Post by petrolino on Dec 24, 2019 18:21:17 GMT
Robin Askwith
"What a diabolical way to start a new career. Flat on me back starin' up blokes's trouser legs!"
'How Do You Do It' - Gerry And The Pacemakers
Ronald Askwiths was born in Southport, Merseyside - he'd later shorten his name to the more French-sounding Robin Askwith. His father Nelson Askwiths was a local bruiser who served in the Royal Navy during the Second World War. His mother Hazel (née Cookson) worked as a waitress and served in the Women's Royal Naval Service (popularly known as the Wrens). His great-uncle was Liverpudlian comic Robb Wilton, now regarded as one of the finest music hall entertainers of his era alongside Lancastrians George Formby, Frank Randle and Gracie Fields.
Askwith contracted polio when he was three years old and was kept in isolation at Southport Infirmary for almost a year. His family were informed their son might never walk again but Askwith defied the odds and took up swimming. His family relocated to the south of England where Askwith attended Orley Farm School. It's here where Askwith caught the acting bug, appearing in school plays and improvising in class. He went on to attend Merchant Taylors' School in Northwood, Hertfordshire. An air of mystery surrounds his acceptance by the University of Bristol to read in English Literature and Drama, due to an incident in which he allegedly participated in the robbery of a post office in Pinner.
"The Lancashire hills that surround Manchester are coloured vivid green for a reason, and it was this ever so slightly damp climate that provided the area with the optimum conditions for the processing of cotton. The moist conditions prevented the cotton fibres from splitting and the resulting streams and rivers powered the water mills that ran the factories.
Raw cotton was imported into the country, mainly from the American cotton fields. Factories in the south of Lancashire spun the threads and the weaving of vast cloths occurred in the towns to the north.
Water power alone however was no longer proving sufficient to keep the wheels of the Industrial Revolution turning. When in 1761 the Duke of Bridgewater opened his now famous canal, coal from the Duke’s mines at the Worsley Collieries could be transported much more easily to Manchester, thus providing a cheap source of power to feed the new-fangled steam engines.
The Bridgewater Canal was quickly extended, and by 1776 it had reached the River Mersey, thereby providing easier access to the port of Liverpool. The cost of transporting raw cotton from the port to Manchester halved almost overnight, as did the cost of shipping out the finished cloth.
Before Richard Arkwright built his first cotton mill in 1780, Manchester was barely keeping pace with the needs of the expanding British Empire, particularly the enormous demand of the Indian population for the “dhootie”, a cheap cotton loincloth which clothed the nation. The increased levels of production achieved by the new mills earned Lancashire the title of the “Workshop of the World”, with Manchester becoming known as “Cottonopolis”.
Manchester was expanding at a phenomenal rate and by the mid 1830’s it was widely recognised as the greatest industrial city in the world. In addition to making the machines required for the cotton mills, Manchester’s engineering firms diversified into general manufacturing. The bleaches and dyes required by the cotton industry spawned a substantial chemical industry that would gradually spread across the entire region. Industry requires financing, and so banks and insurance companies flocked to the city to provide the necessary services.
Despite the opening of the world’s first inter-city railway (the Liverpool and Manchester Railway (L&MR) in 1830), by the mid 1870’s Manchester’s supply lines were being stretched to their limits. In addition, the dues being charged by their ‘friends’ at the Port of Liverpool were considered by Manchester’s business community as being a tad excessive …they pointed out that goods could often be imported and bought from the Port of Hull, on other side of country, at a cheaper rate than via Liverpool!
Whilst the idea of linking Manchester with the sea by a navigable canal and river route can be traced back as early as 1660, it was not until 1882 that Manchester manufacturer Daniel Adamson brought together the men who could actually make it happen. In June of that year, he met with several other leaders from the Manchester business community, representatives and politicians from local Lancashire towns and two civil engineers to form the basis of a bill that would be submitted to Parliament later that year for approval.
A meticulously organised campaign was launched in order to gain public support for the venture, which pointed out that reduced transport costs to the city and surrounding region would make local industries more competitive and thus help to create new jobs. Surprisingly, the bill failed to gain any support at all from those ‘friends’ in the Port of Liverpool and as a consequence, was rejected by Parliament on two separate occasions thanks to their objections. The bill was finally passed in May 1885, becoming The Manchester Ship Canal Act 1885."
Raw cotton was imported into the country, mainly from the American cotton fields. Factories in the south of Lancashire spun the threads and the weaving of vast cloths occurred in the towns to the north.
Water power alone however was no longer proving sufficient to keep the wheels of the Industrial Revolution turning. When in 1761 the Duke of Bridgewater opened his now famous canal, coal from the Duke’s mines at the Worsley Collieries could be transported much more easily to Manchester, thus providing a cheap source of power to feed the new-fangled steam engines.
The Bridgewater Canal was quickly extended, and by 1776 it had reached the River Mersey, thereby providing easier access to the port of Liverpool. The cost of transporting raw cotton from the port to Manchester halved almost overnight, as did the cost of shipping out the finished cloth.
Before Richard Arkwright built his first cotton mill in 1780, Manchester was barely keeping pace with the needs of the expanding British Empire, particularly the enormous demand of the Indian population for the “dhootie”, a cheap cotton loincloth which clothed the nation. The increased levels of production achieved by the new mills earned Lancashire the title of the “Workshop of the World”, with Manchester becoming known as “Cottonopolis”.
Manchester was expanding at a phenomenal rate and by the mid 1830’s it was widely recognised as the greatest industrial city in the world. In addition to making the machines required for the cotton mills, Manchester’s engineering firms diversified into general manufacturing. The bleaches and dyes required by the cotton industry spawned a substantial chemical industry that would gradually spread across the entire region. Industry requires financing, and so banks and insurance companies flocked to the city to provide the necessary services.
Despite the opening of the world’s first inter-city railway (the Liverpool and Manchester Railway (L&MR) in 1830), by the mid 1870’s Manchester’s supply lines were being stretched to their limits. In addition, the dues being charged by their ‘friends’ at the Port of Liverpool were considered by Manchester’s business community as being a tad excessive …they pointed out that goods could often be imported and bought from the Port of Hull, on other side of country, at a cheaper rate than via Liverpool!
Whilst the idea of linking Manchester with the sea by a navigable canal and river route can be traced back as early as 1660, it was not until 1882 that Manchester manufacturer Daniel Adamson brought together the men who could actually make it happen. In June of that year, he met with several other leaders from the Manchester business community, representatives and politicians from local Lancashire towns and two civil engineers to form the basis of a bill that would be submitted to Parliament later that year for approval.
A meticulously organised campaign was launched in order to gain public support for the venture, which pointed out that reduced transport costs to the city and surrounding region would make local industries more competitive and thus help to create new jobs. Surprisingly, the bill failed to gain any support at all from those ‘friends’ in the Port of Liverpool and as a consequence, was rejected by Parliament on two separate occasions thanks to their objections. The bill was finally passed in May 1885, becoming The Manchester Ship Canal Act 1885."
- Ben Johnson, Historic U K
Aquitania docks at the port of Liverpool in 1920
Merseyside fire services attend Brunswick Dock in 1940
The capsized Empress of Canada at Gladstone Dock in 1953
Robin Askwith's great love Linda Hayden
Robin Askwith & Laura Jane Elliott (Linda Hayden's daughter) take a ride with the Gentleman Cabbie
Askwith became a fixture on the English stage, quickly establishing himself as one of the nation's premiere farceurs. He was as comfortable performing the works of Moliere and Ray Cooney as he was acting in plays by William Shakespeare and Bertolt Brecht. He also appeared in West End musicals. The release of his double-AA single 'Confessions' / 'This Space Is Reserved For You' (1977) came in the wake of contributions made to the soundtrack of 'Confessions Of A Pop Performer' (1975), leading Askwith to accept an opportunity to perform the music of Cy Coleman on stage in London.
Askwith has been a regular participant during England's lucrative pantomime season for decades now, having headlined major productions alongside Yorkshire's leading comedy double-act the Chuckle Brothers. In addition to his work in theatre, he's the writer and performer of a constantly evolving one-man touring show.
Excerpt from an interview published at LeftLion between Robin Askwith and journalist Al Needham
NEEDHAM: Would the Robin Askwith of 1976 have been welcome at a garden fete?
ASKWITH: Oh, I was in great demand at garden fetes at the time! It was never the vicars that booked me, because in the 70s, the Confessions films were very controversial. Mind you, if Chaucer was around then, he’d have been using me in his films! Bear in mind I haven’t only done Confessions, I played Arturo Ui, and other serious roles.
NEEDHAM: You went from playing a major part in Lindsay Anderson’s If to rolling about in holiday camps with assorted dolly birds. Where did it all go right for you?
ASKWITH: Well, in between those two, I did loads of theatre, and some cultish films like Horror Hospital. I considered myself a serious actor at the time. I presume you’re being ironic with the question, because the Confessions films made millions. I was at a dinner with some actor friends of mine the other night, and there was an après-brandy dig at some of the films I’ve made in my career, and Michael Winner said to them, “Ah, yes…but when was the last time any of your films made any money?”
NEEDHAM: Did you ever worry about being typecast as Timothy Lea?
ASKWITH: I was actually contracted to Columbia for a six-picture deal at the time, which was unheard of in those days. The only other British actor at the time with a similar deal was Sean Connery, and I just signed on the dotted line for Confessions of a Window Cleaner, and I never expected this load of old twaddle to be successful.
But I was given a lot of free rein to add my own mannerisms and inject more comedy into the part, because you couldn’t get away with shagging relentlessly in a film in 1974. I never expected there’d be a second film, but we were making too much money for there not to be a sequel, which made even more money... and that was it. I was trapped for another two pictures, and then the box office dipped slightly, so we knocked it on the head.
NEEDHAM: So why do you think the Brits enjoy their own particular saucy bit of fun in a way that other countries don’t?
ASKWITH: How many times I have been asked that? And I can never come up with an intelligent answer! It goes back to Chaucer and Shakespeare, obviously…it’s in our culture. You can even go back to the strolling players of the thirteenth century, who would roll into a village, blow a raspberry and run off. It’s part of our heritage!
NEEDHAM: Why has Sex Comedy waned in this country, while Hollywood has seemed to discover it with films like American Pie?
ASKWITH: Funny you should say that, because I was approached two days ago by Quentin Tarantino…
NEEDHAM: Gerraway.
ASKWITH: Oh yes. As you know, he’s very good at pinpointing cults and he knows everything about me. I’ve been asked to go to LA after this to do an experimental project, with me in a time machine. The Americans have taken the lead with sex comedy because we’ve been so poisoned by Political Correctness over here. Comics have to sign pieces of paper to promise that they won’t make jokes about certain groups.
NEEDHAM: As an icon of the seventies, why do you think we’re always harking back to it as an idyllic era when there were so many grim things happening like three-day weeks and pub bombings?
ASKWITH: Because we had so many new toys to play with! We had the Pill, the music was changing, and for the first time ever, you didn’t have the fear of a World War hanging over you. We were so lucky then. I mean, you could still walk down the street in long hair and be afraid of being arrested.
Buying dope was an absolute adventure! You had to see someone who would take you see someone else, you’d change the bus about 50 times and then you’d find yourself in a room with blacked-out windows and be given a tiiiny bit of dope, and you’d go “Yessssss!”
NEEDHAM: What do you think of places like Flares and lads on stag nights with Afro wigs?
ASKWITH: It’s a celebration of something they feel they’ve missed, isn’t it? I think it’s fabulous that people remember it. We certainly weren’t looking back to the 40s then! I think people pick up on because there was a feeling that something new was happening. We had to improvise, you know! Everyone’s living on free money that doesn’t even exist these days,
you just get a loan in. We couldn’t do that in those days. We had to make do.
NEEDHAM: You actually appeared in a Carry On film before Confessions kicked off, and then you pretty much buried them at the box office…
ASKWITH: I’d already worked with Gerald Thomas (producer of the Carry On series) in the movie version of Bless This House with Sid James and they were quite impressed, so they put me in Carry On Girls. During filming, they extended my role. Barbara Windsor collared me one day and said “’Ere! Your part’s getting biggah and biggah!” They never forgave me for the success of the Confessions films. It was where they should have gone, but they couldn’t. They eventually tried it with Carry On Emanuelle, but it failed. There was nothing amusing about sexually promiscuous women in those days…
NEEDHAM: Would the Robin Askwith of 1976 have been welcome at a garden fete?
ASKWITH: Oh, I was in great demand at garden fetes at the time! It was never the vicars that booked me, because in the 70s, the Confessions films were very controversial. Mind you, if Chaucer was around then, he’d have been using me in his films! Bear in mind I haven’t only done Confessions, I played Arturo Ui, and other serious roles.
NEEDHAM: You went from playing a major part in Lindsay Anderson’s If to rolling about in holiday camps with assorted dolly birds. Where did it all go right for you?
ASKWITH: Well, in between those two, I did loads of theatre, and some cultish films like Horror Hospital. I considered myself a serious actor at the time. I presume you’re being ironic with the question, because the Confessions films made millions. I was at a dinner with some actor friends of mine the other night, and there was an après-brandy dig at some of the films I’ve made in my career, and Michael Winner said to them, “Ah, yes…but when was the last time any of your films made any money?”
NEEDHAM: Did you ever worry about being typecast as Timothy Lea?
ASKWITH: I was actually contracted to Columbia for a six-picture deal at the time, which was unheard of in those days. The only other British actor at the time with a similar deal was Sean Connery, and I just signed on the dotted line for Confessions of a Window Cleaner, and I never expected this load of old twaddle to be successful.
But I was given a lot of free rein to add my own mannerisms and inject more comedy into the part, because you couldn’t get away with shagging relentlessly in a film in 1974. I never expected there’d be a second film, but we were making too much money for there not to be a sequel, which made even more money... and that was it. I was trapped for another two pictures, and then the box office dipped slightly, so we knocked it on the head.
NEEDHAM: So why do you think the Brits enjoy their own particular saucy bit of fun in a way that other countries don’t?
ASKWITH: How many times I have been asked that? And I can never come up with an intelligent answer! It goes back to Chaucer and Shakespeare, obviously…it’s in our culture. You can even go back to the strolling players of the thirteenth century, who would roll into a village, blow a raspberry and run off. It’s part of our heritage!
NEEDHAM: Why has Sex Comedy waned in this country, while Hollywood has seemed to discover it with films like American Pie?
ASKWITH: Funny you should say that, because I was approached two days ago by Quentin Tarantino…
NEEDHAM: Gerraway.
ASKWITH: Oh yes. As you know, he’s very good at pinpointing cults and he knows everything about me. I’ve been asked to go to LA after this to do an experimental project, with me in a time machine. The Americans have taken the lead with sex comedy because we’ve been so poisoned by Political Correctness over here. Comics have to sign pieces of paper to promise that they won’t make jokes about certain groups.
NEEDHAM: As an icon of the seventies, why do you think we’re always harking back to it as an idyllic era when there were so many grim things happening like three-day weeks and pub bombings?
ASKWITH: Because we had so many new toys to play with! We had the Pill, the music was changing, and for the first time ever, you didn’t have the fear of a World War hanging over you. We were so lucky then. I mean, you could still walk down the street in long hair and be afraid of being arrested.
Buying dope was an absolute adventure! You had to see someone who would take you see someone else, you’d change the bus about 50 times and then you’d find yourself in a room with blacked-out windows and be given a tiiiny bit of dope, and you’d go “Yessssss!”
NEEDHAM: What do you think of places like Flares and lads on stag nights with Afro wigs?
ASKWITH: It’s a celebration of something they feel they’ve missed, isn’t it? I think it’s fabulous that people remember it. We certainly weren’t looking back to the 40s then! I think people pick up on because there was a feeling that something new was happening. We had to improvise, you know! Everyone’s living on free money that doesn’t even exist these days,
you just get a loan in. We couldn’t do that in those days. We had to make do.
NEEDHAM: You actually appeared in a Carry On film before Confessions kicked off, and then you pretty much buried them at the box office…
ASKWITH: I’d already worked with Gerald Thomas (producer of the Carry On series) in the movie version of Bless This House with Sid James and they were quite impressed, so they put me in Carry On Girls. During filming, they extended my role. Barbara Windsor collared me one day and said “’Ere! Your part’s getting biggah and biggah!” They never forgave me for the success of the Confessions films. It was where they should have gone, but they couldn’t. They eventually tried it with Carry On Emanuelle, but it failed. There was nothing amusing about sexually promiscuous women in those days…
An Evening with Robin Askwith
Robin Askwith's great love Leonie Mellinger
'I'm The One' - Gerry And The Pacemakers
Askwith's television career saw him take on a range of character roles in the 1970s, before finally landing a leading role in Mancunian comedy writer Vince Powell's 'Bottle Boys', a rather fanciful creation from the mind behind 'Bless This House', 'Mind Your Own Language' and 'Love Thy Neighbour'. Askwith starred as Dave Deacon, a footie-loving milkman awash in Thatcherite Britain. 'Bottle Boys' was the work of Powell alone - his regular writing partner Harry Driver (a polio sufferer) died in 1973.
'STARRING in a play called Dead Funny shouldn't cause you any concerns about keeping a straight face, but actress Kerry Peers has exactly that problem as glowering wife Eleanor. While the rest of the cast revel in impersonations of Benny Hill, Frankie Howerd, Morecambe and Wise and Jimmy James, her role as a desperate-to-be-pregnant woman means she has to hate her husband's involvement in the Dead Funny Society - dedicated to Britain's fallen heroes of light entertainment.
Billingham Forum Theatre hosts Terry Johnson's award-winning comedy from Monday until Saturday and much rests on Stephen Pinder, who plays Eleanor's husband, Richard, Ben Hull and Robin Askwith to provide the fondly-remembered punchlines.
Kerry says: "I 'm supposed to watch it disdainfully but in rehearsals I found it very hard to keep a straight face and I think the boy's impersonations are absolutely fantastic. I think they're brilliant. I don't think they are necessarily going for direct impersonations, more the flavour of it, but they do get them down really well and make the sketches very funny.
"Although it only takes up a small proportion of the play it is one of the main things that the audience come out remembering."
The death of Benny Hill prompts the main events of Dead Funny with Askwith's character, the closet gay Brian, deciding to throw a party.
Kerry admits that she signed up for Dead Funny once she learned that director Nikolai Foster was in charge. "I'd worked with him before on A Streetcar Named Desire and I got an amazing opportunity to play Blanche, a dream part, and he was a young director then but I found working with him on that was the most incredible theatrical experience I'd had. So when he offered the part I just said 'yes' and made a show of reading the script first. If he'd said 'would you like to play Bill And Ben and be Weed?' I'd have said yes."
She did worry that Eleanor's cold and hard nature was too baffling and couldn't see what purpose it served but reveals that during the second reading the play's humour and her character's witty nature began to shine through.
"I began to see her dilemma of being so absolutely desperate for a child and with a husband who won't have sex with her," she says.'
- The Northern Echo Archives
Fun with the Bottle Boys
'I Like It' - Gerry And The Pacemakers
Askwith's long and varied film career has had its highs and lows, the stage being his first love. His signature role is that of accident-prone, jack-the-lad Timothy Lea in the 'Confessions' comedy series, for which he beat out stiff competition from the likes of Richard Beckinsale, Nicky Henson, Richard O'Sullivan and Dennis Waterman to secure the part. Four 'Confessions' films were released theatrically in the 1970s, with two planned adventures never making it to the big screen. Of these two unfilmed properties - 5th episode 'Confessions Of A Plumber's Mate' and 6th episode 'Confessions Of A Private Soldier' - Askwith had expressed a desire to direct the latter. Outside the 'Confessions' series, Askwith's been a reliable stock company player for filmmakers Norman Cohen, David Eady and Pete Walker.
"The year 1974, history reminds us, was a pretty good one for cineastes. There was Jack Nicholson in Chinatown, Gene Hackman in The Conversation, and Al Pacino in The Godfather Part II. Robert Redford was starring in The Great Gatsby, and Albert Finney was investigating Murder on the Orient Express. Jack Lemmon won an Oscar, Walter Matthau a Bafta.
But none of these fine actors could hold a candle to that year's biggest star, in that year's biggest film: Robin Askwith in Confessions of a Window Cleaner.
It prompts a strange sensation, in 2013, to type a sentence like that and not feel compelled to check the facts again; the overwhelming conviction that, surely, this is nonsense. But, no. It's quite right. Halfway through the decade that taste purportedly forgot, Confessions of a Window Cleaner, a puerile sex comedy about a randy handyman called Timothy Lea, had the biggest UK box-office takings of the year, and helped confirm to the watching (if not gawping) world that, when it came to matters of sex, we Brits were a peculiar, and possibly unique, breed.
The film's success prompted sequels – Confessions of a Pop Performer, Confessions of a Driving Instructor, Confessions from a Holiday Camp, and, in 1978, a variation on its mono-theme but told from a woman's point of view, Rosie Dixon: Night Nurse. These became, in their own way, a seminal episode in British screen history."
But none of these fine actors could hold a candle to that year's biggest star, in that year's biggest film: Robin Askwith in Confessions of a Window Cleaner.
It prompts a strange sensation, in 2013, to type a sentence like that and not feel compelled to check the facts again; the overwhelming conviction that, surely, this is nonsense. But, no. It's quite right. Halfway through the decade that taste purportedly forgot, Confessions of a Window Cleaner, a puerile sex comedy about a randy handyman called Timothy Lea, had the biggest UK box-office takings of the year, and helped confirm to the watching (if not gawping) world that, when it came to matters of sex, we Brits were a peculiar, and possibly unique, breed.
The film's success prompted sequels – Confessions of a Pop Performer, Confessions of a Driving Instructor, Confessions from a Holiday Camp, and, in 1978, a variation on its mono-theme but told from a woman's point of view, Rosie Dixon: Night Nurse. These became, in their own way, a seminal episode in British screen history."
- Nick Duerden, The Independent
"It's 1970, England have been knocked out of the World Cup; the Beatles are wearing beards and kaftans, shortly to go the way of Busted. And the British film industry has collapsed, largely because a small group of greedy Saudi Arabian men have decided to hike up the worldwide price of oil, so forcing the big American studios to withdraw their co-production wad. Overnight, a raft of distinguished actors, writers and directors are out of work: people desperate to stay in movies in order to pay the mortgage (no matter how bad these movies might be).
Only one thing can save the film industry. Porn. But not, y'know, porn that's really pornographic. No, British porn. Porn that Celia Imrie can star in. Or Captain Birds Eye. Or Olive from On The Buses. Porn with a flash of tit and arse, a twang of a G-string and The Sweeney's Dennis Waterman burning his cock on a hot-water bottle.
So was born the sex comedy. The most tragic episode in British cinema, but also, weirdly, the most memorable. Movies with strange and fantastically mundane titles like Confessions Of A Window Cleaner and Adventures Of A Taxi Driver, shot in glamorous locations like an out-of-season Butlins or a driving school in Cheam. Sex comedies lasted just 10 years, from 1970 to 1980, and disappeared as quickly as they'd first appeared. Yet the amazing thing is that these cheap, ridiculous movies saved the British film industry, at their height grossing more than the Bond or Carry On films, of which they were a raunchier, infinitely more surreal offshoot.
The pre-cursor of the sex comedy was a 1968 feature called What's Good For The Goose, starring the original dirty old man, Norman Wisdom, as a middle-aged letch trying to get his leg over a nubile hippy-chick in swinging London. It was coy and terrible and about as sexy as an in-growing toenail, but inspired by this film, British directors felt emboldened to start making their own sex comedies with titles like Not Tonight Darling!, Snow White And The Seven Perverts, and Secrets Of A Door-To-Door Salesman (part-directed by an out-of-work Jonathan Demme, who later made Silence Of The Lambs; Demme was rejected by the producers after one scene, clearly because he was never going to cut it in the film business). Against all (low) expectations, these films began doing incredibly well at the box office."
Only one thing can save the film industry. Porn. But not, y'know, porn that's really pornographic. No, British porn. Porn that Celia Imrie can star in. Or Captain Birds Eye. Or Olive from On The Buses. Porn with a flash of tit and arse, a twang of a G-string and The Sweeney's Dennis Waterman burning his cock on a hot-water bottle.
So was born the sex comedy. The most tragic episode in British cinema, but also, weirdly, the most memorable. Movies with strange and fantastically mundane titles like Confessions Of A Window Cleaner and Adventures Of A Taxi Driver, shot in glamorous locations like an out-of-season Butlins or a driving school in Cheam. Sex comedies lasted just 10 years, from 1970 to 1980, and disappeared as quickly as they'd first appeared. Yet the amazing thing is that these cheap, ridiculous movies saved the British film industry, at their height grossing more than the Bond or Carry On films, of which they were a raunchier, infinitely more surreal offshoot.
The pre-cursor of the sex comedy was a 1968 feature called What's Good For The Goose, starring the original dirty old man, Norman Wisdom, as a middle-aged letch trying to get his leg over a nubile hippy-chick in swinging London. It was coy and terrible and about as sexy as an in-growing toenail, but inspired by this film, British directors felt emboldened to start making their own sex comedies with titles like Not Tonight Darling!, Snow White And The Seven Perverts, and Secrets Of A Door-To-Door Salesman (part-directed by an out-of-work Jonathan Demme, who later made Silence Of The Lambs; Demme was rejected by the producers after one scene, clearly because he was never going to cut it in the film business). Against all (low) expectations, these films began doing incredibly well at the box office."
- Jacques Peretti, The Guardian
"It was vital to have these actors in the 'Confession' films. At the time you've got to remember there weren't many other films being made in Britain so that's probably why we got all these actors. It was terrific to work with them. I had known Tony Booth for years before and having the likes of Dandy Nichols and Bill Maynard involved was just great. Linda Hayden, who I did a show with recent at the Cinema Museum, she was in two of the Confessions films, but before those she had done a lot of serious work and was a prolific actress. I was actually the last to be cast in that first Confessions film and it was mainly seeing the quality of the cast that made me sign on.
Irene Handl was another one - I had such respect for her as I'd loved all the comedy films she'd made in the 1950s. She was in 'Confessions of a Driving Instructor' (1976) and she always had this little dog with her. She used to keep a toilet roll in her pocket, just for the dog. She came up to me on the first day and told me how much she had wanted to do one of the films and how excited she was. She then whispered in my ear to warn me that "she was still a virgin" which made me wonder what kind of part in the film she thought she was getting! She was hilarious with a wicked sense of humour and knew exactly what she was doing!"
Irene Handl was another one - I had such respect for her as I'd loved all the comedy films she'd made in the 1950s. She was in 'Confessions of a Driving Instructor' (1976) and she always had this little dog with her. She used to keep a toilet roll in her pocket, just for the dog. She came up to me on the first day and told me how much she had wanted to do one of the films and how excited she was. She then whispered in my ear to warn me that "she was still a virgin" which made me wonder what kind of part in the film she thought she was getting! She was hilarious with a wicked sense of humour and knew exactly what she was doing!"
- Robin Askwith, Carry On Blogging!
Robin Askwith attends a retrospective of his work at Darlington Film Club
'Don't Let The Sun Catch You Crying' - Gerry And The Pacemakers
--
Theatrical By Nature
"That is impossible because I have done just so much, encompassing everything from West End Musicals and Hollywood films to situation comedy. It’s not really been in my hands, it’s very seldom in your hands. The only thing I could do differently, and life would have been very different if I had not taken 'Confessions of a Window Cleaner' (1974). That was a turning point. For the better or the worse, I will never know. But if I did something differently I would not do that film, just to see what would have happened.
I spoke a lot about 'If...' (1968) in the show last night, actually. Well, it was the beginng, it was the genesis of my career, and it was all due to Lindsay Anderson, obviously, who really discovered me and mentored my life whilst he was alive."
I spoke a lot about 'If...' (1968) in the show last night, actually. Well, it was the beginng, it was the genesis of my career, and it was all due to Lindsay Anderson, obviously, who really discovered me and mentored my life whilst he was alive."
- Robin Askwith, Nerdly
"I was Lindsay Anderson's kind of actor. I don't know why, but I was. I know he thought that I was a Brechtian (whatever that means) but I don't think I am. I think what he meant was that I play in a style that is not realistic, but which is still real. I met him at the audition for If . . . in 1967. We got on very well, but it was the second audition that was magical because it involved me getting a slap from this girl I was playing opposite. She slapped me into getting the part - and subsequently into doing Clockwork Orange, because Kubrick saw If ... five times and cast me from that."
- Malcolm McDowell, The Guardian
Sally Geeson & Robin Askwith
'Confessions' - Robin Askwith
--
Lindsay Anderson's 'If...' (1968)
Clive Donner's 'Alfred The Great' (1969)
Janet Lynn & Robin Askwith in Pete Walker's 'Cool It Carol!' (1970)
Pier Paolo Pasolini's 'The Canterbury Tales' (1971)
Sidney Hayers' 'All Coppers Are ...' (1972)
Pete Walker's 'The Flesh And Blood Show' (1972)
Pete Walker's 'Four Dimensions Of Greta' (1972)
Jill Haworth, Anna Palk, Gary Hamilton and Richard Gordon throw rings at Robin Askwith on the set of Jim Connolly's 'Tower Of Evil' (1972)
Gerald Thomas' comedy series entry 'Carry On Girls' (1973)
Robin Askwith with Michael Gough in Antony Balch's 'Horror Hospital' (1973)
Cliff Owen's 'No Sex Please, We're British' (1973)
Val Guest's 'Confessions Of A Driving Instructor' (1974) / Norman Cohen's 'Confessions Of A Pop Performer' (1975), 'Confessions Of A Driving Instructor' (1976) and 'Confessions From A Holiday Camp' (1977)
Robin Askwith & Fiona Richmond in James Kenelm Clarke's 'Let's Get Laid' (1977)
John Bett, Vivian Pickles, Leonard Rossiter, Marcus Powell, Peter Jeffrey, Fulton Mackay, Robin Askwith & Joan Plowright in Lindsay Anderson's 'Britannia Hospital' (1982)
Jonathan Mostow's 'U-571' (2000)
Richard Driscoll's 'Evil Calls : The Raven' (2008)
Ray Cooney & John Luton's big screen redux 'Run For Your Wife' (2012)
'All My Loving' - The Beatles
--
"Director Quentin Tarantino has revealed an unlikely obsession with 1970s London – hinting that he could even head to the capital to film a future project. Speaking at the Cannes Film Festival – where he is celebrating the 20th anniversary of former Palme D’Or winner Pulp Fiction – the filmmaker told reporters: ‘I love London and I really want to film there.’ He added: ‘I could do a comedy there. I’m obsessed with 1970s London.’ The question is though – just how would Tarantino’s fondness for pop culture and graphic violence on screen sit alongside the double entendre-laden Britcoms of the era?
With a little more Robin Askwith and nods to his infamous ‘Confessions’ series than we’re accustomed to seeing in one of his movies – is how it might turn out. Or at least how we would want it to ..."
- Caroline Westbrook, Metro
