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Why Alan Clarke is the key British film-maker whose maverick spirit lives on | Why Alan Clarke is the key British film-maker whose maverick spirit lives on |
(35 minutes later) | |
I’ve been thinking about Alan Clarke recently. That’s not unusual: he’s a director I love, and his glorious, bristling films mean a lot to me. So it was his name that I first came up with when I started work on six short videos about the mavericks of British film. Maverick is a tricky word to parse, but if it meant anything at all, then Clarke – off on his own path, sparring with authority – has to be the benchmark. | |
Although we start in 1964 with Peter Watkins’s Culloden, four of the subjects are still alive and making films. All the same, it was hard not to feel a pang while we worked, and Clarke was why. Part of that was simply his loss; next month will be the 25th anniversary of a stupidly early death, at 55. But it was also the lack of a legacy. When he was making films in the 80s, his anger was a beacon in bad times. Now, in more of them, the glow of my iPad as an email arrives with another change.org petition to sign feels a sad substitute. | |
A funny thing about doing this project for the BBC was that Clarke had his own film Scum banned by the corporation in 1977. (He wasn’t alone there: Watkins saw The War Game go unbroadcast for 20 years.) Although his output was wildly diverse, Clarke’s best films often ended up snared in controversy. Scum, like many of them, was violent and foul-mouthed, but what petrified executives throughout his career were the people Clarke made films about. In the disunited 1980s, just to tell stories about the feral skinhead Trevor in Made in Britain or The Firm’s upwardly mobile hooligan Bex was a radical two fingers. | |
Related: Paul Greengrass: my hero Alan Clarke | Related: Paul Greengrass: my hero Alan Clarke |
Of course, there are other ways of frightening the horses. A world away from skinheads and West Ham, another director we look at is Jonathan Glazer, whose last two films, Birth and Under the Skin, wear as badges of honour the volatile receptions they received at international film festivals. But the genius of Clarke was that he messed with ordinary millions across Britain. It wasn’t just that he scared and outraged people; it was that he did it on the telly after the local news and between adverts for Cinzano. | |
In 2015, the thought of anything as incendiary as Scum or Made in Britain turning up on TV just seems bizarre. Good luck finding a voice like Clarke in drama at all. Now, the real head-spinning stuff turns up in documentaries, mostly the kind pioneered by another of our subjects, John Akomfrah, pieced together from fragments of archive footage. There again, like so much, TV is a safer, sprucer place these days: Adam Curtis is exhilarating, but it’s hard to imagine anyone ever wanting to ban him. | |
If they think of him at all, people think of Clarke as a maker of brute social realism. But God, his films are sophisticated: Made in Britain is a masterclass of Steadicam and 360-degree lighting; The Firm an adrenal melee. And these are worlds you know Clarke knew, rather than having had them introduced to him by someone at dinner who had read a piece in one of the Sundays. | |
As with everything British, all roads lead to class. Clarke started working in TV during what now looks the brief British experiment with social mobility in the 1950s and 60s. The result was something truly outlandish by today’s standards: a working-class director making films about working-class people honest enough to admit they were often a mess, but also, to clarify that they were, in fact, people. Now, we have Benefits Street. | |
Related: Interview: Samantha Morton | Related: Interview: Samantha Morton |
Maybe the closet thing to Clarke in 2015 is Samantha Morton. As a director she has only made one film, The Unloved, the story of a girl in a Nottingham children’s home, but its high-wire energy and her obvious bond with her actors all felt very Clarke to me. She even insisted it went out on TV so that kids themselves could see it. | |
Let’s be honest: if it seems inconceivable that Alan Clarke would be making films now, it felt fairly inconceivable then, too. The writer of Made in Britain, David Leland, said that while it was on air, “People wanted to go round the back of the TV to see if it was plugged in properly”. We should also be careful of over-egging the nostalgia for an era that commissioned his films, only to end up banning them. And yet that was the era that made them, and they’re still astonishing now. | |
Personally, I refuse to believe no one out there has anything Clarke-ian to say about the descendants of Trevor, Bex and the rest of them, now strutting around the offices, gyms, nightclubs and police stations of modern Britain. It’s just that in modern Britain, I have no idea where they might be saying it, or who might be listening. It’s always a pleasure to think about Alan Clarke, and it was an even greater one to make a tribute to him – even if, like most celebrations, it ended up melancholy. |
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