Original subtitles

Recently in the newspaper, l saw a headline. lt said,

"Signs of a Conservative Party revival."

Now, the first time l saw this, it gave me a weird idea.

lt gave me the idea that perhaps at the next general election,

this is the way the Conservatives are gonna conduct all their meetings,

on the lines of a revivalist campaign.

# The Conservative revival's here tonight

# We're here to swing everything to the right

# Come on, you sinners, you're going downhill

# lf Labour doesn't get you, then the Liberals will

# What a friend What a friend

# What a friend l have in Alec

# What a friend

# You can depend that he'll steer us round the bend

Come on, now!

# What a friend What a friend

# What a friend l have in Alec

# What a friend

# You can depend that he'll steer us round the bend

# We've been in office for ten long years

# And in that time, we had lots of fears

# But through it all, we stood man to man

# Profumo didn't shake us, so nothing can

# What a friend What a friend

# What a friend l have in Alec

# What a friend

# You can depend that he'll steer us round the bend

One more time!

# What a friend What a friend

# What a friend l have in Alec

# What a friend

# You can depend, he'll steer us round the bend #

Yeah! My friends!

NARRATOR: If Profumo didn't shake London, nothing will.

Can anything shake a city like London,

a city solidly encamped on the banks of the Thames for 2000 years,

a city that hasn't known an invading army for 1000 years?

Can it change?

Tradition is strong here.

Courtesies are exchanged to make smooth the way of social intercourse.

The public school system ensures

that tradition is rooted early in the British mind.

Critics claim that the system produces a man

smoothed and uniformed in personality as well as appearance,

that the social graces take precedence over academic training.

Yet, Britain's academic standards are among the highest in the world.

The technologists have a high reputation for original creative thought.

(INAUDIBLE)

But appearances to the British are everything.

The hang of a coat can be critical to one's social prestige.

Especially when riding to hounds.

The insistence on substance is there too.

But first and foremost, it has to look right.

Can it change? ls it changing?

Shall we look behind the travel agent's image,

or shall we pretend all is unchanged, unchanging, reliable?

Four square, hide-and-no-seek.

Clear the street. The King is coming.

Whatever happened to that furtive bookie's runner?

He bought himself an adding machine.

(ANNOUNCER CHATTERlNG ON RADlO)

A few years ago, off-course betting was illegal.

Then, there was legislation and the accountants moved in.

Betting on horses off-course is big business now.

Take one step off the street,

fill out your betting coupon, it used to be called a slip,

and take it to the counter, along with your money.

Have it franked, registered, accounted and computerized,

then step to one side and listen to the race straight from the track.

MAN 1 : l'm all out of money, as l said,

but l'll tell you, it's only killing my soul, isn't it?

lt's a short race. lt didn't come in.

MAN 2: Quiet, it's the blower.

(ANNOUNCER SPEAKlNG ON RADlO)

MAN 3: Well, it's in the lead, is it?

Too early, he's too early. Well, he knows what he's doing, doesn't he?

Go, Rough Beauty. Ride on. Ride on.

MAN 4: l thought you said that it's gonna be all right, this one.

Ach, it'll come at the end.

Come on now, Beauty. Come on there, lad.

Well done, Charlie. Here it comes.

MAN 5: Hold tight, hold tight.

That's it. Ride on, Melchum. Ride on, my lad. That's it. Okay. Let me get paid up.

NARRATOR: Then, tear it up and rehearse the story you'll tell the wife.

Or, collect your winnings.

It's the same race, the same horses, the same money,

but at least now it's respectable.

Do you see what a step or two off the street can do for you?

There's another act of Parliament called the Street Offences Act.

The old fellow with the tin whistle is committing an offence.

He ought to keep moving or he'll cause an obstruction.

lt's no offence to lean out of a window, though.

And if you should happen to see an old friend,

well, surely it's no offence just to wave and say hello.

(KNOCKlNG ON DOOR)

-Good afternoon. -Hello, dear. Come in.

Foreigner, ain't ya? Where are you from?

-From Germany. l'm on holiday here. -Ooh, how interesting.

Cost you L3.

For the maid.

Over there.

NARRATOR: He's still hanging around.

Our penny-whistle man's really begging for trouble.

BOY: # Please put the penny in the old man's hat

# lf you haven't got a penny, a ha'penny will do

# lf you haven't got a ha'penny, God bless you #

NARRATOR: Three quid for the girl upstairs, a penny for the old man.

What does he expect? The gangster.

Appearances. Ah, yes!

Here, nobody will argue that appearance is everything.

And they're willing to suffer for it.

Here, women are subjecting themselves to machines and operations

that would have delighted the Marquis de Sade,

and all in the name of appearance.

They call them health clubs,

but nobody here has any illusions about what they really want,

a little on or a little off.

There isn't a woman living who wouldn't sacrifice health for appearance,

but you couldn't call it an appearance club, could you?

I mean, no one wouId come.

We happened to look in on Ladies' Day.

Come tomorrow, and you will see the boyfriends and husbands

of these ladies limbering up.

For what? What are they all in training for?

WeII, there's a worId outside that worries about what things look like,

a world concerned with looking,

and you've got to be ready, you've got to fight those inches.

(lNAUDlBLE)

Once, it was a status symbol to be fat, it showed you had the money to feed well.

Only the poor were thin, and they starved.

But now it's fashionable to be lean because anyone can be fat.

Push, pull. Bend, straighten.

lf it's a fight you want, then they'll be ready.

Confident. Assured. Pushed. Pulled. Pummelled.

You've got to keep pitching.

For some, the problems are not too great and the solutions are ready to hand.

There, that's given her a little something.

More confidence, an extra spring in her step.

Anyway, she certainly looks better.

Here, it's a problem of too much, too much hair.

First, numb the spot.

Then, burn the hair root with an electric needle. Electrolysis.

Finally, the tweezers pluck the hair itself.

The rest is easier to take.

Cream to sooth the tortured skin.

A mudpack, radioactive mud from a voIcanic crater, to deaI with wrinkIes.

(lNAUDlBLE)

On to a slightly different problem.

Not enough hair.

First, you comb.

Then you wash.

Then you cut.

For what? Well, you take this needle and inject a painkiller.

Then, using these punch-cutting tubes, you remove sections of scalp.

You're removing them because the hair roots are dead.

Take out the tubes, then the pellets of dead scalp.

Go to the back of the head where the scalp still holds live hair roots

and delicately repeat the operation.

Here are the hair-producing roots, all ready for the next stage of the operation.

Simply place these in the holes previously made in the bald patch.

Each of these grafts contains between eight and twelve hair roots.

Ten grafts equals 80 to 120 new hairs in about three months' time.

There are about 1000 hairs per square inch of human scalp,

so allow sufficient operations of this kind, and you'll have a healthy shock of hair.

This is not a cure for baIdness,

it's the masking of a problem important enough to the patient

for him to seek help,

help in facing the battle of life in which appearances count so much.

Acupuncture, a 4000-year-old Oriental therapy.

Here, hygienicised, modernised, but in principle, identical.

The Chinese believe that certain defined areas of the surface of the body

have direct connections to a communications network

that control the more deep-lying organs.

Some modern practitioners in the West are now greatly interested in this procedure.

To stimulate an area of skin was to affect the function of a particular organ in the body.

StimuIation with a needIe, that's Chinese acupuncture.

(lNAUDlBLE)

(GROOVY MUSlC PLAYlNG)

The Whiskey a Go-Go? Well, there's youth here.

And where there's youth, there's chance of life.

(lNAUDlBLE)

WOMAN: Me? l come from Lund in Sweden to London and England.

l'm here to learn English properly.

Lots of my friends come here, and l meet nice people from all countries.

Lund is a university town and so l'm used to students.

l like being happy. lt's a positive thing.

lf l ruled the world, l would pass a law and everyone would be happy.

But you can't do a thing like that.

NARRATOR: The American Declaration of lndependence

provided for life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

The pursuit, not the achievement.

This is a club primarily for the younger population of the city.

lt serves drinks, coffee, plays music, and leaves the floor clear for dancing.

lt's a more sophisticated version of the old, larger dance hall.

A place to meet, a place to look, a place to feel no pain.

(GROOVY MUSlC PLAYlNG)

(PlANO PLAYlNG)

This is Flanagan's, a fish restaurant,

food flavoured with a little of the robustness that once characterised London.

(lNAUDlBLE)

ls this a healthy survival?

Life robustly triumphing over the great push forward into a chromium-plated paradise?

Unfortunately, no.

This is not a survival, only a revival,

a nostalgic glance backwards at what once was.

# l'll be your sweetheart

# lf you will be mine

# All my life

# l'll be your Valentine

# Bluebells l've gathered

# Take them and be true

# When l'm a man

# My plan will be to marry you #

# You are my honey, honeysuckle

# l am the bee

# l'd like to sip the honey, too

# From those red lips, you see

# l love you truly, truly

# And l want you to love me

# You are my honey, honeysuckle

# l am your bee #

NARRATOR: ls it indicative that the diners at this eating house are

for the most part too young ever to have known the genuine atmosphere?

Perhaps they are instinctively drawn to a time when words like "love" and "moon in June"

and "honeysuckle rose" didn't need amplified beat to make them acceptable.

When there was some romantic illusion left before everything became allusion.

Perhaps they hanker for a time when sex was the private concern

of two people in love and not a matter of public debate.

Or, perhaps they just like the food.

A Persian poet, Omar Khayyam, wrote,

"A loaf of bread, a jug of wine and thou."

Omar knew what he was talking about.

(DRAMATlC MUSlC PLAYlNG)

Eating and dancing, both focused on the belly.

This restaurant is situated in the business heart of London,

and the cabaret used to come on at lunchtime.

They had to stop it because the executive diners

weren't getting back to their offices for the afternoon's work.

As they used to say, "Late, we may be, but our digestive tract is in great shape."

lt still runs at night.

We shall come back.

For others, the days are not so well-defined.

Work and life are where you will find them.

Don't make any mistake, this is not quite the ordinary life art class

it might first appear.

The artists are beatniks producing sketches for tourists.

The model is a volunteer member of their group.

ln the winter, when the tourists are gone,

they'll turn their attentions to producing pin-up and glamour photographs

for the Soho bookshops.

Overheads are not high.

They have to maintain the record player.

(JAZZ MUSlC PLAYlNG)

They need a little music and then, of course, they must eat.

Even if, connoisseur fashion, they prefer cat food.

The Englishman's addiction to strong sauces is well-established.

Here is a dish where it has more justification than usual.

So, eat a IittIe, dance a IittIe, Iove a IittIe,

sketch your naked girlfriend and dream of better things to come.

Chicken, baked brown, turned and basted,

brought to that satisfying point where the meat falls easily from the knife blade.

Succulence itself.

No cat food in this kitchen, just plain good food,

lovingly prepared and eaten with relish by an undemanding gourmet.

Perhaps the ideal is to combine the two arts,

painting with food, knife and fork with brush.

This is a restaurant where after dining, you can sit and sketch the models

employed by the management.

Sit and sketch, or just sit and watch. After all, not everybody has artistic talents.

WOMAN: lt's not as easy as it looks, sitting here.

But when you think about the job,

it seems as if sitting and having the people stare would be the hardest part,

but it's not really.

lt's sitting still that's difficult for me, anyway.

You have to get your mind on something else.

People looking is nothing, you get used to it.

l mean... But you never see them. The curtain's open and there they are.

Sometimes they make comments you can hear,

but you get that class of people everywhere, don't you?

l came to London because everybody said l was wasting my time up north.

Show business I came down here for, l suppose, but you soon find you can't get in.

This is all right. A bit boring, but nobody bothers you.

lt's hard, though, if you get an ache or something.

You have to be very careful what pose you take on

because once the curtain is up, you mustn't move.

lt's against the law.

Come on, take me off.

Okay, thank you. Thank you very much.

NARRATOR: London's laws concerning the licensing of public places of entertainment

are highly technical and involved.

In four centuries, there have been 400 separate Acts of Parliament

dealing with the sale of liquor alone.

You need to be something of a legal historian to find out if you're breaking the law or not.

For instance, this club is unlicensed, yet legal.

The liquor laws are neatly circumvented by not selling anything alcoholic.

These clubs have flourished for years in London,

and yet they're a complete sham, a clip trap for the unwary visitor.

Open all hours, their ideaI customer wiII be a IittIe drunk,

a stranger to the city, and lonely.

Loneliness is an exploitable fact.

Here, they will sell conversation under the carefully nurtured image

of something between a drinking club and a brothel.

And blackcurrant juice flows freely. At least it has vitamins.

The girls are full of commerce.

They're careful to suggest that they would not be averse

to a little after-hours get-together with the customer.

But after-hours, that's the point.

Sooner or Iater, the customer is going to realise that

the punch he's drinking is non-alcoholic fruit juice,

and the girl's function is to keep him suffused with the image of delights to come.

How do these clip joints continue?

Surely everyone knows by now what they are... maybe?

The owners of this particular club had no reluctance to let us film

and they hardly expect plaudits.

And they refer to the customers as mugs.

And they consider that anyone stupid enough to get taken for such an obvious ride

deserves all he gets.

And the girls exchange gossip on their big pitch the night before.

(lNAUDlBLE)

Empty promises.

"l can't leave with you, the manager wouldn't like that.

"But l'll meet you outside. Just pay me now so l know you'll be waiting."

Sure, he'll be waiting, but she won't. Why should she?

Profit margins are high when you sell fruit juice at club whisky prices.

And when she turns in those cocktail sticks at the end of the evening,

her commission, plus any amount she can lift from the customer in advance, will be enough.

She sells conversation and promises, nothing else.

Where do the customers come from?

And having been once, what makes them come back?

They do have regular customers in these places.

They're lonely. They need the illusion.

Nothing in our machine age is more vulnerable than the human individual.

And the most vulnerable are the lonely ones.

Nothing is more cruel than a city to those outside,

and nothing stronger than a national tie to bring strangers together

where they're all outsiders.

MAN: l come from Cyprus two years ago.

London is good for me. l've got work here and l'm happy.

l like to come to this place because it is for my countrymen.

The food and the wines and language are all from my country.

And to me, it is a piece of home to enjoy when my work is finished.

You know, London for a Cypriot like myself is a great town.

When l was young in my own village,

then l thought that the sun shone everywhere the same.

The English go a little mad when they see sunshine.

They put on paper hats,

they'll roll their trouser legs up and dip their feet in the sea.

But they have a green country. Green because it rains.

You can't have it two ways.

I tried to, with this club, and with my friends here, l have a little both.

Little of the Cyprus sun and memories of my home.

l go home one day.

Meanwhile,

while this club is as near as

my home l can get.

(lNAUDlBLE)

NARRATOR: Within the city, most of these clubs based on communities

are a means of coming together,

almost defensively, against an alien culture and country.

But there are other manifestations in London of a community spirit.

l'm sorry. l'm full up with models today, thank you.

(ALL EXCLAlMlNG)

NARRATOR: This is London's only Jewish theatre,

created by people whose community spirit is strong

and whose identity has survived through countless generations.

They don't come together to sentimentalise or in defensive mood,

they gather to entertain themselves and to make money for charitable causes.

This is no nostalgic revival.

lt's a living contemporary comment on the world as they know it.

Life is real and it happens every day.

# The whole situation's confusing

See a psychiatrist.

# l'm blue, you see, so what can it be?

l could tell you.

# For marriage is much more than hug and kissing

That terrible word!

# There must be a lot that we are missing

# How would you like somebody like me to love you?

l wouldn't.

# How would you like somebody like me to care?

# How would you like somebody like me to cook and to sew?

# So don't be a schmo

# Come along, Aubrey, don't be so

# How would you like somebody like me to cuddle up to?

# How would you like your favourite recipe?

Sholent!

# How would you like a strudel or cake

# That tastes much better than your mother could bake?

# Aubrey, all you need is assured

# How would you like somebody like me to love?

# How would you like somebody like me to love you?

# Boop-boop-be-do

# How would you like somebody like me to care?

# Care

# How would you like somebody like me to have and to hold?

# You're never too old

# Come along, Aubrey, let's be bold

# How would you like somebody like me to greet you?

# Boop-boop-be-do

# Every morning with a nice cup of tea

# Tea

# How would you like a woman that can play a game of poker just as well as a man?

# Aubrey, it's a reach up above

# How would you like somebody like me?

# Somebody like you

# Somebody like me

# How would you like somebody like me to love?

# Boop-boop-be-do #

You've never made a decent garment in all your life!

l never made a decent garment in my life?

You've never paid a decent price in your life!

Excuses! Always excuses!

# There's not enough length down the side # lt shrunk

# Not enough strength in the seam # Like iron

# This stitching is odd, and believe it or not

# lf l take it all in, then l'll chop out the lot

# At tailoring coats, it seems you've lost the knack

# Who, me?

# Lipshitz, take the whole delivery back

# No, nah

# There's too much gloss down the front # Needs steam

# Much too tight on the sleeve # Needs cloth

# These buttons are loose and the bottoms are frayed

# The whole bloody lot is terribly made

# lf l were you, the whole staff l would sack

# Mit pleasure

# Lipshitz, take the whole delivery back

# Mr Jackson, you're a misery # Any wonder

# Won't you hear my plea? # l'm deaf

# Don't send them back to me # l'll refuse it

# l'll be careful, yes, l really will

# lmpossible!

# Aggravation makes me ill

# That makes two of us

# There's not enough drape in the shape # lt's the style

# Not enough space in the neck # lt's the fit

# These cuffs don't match and the lines are torn

# The whole lot looks like they've been worn

# Your attitude seems to say, "l'm all right, Jack"

# The name's Lipshitz

# So, Lipshitz, take the whole delivery back

# There's not enough drape in the shape # lt's the style

# Not enough space in the neck # lt's the fit

# These cuffs don't match and the lines are torn

# The whole lot looks like they've been worn

# Your attitude seems to say, "l'm all right, Jack"

# The name's Lipshitz

# So, Lipshitz, take the whole delivery

# Please don't make my life a misery

# Lipshitz, take the whole delivery

# l'll take that blazer back # # Take that blazer back #

NARRATOR: Then there's the community club for the transient people,

student clubs for those coming to the city for a specific period of study,

who need somewhere to gather to maintain their sense of identity.

They have no need or wish to be absorbed into the city.

MAN: We are mostly German students here.

Although some of the members do work here in London.

A lot of the girls with English families, au pair.

For them, it is a good way to improve their English.

Then they go back to Germany and become teachers or secretaries.

We like coming here because we can relax, be more ourselves.

This is a carnival night here at the club and we have guests.

The English don't have many carnivals, just at New Year.

lt is funny for us to be in a place we were told had been destroyed during the war.

Not that many of us can remember this time.

We have to think about things like that,

because we are going back and we are concerned with our country.

We have to make a future for ourselves and for Germany.

Young Germans have inherited a mess, you know.

But then most people inherit a mess of one sort or another.

Our mess isn't economic, but it is a mess just the same.

The Germany that we make, the generation that wasn't in the war,

well, for us, that must be a new place.

Fortunately, nearly every country in the world is having to make things over again,

having to find a new place in the world.

WeII, we wiII do that,

but l would like to think of the day when we won't have to gather together

as Germans or Frenchmen or English, but just as Europeans.

Or even better, just as human beings.

WOMAN: All these things and problems are so serious.

Tonight is not the time for them. Tonight is carnival night.

lt's a big festival at home.

Everybody gets a little too much to drink.

Some people get their little English drink.

You know, some are not being discreet and it doesn't matter.

There ought to be time for everyone where nothing matters, just a slow time.

lt's good, it's relaxing.

lt helps to be serious in the serious times.

It is... Ah, what's the word?

Uh, English is so difficult...

Perspective! That's the word. Perspective.

NARRATOR: lllusion to reality.

With the businessmen safely back home in the suburbs

and the offices left to the security staff,

the dancers of the Omar Khayyam can, with easy conscience, go on again.

(DRAMATlC MUSlC PLAYlNG)

This dancing is traditional.

lt's something the West can only watch, not emulate.

The dancers bring to the West, with only minor adjustment,

a traditional Oriental entertainment.

(lNAUDlBLE)

(UPBEAT MUSlC PLAYlNG)

(WOMEN EXCLAlMlNG)

Here, in this club, the artists are mainly lndian or Ceylonese.

But the acknowledgement of their own culture

is introductory to the westernised presentation.

The artist about to be introduced is from Ceylon.

At this time, ladies and gentlemen, we present the fabulous lrene D'Silva.

(SlNGlNG lN NATlVE LANGUAGE)

# Running wild, lost control

# Running wild, mighty bold

# Feeling gay, lonesome too

# Carefree mind all the time, never blue

# Always going, don't know where

# Always showing that l don't care

# Love nobody, it's not worthwhile

# All alone, running wild

# l'm running wild, l've lost control

# l'm running wild, l'm mighty bold

# l'm feeling gay and lonesome too

# Carefree mind all the time, never blue

# l'm always going, l don't know where

# l'm always showing that l don't care

# Don't love nobody, it's not worthwhile

# l'm all alone, running wild

# Love nobody

# Oh, love nobody

# l am just running wild #

NARRATOR: This is ChurchiII's, of world-renown, unmistakably Western.

All that's asked is that you relax, dance...

A place to sit and drink without being part of any community,

without involvement, where you are simply a customer.

Do what you will, but, please, pay the bill.

(JAZZ MUSlC PLAYlNG)

(lNAUDlBLE)

# Make me fall in love with you

# l know that you can

# Work your special charm on me

# You just be the man

# Make me fall in love with you

# lt doesn't take much

# Just a little tenderness

# And you've got the touch

# The lights are low, the moon is high

# And the mood is right

# And my heart keeps on telling me

# Tonight could be the night

# Make me fall in love with you

# l won't mind at all

# Only say you love me too

# And l start to fall #

NARRATOR: This is a pub, a cockney pub,

down near the river, which is never far away in London.

lt's Baroque in style, brassy in temperament.

MAN: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

Welcome to the lsle of Dogs and The Waterman's Arms.

And now let me hand you over to our fabulous Kim Cordell.

(CROWD APPLAUDlNG)

(CROWD CHEERlNG)

Well, thank you very much, ladies and gentlemen.

Well, now as you can see, l'm wearing the green,

so l think it's only appropriate to start off with an lrish number. So, here we go.

(JAZZ MUSlC PLAYlNG)

# ln Dublin's fair city

# Where the chicks are so pretty

# l first set my eyes

# On sweet Molly Malone

# As she wheeled her wheelbarrow

# Through the streets, broad and narrow

# Crying, "Cockles and mussels alive, alive-o!

# "Alive, alive-o!

# "Alive, alive-o!"

# Crying, "Cockles..." #

NARRATOR: lt was in pubs like these

that the music halls of England had their beginning.

A whole tradition of theatre grew up spontaneously,

and with it came generations of singers and comics

who made a world of entertainment of their own.

Later, they moved into theatres.

ln the theatres, they had to face, in due course,

competition from other forms of entertainment.

The cinema made inroads on their audiences, TV gave the death stroke.

The theatres closed one after the other and so it's back to the pubs. Full circle.

# "Oh, alive, alive-o!

# "Alive, alive-o!"

# Crying, "Cockles and mussels alive, alive-o!"

One more time.

# "Alive, alive, alive, alive-o!

# "Alive, alive, alive, alive-o!"

# Crying, "Cockles and muscles alive

# "Alive

# "Alive-o!"

# Yeah! #

(CROWD CHEERlNG)

Well, now, ladies and gentlemen, your favourite, my favourite,

the king of the cockneys, Tommy Pudding.

Nice big hand, ladies and gentlemen.

(CROWD APPLAUDlNG)

(UPBEAT MUSlC PLAYlNG)

# Oh, slap a bit of treacle on your pudding, Mary Ann

# Mary Ann, Mary Ann, Mary Ann

# Oh, smother it, bubble it, put it on the top

# l like the pudding with the treacle on the top

# Oh, l like the pudding where the pudding meets a good'un

# And l don't like bread or jam

# Oh, slap a bit of treacle on your pudding, Mary Ann

# Mary Ann, Mary Ann, Mary Ann

# Oh, she's had a bit of wear and tear, poor cow

# She's had a bit of wear and tear

# She dropped one night in a bowl of fat

# Someone's kicked her up the eye

# Don't want it, 'cause l told you so before

# Oh, take it away, take it away

# And give it to the girl next door #

Well, now, ladies and gentlemen, we'd like to bring on to the stage

a gentleman who is no stranger here at the pub.

A nice big hand, ladies and gentlemen, for the one and only Huey Diamond.

Nice big hand, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you.

(CROWD APPLAUDlNG)

(lNAUDlBLE)

HUEY: # Pack up all your cares and woes

# Here l go, singing low

# Bye-bye, bye, bye, bye

# Bye-bye, my little blackbird

# Where somebody waits for me

# Sugar's sweet and so is she

# Bye-bye, bye-bye, bye-bye, my little blackbird

# No one here to love or understand me

# Oh, what hard luck stories they all hand me

# So, make my bed and light the light

# l'll be home late tonight

# Blackbird, bye, bye, bye, bye, bye!

Come on, everyone, let's go!

# Pack up all those cares and woes

# Here l go, just singing low

# Bye, bye, bye, bye, my little blackbird

# Where somebody waits for me

# Sugar's sweet and so is she

# Blackbird

# Oh, blackbird

# Blackbird, bye, bye, bye, bye #

Yeah!

NARRATOR: AII over Britain at 11:00, the public houses close.

Easy public access to liquor is ended for the day.

Reality sets in.

Loneliness waits in the shadows again.

Human warmth and contact a commodity.

When you buy, you cheapen.

And if you have no money, no prospects and finally no hope,

you search for oblivion in other ways.

Can happiness really be found

at the bottom of a bottle of methylated spirits?

(GROANS)

(MUTTERlNG lNCOHERENTLY)

lt's God's gift.

Ah! Oh, boy!

(MUTTERlNG lNCOHERENTLY)

Will you hurry it up?

l'm cold and tired.

Where has mine gone?

NARRATOR: Before sale, this spirit is supposedly rendered undrinkable

by the addition of dyes and emetics.

But the only thing that would render spirit undrinkable to these men

wouId be to make it solid, then they would eat it.

Here, there's a choice of vintage for a more discerning and discriminating palate.

More money to pay.

But the cost is far less in health and expectation of life.

(SMOOTH JAZZ MUSlC PLAYlNG)

There's a certain style here, but the search is still on.

Not for oblivion but for human warmth, companionship, respite, amusement.

A search for the elusive, because everyone is searching.

But here it is possibly a heightening of the sensations

rather than total blackout.

And here also, the search goes on for excitement.

Not the excitement of acquisition, because that phase of life is over.

Here, you put what you've acquired in jeopardy once more.

This is no search for warmth or contact.

This is the search deep inside for some dead nerve that will still give a kick.

Pseudo-dangerous living.

Stimulation by facing minor disaster.

Achieving minor triumphs.

To say, "l lost. l won."

Banco called.

(SPEAKlNG FRENCH)

NARRATOR: The stakes can be substantial, the game tense.

But no one shoots themselves in the shrubbery in the London clubs.

Not yet anyway. Here the disaster is illusion.

lt's only money.

For others, the disaster is impending.

IIIusions shattered, the danger apparent to everyone

except the person most central.

WOMAN: Look, l come here 'cause I don't care, understand?

Most of us here are the same.

Other places seem slow, but here it's quicker.

And l'm with it.

l feel the beat's different, more exciting.

Kicks, that's what l'm looking for. Big, bold kicks.

l'm young and l wanna enjoy everything, and l mean all men.

Sure, l hate myself in the morning, but at night, that's for me.

l've got to keep coming back.

Anyway, who's to tell me what to do?

Them? And that bloody bomb?

Probably blow us all up in the end, if there is an end.

That's the way it is. We mustn't fret.

l don't wanna know about anything. Don't want to know and that's it.

(ROCK'N'ROLL MUSlC PLAYlNG)

NARRATOR: Piccadilly Circus, near midnight.

Groups of people stand anxiously, waiting for midnight and a new day.

Like celebrants of some macabre feast,

they wait to see in the day the all-important new date.

ln their hands, they hold the piece of paper that to them is their last hold on life.

These men and women are drug addicts. The paper is their prescription to obtain drugs.

And the object of their wait

is the all-night dispensing pharmacy in Piccadilly.

At the stroke of midnight, they're entitled to take another day's allotment of narcotics.

A carefully controlled amount of drug,

enough to maintain some semblance of normal Iife,

not enough to increase or intensify their addiction.

ln Britain, drug addiction is more a case for sympathetic medical attention

than penal police action.

Britain's attitude is that while people are not afraid to come forward

and admit their addiction and receive treatment,

then there's a chance of curing them, bringing them back to the ranks of the living.

The statistics seem to support this attitude.

Great Britain has under 600 drug addicts,

whereas in the United States, where addiction is in itself an offence,

the numbers are estimated at 47,000,

with untold numbers afraid to come forward for fear of imprisonment.

Unfortunately, this is not the whole story.

There's still an illicit trade in drugs, a dangerous, cancerous growth.

Either the addict doesn't consider his allotment sufficient for his needs

or prefers to live in his private hell unassisted.

British law stamps hard on this traffic, the traffic in sIow murder,

the chipping away of self-respect

and finally the loss of any semblance of humanity.

There's nowhere for these people to go,

an endless void between this fix and the next.

They will all finally seek help or suicide.

ln a doorway.

(ROCK'N'ROLL MUSlC PLAYlNG)

Past a dustbin.

Climb a dark stairway.

Pay a small fee.

And enter.

(lNAUDlBLE)

(CROWD APPLAUDlNG)

(ROCK'N'ROLL MUSlC PLAYlNG)

Now, you're in a club.

lt's legal, more or less.

The drinks you buy are drinkable.

The entertainment is uncomplicated and heterosexual.

The police are not about to raid you.

You're not about to be conned. lt's not going to cost you a fortune.

Here, there are no iIIusions.

You may get quietly drunk and no one will notice.

You may come when you want and leave when you will.

You're supposed to be enjoying yourself.

(lNAUDlBLE)

NARRATOR: Here's where we began, at The Blue Angel,

one of the oldest of London's nightclubs,

and by reputation, one of the most respectable.

lt serves good basic food and boasts no hostesses.

The cabaret is wry, ironic songs or simple songs, well sung.

lt's clientele, affluent younger set.

(lNAUDlBLE)

(CROWD APPLAUDlNG)

Ladies and gentlemen, to open our show is a young American jazz singer,

who made her very first appearance in London cabaret in this club

and has since gone on to be the resident vocalist with the Johnny Dankworth Band.

Ladies and gentlemen, here is Miss Joy Marshall.

(CROWD APPLAUDlNG)

# Won't you come home, Bill Bailey?

# Come on home

# She moans the whole day long

# l'll do the cookin', daddy

# l'll pay the rent

# l know l done you wrong

# Yes, indeedy

# Remember that rainy evenin'?

# l put you out with nothin'

# Nothin' but a fine-tooth comb

# Yes, l did

# You see, l know l'm to blame

# And it's a low-down, dirty shame

# Bill Bailey, won't you please come on home?

# l'm wondering, won't you come home, Bill Bailey?

# Brother William, you come on home

# This woman moans and groans, l'm telling you

# A-moaning and a-groaning the whole day long

# She said, l'll do the cookin', daddy

# Please don't avoid me about the rent

# Because l knew it, yes, l knew it l done you wrong

# Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

# Do you remember that rainy evenin'?

# l put you out and l gave you nothin'

# Nothin' but a fine-tooth comb

# Well, you see, l know l'm to blame

# And it's a low-down, a rotten, and a dirty, dirty shame

# Bill Bailey, won't you please

# You know, l think l ought to tell you one more time

# Now, won't you come home, Bill Bailey?

# Brother William, you come on home

# This woman moans and groans, l'm telling you

# A-moaning and a-groaning the whole day long

# She said, l'll do the cookin', daddy

# Please don't avoid me about the rent

# Because l knew it, yes, l knew it l done you wrong

# Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

# Do you remember that rainy evenin'?

# l put you out and l gave you nothin'

# Not a thing, nothin' but a fine-tooth comb

# Well, you see, l know l'm to blame

# And it's a low-down, a rotten, and a dirty, dirty shame

# Bill Bailey, won't you please come on home?

# Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

# Bill Bailey, won't you please come on home?

# Bailey #

We got a little story about Adam and Eve.

lt's sort of a modern version, l think, you'd call it.

It's called Forbidden Fruit.

# Eve and Adam had a garden

# Everything was great

# Till one day a boy said, "Pardon, miss, my name is Snake

# "See that apple over yonder?

# "lf you'll take a bite

# "You and Adam both are bound to have some fun tonight

# "Go on and eat

# "lt's mighty sweet

# "lt's quite a treat

# "Go ahead and taste it" #

NARRATOR: This is London today, flashing facets like a flawed jewel.

Some, incomparably beautiful.

Some, not so beautifuI.

A hard exterior, a cold centre.

Look, touch, taste and feeI, but don't try to break it.

lt'll break you first.

(lNAUDlBLE)

# Eve and Adam had a garden

# Everything was great

# Till one day a voice said, "Pardon, miss, my name is Snake

# "See that apple over yonder?

# "lf you'll take a bite

# "You and Adam both are bound to have some fun tonight

# "Go on and eat

# "lt's mighty sweet

# "lt's quite a treat

# "Go ahead and taste it You don't wanna waste it" #