Travails of a Windmill Girl

July. Already.

Pride month has come and gone in a sudden flash, much like last year, come to think on it. Like last year and the year before. I should have done more.

Something would have been more.

*Sigh*

This is an awful movie: Secrets of a Windmill Girl, a little sixties British film I'd never seen before or even heard of, released nevertheless to DVD in 2005 by Salvation Films, from their "Sex-A-Go Go Collection" it says on the disc. O-kaaay. That kind of thing is usually right up my alley--obscure, arty, lost-gem type pictures from another era--but this has been mostly a time-waster. Too bad. Ingrid Bergman once got up, grabbed her coat, and walked right out of the middle of a film. Apparently her exit was noticed and not at all appreciated; asked later to explain herself she replied simply, "I haven't got time to waste." Brava, Ingrid. You were smarter than me. (On so many levels, but we'll discuss all that another time.) I stuck it out with Secrets of a Windmill Girl 'til the balmy, bitter end. Beside, you can't snatch up your coat and haughtily walk out on your DVD player--you'd look silly.

I was doubly disappointed with Secrets of a Windmill Girl because the wonderful Pauline Collins is touted as its star, she of Shirley Valentine (awards and accolades for both stage and film versions), Upstairs, Downstairs, and--most memorably for me--the delightful 1974 Britcom, No, Honestly opposite real-life husband and frequent acting partner John Alderton. Collins played Clara, the spritely, sweetly exasperating Gracie to Alderton's wisecracking George.

Secrets of a Windmill Girl was actually Miss Collins's film debut but it will never rank as one of her better efforts (thank goodness). The acting is amateurish, the dialogue is stilted at best and the production values are, um, minimal--it's washed-out looking and the pace sort of plods along. The movie is based on a real-life (1931 to 1964, officially) London burlesque theatre famous for remaining open for business even at the height of the Blitz during WWII but seems mostly an excuse to show lots of girlie flesh and that's its only real draw, not that I have a problem with that. Some of the Windmill's former dancers are featured, which is kind of enjoyable, that and the look of late sixties London: the cars, the quaint streets and shops, and the actress-dancers' towering beehive hairdos and Cleopatra eye make-up.

The movie opens with the sudden, violent death of one Miss Pat Lord in a car crash following a drunken night on the town with what appears to be her latest Mr. Right Now. Collins plays Pat, a pretty, tart-mouthed, bright-eyed brunette with a burning ambition to go places; the place she settles her sights on--following a brief stint at a shoe store where she sneeringly shoots down the amorous hopes of her old-enough-to-know-better employer--is the famed Windmill Theatre where open auditions are being held for dancers, or for leggy, pretty girls who can move reasonably well, at least. She drags her shy blonde best friend Linda along and, though neither are properly dressed for a dance audition (or dance all that well, frankly), they are both accepted, Pat immediately, Linda thanks to Pat's cheeky insistence.

But I'm getting ahead of myself; after the crash a policeman tracks down Linda, now working as a singer in a tony West End club, to identify Pat's body and provide some background on the late Miss Lord. Thus begins Linda's narration of the life and "secrets" of her vivacious, hard-living former friend. We see them briefly as middle year schoolgirls (looking suspiciously like extras from the set of the way superior The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie), then as teenage sixth-formers giddily trashing their schoolbooks on graduation day, then as roommates swiftly trading in the workaday world for a chance at the Big Time as Windmill Girls.

Thereafter there are a lot of scenes of Pat, Linda and the other Windmill ladies in various stages of undress onstage and backstage, and posing together in various "newsreel" accounts of various public relations tours. They party, gossip and engage in a catfight or two, usually instigated by the arrogant, boastful Pat who for a time snags a wealthy producer-gentlemen friend who promises her West End glory he never quite delivers on. Pat's abrasiveness wears on Linda as well and they gradually drift apart. In case you care there were Windmill Boys too; here and there we glimpse male dancers, comics and musicians but they're pretty much backdrop--this movie is about cheesecake not beefcake.

If you want to see a better and more entertaining movie about London's Windmill Theatre and its denizens, check out Judi Dench (and Bob Hoskins) in the 2005 movie Mrs. Henderson Presents, directed by Stephen Frears.

Looks awful out this morning. Gray and threatening. I really should have gone for an early morning walk--my day just seems to start better whenever I do--but kept putting it off, afraid the skies would open and halfway to the park I'd get drenched. Instead I've settled into watch Collins and company and feel restless as hell and annoyed with myself. Carpe Diem pro Deo! I know I know! Do something! But what already? Recently my union told the Mayor to take his proposals and go &*@#!# himself (or words to that effect) and now I'm scared to spend ten cents never mind ten dollars in case this time next month I'm on the bread lines (again). Makes me nostalgiac for the days when I was a kid. When I was a teenager I didn't let the weather or much else stop me from going where I wanted to go and doing what I wanted to do, broke or not.
Not completely true. Other things did stop me. Not the weather.

I've got it! You know what this movie, Secrets of a Windmill Girl really is? It's the dark side of Ann Marie's quest for fame! Do you see it? It's...

That Girl In Hell!

That Poor Girl!

That Girl Gone Wild!

Okay, your turn.