Girls at Sea

A fascinating film, between The Baby and the Battleship and Operation Petticoat, in which The Sin of Harold Diddlebock is given a surreal blossoming into a NATO bedroom farce, which is handled with Royal Navy spit and polish.


What a Whopper

“Start packing your gear, you’re coming to Loch Ness!”

“Oh, now, now, wait a minute.”

“Well, I can’t work all this stuff by myself, now can I?”

“Oh, good! I’ve always wanted to go to Ireland.”

“But you can’t come trailing—“

“Don’t argue, Tony. If Vernon goes, I go. After all, we are engaged.”

“Are we?”

“Of course, I keep telling you, Vernon.”

“Do you?”

Young artists, “flicking”, sculptural, novelistic, concrète, fob the monster off on an unsuspecting public, to sell a novel, to pay the rent.

“Well, there it is.”

“Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“I say, what a marvelous view.”

“It’s lovely.”

The approach by road to the loch. Claymore Inn, run by salmon poachers.

Nessie’s roar.

“It was marvelous, did you see Postie’s face?”

“It was a picture.”

An impressionistic rendering of these events, a prop at the Serpentine.

“That’s better!”

“It’s all right for you.”

Nessies proliferate, all but a Tourist Centre, “Nessie hersel’!”