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The Monstering of Television Centre

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I've never worked at the BBC, but I've been to Television Centre, London W12 8QT, several times over the years. The first was in the early eighties, as a child taking part in a record breaking attempt to pass buckets of water along a human chain on Blue Peter. Spurious, but true. I spent most of the day in the Blue Peter garden, but also trooped through their cavernous white studio with its vast hanger doors, and walked round the hole in the 'doughnut', past the grey white and blue mosaic tiled pillars. I've seen a few TV shows recorded there over the years, and then in 2009, as part of the promotion for Shouting at the Telly, I was interviewed there for Radio 5, which was a thrill of epic proportions.

As a fan of both the Corporation and postwar architecture I was always going to love TV Centre, its question mark form, cameo appearances in most of the shows I loved when growing up. And it's fascinating, considering the general dismissal of postwar architecture, how many people love this building as a building, as well as for what it represents in terms of defining generations of British culture. It, like the Welfare State, has been slowly deformed, demoralised and demolished since the eighties, offered up sacrificially by successive governments to various media barons, private competitors and asset strippers. Of course, it will now follow the only narrative that modern life can offer as a solution for such buildings and industries, it will become luxury flats and a museum to itself.

Here's a couple of films that top and tail the TV Centre story. The first is one made back in 1960 before the building opened that June. As the scrolling intro says, it's not a documentary, just an archive collection of images of the building being constructed. I can't embed it so here's the link. The second is a film made for the Culture Show five years ago, when plans were unveiled for the closure of the building. It uses John Barry's utterly amazing Ipcress File theme to spooky effect, with ghosts from the past projected onto the decaying bare walls of deserted parts of the building. Because it was made way before the scandal broke, one of the last faces you see happens to be Jimmy Savile introducing Top of the Pops, as if the mood couldn't get darker or more bleak.



The closure of BBC Television Centre is a loss for culture in this country, but it's not been a sudden one, it's been on its way out for decades, chopped up into morsels to feed that insatiable monster, 'the market'.

And to think I wrote this post to cheer myself up.

Ding dong merrily on high

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Here's one of the Rank Organisation's Look at Life documentaries from the mid-sixties, called Rising to High Office, about the London boom in office blocks. It's set in the newly completed Shell Centre on the South Bank of the Thames, overlooking the old Festival of Britain Dome of Discovery site.

It's told in the breathlessly jaunty fashion of the time by Tim Turner, a narrator who could give Leslie Phillips a run for his money in the Ding Dong department. He delivers his bumptiously sexist script in a style that would soon be parodied mercilessly by the likes of Monty Python and The Burkiss Way. 'Here in the typing pool mechanisation has moved in with the girls,' he says at one point: 'it's called audio typing.' When not leering at the young women, he's (or perhaps, I'm)  getting worked up about the beautiful technology: walls of primary coloured analogue computers with spools of tape spinning at the top; desks with arrays of switches and buttons beyond the electronic typewriters; grey pods housing the operators of a telephone exchange, a design that sat somewhere between the Liberator in Blake's Seven and the domed hairdryers from a fifties salon. Beaded curtains lead these 'girls' through from the busy telephony desks to a modular seating arrangement on several levels, like a conversation pit: 'a restroom where the only numbers are pretty ones'. Jesus.

We drool over sophisticated aircon units of NASA-level complexity, ingenious compressed air mail deliveries and the apex of modernity, the computer room, with its pool of operators hammering away on large grey desks on electronic adding machines. The mod cons for the staff of this rich multinational are outrageous. There's the office swimming pool, for example, and squash courts. There's a rifle range, hairdressing salon, art gallery and vast subsidised canteen. But then, the Shell Centre has never been a typical office block. Rather, this bastion of British business was a collision of Whitehall and Carnaby Street, in a portland stone-clad block more like a throwback to early 20th century New York in style than a precursor to the glossy, glassy, concrete towers we'd see springing up all over the country in the next decade.

One of the film's most delightful features are the shots of the London skyline, from right by where the London Eye stands now, from a time when the Shell Centre itself was the tallest building in London. Perhaps more than the sexism or gadgets, this was the real treasure of the film: a view that is changing so fast, caught on the brink of a building explosion.

Helvetica Man gets his groove back

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Today I  went for a stroll around my old home town of Croydon and took some photos. I hadn't realised how much signage remained from the 60s/70s rebuild, but it was lovely to see that Croydon's version of 'helvetica man' has flares. I hope they never get round to cleansing the town of all its old signage, it's this sort of thing that gives a place character.

'This land is worth millions'

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Heygate Estate residents talk about living on the Elephant and Castle estate and what it's like to be turfed out of their homes for the redevelopment project, which, as one resident rightly says, is mainly happening because the land is worth millions for developers and the council, and has nothing to do with the people who lived there.



I visited the other day and took some photos of the estate, whose green pockets are now so overgrown and running wild, and where the colourful graffiti is growing and evolving as the estate slowly crumbles. There's even a group dedicated to the urban forest of the Heygate.

Like a Motorway

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A film by John Laing, the builders, on their construction of the 55 miles of the M1 Motorway in 1958. It's a feast of diggers, bulldozers, cement mixers and men with hard hats and clipboards. It even features women, right at the end, albeit making the tea and getting grit out the mens' eyes.


Living Tomb

Birmingham in 8mm

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Absolutely lovely and slightly trippy (due to the excellent soundtrack) 8mm film of travelling round the motor city of Birmingham in what looks like the early 70s, starting in the city centre by the Rotunda and the Bull Ring and then driving out to the countryside and suburbs beyond.

The Smokeless Air of Sheffield

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This 1971 film, Sheffield: City on the Move, made by the City Council covers everything from steelmaking and silversmithing, the Pennines and the postwar rebuilding, conservation and municipal sports facilities. The footage is terrific, even if the pace is glacial. In a large part it's a celebration of the city's industrial traditions (I lost count of the number of times 'industry' was mentioned), with shots of smelting, sweet making and the largest snuff-makers in the country.

Still, the section on the countryside allows the director to select some stirringly romantic music and focus on some young women for a change. This gets worse in the nightlife section, where a sequence of shots of young women in various plunging necklines or tiny skirts dancing, intercut with some seedy-looking neon signs (Fiesta, anyone?), is a slightly uncomfortable reminder of those attitudes of the era being exhumed so luridly in the news.

Near the end are some great shots of Castle Market, here bustling and colourful now sad and quiet. The film as a whole exudes a kind of quiet confidence in the city - no Telly Savalas voice-overs or Carry On star cameos here to sell the city, it's good old fashioned Yorkshire industry they're promoting.

Jack Nicholson pops by the Brunswick Centre

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Short clip from Antonioni's 1975 Palme d'Or winning film The Passenger, starring Jack Nicholson. The film's locations include the Sahara desert, Barcelona, Seville and London. While in  London there's short excursion for Nicholson's journalist character through the Brunswick Centre, the modernist terraced shopping centre, cinema and sloping-roofed apartment complex in Bloomsbury which was just being completed.

The Brunswick is one of my favourite places in London. I loved it when it when the shopping centre was all-but-derelict, and the excellent noodle bar The Hare and Tortoise was the only real attraction, and I love the renovated centre, with it's posh shops and restaurants and busy plazas. Still, it's very odd to see it newly completed back in the 70s, with an international film star wandering round it. Here Antonioni doesn't have to do much to make it look amazing. Point and click, really.

A Secret Urban Forest

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In the week of Chelsea Flower Show, here's a film made a couple of miles away: of the 450 trees gone wild in the largely abandoned Heygate Estate in the Elephant and Castle.



Having wandered around there a few weeks ago this film really does capture the strangely secluded forest feeling these enclosed squares now possess. The Elephant and Castle Urban Forest website gives much more information about the gardeners who have been working there, and the urban forest adventurers who have been enjoying the space. Sadly it's about to be closed off - builders are due to move in in June, and the whole site is being redeveloped into, what else, executive flats.

New Roads for Even Newer Roads

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Two Rank Look at Life films on Britain's roads, the first New Roads for Old from 1959 recording the building of the first motorways, the second High Wide and Faster from 1963, when it's all about spectacular viaducts and ever bigger schemes. Amazing that in this era such technical engineering feats were deemed the perfect fodder for cinema newsreels, to be presented in that familiar bumptious style by the narrator with a wink in his voice, as obsessed by the cups of tea drunk by the construction workers as by the epic feats they were embarked on. The footage is amazing though, and I particularly love the section at the end of the second film, with the opening ceremony for the M2 motorway near Dover, and the mosaic and plaque unveiled in the services at Medway. Brings a human scale back to these projects, that are hard to imagine being built today.


Runcorn – the view from Canada

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In 1973 Canadian director Michel Régnier made the film British New Towns, about Runcorn and Basingstoke. Someone's uploaded the Runcorn film in 4 sections to YouTube and it's well worth a watch.

It's initially narrated by the town's planner, Arthur Ling, who'd worked for the London County Council after the war, as perhaps the most eminent of the communist faction in the department. Runcorn finally gave him the chance to plan on a huge scale (well, he had actually worked on the MARS plan for London, which had replanned the entire city in herringbone style, but that was never really a goer).

The New Town looks so gleaming and bright in this film, even though the camera footage and editing is jerky in an almost French New Wave manner. The camera operator plods through the town centre on foot and bounces about at the back of a bus, and the editor hacks the action shots about so quickly it makes the viewer slightly seasick.

The cry of cuckoos accompanies endless shots of the figure of eight road route, and it's relief in the third section when the film focusses on the new houses, and the people living in the town. At that point, with the adventure playgrounds, gardens and community centres, the film becomes an utterly glorious piece of social history. And then there's the deep Canadian voice-over which clashes so violently with the wing-specced, mulleted and polyester-clad residents and adds a strange voice of god quality to the film.

Build and build and build and build until, ooops, down they come!

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Mungos's Medals is a 1961 film directed by John Elder for the Corporation of the City of Glasgow, following the array of Festival of Britain and Saltaire Society awards won by various postwar housing projects in the city.



The film attempts to show the lives of a number of residents, and how they had been transformed by the postwar rebuilding. 'People behind this window have created a home in a hovel,' declares the narrator as we view a family eating their 'last supper' in their Gorbals tenement. No attempt is made to interview them, rather the family is spoken about by the narrator with the familiar patronising tone of the midcentury documentary narrator: 'All she has wanted for years now was a door to shut on the world'; 'His ambition to build and build and build and build until, ooops, down they come!'.

Despite the tone of the film, the footage is amazing. There's shots of the old tenements, inside and out, and of new buildings going up in some of the 29 comprehensive development areas in the city. We even see the housing committee meeting with a table full of blueprints and an array of maquettes of tower block schemes. These are 'a new dimension of living' offering 'the best of the past into the warmth and light of the future.' Well, according to the city corporation's script.

The narration is characterised by long clunking metaphor-filled sentences, language redolent of the St James's Bible mashed up with adverts for Omo. Old flats are 'building germs of disease' while kids returning home from playing outside new blocks 'wash away the healthy dirt'. Aerial footage of Castlemilk and Easterhouse is accompanied by the description of them as 'the sunlight and healthy living of outer Glasgow'.

Finally, as with so many of these sorts of films, we end up with a visit from a luminary, in this case, the Queen. She's visiting the Gorbals, watching demolition of tenements and unveiling a foundation stone for Basil Spence's Queen Elizabeth flats. Here, 'the Gorbals turns its scarred face to a fairer and finer future.'

Perhaps one of the most striking aspects of the descriptions of the film, are of how they still clinging to warlike imagery some 17 years after the cessation of hostilities. Building projects open 'a second front' with 'beachheads' from which they 'advance'. After all, this work is framed as 'not just a building project, but the culmination of half a century of war against dirt, disease and human degredation.'

The rousing score and jaunty Festival of Britain lettering (some ten years after that had finished) bring the film to a close with the thought that 'today the dust of the past, tomorrow the soaring phoenix of the future, as Glasgow climbs to the skies.' It's a fascinating little film, not just for the incredible historical footage but also for the spin the corporation gives all the work. Such ambitious claims may seem laughable now, but Mungos' Medals trades on the last vestiges of wartime collective spirit and optimism.

Opening day at the Festival of Britain

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Clifford Hatts was one of the many exhibition designers who worked on the Festival of Britain in 1951. This is a lovely interview with him from 2011, in which he talks about the challenges of getting the exhibits ready in time for the Dome of Discovery. More remarkably still it features the 2 minute short film he recorded on the opening day of the Festival, 3rd May 1951. He captures the inside of the dome, Winston Churchill's trip down the building's gigantic escalator (actually, so taken was he with it he repeated the trip several times), the Skylon, and the Regatta restaurant, filled with members of the Design Research Unit who'd worked so hard on the Festival, having a celebratory lunch.


Witchcraft vs Brutalism

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Great home movie from the mid-sixties showing the massive building works going into the super-modern Friar's Square shopping centre. Also, smashing photos of Wicker Man-style festivities in the brutalist shopping centre outside Woolworths, taken by Sean Hancock.




Telly Savalas looks at Birmingham, Aberdeen and Portsmouth

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Here's three of Harold Baim's 'Quota Quickie' films from the seventies and early eighties, featuring the suave and persuasive voice-over skills of Telly Savalas, sometime TV detective hero and Bond baddie.

The most famous is his Birmingham film - perhaps because of the incongruity of his admiration for the postwar rebuilding. It's his kind of town, apparently. And what's not to adore?



Less well known are his films on Aberdeen and Portsmouth, both a little sadder than the Birmingham film. The shadow of the Blitz hangs over the Portsmouth film, and nothing much seems to happen there. A red carpet scene drags interminably.



Aberdeen - 'one of the most fascinating places in Europe' - is essentially reduced to a list of infrastructure and industry rather than a portrait of the place in any meaningful way. So brief is it that it almost feels the crew got bored and left before they'd finished.

The central point of Centre Point

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Centre Point is to be turned into a block of flats. The once controversial office block in St Giles, London, was designed by Richard Seifert's company in the late fifties for 'the daddy of developers' Harry Hyams. By the late sixties and early seventies, when the building was newly finished, it remained unoccupied, due to Hyams' desire to rent it out to a single client (or, as many suspected, to sit on the site for years until rental prices increased). It became headline news, as the plight of London's homeless was contrasted with this huge empty office in the heart of the city. It stood as a symbol of greed in the same way that the excesses of bankers pay causes such repugnance today. The building was even occupied by a group of protesters in the mid-70s, and inspired the creation of homelessness charity Centrepoint. So it seems somehow fitting that it has finally ended up as a residential block.

Here's a beautiful, brilliantly shot and edited short film on the abstract beauty of the tower, made by Nigel Ordish and Michael Dye. It captures so well what has now become a much-loved and, with its rooftop lettering, highly useful, London landmark.

Design in Film – The Modern House

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Well, here's a jolly wonderful little montage, eight minutes of the best modernist houses in movie, from North by Northwest to The Ice Storm and The Ghost to The Fountainhead. Lovely to see so many I had loved over the years (Tracy Island!) and lots I'd never seen before (most of which seemed to be designed by Richard Neutra or John Lautner). What becomes clear is the shorthand modernist house is, in blockbusters from Iron Man to Charlie's Angels, for independently wealthy nut-job. Also, reminder: must re-watch LA Confidential!


DESIGN IN FILM: THE MODERN HOUSE from James Munn on Vimeo. Thanks to Richard (@depesando) at Grey Area for the link.

Building Washington New Town

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Here's a great clip from Washington: the First Seven Years, a 1972 film recording the birth of the Durham new town. It's particularly interesting because it shows the small settlements before the new town was built, linking them up. It has some fascinating oral history too, including mention of President Carter's visit to the new town and their very own sports car, the Clan Crusader.

Crawley vs Toronto

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Crawley: A Place to Grow is an early seventies promotional film for the new town. Here a Canadian student (who pronounces the town's name as Craley) meets his English cousins and the town's planners (who, it seems, talk only in narration). Crawley was one of the first wave of new towns from the late 1940s. The original planner, Alwyn Sheppard Fidler, later became Chief Architect of Birmingham in the early sixties. His wife, Margaret, famously named the Skylon for the Festival of Britain.

The student story is soon sidelined by minutes of plinky-plonky music accompanying shots of the sort of mild Scandinavian-influenced modernism that the New Brutalists so hated, while the voice-over talks of 'planting' and 'zoning' cut and pasted straight out of a press release. There's a classic new town 'pram town' sequence, where by the early 1970s mothers were still parking massive Buick-sized prams outside the shops.

It's a lovely short film, beautifully shot and just-about kept on track by the wafer-thin narrative of our Canadian hero's visit, despite frequent interruptions by the plummy, clunking narrator.

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