Author: Brian Hannan

Considerably more prescient than perceived at the time. Predicts the influence of pop stars – immeasurably magnified now through social media – and instant cancellation as a consequence of inappropriate action or remark, plus the way marketing tie-ins can boost product. Itemizes more succinctly the corporate pressure brought to bear on entertainers as well as the constant public exposure that denies performers any privacy. The radio in a watch was way ahead of its time and you could also argue that it predates A Clockwork Orange (1971) in identifying the attraction of violence and it touches on self-harm.

It’s both daft but realistic, overblown but intimate, mixing gibberish and brilliance so well it’s hard to know which side to come down on. All the obvious targets – Church, Government, big business, the dumb young – are here.

The story is set in a Big Brother style “near future” when control of the masses is the aspiration of Government. Steven Shorter (Paul Jones) is the messianic pop star trapped by fame. His stage act is quite stunning. Imprisoned in a cage, handcuffed, brutally beaten by warders, he sings of freedom to a young, mostly female, audience driven to tears by his ordeal, and occasionally on the point of rioting.

Paul Jones’s performance was criticized at the time because reviewers wanted performer more than puppet, but, at the distance of a half a century, it looks more like the actor has made the correct choice, entombed by the restrictions placed upon his life.There’s scarcely a rebellious pop/rock star alive who hasn’t been in the thrall of big business. Rebellion is the modern equivalent of “bread and circuses,” whatever keeps the young happy and limited to venting their own revolutionary tendencies in a contained situation, and in this case endorsed by the State. The history of music is littered with entertainers taken advantage of by big business and, just as likely, willingly signing a big deal they later regretted – Creedence Clearwater Revival, George Michael come to mind though Taylor Swift found a sweet way of taking financial revenge. And of decades of tours that appeared to benefit as much the sponsors as the entertainers.

While there’s a 1984 vibe here, that element of a single party in eternal control of Britain is as relevant now as then. Some would argue the world, through the dominance of social media, is more vacuous than before. Others, precisely because of social media, less vacuous. Entertainers might be willingly enrolled to sell a variety of products or promote political activity, any one of which could be interpreted as as harmless as being used to sell 600 million apples which will go to rot unless immediately consumed, which is the marketing task in hand here.

Critics at the time were less taken by the principals, the pop star Steven Shorter (Paul Jones) and potential love interest Vanessa (Jean Shrimpton), recruited to paint his portrait but, in effect, presented as a glorified groupie. They wanted the performer to be as charismatic offstage, in the manner of Mick Jagger or John Lennon, as on, as if stage antics could not be separated from reality. But I found the numbing down of Shorter more authentic. He had lost/sold his individuality, he went where his bosses dictated, and although not indicated you could as easily equate his offstage life to being stoned out of his mind, which would accord with the experience of lot more entertainers afterwards than at the time.

If he only comes alive through performance that, too, while taken to an extreme, would be in line with the experience of many performers whose personality only catches fire when performing. Many actors, for example, will insist that fulfillment comes from wearing a variety of stage or screen masks.

And Shorter’s inherent masochism, willingly accepting the blows delivering by his truncheoned guards on stage, his back covered in scars, resonates more strongly today when self-harm in an indicator of poor mental health. Yet, he can rebel, aware of the individual control he exerts, that he chooses to demonstrate almost contemptuously when at a grand dinner party he refuses wine and insists instead that everyone, even his supposed boss, partakes of hot chocolate.

The other notion touched upon, which resonates far more today than then, is the price fame exacts, most importantly loss of privacy. When Vanessa, not unexpectantly, falls for our hero, she declines to take their brief affair further, “we’d never be alone together, not really.” And it’s surely not unintentionally ironic that the theme of his main song is “set me free.”

Bob Dylan embracing the electric guitar, scandalizing his purist folk base, might have provided the impetus for the climactic scenes, when the messianic Steven turns his back on rebellion (“repents” in a brilliantly staged concert) and instead embraces traditional Christian values, providing an opportunity for surprisingly entertaining pop versions of Onward Christian Soldiers and Jerusalem.

I haven’t mentioned that this isn’t a straightforward candidate for the A Star Is Born sub-genre, reporting rise and fall in standard manner, but instead is presented as documentary, but of the kind that would be more easily appreciated today, seductive camera dominant rather than the intrusive presenter, with all subsidiary characters either justifying their behavior or being shown abusing their position.  

Probably most relevant of all is that Shorter’s career comes to a close from inappropriate remark, triggering cancelation and loss of “privilege.”

I can see why director Peter Watkins chose someone who could sing for his main character – Paul Jones had been lead singer of Manfred Mann before going solo, in both guises releasing a string of hit singles – since that kind of veracity is virtually impossible to achieve from miming or imitation. Instead of delivering a poor performance, and elivening every moment with “charisma,” it appears to me that Paul Jones, in his movie debut, is instead correct to follow his intuition or inner truth that offstage an entertainer is a mere ghost of himself. I would hazard that model Jean Shrimpton wasn’t called upon to do much acting, but her own soft-spoken Engish rose personality with just a hint of steel suits her character well.

Watkins, too, resisted the temptation to litter the background with scene-stealing supporting actors, or those hoping for a career break, and of these only Jeremy Child (A Fish Called Wanda, 1988) might be instantly recognizable.

Watkins had made his name with what appeared at the time to be tougher-talking television docu dramas Culloden (1964) and The War Game (1966), the latter so graphically showing the effects of nuclear war it was promptly banned. While Privilege on initial release carried little of the power of the first two, in retrospect it has come into its own. The only screenplay by Norman Bogner, better known for television, from an idea by Johnny Speight (BBC’s Till Death Do Us Part, 1966-1975) which translated to the U.S. as All in the Family, 1971-1979).

Worth reviving.