Make Mine a Million

Arthur Askey stars as an inept make-up man who gets involved with a sort of photo-bombing of products on a British PBS-like TV network, which does not have advertisers. After the TV station fires him, he becomes national celebrity after a series of photo-bombs advertise a laundry soap called Bonko and the product's sales skyrocket. He becomes so famous, the network gives him his own show!

Askey may be a little broad in his humor for all tastes, but this is a good role for him. Others in the cast include Sidney James as the Bonko salesman, Dermot Walsh as an ad-man, Olga Lindo as the landlady, Sally Barnes as a girl friday, Bernard Cribbins as the camera guy, Bruce Seton as the police chief and some "guest stars" like Evelyn Laye, Dennis Lotis, Tommy Trinder, and a sex bomb named Sabrina.

Arthur Askey's comedy is very much in the Music Hall style, and while he was popular in his day, he never achieved the major movie success of George Formby or Norman Wisdom.

'Make Mine a Million' is a riotously rumbustious, classic music Hall-style, frightfully frilly farce with plentiful slapstick silliness, and crispy-corny, quick-fire japes! This sun-bright, and summer breezy bit of frothy, eminently titter-worthy nonsense is about the playful, but increasingly desperate travails of an earnest, and somewhat penurious Soap Power salesman (Sidney James), and his amusingly spiv-ish, comedically fraught escapades as he frantically, and somewhat inventively attempts to turn his unknown 'Bonko' brand of 'miracle' soap powder into a national top seller! These delightfully comedic, full-throttle misadventures are brought to vividly frothing life with two larger than life performances by luminous national treasures Arthur Askey, and Carry On Cackling legend Sid James, with a nice turn from the beloved TV star Bernard Cribbins. What keeps 'Make Mine a Million' from being a wash-out is its infectiously roustabout, rib-tickling charm, sparklingly sprightly sight gags, and bonkers 'Bonko' buffoonery! There are also brief, but no less glistering cameo's from bubbly Babs Windsor, cuddly Kenneth Connor, blissfully Buxom starlet Sabrina, and mirth-master Tommy Trinder! Any giddy-headed, smile-seeking fan of vintage British comedy should give 'Make Mine a Million' a spin, as this whiter-than-white, wholesomely family-friendly, wonderfully winsome comedy is clean as a whistle, mayte, and features yet another smoothly sonorous score from mood maestro Stanley Black.

I loved Arthur Askey as a stage performer, particularly in pantomime, where he wisecracked off script throughout the show and as such often dominated the entire performance! He had such a great rapport with audiences who loved him, so it was no surprise that he was always a top of the bill entertainer in the late 30's, 40's and the 50's. However, by the time this film was made, 1959, Arthur was showing his age. The film itself doesn't really do justice to his immense comedy talents. In fact, it's the ubiquitous Sid James, a 'man for all seasons' who holds the film together as well as providing a perfect comedy foil to Askey. Sid James plays another loveable ' wrinkled' rascal, which sees him conniving and scheming to secure advertising time for his new unknown washing powder, 'Bonko' on national TV - code for the BBC - with the active assistance of Arthur Askey, playing a BBC make -up man. The TV adverts sends the sales of ' Bonko' soaring, but sadly for Arthur, he gets the push from his job for breaking the strict rules about advertising on national TV. Nevertheless, our irrepressible Arthur bounces back from adversity and finally he's offered his own TV show. The storyline is rather silly but the film does give the audience a chance to spot a galaxy of stage and screen stars playing cameo roles. Humour, like fashion after a few years becomes dated, and many of the comedy scenes left me underwhelmed. The film has a curiosity value as to what entertained audiences in the late 50's.

Arthur Askey plays a make-up man working for National TV (a thinly disguised BBC) inveigled into advertising a washing powder, the improbably named Bonko! by its rascally promoter Sid James. The plan works, Arthur is fired but Bonko! sales boom. Then another promoter turns up at the Bonko! 'factory' run from three public call boxes, to engage Sid and Arthur to advertise cake mix on the National in the same way.

This is a light comedy with likable characters which is very much of its time, never letting up. Though to call it a satire would be pushing it a bit, a lot of fun is had parodying the BBC as envisaged by Lord Reith, also the sheep-like nature of the public who won't buy a product that hasn't been advertised "on the telly". In fact commercial TV had only arrived in the UK three years previously, in the face of determined opposition from some influential voices in Parliament and other sections of the media; the idea of any sort of advert on the BBC was taboo. Askey was at the height of his popularity at the time and was one of the first major UK TV stars, though he had been in the entertainment business for decades already. Here, he's his chirpy, irrepressible self, whether quipping with landlady Olga Lindo, or incongruously plugging Dermot Walsh's "slap-happy cake mix" on stage with the Royal Ballet, in an amusing and adeptly directed scene. Yet, along with Benny Hill, he seems to have become a non-person in the eyes of many of the professional pundits on British comedy. He works well with Sid James, as funny as ever, playing the same kind of comical rogue he did so well in the Hancock radio series. The guest stars include Sabrina, who appeared in Askey's TV shows, causing an early case of carping from moral watchdogs. It's all a fascinating glimpse of TV at the time, and can be recommended to all who, as Edwin Richfield's lugubrious plain-clothes cop observes at the ballet "prefer a good laugh".

Historically noteworthy as the final production of John Baxter - it's vaguely satirical storyline at the expense of TV commercials carrying echoes of the social concern of his thirties films - and preserving for posterity various luminaries of the era (some of them - like racing tipster Ras Prince Monolulu - making very fleeting gag appearances as themselves).

Not for the first time Lance Comfort's direction and Arthur Grant's photography go well beyond the call of duty in making it all remarkably enjoyable to experience.