Call Me Genius

I remember seeing The Rebel, on general release, in Croydon - three or four miles from where the railway scenes were shot: a bygone branch line and now demolished station off Coombe Road. (We used to walk past it a couple of times each week in the 1950s in the Elmhurst 'crocodile' to play sports at Lloyd Park. Happy days, indeed.) Unfortunately, I have never been very comfortable with the film - and I have persevered with it over the years. The Hancock attitude quickly wears thin and the script is simply below par for these writers. Best scenes, apart from the nostalgia element, are those with Irene Handl; Margit Saad (best known to me from Magnificent Two)is easy on the eye, as ever, but must have been embarrassed with her banal Margot character.

Nevertheless, I am pleased that the picture has its adherents. Where is Margit Saad today? A directorial credit around 1990 and seemingly nothing since.

Tony is trapped in the drudgery of a 9-5:30 office job. But at night he is an artist who has great talent and vision (he believes). When he decides to quit his job and move to France he falls in with a group of artists who admire the `childlike' quality to his work. However when he passes another artists work off as his own and gets signed by a major agent he begins to get over his head in trouble.

For fans of Hancock's Half Hour on the BBC this film will represent strange new ground – an extension of the short concise stories with depression being the overriding source of Hancock's comedy. Here the story sees him less put down and more of a winner – this removes a lot of what made him funny.

However the story still has wit as Hancock makes fun of the pretentious art crowd and makes fun of his own inability to paint. However the running time is perhaps too long to sustain and much of the comedy is such that it could easily have been done by anyone – rarely is Hancock's unique style allowed material to work with.

Hancock is still good though, and him misfiring is still funny. George Sanders has an interesting role and it's always good to see John Le Mesurier in anything. However at times you can't help feeling that Sid James could have been added somewhere. In fact the whole film would have been better modelled around the format of the TV and radio shows.

Overall this is the film failing – it is stretched and, for most of the second half, it's comedy is not the usual Hancock fare that so many loved. It's funny but it'll make you seek out tapes and videos of his classic shows.

This one is a long-time favourite for its great one-liners, its wit, its bright colours and the sheer joy of its performances. George Sanders plays the creepy critic with the same finesse he'd done many times before, Hancock as the leader of the Infantile school of painting is so preposterous its hysterical, even a very young Oliver Reed appears briefly in the cafe scene. The writing of Galton and Simpson is as sharp as ever but gets to take more detours and turns than it ever could in the Half-Hours ... a brilliant film. I particularly love the pathetic painting of the foot which crops up at the art exhibition and that hideous sculpture. Excellent.

An often overlooked and underrated Hancock vehicle as the Lad from East Cheam inadvertently becomes the toast of the art world when his flatmate's paintings are accidentally attributed to him instead of his own primitive childish daubs.

Great ensemble cast with John Le Mesurier as his boss, the sublime Irene Handl as his landlady Mrs Cravat and George Sanders as his pompous artistic agent.

At the films' centre is a sharp and nicely played critique of the hypocrisy and snobbishness of the art world with the usual taut Galton and Simpson script full of smart one liners.

"What's that?" asks Mrs Cravat looking at a bright pink picture of a man in a beret. "It's a self portrait" replies Hancock. "Who of?" counters Mrs Cravat.

Look out for a very young Nanette Newman as an Existentialist acolyte in the party scene and also Oliver Reed as a cafe artist.

8/10

Of course I am aware that huge numbers of people will see this movie as mildly diverting, an interesting off shoot of a TV character, or a strained attempt to translate a mythic television talent to a medium he wasn't suited to. I know some will find the plat slight. Some may enjoy it but simply feel it isn't all that impressive. Well, this is fine. But I believe that The Rebel is quite simply the finest movie ever made, and I've seen a lot of movies.

What is so great about it ? The colours. The lush score moving from the comic to the romantic with ease. The array of great comic performances. The script which ranges from the profoundly comic to the comically profound.

The struggle of the individual to express his individuality in a world that prefers conformity has been the subject of countless numbers of films. The Rebel is the only film I can think of to mock this tradition while also celebrating it. The character of Hancock drifts between lies and truth while carving out a reputation for himself among the Parisian avant garde. His never reflects on his complete lack of noticeable talent and inability to dedicate himself to the craft but instead creates something of a stir with his infantilism. His bluster is only ever a whisker away from the despair he shows on his opening train journey.

Comedies are often treated as somehow inferior to dramas. It's much more important to treat human suffering with a straight face than take life for the comedy it undoubtably is. Hancock's suffering may not on the face of it seem important or noble, but it is the despair of the insignificant man who wants to be outside of the machine, wants to be important and creative. But despite dealing with this theme the comedy never drifts into pathos. Hancock covers the sadnesses with a jaunty self involvement in which he can place himself securely among the great artists whose every brush stroke is torn from their body.

The satire on modern art may seem a bit obvious but it is never played on for serious effect.

The sideline characters are all magnificent from John Le Mesurier as Hancock's completely unimaginative boss, through Irene Handl on top form as Mrs Cravat who regards all Hancock's efforts as a load of miscellaneous rubbish, to Dennis Price's Jim Smith, eccentric French millionaire.

"Jim Smith ?"

"Oh. You're surprised. I always feel an English name sounds so much more mysterious."

"Oh yes. I knew a Bert Higgins and a Harry Trubshaw once. They were dead mysterious they were."

But it's not just the plotting, the comedy, the acting, and the dialogue that strike me as perfection. The design of the movie. The contrasting of Parisian styles with the bowler hat and umbrellas of Waterloo Bridge. The interior of Paul Ashby's room. The paintings themselves. All these elements compound the sense of joy that watching this film brings.

And for those who watch this film and think that I am talking nonsense. All I can do is to re-iterate Hancock's cry to the elite of the art scene "You're all raving mad. None of you know what you're looking at. You wait til I'm dead. You'll see I was right."