Play It Cool

The Painted Smile

It’s Trad, Dad!

The Road to Hong Kong

Some People

Band of Thieves

I Could Go On Singing

March

Director Michael Winner had already made a contribution to the pop films of the decade with his 1960 Climb Up the Wall. His exploitation of the genre continued with Independent Artists’ Play It Cool, produced by Julian Wintle and Leslie Parkyn at Pinewood. Written by Jack Henry, the plot is vaguely constructed around pop singer Billy Universe (Billy Fury) and his musicians, who are flying to Brussels. At a 1962 airport (unrecognisably homely) Fury is fascinated by three air hostesses: ‘I wouldn’t mind crashing with those three!’ This is a fair example of the uninspired dialogue that cobbles together a sequence of not uninteresting performers. Critical plaudits were in short supply, with Films and Filming pronouncing, ‘It’s Bad, Dad […] amateurish and tatty […] As Billy Fury can’t act, he sensibly acts natural instead, while his musical-saw accent is left unblunted – a good touch.’ In this at least MFB agreed, explaining that Fury ‘who, while apparently suffering from an Elvis Presley complex, can’t quite shake off an Old Kent Road perkiness which is rather endearing’. Over half a century on, this quality still comes through, despite the sometimes dispiriting surroundings.

In the airport lounge, Billy entertains expectant travellers by singing Norrie Paramor and Richard B. Rowe’s ‘Once upon a Dream’. There’s no stopping him in his efforts to keep everyone’s mind off the perils of air travel. If we are to believe Play It Cool, getting airborne was a distinctly quaint experience in 1962. Before take-off he’s moving up and down the aisle relaxing the passengers with song. All appear delighted. On dry land, everyone is doing ‘the Twist’, which seemed to be enjoying a bumper year; even Margaret Rutherford as Miss Marple was having a go in MGM’s Murder at the Gallop. Along the way, it’s good to see Shane Fenton and Jimmy Crawford, and the always unpretentious Helen Shapiro in natty knitwear in two Paramor–Newell numbers. Mike and Bernie Winters provide a thermometer reading of British film comedy in the early sixties.