kramer’s nuclear war picture On the Beach. So,
it was back to nine shows, starting with Ken Annakin’s Those Magnificent
Men in their Flying Machines, followed by the second soirée. Other
films in 1970-1 were a delicious French comedy La Treve, a Japanese ghost
story Kuroneko, an Italian science-fiction film The Tenth Victim, and
Jane Fonda in Roger Vadim’s Barbarella. April saw an unusual double-feature
show: from Yugoslavia there was The Switchboard Operator and Roger Corman’s
The Trip - a no-holds-barred look at LSD and its effects. Banned by the
censor (it received an 18 certificate in 2003), it could be shown by film
societies. The season ended with another double feature bill, Anthony
Harvey’s Dutchman from Britain, and another French comedy, The Order
of the Daisy: truly an international selection.
In 1971 the Commercial & Patents Dept came to Wood Lane from Bloomsbury
Street, which had serious repercussions for the Film Section, as we lost
the Lecture Room, our home for 18 years. Apart from seating 80, at a squeeze,
the Lecture Room had a bar at one end behind which was the projection
box, meaning the audience didn’t suffer from projector noise. Our
new home, the Main Hall of the McFadzean building, seemed a hangar, holding
over 100—a feat we achieved only on rare occasions. An immediate
problem was projector noise, only partly alleviated by a curtain round
the projectors on the west balcony. The first film of 71-2 marked the
first combined show/soirée in the Main Hall (previously the film
was in the hall, the Soirée in the lecture room). Over 80 people
attended the CinemaScope epic Zulu, starring Michael Caine as a Zulu War
hero, but average attendance the rest of the season dropped to little
more than half this. The next show was a double bill, the then little-known
Charlie Bubbles, starring Liza Minelli and Albert Finney, who also directed.
In support was our first Latin American film, The House of the Angel,
by Argentinian director Leopoldo Torre Nilsson. At Christmas another double
bill, both British: Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor in Doctor Faustus,
supported by Robert Fuests’ Just Like a Woman. Following Polanski’s
Rosemary’s Baby in January, February saw The Blue Max supported
by an Australian short, The Gallery. There was a last-minute addition—the
première of the first film produced by Wood Lane’s new Cine
Section. Serpentine Serendipity was an idiosyncratic view of Hyde Park
by Dennis Cooper and Denis Groombridge, and to film it they hired a 16mm
camera for the weekend. Their effort was well received, and a re-run drew
even greater applause. Other 71-2 films were Lindsay Anderson’s
public school drama If..., Terence Stamp as The Collector of Samantha
Eggar, and Catherine Deneuve as Luis Bunuel’s Belle du Jour. Following
a request at the AGM, an innovation was the Reaction Slip, a feature of
other film societies, providing the audience with an opportunity to comment.
BICC FILM SOCIETY - 1954 to 1987 part 2
Ted Morrison and Tom Ruben
The story so far: In 1954 the British Insulated Callender’s Cables
works at Wood Lane, Shepherd’s Bush formed a Film Section. Screening
originally in a canteen, then in the Lecture Hall, they had to move to
the Main Hall, with no projection room, but have built a faithful audience
over the years. Now read on....
In 1972-3 came two major changes: improvement came with a second projector:
films had been projected on a single Bell & Howell bought in 1963,
meaning features were presented with at least one interruption to allow
reel-change. An opportunity came to buy a similar projector cheaply, the
catch being it lacked a transformer and speaker. We bought it and built
a switching unit to allow the two to be used with one transformer and
one speaker—a degree of remote control—and the resulting instant
changeovers were greatly appreciated, first used for John Schlesinger’s
Far From the Madding Crowd, starring Julie Christie and Terence Stamp,
beautifully photographed in CinemaScope, at our opening soirée.
This was the first of four British films; next being Jerzy Skolimowski’s
Deep End, with Jane Asher, John Moulder-Brown and Diana Dors. Thirdly
Kes, a sensitive study of a friendless boy (David Bradley) growing up
in a grim northern town, with only the kestrel he has tamed to turn to;
and Billy Budd, directed by Peter Ustinov, again starring Terence Stamp.
We also showed Franco Zefirelli’s Romeo and Juliet and an unusual
French film Don’t Deliver Us From Evil.
In May came ‘An Evening of Cinema in the Thirties’. It began
with The Mail Pilot, an early and exuberant black-and-white Mickey Mouse,
and Fairy of the Phone, an entertaining instructional film from the GPO
Film Unit on how to use the telephone. Then South Sea Sweetheart, a hilarious
puppet film by George Pal extolling the virtues of Horlicks, a Laurel
and Hardy comedy Towed in the Hole, and a Technicolor view of Pompeii
and Vesuvius in eruption, The Eternal Fire. These, interspersed with period
screen adverts supplied by ‘Doc’ Watson, formed the first
half. In the interval Georgina came down the aisle selling ice cream from
the tray while Mac McAllister provided a musical interlude on the organ.
To complete a memorable evening we had W C Fields starring in The Bank
Dick - a highly popular choice. The season heralded a less popular change:
the size was reduced. Programme sales, on average, provided no more than
half the hire: the balance was provided by subsidy from the Social Club.
We had to concede to ever-rising film hire, and to control our budget,
reluctantly reduced showings from nine to seven.
1973-74 became our most unpredictable and disastrous season. We opened
normally with the well-established soirée, when we showed The Night
of Counting the Years, an Egyptian film directed by Shadi Abdelsalam,
a surprise hit at the 1970 London Film Festival. Beautifully photographed,
the film told of a search for some of the country’s ancient treasures
by a Cairo Museum official. Intrigue abounded, and the result was a fascinating
and unusual insight into past and present. Next, the Italian Investigation
of a Citizen Above Suspicion in October, and in December a Czech film,
Valerie and her Week of Wonders. So far the season had been normal, but
in the middle of winter the fuel crisis struck. Suddenly we were embroiled
in power cuts, the four-day week, lack of heating, early shut-down of
TV, and so on. It was not surprising the Social Club suffered: the Bush
Telegraph ceased publication, cutting off our main means of communication
with members and potential audience, and the uncertainty of electricity
supplies forced cancellation of both January and February shows. Eventually
a semblance of normality returned, and the April and May shows, Shock
Corridor and The Royal Hunt of the Sun took place as arranged. But the
power crisis had lasting effects: it took nearly four years before the
Bush Telegraph re-started, and because paper was short for months we reduced
the size of programme notes from eight A5s to four. For the same reason,
and because two shows in the coming season were films cancelled previously,
we discontinued the Film Poll.
When in 1971 we lost use of the Lecture Room, we also lost our projection
room. In partial compensation the company paid for an electrically-operated
screen in the Main Hall, finally erected in time for the 1974-5 season.
Installation proved a major operation by the unsung heroes of Works Engineering
Dept: the screen proved too large to go in the lift or up the stairs,
and had to be hauled up the outside, on to the balcony and then into the
hall. Scaffolding was erected at the east end, and one Saturday morning
the screen was manhandled into position by all available personnel. This
was welcomed with open arms by the committee, as it marked the end of
the hazardous performance of building the frame of our previous ‘Scope
screen which stood on a pair of tripods, and then with the help of willing
hands from the audience, hoisting them on tables to bring the screen to
correct viewing height—this performance providing considerable entertainment
to the audience there in time to witness it. The screen was first used
in October 1974 for Franco Zeffirelli’s The Taming of the Shrew,
followed by the soirée. Since the screen was at the end of the
hall, the picture was larger, and consequently dimmer—particularly
noticeable, since ’Scope used an anamorphic lens, cutting screen
brightness by a factor of at least 2. The result was barely-acceptable
image illumination: something had to be done quickly, since we were due
to show another ‘Scope film in December. The ideal solution was
to buy two new projectors; out of the question on cost: finally we replaced
the relatively inefficient tungsten lamps by newly-available quartz-iodine
pre-focus lamps running at mains voltage. Conversion involved making adaptors
to fit the new lamps in the housings, and re-wiring, as the originals
ran at 110v. The result was very successful, giving a 75% brighter image,
to shed plenty of light on the escapades of Elliott Gould and Donald Sutherland
as two Korean War doctors in Robert Altman’s anarchic M*A*S*H.
Other shows included the two postponed films, Getting Straight and Roman
Polanski’s send-up of horror films The Dance of the Vampires, Humphrey
Bogart in The Caine Mutiny and our first western for many years, The Magnificent
Seven. The season ended with a double bill of Ealing comedies, Passport
to Pimlico and—repeated—Alec Guinness as a would-be research
chemist in The Man in the White Suit, at times reminiscent of Wood Lane.
This show marked our 21st anniversary, and from our first show we repeated
Felix Wins and Loses. Attendances during this season had been abnormally
low, ranging from a low point of 17 to 50 for M*A*S*H, averaging only
29: we no longer had the Bush Telegraph to carry our publicity.
In the course of a quarter of a century any organisation is bound to experience
crises that might lead to its death. One was the Four-Day Week: another
the 1975 AGM when there were no nominations for election—not surprising
in view of the workload. But four people allowed themselves to be nominated,
and continuation was assured. They set to work, augmented by co-option
of a fifth, and produced a full season of seven shows. The opening attraction
was a James Bond spectacular, Thunderball, followed by the soirée.
And attraction it was, for at 72 the turnout was more than double that
a year before. Other films of 1975-6 included Jacques (Monsieur Hulot)
Tati in Traffic, Jane Fonda and Donald Sutherland in Alan Pakula’s
Klute, a double bill of Frank Perry’s Diary of a Mad Housewife and
Val Lewton’s horror classic Cat People, and Claude Lelouch’s
Un Homme et une Femme starring Anouk Aimee and Jean-Louis Trintignant.
The season turned out far better than we dared hope after its troubled
start, one of the most successful seasons for years; average attendance
at 39 was 10 up on the previous season.
1976 saw the Main Hall transformed: redecorated and new curtains and lighting
provided. At Film Section’s request the lighting console moved from
the East to West Balcony, to allow full use of the colour lights surrounding
the ceiling raft, dimmable spotlights on the curtains, etc. The by-now
rather tattered curtain slung on hooks on the West Balcony to define the
projection area was replaced with a pair of new curtains, running on fixed
tracks and retracting into wooden boxes at the rear when not in use. The
loudspeaker wiring was improved, and a separate light provided for the
booth. With the still fairly new electrically-operated screen, setting-up
a film was very much easier, and refurbishment lent a more intimate atmosphere,
aided by curtains designed to encourage the radiators to warm the hall
rather than dissipate heat through the windows.
The first film of 1976-7, preceding the soirée, was Jewish musical
Fiddler on the Roof starring Topol. This was followed by Nicolas Roeg’s
Don’t Look Now and another musical, French this time, Jacques Demy’s
Les Parapluies de Cherbourg starring Catherine Deneuve. Other titles included
the Marx Brothers in A Night at the Opera; Joanne Woodward in The Effects
of Gamma Rays on Man-in-The-Moon Marigolds, directed by her husband, Paul
Newman, more often on the other side of the camera; and the magnificent
epic of Sir Thomas More, A Man For All Seasons, directed by Fred Zinneman
and starring Paul Schofield. Flexitime working from 1967 encouraged more
people to stay to see the show, always timed to start at 6.30, thought
to be the earliest time to allow wives, husbands, and guests to get to
Wood Lane. In early days Wednesday was decided on as show night, and it
remained so for over twenty years. As an experiment two shows were held
on Monday. Results were inconclusive, attendances being the highest and
lowest that season: we stuck to Wednesdays.
Another idea was to attach cinema-type ashtrays to seatbacks; abandoned
when we realised that in the dark a fire hazard might arise involving
seat or occupant. Then we went to the other extreme and banned smoking
on one side. Other efforts to improve audience well-being were Richard
Grigsby’s ‘food market’ (sandwiches by courtesy of the
canteen) and background music from committee members’ tapes. Sometimes
we had a pre-show ‘speech from the rostrum’, often delivered
by Ted Morrison—we felt audience contact essential, and extended
into after-show discussion. Finally, a small-cost service provided at
for those interested in films and film-making: Annette Mattock and Tom
Ruben circulated ‘Films and Filming’, ‘Sight and Sound’
and ‘Continental Film Review.’
From a peak of nine or ten film shows September to May 1968 to 1972 there
had been a reduction to seven. Owing to falling attendances and rising
costs (sound familiar?), coupled with a reluctance to ask the Athletic
& Social Club for a subsidy even larger than the one they generously
provided, in 1977 we curtailed to six shows, partly stemming from the
refurbishing of the Main Hall for, despite other advantages, the new curtains
were not as light-tight as the old—it wasn’t practical to
show at 6.30 in late spring/early autumn, so shows were restricted roughly
to Greenwich Mean Time, October to March.
1977-8 opened with the Richard Lester epic The Four Musketeers, loosely
based on the Alexandre Dumas tales; and our soirée, attended by
64. This was followed by the exciting story of an attempt to assassinate
President de Gaulle, The Day of the Jackal, with a repeat showing of the
Wood Lane film Serpentine Serendipity. In response to the anti-smokers,
we followed the example of a well-known cinema chain and banned smoking
in the right-hand side of the hall; it was still permitted on the left,
and the measure seemed generally popular. The Christmas film was The Mad
Adventures of Rabbi Jacob, and in addition to Eileen King’s Children’s
Party, where as usual we projected, an important event was the reappearance
of the Bush Telegraph. We had high hopes that resulting improved publicity
might lead to larger audiences from Wood Lane and Alperton, but that didn’t
happen. However, we established friendly relations with our neighbours
across Wood Lane, the BBC Film Club, and some of their members attended
several of our shows.
Features in the second half of 1977-8 were Bo Widerberg’s Elvira
Madigan, The Andromeda Strain, and Claude Faraldo’s anarchic Themroc.
The event of the season, and arguably of our history, was on 1st April
1978. Each year the British Federation of Film Societies (British added
when the FFS merged with the Scottish FFS) held a competition among its
700-odd members. Judging was on a combination of qualities: Programming,
Publicity, Community Involvement, Presentation, etc., with separate categories
for Schools, Student, Closed, Town, and Rural societies, and the winner
of one of these adjudged to be the Film Society of the Year. Well, no,
we didn’t actually win, but we were runners-up to the Post Office
Research Film Society in the closed societies category. No mean achievement,
we felt, for a small society like BICC. The awards were announced at the
Federation’s Viewing Sessions at the NFT, and presented by the Minister
for the Arts, Lord Donaldson. Our prize was accepted by the secretary,
Annette Mattock.
1978’s opening film was Billy Wilder’s version of The Front
Page, starring Walter Matthau and Jack Lemmon. Ben Hecht and Charles MacArthur’s
newspaper play had been filmed twice before—the last time with Rosalind
Russell in the Jack Lemmon part. Although all three have their merits,
this is probably the best. Among the audience of 55 for this soirée
was the BFFS secretary, Dave Watterson. Perhaps he came to see if we deserved
the award won a few months before, but he left with a favourable impression
of the society and the enthusiasm of those running it, as well as of Annette
Mattock’s catering. This was the third time we had the privilege
of entertaining the Federation secretary, as two previous holders, Barrie
Wood and Jean Young, had visited us. The main feature of the November
show was Images by the director of that success of a previous season M*A*S*H,
Robert Altman.
To mark our Silver Jubilee we featured several films we had shown successfully
in past seasons. The first, accompanying Images, was Robert Flaherty’s
famous Louisiana Story, shown 23 years before. The main attraction at
Christmas was Hollywood Cowboy, a huge success at the previous year’s
Viewing Sessions. Directed by Howard Zieff and also known as Hearts of
the West, this is a spoof on the early days of Hollywood. It was accompanied
by a film made in that silent era but in this country, Lieutenant Daring
and the Plans of the Minefield, which we had previously shown not in the
silent period but in 1958. The attendance was disappointingly low, probably
too close to Christmas, clashing with other seasonal functions: a great
pity, for the few who came thoroughly enjoyed themselves. 1979 started
with a double feature programme I’m Jumping Over Puddles Again by
the Czech director Karel Kachyna, and John Huston’s Beat the Devil,
starring the unlikely combination of Humphrey Bogart and Robert Morley.
Attendance equalled the low December figure, but there were reasons: the
weather was the worst of a very severe winter, a rail strike was about
to start, and the BBC chose to show one of our films the next night. Thankfully
these effects were short-lived, as there was a greatly improved attendance
for our next film, by another Czech director but made in the USA - Ivan
Passer’s Law and Disorder. With it we showed for the fourth time
Norman McLaren’s witty animated mathematics lesson Rythmetic. The
season ended with two British films, Peter Duffell’s version of
Graham Greene’s novel England Made Me, starring Peter Finch and
Michael York, accompanied by goings-on at a typical English country-house
weekend, Futtock’s End.
AGM 1979 saw the retirement of founder-member Ted Morrison, secretary
1956-64 and many years show introducer. Also retiring was the secretary,
Annette Mattock, succeeded by Ted Cooke. That summer we revived the Film
Poll, consulting everyone on films they would like: the winner was 2001:
A Space Odyssey, and this opened the season in October 1979. Almost 70
people came to see the film and enjoy the by-now traditional soirée.
The best-received film of the season, measured by the Reaction Index,
was next month, Roman Polanski’s Chinatown. Then came a representative
of the strong revival of the Australian film industry, Picnic at Hanging
Rock. Dave Watterson visited us, and set a competition on ‘Let Stalk
Strine Film Titles’; the winner, Sasha Hove, promptly joined the
committee, later becoming secretary. Another notable film was a short,
Second Sight, made by our neighbours the BBC Film Club and directed by
their secretary David Charlton, a good friend and frequent visitor to
our shows—this came second only to Chinatown in the Reaction Index
that season. Only 14 came, at which the main feature was Billy Wilder’s
Avanti; the then-lowest recorded attendance.
1980-81 opened with Bugsy Malone, Alan Parker’s gangster musical
in which all parts are played by children. ‘Bring the Children’,
said our publicity—and they did—we happened to schedule the
show in half-term. Next, to accompany The Lacemaker, we showed another
from the BBC Film Club, Devil’s Dyke - A Victorian Pastime directed
by John Payne, a frequent visitor to our shows, and again Dave Watterson
of the BFFS came. In December Helen Royal became the new secretary, when
she left in the following September Jonathan Nevett took over. January
saw a double bill of The Passenger and The War Game, the film showing
the aftermath of a nuclear war, made by the BBC but then banned by them:
several members of their staff crossed Wood Lane to see it. The last show
of the season was another double bill, but not the one planned: to accompany
Girl on a Motorcycle we should have shown Truck Stop Women, but when the
box was opened before the show we found the distributor had sent Dark
Star, second to 2001 in the previous year’s film poll, but it had
not been selected because we felt two science-fiction films in a season
was too much of a good thing.
At the 1981 AGM a revised constitution was adopted: the main change a
new name to replace the unwieldy British Insulated Callender’s Cables
Athletic & Social Club (Wood Lane) Film Section. After more than a
quarter of a century as the only film society within the BICC Group, we
felt we had earned the right to call ourselves the BICC Film Society,
by which we had been commonly but unofficially known for many years. We
were often asked why the constitution made no mention of entertainment
- after all, most people go to be entertained. The reason is the law,
as the BFFS, of which we were a member, is a charity, and entertainment
is not a legitimate charitable object, though all programmes include an
element of entertainment in order to attract an audience, without which
we could not fulfil our declared aims.
Another film poll was held in summer 1981, the results headed by The Deer
Hunter, Monty Python and The Holy Grail, and the Australian Breaker Morant.
We couldn’t show the first, as by it was fully booked, so the 81-2
season opened with The Sunshine Boys, starring George Burns and Walter
Matthau, followed by the soirée. In December, with Last Tango in
Paris starring Marlon Brando, we showed a sadly topical film, Abel Gance
- The Charm of Dynamite. Gance was the pioneering French film-maker whose
magnum opus, Napoleon, had been all but lost until painstakingly reconstructed
over a long period by film historian Kevin Brownlow, and shown to great
acclaim with live orchestral accompaniment at the London Film Festival.
We showed The Charm of Dynamite, a documentary on the life and achievements
of Gance, a month after he died aged 92. Other films included All the
President’s Men, (Robert Redford and Dustin Hoffman), and One Flew
Over the Cuckoo’s Nest with Jack Nicholson.
82-83 opened with John Schlesinger’s WWII drama Yanks. A notable
occurrence in January; our first 3-D film, The Creature From The Black
Lagoon, with the audience in spectacles with one red and one green lens.
Highly successful, it attracted 50, the largest number for several years
for any film except the opening show/soirée. But in general there
was a steady decline in audience, attendance being commonly in the low
20s where earlier they were in the 30s and 40s: the spread of domestic
video recorders and the coming of Channel 4 must share some of the blame.
Also that season we showed Cabaret with Liza Minelli and Michael York,
Cousin, Cousine from France, Gregory’s Girl from Scotland, and Tasmania’s
first feature film, Manganinnie.
1983-84 was the Society’s 30th season, opening with La Cage Aux
Folles and, of course, a soirée. And the first show of 1984, The
Marriage of Maria Braun by controversial German director the late Rainer
Werner Fassbinder, was the society’s 200th. The next, Volker Schlondorff’s
excellent film of the Gunter Grass novel The Tin Drum, attracted an audience
of eight, by a long way the lowest ever recorded. Things improved the
next month when 19 people turned up to see Lenny. An innovation was to
re-arrange the seating informally around tables facing the screen, instead
serried ranks, so small audiences were not dwarfed in the large hall.
Among other films they saw were Natassia Kinski in Cat People and two
from British directors: Nicolas Roeg’s Bad Timing and Mike Leigh’s
Bleak Moments.
As we entered our fourth decade Sasha Hove took over as secretary. The
opening film on 24th October 1984 starred Harrison Ford in the Indiana
Jones adventure Raiders of the Lost Ark, followed as usual by the Society
soirée, with an attendance of 55 adults and children. November
saw the Australian epic Gallipoli, which played to 25, while 30 turned
out in December for The French Lieutenant’s Woman. To try to halt
decline in attendance, we introduced occasional shows where the usual
sequence—6.30pm start with a short, interval (bar open), feature—was
replaced by dispensing with a short, starting the feature at 7.00pm and
following with a small party, a mini-soirée: the first of these
took place at the start of 1985 with a Polish evening; after Jerzy Hoffman’s
The Quack, wines and snacks from Poland were served. At two shows in February,
The Long Good Friday and The Year of Living Dangerously, were preceded
by shorts. At the last show the Australian The Getting of Wisdom was followed
by an End of Season party. 1985 was British Film Year, and in the first
half of the 85-6 season all films had British connections, however tenuous.
First, there was Flash Gordon—Hollywood, but with a British director,
Mike Hodges. Next to Scotland for Bill Forsyth’s Local Hero; and
finally, Roman Polanski’s Tess. In 1986 the films ranged more widely:
in January back to the antipodes with Gillian Armstrong’s My Brilliant
Career, followed by an Australian mini-soirée; next the USA with
Billy Wilder’s Fedora; then to India with Heat and Dust, directed
by James Ivory; and back home with Hugh Hudson’s epic of athletic
endeavour Chariots of Fire, followed by an end-of season mini-soirée.
Summer was always when repair and maintenance of equipment was carried
out. In 1986 considerable and expensive repairs to projectors were found
necessary. The Athletic & Social Club over the years had been generous
to the Film Society, but coffers were exhaustible, so we introduced fund-raising
events to pay for the repairs.
What became the society’s final season kicked off on October 29th
in a sombre atmosphere: it was announced that 17 staff were to be made
redundant. Nonetheless an audience of 58 turned out to see Sydney Pollack’s
Tootsie. The post-show soirée featured a couple of money-raisers:
a raffle for a bottle of whisky, and a film quiz set by Howard Spencer,
a member of Patents & Licensing Dept who was the BBC’s Film
Buff of the Year for 1985. Tested on the committee, the quiz proved far
too hard, and was converted to a multiple-choice format. Attendances,
as usual, dived after the soirée, with 23 people turning out in
November for Alan Parker’s Midnight Express, a drama set in a Turkish
prison, followed in December by Woody Allen’s Oscar-winning Annie
Hall. 1987 started with David Drury’s Defence of the Realm, and
an English mini-soirée, with food and drink of an English flavour.
Two shows in February: Mike Nichols’s Silkwood and John Landis’s
The Blues Brothers. And on 18th March we had Daniel Vigne’s The
Return of Martin Guerre, followed by an ‘End-of-Season Evening,
with food and drink of a French flavour’. End of Season and, as
it turned out, End of Film Society.
On 15th May came the shock announcement that BICC Research and Engineering
Ltd (as the British Insulated Callender’s Cables Research Organisation
had become ten years earlier) was to close at the end of the year. Some
staff moved to a new Technology Centre at Wrexham, or elsewhere in the
BICC Group or associated companies; many were made redundant: there were
no more film shows.
In 2006 BICC itself is no more. What is left of the company, divested
of its cable-making side, is known as Balfour Beatty. But the spirit of
Wood Lane lives on: Balfour Beatty host a well-attended annual buffet
lunch for Wood Lane pensioners in Croydon. Another, more informal, event
is an annual get-together of Wood Lane staff at a London pub, attendance
usually over fifty. That these events flourish nearly twenty years after
closure says much for the friendships and camaraderie engendered by BICC
Research and Engineering, by the BICC Athletic & Social Club (Wood
Lane), and not least by its Film Society.
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