Feature

New feature: You Ain't Seen Me, Right? - Privilege (1967)

Daniel

1st October 2010

In true, Alan Partridge style, let me introduce this new, regular feature of the site. You Ain't Seen Me, Right? will be a weekly look at a classic film that, let's face it, you probably haven't seen.

We'll try and pick out some hidden gems that have managed to exist below the radar and hopefully attempt to broaden your knowledge of film. Unless you've seen it, of course, in which case, just ignore us.

You Ain't Seen Me, Right? will be brought to you by Daniel Palmer, of Part-Time Infidel web fame. Take it away, Daniel.

Privilege (1967)

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Quite why Peter Watkins isn't regarded as an auteur on the level of Ken Loach or Lindsay Anderson remains a mystery to anyone familiar with his oeuvre. A pioneer of the docudrama format, his work has an authenticity and audacity that was decades ahead of its time; which may go a long way to explaining its relative obscurity.

Watkins first came to prominence in 1965, when he made a film on the dangers of nuclear proliferation for the BBC called The War Game. Despite winning an Oscar in the Best Documentary category - even though it was completely fictional - the Beeb baulked at the film's unflinching horror and refused to broadcast it.

Another highlight was 1971's Punishment Park, wherein hippies, pacifists and sundry other members of America's counter-culture are rounded up and sent to 'reprogramming' camps, then hunted for sport if they refuse to repent. Clearly, this man was never going to be asked to direct Transformers.

But Watkins' crowning achievement is 1967's Privilege; a merciless dissection of celebrity and the co-option of youth culture. In Privilege, England 'in the near future' is run by a coalition government that wishes to keep the nation's youth out of politics by diverting them with mindless entertainment - sound familiar?

Steven Shorter (Paul Jones of Manfred Mann) is a callow ex-con who is moulded by a phalanx of self-serving handlers and propelled to unprecedented fame; swept up in a whirlwind of ticker-tape parades and riotous concerts where, caged and manacled, he is adored by hordes of female fans. A decision is made by Steven Shorter Enterprises to give Shorter an image overhaul, one which will "subdue critical elements and ensure national cohesion" and result in a more obedient youth. This leads to an unholy alliance of public relations and organized religion, with Shorter as its figurehead.

Manfred Mann was pretty sure someone had spiked his pre-gig iced tea.



Watkins' customary verite style is in evidence here: naturalistic photography, dispassionate narration, mobile camera-work and numerous breaches of the Fourth Wall. Pop star Jones proves himself to be an accomplished actor in the lead role, his expressive features adeptly conveying the unease, boredom and isolation of a character that is the centre of attention, yet totally alone.

Shorter is little more than a commodity, a 'gilt-edge investment' whose likeness is used to sell everything from discotheques to dog food, controlled by a committee and used to transmit the chauvinistic message of demagogues.

In the age of reality television, Privilege seems extremely prescient; what was arch satire in 1967 has become accepted fact. The film avers that fame is a Faustian pact, offering great reward but coming at the price of one's personal liberty. It posits the radical notion that there is an inherently totalitarian strain to the devotion pop music's artifice and spectacle inspires, encouraging its fans - or followers - to submerge themselves in a collective identity.

Privilege is a contentious, urgent, disturbing meditation on the narcissism and apathy of the age; offering some startling parallels to the current state we're in.
And there you have it. Hopefully we'll be back this time next week, unless that Alan Partridge comparison was a bit too accurate.

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