Confessions of a Window Cleaner

I think this genre of Saucy 70's British film is forever being slated by critics, Yes they are dumb, but they are harmless, the makers of these films did not intend to make groundbreaking cinema, but a funny and saucy alternative to the rest of the films tha country was producing from that era. I say these films are a cult, along with the On the Buses films, and the far more mainstreem Carry On's. I like to watch these films last thing at night, I call them 'bedtime films' you can just switch on after a hard day's graft, and perhaps even switch your brain off to watch them, there is just a fun, cheap thrill element to them, the films have an 18 certificate, due to nudity, but take that away they'd probably be a 'U' due to almost childish humore and very slapstick stuff! When they came out they were probably intended to be sexy, now the hairstyles, the fashions and the women are very funny, although not initially intended to be, these films have got better with age, and hey, I should probably not admit this but I really enjoyed the start of this film with Robin Askwith riding on his bike to a cheesy theme song!

Contrary to popular belief, the scale of film quality isn't a straight line; it's circular. Rather than a range from "Classic" to "Turkey", it's possible for a film to become so truly terrible that it spins all round the scale and ends up a work of undeniable genius.

Confessions of a Window Cleaner is one such film. Robin Askwith plays virginal Timothy Lea in a movie so charmless it's superbly charming. Askwith looks like a genetic cross between Mick Jagger and Keith Chegwin, yet somehow he can't help but be seduced by hoards of girls wherever he goes. In fact, this film is so outrageously sexist that it features full frontal female nudity within the first three minutes. Also look out for the credits, which feature an actress as the role "Dolly Bird".

Cheesy one-liners abound. "I don't know what came over me," says Tim, losing his ... er, concentration ... during a sexual encounter. "Well it wasn't me" replies his unsatisfied partner. Lines like that are awful, but they become so terrible they're hilarious. And you haven't seen an orgasm metaphor until you see the lightning strike and bursting bubble. Tim's loss of virginity is accompanied by a full burst of the Hallelujah Chorus.

Askwith does a voice-over for most of the duration, where he gives insight to his innermost thoughts. Views like "What a knocker factory!" and "She was the type of girl you say 'Please may I?' before you give her one" are matched only in shock value by the size of Askwith's flares. It's all so superbly crass. Askwith's sister ("All I wanna do is make you happy" says her husband. "Then p*** off" she replies) thinks she's going into labour... only to let out an enormous belch. Other characters fare less well, with Bill Maynard wasted in a minor role. Though Askwith really needs no support, perfect as the gormless, clumsy hero.

This is all sub-soft porn, though it's never long enough or serious enough in it's approach to be erotic. Other notable moments include Askwith paying back a particularly mischievous customer by tossing a whole plateful of marshmallows up her crotch, and the funniest scene where a partner complains that Askwith isn't skilled enough in the area of foreplay. "No, no, you've got to say hello to her first", she urges, hinting for a sexual favour. Cue Askwith looking up her skirt and shouting "HELLO!!!"

Often compared to the Carry On series of films, of which they had only tenuous links, the Confessions series would eventually finish off that institution. Askwith had actually made an appearance in Carry On Girls and before making 1976's England, Peter Rogers and Gerald Thomas had viewed Driving Instructor at the cinema. As a result, the Producer/Director team decided to spice up the sex content in the Carry Ons - England was a flop, while 78's Emmannuelle killed off the entire series. A single attempt to resuscitate was made fourteen years later - Columbus - but by then the Carry Ons were dead and buried.

The laws of decreasing returns applied to the three Confessions sequels. Pop Performer (where Askwith does indeed get mistaken for Mick Jagger) had more obvious jokes and forced humour, and suffered from a defined narrative. Window Cleaner's series of loosely connected vignettes appealed to the series' sensibilities much better. Askwith's humorous accident-prone nature is here exaggerated to a ridiculous degree, and, like all the sequels, it lacks the original's spontaneity.

The series' ethical morality - that all women are nymphomaniacs, eyeing up nude schoolgirls is just a bit of fun, unprotected sex is fine, and infidelity is acceptable, even when married with a child - are, at the very least, dubious territory. But one of the nice things about the series is that, apart from its unremitting sexism, it was initially so harmless and malice-free. Driving Instructor was the first one to veer slightly from this route, with a homosexual gag (George Layton as the effeminate Tony Bender) and, as well as a commentary on class divides, some racial remarks. Though the sole mention of race presented here is more satirical, dealt with well in the capable hands of Maynard, a bigot who bemoans of a menu "There's only one English thing on here and that's Spaghetti." With Askwith's narration now completely removed, and the visual gags even more forced (Would a car really fall to pieces just because he was having sex in the back of it?) it falls to Maynard to grab the film's biggest laugh. At an Italian restaurant a violin player is getting uncomfortably close, causing him to ask: "Can you play in a monastery garden?" "Ci Senor!" "Well p*** off and play there!" It's an old gag, but Bill's assured, pitch-perfect delivery makes it killingly funny.

The final movie had its set-up initiated in the final scene of Driving Instructor. The abysmal From A Holiday Camp was definitely a film too far, though in fairness the lack of a fifth movie is purported to be from Columbia's disinterest and not any lack of financial success. Taken out of the their traditional environment, the cast struggle in a grotty resort which looks like a paddling pool in someone's back garden. Maynard again makes it worth watching, and Lance Percival is fun as the gay stereotype, but Askwith's innate likeability in the role is tried to the limits by his now-desperate mugging. The narration reinstated, he gets a dozen overdubs, with his opening "Hello it's Timmy Lea... yet again" indicative of how tired the whole thing had become. For a bawdy sex comedy the sex quotient is remarkably low this time, while adding children to the equation is a misjudged attempt to give it broader appeal. The appalling script, full of feeble puns and entendres (Well, more feeble than usual...) tries it's best, though Askwith even has to break the fourth wall in a pitiful attempt to raise a laugh. It's a sad end to what started out as a great series, and when the theme tune's a xenophobic song ("Give Me England") sung by The Wurzels, you know you're in trouble. It's alleged that the final movie also features some racist remarks, though if this is indeed the case then they're removed from television screenings. Perhaps the weirdest thing about all these films is that Askwith's long-suffering brother-in-law, Sid, went on to be the father-in-law of the British Prime Minister.

Yes, the sequels range from so-so to pretty awful. But this, the original, is generally still tremendous entertainment. If, of course, watched with a

very ironic frame of mind.

Timothy Lea gets a job with his brother-in-law Sid. Timothy is willing but not very capable. However, he does have a knack for finding beautiful, scantily clad ladies who require more than just a nice shine on their bays.

The first of the 'Confessions' films is exactly what you'd expect: cheeky postcard humor, cheeky music, flying bras, female nudity galore, and a couple of chuckles.

I don't think the franchise deserves its toilet reputation; they really are a snapshot of 1970s Britain. Personally, I don't think they're a patch on the Carry On films, but they're watchable. I really do understand why some people hate them, it's not the kind of film you'd want to watch in polite company.

The washing-up liquid scene always makes me chuckle. Why did she need such a huge pack of it? I've always wondered. I love that Robin Askwith is still going strong. I really enjoy seeing him in the Madame Blanc mysteries; I think it's fair to say his acting improved with age.

There is such a good cast here, including Dandy Nichols, Bill Maynard, and John Le Mesurier; they do a decent job, but all are generally wasted.

5/10.

CONFESSIONS OF A WINDOW CLEANER has a lot to answer for. On release in 1974, it helped usher in a new wave of low budget British sex comedies, not least the three sequels that followed this. That's because it was inordinately successful, helping to destroy the CARRY ON films at the box office (only two more were made, each trying to copy this film's formula). Seen today, it's a rather twee, somewhat amusing, and completely dated little movie more embarrassing than it is funny. It's a simple, laboured exploration of British values of the '70s, bearing comparison to the likes of MAN ABOUT THE HOUSE and the TV series it most resembles, ON THE BUSES. The jokes are silly and full of the innuendo that made ARE YOU BEING SERVED? equally successful and the shooting style is low rent and down to earth. This was a film that working class folk could readily identify with.

Speaking of identification, Robin Askwith makes for a perfect 'hero'. He's young, somewhat stupid, quick to laugh at himself and not especially good looking; watching him score with numerous beautiful women must have been like a fantasy come true for all the British lads watching and wishing they were in a similar situation. I wonder how many became window cleaners after seeing the fantasies played out here? And what a supporting cast! There's Anthony Booth, future father-in-law of British prime minister Tony Blair; there's Bill Maynard, later a lovable fixture on TV and radio. Linda Hayden (BLOOD ON SATAN'S CLAW) is ravishing as usual, and even the likes of Sam Kydd and John Le Mesurier pop up to lend the movie some much-needed gravitas.

What I liked most is that this is far from a plot less string of sexual encounters. It has story, plain and simple, and the last third of the film goes off in a completely different direction as Askwith readies himself to be married. Okay, so there is a lot of sex and nudity in the film, and there are lots of attractive women attractively undressed, but this is sex of the saucy slap 'n' tickle variety, the quintessential British seaside postcard come to life. It's one step further than the CARRY ONs ever went, but it's never sleazy or sordid. It makes you laugh. CONFESSIONS OF A WINDOW CLEANER is far from classic, but it does paint a nice picture of the whys and wherefores of Britain in the mid-'70s and it has its own small place in the film industry's history.

The case against this movie hardly needs to be restated. Clunking, crass, monotonously unfunny, it's the sort of film that gives sexism a bad name.

And yet, for those who grew up in England in the early 70s, Confessions of A Window Cleaner is horribly evocative. The endless shots of tacky, dismal streets; the unwelcoming, tawdry interiors; the overwhelming sense of an exhausted gene pool; yep, that's what it was like. The film has some of the impact (though none of the accomplishment) of the photographs of Tony Ray-Jones, and promotes a similar melancholy.

Then there's Robin Askwith, who despite the various old troupers is the best thing in the movie. Granted, he wasn't everyone's idea of a sex god, and here he's at the mercy of a dire screenplay, but he gives it everything he's got. Looking and acting younger than his years, and with a cocky animality that no amount of boxy denim can mask, he sums up one particular breed of 70s boy, spunky, clueless, candid, vital, uncrushable. He looks great in his nude scenes, taut and doggy - there are moments of real beauty which belong in a better film. His sheer physical presence makes this awful picture almost worth watching.