Seldom Seen: Peter Watkins' Privilege - DVD Review

Let me just begin with the fact that I am loving the 're-discovery' of Peter Watkins' filmography on DVD. A good number of his films seemed to have skipped both repertory cinema and VHS (outside of rare and ratty VHS dubs) and remain only vaguely remembered, excluding of his Oscar winning The War Game, until the touring retrospective in 2005 which made stops in New York and Toronto. As Terry Gilliam seems to amass a number of failed projects via large ambitions and curiously bad karma, Watkins seems to court distribution roadblocks with the combination of innovative narrative techniques (off-putting to mainstream acceptance) and confrontational up-to-the-minute politics (off-putting to conservative distributors). To say that Watkins' films were ahead of their time is an understatement. A gross one. It is interesting that cinephiles are only catching up Watkins' work while the themes captured in his films are just as resonant and relevant today, in the case of Punishment Park (Twitch Review here) and Privilege more than 35 years ago. Something about those who ignore history are doomed to repeat it...

London in the 1960s. The Swinging '60s. When Mod culture ruled and pop-stars strutted the earth (and the Ed Sullivan Show) like gods. One band (you may have heard of them, named after a bug or some such thing) proclaimed that they in fact were "more popular than Jesus." Part behind-the-scenes mock-doc (jumping the gun on This is Spinal Tap by more than a decade and a half), part fascism morality play (ditto The Wall) Privilege extrapolates a few years into the future on the trend of mega-popularity and influence of musical icons and the power over youth culture. Call it social science-fiction. Here in 1970s Britain (the film was made in 1967), the State and corporate interests have co-opted the influence of the biggest of the musicians and turned him into a tool; a means of molding and controlling the opinions and attention of the youth.

The film opens with a concert-by-way-of passion play with angsty Steve Shorter (played by real-life musician Paul Jones) being beaten and caged by uniformed bobbies (that is coppers for you non British types) in front of a concert audience. While there is no visible band, music plays, and Shorter's song tries to break the shackles of imprisonment. The faces of the concert goers, seized by rapture, not unlike the children in Jesus Camp are inter-cut with Shorter's messiah type posturing. Peter Watkins captures this in his evolving faux-documentary style with crisp, dry narration (himself); as if the narrator and the documentary existed in that time and place. Scenes of a massive ticker-tape parade welcoming the superstar back to Britain from a successful American tour are more along the lines of victory of World War II (albeit with more young screaming fans). After the concert, the film settles in the back-stage and media life of Steve Shorter, complete with publicists, handlers and hangers on. The narrative arc of the film should be familiar to anyone these days, with all the pop-tart and corporate rock providing the grating musak of popular culture in the 21st century. Shorter's time scheduled aggressively into endorsing everything from nightclubs to kitchen appliances, and even eating apples for the Ministry of Agriculture. As impassioned as Steve is on stage, he is merely a puppet (an image re-enforced with jacket artwork of the New Yorker DVD - that of a crucified marionette) to the state and large corporate interests. The suits discuss strategy and pat him on the back, essentially for being their vessel, while Steve is docile and limp in board meetings while is life is scheduled out practically to the minute. Things get complicated when artist and painter, Vanessa Ritchie (played by the supermodel of her day, Jean Shrimpton) is brought into paint his portrait. While struggling unsuccessfully to find the 'real' Steve Shorter, she ends up underscoring the fact that there is really nothing there and unintentionally puts him on the path to his own form of rebellion. Meanwhile the 'business plan' to get Steve to endorse the Church and bring the youth culture into the ultimate state of christian 'fruitful conformity' by way of a big rally strongly reminiscent of the 1934 Nuremberg congress as documented by Leni Riefenstahl.

The fascinating thing about the Watkins brand of political satire is how at times it is as blunt and forceful as a swinging hammer, yet at other times, delicate as a feather. Even in 1967, bringing Nazi imagery into the film (Shorter's own corporate symbol, an arrow formed of three triangles, stands in for the swastika) in the context of Britain was likely to be scoffed at. Yet contrast this with a photo shoot of Shorter in a swim suit, and the subtle awkwardness of his posture, while the photographers want a sexy-shot for the young ladies. Even though at this point, Shorter is pretty much simply a media object, there is a clumsy awkwardness about him that still cries out to be a person. The use of non-actors, yet still bonafide celebrities in the principle roles offer unusual and delicate performances that benefit Privilege enormously. While it is a 'message movie' first and foremost, there is a hilarious farcical streak contained within, particularly in the cast of characters that orbit Steve and Vanessa and the naked greed of unfettered capitalism. Seeing several arch-bishops grooving out to the new Christian theme song, or the Minister of Agriculture explaining Steve's TV spot, where the aim is to get each British citizen to eat six apples a day, is worthy of a Christopher Guest routine. Yet the film remains sober and earnest to its quiet conclusion. It is a balancing act which is pulled off quite magnificently. In British cinema, the closest analogue is perhaps Lindsay Anderson's Mick Travis trilogy (not surprisingly, If..., O Lucky Man!, and Britannia Hospital also had a long and troubled path to DVD).

If anything, Peter Watkins and screenwriter Norman Bogner were too conservative in their vision of the future. In todays media saturated world, wannabe celebrities do not accidentally back into this situation; starlets and pretty boys willingly throw themselves on the pyre with unfettered glee. In a manner more vulgar and desperate than Steve Shorter in Privilege, and the fall (often documented in the form of reality television or similar form) is usually more spectacular than the rise or peak. One can only begin to imagine if Watkins were to extrapolate in the same manner we would get a more severe vision than Denys Arcand's Stardom or Richard Kelly's Southland Tales. Nevertheless, Privilege remains a brilliant document of prophesy, too far ahead of its time, and far too much of a mirror of our time to be missed.