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Dis­cov­er the Psy­cho-esque thrills of this 70s ser­i­al killer romance

29 Jan 2018

Words by Anton Bitel

Two women lying on a bed, one asleep, the other awake and looking off-camera. Soft, intimate lighting and bedding create a pensive, moody scene.
Two women lying on a bed, one asleep, the other awake and looking off-camera. Soft, intimate lighting and bedding create a pensive, moody scene.
Peter Collinson’s Straight on Till Morn­ing offers a gris­ly vision of Britain in the 1970s.

You bloody mani­ac, what do you think you’re doing!”, yells a woman (Katya Wyeth) at Peter (Shane Bri­ant) as he almost runs her down with his con­vert­ible in the streets of Earl’s Court. Only min­utes ear­li­er, Peter, on foot, had bumped into Bren­da (Rita Tush­ing­ham) at the entrance to a newsagent’s, not even paus­ing to help or apol­o­gise after he knocked her bag – and its con­tents – out of her hands and onto the ground. Bren­da has just arrived in Lon­don from her home in Liv­er­pool, in search of a prince of princes’ to father her child – and this ini­tial con­tretemps with Peter will also turn out to be a meet-cute, as the film plays itself out as a very dark take on the dis­ori­ent­ing delir­i­um of romance.

Straight on Till Morn­ing is full of clash­es and col­li­sions, whether lit­er­al (as above) or metaphor­i­cal. The film opens with Brenda’s fairy tale voiceover (a tale of a won­drous mag­ic gar­den”, a beau­ti­ful cas­tle” and the most beau­ti­ful princess in the world”) con­trast­ing with a pan over the rooftops of the more pro­sa­ic Liv­er­pudlian street where she lives with her moth­er. Indeed, Brenda’s insis­tence on fil­ter­ing her real­i­ty through the prism of fan­ta­sy cre­ates one of the film’s prin­ci­pal tensions.

Then there is the clash of north­ern and south­ern val­ues, of Brenda’s naïve inno­cence with the greater world­li­ness of the Swing­ing Lon­don­ers, and of the youth­ful ide­al­ism of the 60s with the Man­son-esque men­ace that ush­ered in the 70s. This lat­ter spir­it is embod­ied by Peter, who, for all his slip­pery androg­y­nous charm, is a bloody mani­ac” for real – a ser­i­al killer of any sex­u­al part­ners (typ­i­cal­ly women old enough to be his moth­er) whom he regards as unlov­ing or, now worse for him, beautiful.

Bren­da is very much not Peter’s usu­al type. She is young and plain”, even not pret­ty at all” – some­thing pal­pa­bly untrue of Tush­ing­ham, but that just has to be accept­ed with­in the film’s fic­tions giv­en how many char­ac­ters state it as fact. What Peter has in com­mon with Bren­da is his fan­ci­ful­ness. For he, like her, has con­struct­ed a fan­ta­sy around him­self. Bren­da intro­duces her­self to Peter as Ros­al­ba” – the name of the princess in the fairy tale that she has been writ­ing. Peter too is trav­el­ing under a pseu­do­nym – his real name is Clive – and he tells his own sto­ry to Ros­al­ba via the alle­go­ry of a fairy tale.

With­out know­ing that Rosalba’s real name is Bren­da, Peter redubs her Wendy”, both as a con­trol­ling mea­sure, and as a reflec­tion of his obses­sion with the sto­ry of Peter Pan (he tells an ear­li­er vic­tim that he is tak­ing her to Nev­er Nev­er Land”, and his dog’s name, Tin­ker, comes close to Tin­ker­bell). Togeth­er, this odd cou­ple – the ingénue and the momma’s boy – seek to rein­vent them­selves, and to trans­form the world around them into infan­tilised myth, even as harsh­er real­i­ties close in.

While Peter recalls the moth­er-lov­ing Nor­man Bates from Psy­cho, he is per­haps clos­er, through his use of record­ing devices, to Mark Lewis from Peep­ing Tom. And his affair with Bren­da, though appar­ent­ly doomed from the start, is nonethe­less played as a gen­uine romance which the view­er wills to suc­ceed, despite see­ing it for the illu­sion that it is. Mean­while direc­tor Peter Collinson (The Ital­ian Job, Fright, Open Sea­son) shows these char­ac­ters’ frag­ment­ed grip on real­i­ty by hav­ing his edi­tor, Alan Pat­til­lo, slice up the film like some­thing from the French New Wave (or per­haps like one of Peter’s vic­tims), with syn­co­pat­ed shots, jump cuts and pro­nounced dis­con­ti­nu­ities of both space and time. The result is a heady descent into Bren­da and Peter’s indi­vid­ual and col­lec­tive mad­ness, which also cap­tures the shifts and con­tra­dic­tions of the times.

Look close­ly at the stained-glass door on Peter’s bijou Mews pad and you will see a bird with crys­tal plumage, sig­nalling the film’s con­nec­tion less to Hammer’s char­ac­ter­is­tic cas­tle hor­ror, and more to the mod­ern psy­cho thrills of a Dario Argen­to gial­lo. For Straight on Till Morn­ing, though a Ham­mer pro­duc­tion, for­goes entire­ly that label’s usu­al goth­ic motifs. Indeed, here the set­ting is entire­ly con­tem­po­rary, while the only cas­tles to be found exist exclu­sive­ly in Brenda’s mytho­ma­ni­ac imag­i­na­tion. Children’s sto­ries are cru­el,” Bren­da will tell Peter – but the mon­strous actu­al­i­ties of 70s Britain will turn out to be crueller.

Straight on Till Morn­ing is released by Stu­dio­Canal in a Blu-ray/D­VD Dou­ble­play edi­tion on 29 Jan­u­ary 2018.

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