The Julie Christie film that scandalised Sixties Britain is back – you must see it

Telegraph

4 days ago

When film fans think about the swinging Sixties in cinema, it tends to be with almost Austin Powers-esque nostalgia. One remembers the Beatles gaily dashing about in A Hard Day's Night, Sean Connery's brooding charisma as James Bond and, if you will, the broader delights of the perennially popular Carry On series.
Yet many of British film's most talented film-makers, writers and actors also collaborated on films that are both quintessential time capsules of what a certain kind of moneyed bohemian, artistic life was like six decades ago, and also stand up well today.
One such example of this kind of picture was John Schlesinger's Darling, which was first released in September 1965 and is now being reissued in cinemas for its 60th anniversary. If you haven't seen it, it is entirely worth getting to your nearest art house cinema and savouring.
Sexually charged and transgressive even today, it is the study of a bored, amoral fashion model, Diana Scott (Julie Christie), who divides her self-interested attentions between two older and successful men: the kindly Melvyn Bragg-esque Robert Gold (Dirk Bogarde) and the high-powered and equally ambitious advertising executive Miles Brand (Laurence Harvey).
Diana, naturally, betrays both of them, as she has betrayed everyone else who she comes into contact with, but the bed-hopping storyline is not the central appeal of the picture. Instead, Frederic Raphael's Oscar-winning screenplay memorably conjures up an anti-romantic vision of Swinging London where everyone is on the make, and where personal integrity is subsumed to beauty, charm and ambition. Even the film's title is ironic.
Schlesinger knew from the outset that the picture was going to be the opposite of the light-hearted optimism of A Hard Day's Night and other quintessential Sixties films. 'I think that our attitude to Darling was a good deal more cynical than merely an optimistic look at Swinging London,' he would admit.
The idea for Darling came from a conversation with the journalist Godfrey Winn, who played himself in Billy Liar. Winn asked the director whether he was at all interested in making a film that was based on real life, and when Schlesinger replied that the idea hadn't occurred to him, the journalist told him about what the director called 'an extremely cynical arrangement that was publicised after someone's suicide, in which there was a girl who was being kept by a syndicate of people, people in showbusiness and banking and so forth, and they all had access to her in a flat. One day, she despaired at her predicament, and threw herself out of a window.'
Diana does not end the film in similarly fatal fashion, instead being married off to an Italian prince, but nobody would mistake the eventual resolution for a cheery one; it concludes with Diana, betrayed in her turn by a vengeful Robert, leaving Britain for Rome and a new, hollow life there. The ending is an ironic inversion of that of Schlesinger's previous picture, Billy Liar, in which the protagonist is unable to flee to London with his dream girl, but had it not been for the now-forgotten actress Topsy Jane, Darling may never have existed.
Jane was originally cast in the brief but pivotal role of Liz, Billy Liar's apparent means of escape, but she dropped out with mental health issues. This necessitated her replacement by the then-unknown Christie, who walked away with the picture in true a-star-is-born fashion. However, it was by no means certain that she would appear in the picture, both for reasons of commercial viability and her own initial distaste for the starring role. The first choice was Shirley MacLaine, who was a far better-known actress – her performance in 1960's The Apartment had been Oscar-nominated – but it was felt that Diana should be played by someone British.
As Schlesinger later said: 'We always had Julie Christie in mind for the part, but she was an unknown quantity then, and there was a good deal of resistance… Julie was very perturbed by the part, because she said it wasn't like her. So I said 'You're an actress, for God's sake, you can understand where she's coming from, this character.' Christie – a professional to her fingertips, as she has remained throughout a long and illustrious career – did not need to be told twice.
In any case, the screenplay that Christie was presented with had gone through a tortuous creative process. The initial idea had come from Schlesinger, who came up with the storyline in collaboration with the film's producer Joseph Janni. Yet the director was not a proven screenwriter himself, and so he turned to the modish young writer Raphael, who had had some success the previous year with the black comedy Nothing But The Best. The script that they came up with was originally entitled Woman On Her Way, but this was felt to be excessively on the nose, so the simpler, more effective current title was then decided upon.
'The writing of Darling lasted a very long time,' Raphael would recall. 'I started working with John and Joe early in 1962, and the film was eventually shot in 1965, which was a very long gap. I didn't get paid, because I didn't ask for money, which was foolish of me. I got quite tired of it, because John kept saying 'They don't like the script, dear', so we buggered off to Greece to work together.'
Raphael would shortly experience his own small-scale betrayal, which would, in turn, affect the misanthropy which seeped into the film's script. 'They then got someone else to do some work on the script, and as I hadn't been paid, I took a rather sour view of this, because I thought we were friends, but there aren't any friends in the business, and I should have known that. Besides, the work was dreadful, and virtually none of it ended up in the film.'
Darling eventually began filming in August 1964 in the appropriately swinging cities of Paris, London and Rome, but production was not straightforward. The openly gay Schlesinger and the closeted Bogarde conducted a love affair off-set, and Harvey, who was rumoured to be bisexual himself, was deeply conscious of the fact that his casting in an extended cameo was the major reason that the production had managed to raise its budget of around £400,000. He had become an international star with his role in the 1959 picture Room At The Top, in which he had played an ambitious social climber not a million miles away from a male Diana Scott, but had failed to capitalise on his Oscar-nominated role since, and was desperately in need of a hit.
Bogarde, meanwhile, was the fourth choice for the role of Gold, after Paul Newman, Gregory Peck and Cliff Robertson had all turned it down. The character was then rewritten as British, and the versatile and talented actor – who was still tainted by the fall-out from the controversy behind his 1961 Victim – assumed the role. Schlesinger had more fun casting the minor parts – he took a cameo as a theatre director; the Inkling and academic Hugo Dyson appears briefly as a writer; and a real-life Spanish aristocrat, José Luis de Vilallonga, 9 th Marquess of Castellbell, plays the Italian prince who marries Diana – but the film was frequently on the verge of collapse due to a lack of funding.
Only Bogarde's reluctant agreement to take a pay cut and David Lean's decision to cast Christie in the sought-after role of Lara in Dr Zhivago, which both created a buzz around her and, crucially, injected money into the production because of her needing to be bought out of her existing contract with the producer Janni, saw it proceed to completion.
The jostling egos – Christie aside – and general air of one-upmanship may have fed into the film's uniquely claustrophobic atmosphere. But for Raphael, it made for a miserable experience. 'I'd seen the rushes in London and said that they were dreadful and wrecking the whole film, and I was right,' he said. 'Most of the stuff I'd seen was never in the movie, with Dirk, who was very good in the film, looking like a spurned hairdresser. He did say to me on one occasion 'I find this character very weak in this scene', and I found myself saying to him 'Why the f___ do you think we asked you to do it?''
The typically waspish screenwriter said of the star: 'Julie was extraordinary but not interesting. She couldn't say her lines to save her life and if she could mispronounce anything, she would. But in that movie, she does have an extraordinary quality – all the rawness of her backstory fed into it, and she was that girl.'
Christie, perhaps mindful of the knowledge that the film's success rested on her slender shoulders, was very nervous in her first lead role, and often took refuge on the set to fall asleep. It fell to Bogarde to act as a friend and mentor to her, and in his memoir Snakes and Ladders, he wrote of Christie that 'She has more magnetism or, if you like, star quality than any actress I have worked with.'
When the picture finally finished production, it was selected for an unusual accolade, and premiered at the Moscow International Film Festival on July 16 1965. If you had wished any film to symbolise the downside of the corrupt and materialistic West, you could hardly have asked for anything more effective.
Its button-pushing sexual content was not just near the knuckle for the period, but positively shocking. One talked-about scene showed Diana and Miles attending a cross-dressing bisexual sex show in Paris, which is depicted coyly by today's standards but with enough detail for it to be clear what's going on. Then there's the almost casual revelation that Diana has decided to abort Robert's baby – at a time when abortion was illegal in Britain - rather than be tied down by the responsibility. Little wonder that he rounds on her, sneering 'Your idea of fidelity is not having more than one man in the bed at the same time. You're a whore, baby, that's all. Just a whore' and calling her 'a filthy little bitch.'
Schlesinger also included a gay character, in the form of the photographer Malcolm, who is allowed to eye up a good-looking waiter, only to be reprimanded by Diana: 'We are not complicating our holiday with any disgusting sexcapades.' Unsurprisingly, the film had to be cut for both the UK and American release – it still received an X rating in this country – and the unexpurgated version was not released until a DVD release in 2007, which included shots of a man wearing a woman's corset and an extended version of the sex party. It's still strong enough to receive a 15 rating, even now.
When it eventually premiered in edited form London in September, it received excellent reviews, all of which concurred that it captured the dark underbelly of the progressive society, and won several awards, including both a Bafta and Oscar for Christie. (Had it not had the BBFC -mandated cuts, it is more likely that it would have been greeted with protests.) One climatic scene in particular, in which Diana, amidst a breakdown, furiously tears off her clothes and jewellery, attracted attention (and was deleted from the initial American release of the film). Christie had not wanted to perform the scene, which required her to appear nude, but Schlesinger and Raphael argued that it was the depth of the character's descent, and thus integral to the picture.
She eventually agreed, and the results made her a star. From being an unknown just a couple of years ago, she became perhaps the single most talked-about and iconic woman in Britain, a celebrity on a scale several times greater than even Diana managed. Her own life continued to contain parallels with that of her character – swap out Gold and Brand for the actors Terence Stamp and, notoriously, Warren Beatty – but she displayed rare acuity when it came to the parts that she took later, a legacy of the kudos that this role gave her.
Some may suggest that Darling has dated, and that its cynicism and modishness (as well as nods to fashionable directors like Jean-Luc Godard and Michelangelo Antonioni) mark it as a film of its time. They may be right, but it also retains a strange, almost transfixing power, largely because of its lead. It was the beginning of a legendary career for her, and she deserved all the acclaim that she received. And Christie herself retained something of the spirit of Darling, after everything. As she told this paper in 2008: 'I honestly don't see anything wrong with hedonism. Life is for having fun with.' Diana may well have agreed with her.
The 60th anniversary restoration of Darling is in cinemas from May 30
Beyond Darling: Julie Christie's five greatest roles
1. Billy Liar (1963)
As the free-spirited, charismatic Liz, Christie may only be on screen for around ten minutes or so in what was her breakthrough role, but she bursts into cinema as an irrepressible and wholly likeable force of nature. The greatest question for many viewers is why, exactly, Tom Courtenay's fantasist Billy doesn't seize the opportunity to jump onto the train with Liz and embrace a new and happy life, rather than remaining locked up in his fertile imagination. His loss, however, was cinema's gain.
2. Doctor Zhivago (1965)
Along with Darling, Christie's great breakthrough role was as the love interest Lara in David Lean's mega-budget adaptation of Boris Pasternak's bestselling novel about the after-effects of the Russian Revolution. Amidst the endless snow, Maurice Jarre's schmaltzy but unforgettable theme tune and scene-stealing performances from character actors (her old inamorata Courtenay among them), Christie manages to anchor the film by playing Lara as simultaneously wholly comprehensible and effervescently mysterious. To be frank, one would launch a revolution just for her.
3. Far From The Madding Crowd (1967)
The Kinks sang on Waterloo Sunset about how 'Terry meets Julie, Waterloo station, every Friday night' and the song, written about Christie and her then-lover Terence Stamp, immortalised them as a quintessential Swinging London couple. It was inevitable, then, that they would star opposite each other in Nicolas Roeg 's excellent Thomas Hardy adaptation. Christie was cast as the strong-willed and independent Bathsheba Everdene and Stamp, appropriately enough, appeared as the dashing but venal Sergeant Troy. Roeg managed to make the film both wholly of its time and thoroughly contemporary, and Stamp's scarlet military tunic and virile swagger inspired a thousand hipsters – as well as the entire aesthetic of The Libertines.
4. Don't Look Now (1973)
Christie reunited with Roeg for one of cinema's greatest ghost stories, a uniquely haunting study of loss and mystery set in a never more sinister Venice. Although Christie's part was largely a supporting one, with the late, great Donald Sutherland in the central role of her grieving husband convinced that he sees the apparition of her late daughter, they both featured in the film's most (in)famous moment, a lengthy sex scene shot in Roeg's signature time-jumping fashion. It dared to portray married love – and that taking place after terrible loss – in a sensual and exciting fashion, rather than the usual jokey or negligible treatment. It thus led to persistent rumours that the actors got carried away and ended up making love on camera for real. Roeg never denied this with the authority that he should have.
5. Away From Her (2006)
Christie became much less prolific as an actress in the early 2000s, and today has apparently retired from cinema. She has only made a handful of on-screen appearances in the past two decades, and the most recent of these came in 2012, in Robert Redford's The Company You Keep. However, she did have one final great role in her, and that was as the Alzheimer's-afflicted Fiona in Sarah Polley's affecting and deeply compassionate study of loss in life. She was deservedly Oscar-nominated for her vanity-free performance, in which she eloquently conveys the indignity and horror of mental decline. If she never makes another film, this stands as a magnificent and resonant testament to her remarkable gifts as an actress.