Pennan, on the Moray coast of north-east Scotland is a tiny village with a big reputation. It is hard to reach, down a steep, narrow, serpentine road, but many visitors make the effort. There’s one reason why – they all love Local Hero. In Bill Forsyth’s 1983 film, Pennan has a starring role as Ferness, which will become an oil refinery if some American businessmen (led by Burt Lancaster) have anything to do with it. Like Forsyth’s earlier masterpiece Gregory’s Girl, the film has a great cast and an understated sense of wonder that people fall in love with.

When you arrive it’s easy to see why Pennan was chosen. There is only one street which runs along the shore, lined by clothes poles, lobster baskets and the odd hammock. The houses turn their gables against the sea to shelter from the harsh north wind. The harbour is small and functional and the cliff that towers above the houses threatens to engulf the village every few years. There is no shop (unlike Ferness) and the Pennan Inn has been closed for some time, only recently reopening. It’s not exactly bustling. In fact, it is the opposite of the skyscrapers and long-distance speakerphone conversations of the Texan oil industry.

There is no shortage of little villages with picturesque harbours round these parts, but here the all important troika of harbour, phone box and inn (essential to the plot) are within spitting distance of each other. The famous red phone box, from which Peter Riegert phones home to report on the 'acquisition of Scotland' was added as a prop. When it was removed after filming there was an outcry so it was replaced in a slightly different location where it still stands today. Even the perfect driftwood on the beach has a cinematic quality although the beach scenes were shot on the sands at Morar on the west coast.

Its appeal has endured over the years and in 2005 Pennan topped a poll for the best film location in Britain. A plaque on the Pennan Inn opposite the famous phone box commemorates its fame. In 2008 The Culture Show brought Bill Forsyth back to the village to celebrate Local Hero’s 25th anniversary with a showing in the tiny community hall. The film and the village are so inextricably linked that you can almost hear Mark Knopfler’s famous theme ‘Going Home’ as you approach. As the film suggests, it's difficult to leave without taking a piece of it away with you.

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Posted by Anne on December 20, 2009 | Permalink

North-East England, in the past few years, has been busily redeveloping itself. Towns have been smartened up, decaying buildings redeveloped, and irredeemable monstrosities torn down. The process started twenty years ago, and it's still ongoing today. In the next few months, a large block of Gateshead town centre, for example, is to be torn down and redeveloped. In the process, the building that is arguably the town's most famous and most prominent landmark will be demolished.

Trinity Square car park stands firmly above Gateshead, by some way the tallest building in the town centre. It's been Gateshead's biggest landmark for over forty years, having been opened in 1967 after five years on the drawing board. Built over a market hall and surrounded by a shopping precinct at its base, it was intended to be a centrepiece of its community. The top floor featured a space for a cafe-bar, with large, gorgeous, square picture windows looking out over Gateshead and Newcastle. It was never used, and has been empty for almost the whole of the building's life. Rather than becoming the centre of its community, the building is instead famous for the role it plays in a film, the 1971 gangster movie "Get Carter". A corrupt (and fictional) property developer shows Michael Caine around the empty cafe, and is later thrown off the building to his death. His grim demise fits well with the film, and with the dark bulk of the car park itself.

By the time the car park was constructed, its Brutalist design was already out of date and unfashionable. Its outdoor shopping precinct quickly became outdated too; shoppers preferred indoor precincts such as Newcastle's Eldon Square or, later, the Metro Centre in suburban Gateshead. Nevertheless, the building is still distinctive, striking, and important. Although the car park is closed off, the precinct surrounding it is still just about accessible. Almost all the tenants have left, now, given the impending closure, their shops hidden behind pastel security shutters. Boots The Chemist was so far as I could see, about the only remaining tenant, when I visited in January 2008. The precinct was still busy with locals, though, using it as a shortcut, hurrying through draughty passageways amid a forest of concrete columns supporting higher-level roads and walkways. The lowest two or three storeys have been slathered in thick cream masonry paint, presumably to help prevent graffiti; but above, the car park is still its original bare grey concrete, alternately dark and light, constantly changing shade with light and weather.

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Posted by FP on February 03, 2008 | Permalink | Comments (3)

Barely hanging on to the most easterly tip of England, Great Yarmouth is the seaside town that time forgot. Within minutes of our arrival we discover this temporal isolation permeates the town's whole being.

At the core of Great Yarmouth’s time warp sits Louis Tussauds House of Wax. Its terrible likenesses have been widely mocked via viral emails and national radio.

It was the last day of our visit when we stumbled upon the grand old house, painted bright blue and white, with a small ticket booth out front and faded lettering spelling out 'House of Wax'. Disclaimers and warnings proclaim 'These waxworks are best enjoyed as snapshots in time’ and 'No Photography' - evidence its owners were stung by the email mocking their museum.

Buying tickets and stepping inside we immediately realise the wax works are just as bad as the stories had led us to believe, however it's the whole atmosphere, the entirety of the museum that makes it so fascinating.

Due to a lack of investment or more likely a lack of will, Louis Tussauds is a time capsule of the 1970s and early 80s. Jim Davidson stands proudly at the front of a display of television personalities featuring amongst others Dirty Den and Angie, Sam Fox and the cast of Dynasty. There's a whole gallery of military figures with Churchill and Hitler headlining. Modern day is represented by a lost looking Victoria and David Beckham, but they are probably just the old Morecombe and Wise figures melted down and given new hairstyles.

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Posted by Ben C on July 08, 2007 | Permalink | Comments (5)

Just before Philip K Dick died in 1982 executives at Warner Bros Studios arranged for him to see rough cuts of the film Blade Runner, a project inspired by his novel ‘Do Androids dream of Electric Sheep’. The author had been hitherto suspicious of the movie adaptation but after seeing the rushes he noted that the film would ‘change the way we look at movies’. The prescient Mr Dick was on the money and Ridley Scott’s vision of a dystopian Los Angeles became the cinematic yard stick by which depictions of the future are still measured today. Though a great deal of the film was shot on vast studio backlots, locations in downtown LA were also employed to depict a grimmer, grimier tomorrow. The monumental architecture of Union Station doubled as a police station, while the magically named Million Dollar Theatre formed part of the futuristic streetscape. One of the most memorable scenes takes place in the apartment of prematurely ageing genetic designer J.F. Sebastian whose fictional home was created in the Bradley Building, a superb late nineteenth century office block which, fan of the film or not, is certainly worth a visit.

The reasons why the building was chosen as a sci-fi location are clear as soon as you step through the brown brick Romanesque entrance. Once inside you are presented with a sensational five storey high central court yard topped with a glass roof which allows the glazed brick walls to sparkle in natural light. Directly facing the entrance is a marble stair case lined with ornate railings flanked by two open cage elevators surrounded by wrought iron grills. The French made metal work was also used in the construction of the freestanding mail-chutes and was made to give the illusion of hanging vegetation. Despite being completed in 1893 the fusion of geometric design and exquisite materials allows the building to conjure the neat trick of appearing timeless.

The driving force behind the creation of such an exciting space was local property millionaire Lewis Bradbury who initially tasked local architect Sumner Hunt with the job of masterminding a spectacular office block. Sadly for Hunt his plans did not match the grandiose vision of his pay master, and the frustrated Bradbury unexpectedly turned to draftsman George Wyman for an alternative design. Given Wyman’s total lack of formal training as an architect he seemed an odd choice for such a major project. Stranger still was that his initial refusal to take up the challenge was only reversed following an evening spent dabbling with the occult. The story goes that George received a Ouija board message from his dead brother saying "Mark Wyman - take the -Bradbury building - and you will be - successful".

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Posted by Maurice on September 17, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)

When I mention that during a trip to Los Angeles I visited some of the locations featured in the series Buffy the Vampire Slayer the majority of people curl their top lip, flex out one nostril, and utter the word ‘why?’ in such a way that their tone of voice refines the meaning of incredulity to a new level of purity. To a certain extent I guess they are right, most people pack a pair of shorts to enjoy the Californian weather rather than an anorak. Yet despite the inherent geek factor in this expedition we, I was accompanied by my friend and fellow devotee Sebastian, had enormous fun paying homage to officially ‘the best’ TV show of all time. Of course you don’t have to a fan of Buffy to enjoy LA (although it does help) but television and film provides a fascinating vehicle to explore a city which often proves difficult to love.

Roman Polanski quipped that “Los Angeles is the most beautiful city in the world...provided it’s seen by night and from a distance.” It’s difficult to disagree with this assessment. Even if you haven’t witnessed the magical glow of the illuminated street plan in person, you’ve seen the beguiling nocturnal view from the hills a hundred times on the big and small screens. Yet, as Polanski suggests, up close and personal the town appears less appealing. Los Angeles is a sprawling mass, dissected by massive freeways which offer the promise of connection but only serve to isolate and confuse. Frustratingly these rivers of asphalt seem continually congested with cars liable to log jam at any time. The homage to the automobile has allowed the city to seep out over southern California like the contents of leaky paint tin. The resulting lack of density means that LA is one of the least visitor friendly cities in the world.

Despite, or perhaps because of this, Los Angeles remains among my favourite destinations. It possesses an illusive allure and a seedy glamour best described in the works of Raymond Chandler. Indeed, getting to grips with LA requires detective work and there is no better way to play the sleuth than becoming a character in your own tourist screenplay. After all the most recognizable landmark in the city is an old real estate sign which acts as the emblem not only for the multi billion dollar film industry but also the city itself. Away from the self important Hollywood letters there are surprisingly few iconic structures to denote the low rise surroundings. A strange architectural anomaly given that, with over one thousand movies made there annually, LA is the most filmed place on the planet.

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Posted by Maurice on August 31, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (4)

A dingy campsite in a forlorn corner of south-west Scotland isn't the sort of place you'd expect to find immortalised in film, but then, The Wicker Man is no ordinary movie. The bizarre tale of pagan rites in a backward Scottish island hit the screens in 1973 and was promptly forgotten, but now its sinister bent, great cast and a groovy soundtrack put it right up there as one of the great cult movies. So much so that it has spawned a Hollywood remake, although the less said about that the better.

The original is set in Summerisle, a fictional island in the north of Scotland, but a tight shooting schedule meant the weather up north would have been too severe in October. Dumfries and Galloway had to make do. Not that it was exactly warm - the cast had to suck ice cubes to stop their breath showing in the supposed "summer" scenes. It's certainly not the place to be wandering around in your nightshirt, even beside a roaring fire.

Past the caravans of Burrowhead Holiday Village near Isle of Whithorn on the edge of the Irish Sea, the Wicker Man took shape. At the time, the Galloway Gazette reported that its construction was shrouded in secrecy lest “provoked by crowds of sightseers, the monster might break free of the scaffolding which imprisons him, devastating the surrounding countryside and terrifying the locals”¹. Two men were built - a larger one for the main shots, and a smaller one 500 yards away for the close-ups of Howie (Edward Woodward) and the final dramatic shot of the head tumbling into the sunset. [I'm not going into any more detail here in case you haven't seen the film]. The remains of the main man, as it were, have been destroyed by over-zealous visitors over the years but the stumps of the smaller one remain cemented into the cliff-top with the initials “WM” and the date 1972 carved into the base.

Continue reading "The Wicker Man's Legs, Burrowhead" »

Posted by Anne on August 27, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (3)

What is it about the Second World War that inspires such obsessive fascination in some folk? As a subject of 20th century history it is like a giant cuckoo in the nest, pushing out everything else that might divert attention away from it. Witness the history channels that broadcast wall-to-wall Hitler/Churchill documentaries. It evokes heroic values, courage, forbearance, all pulling together, digging for victory and making do and mending. Not to mention the perennial appeal of the uniforms, the fashions and the catchy tunes. I suspect that the cinema has something to do with it. There have been epic movies made on the subject every decade, practically since armistice was declared.

One such film is ‘Yanks,’ filmed in 1978, and starring Richard Gere. Locations in the Saddleworth area were used, and to mark this event Saddleworth hosts an annual weekend-long event that attracts Second World War aficionados from across the country. Attractions include the chance to admire original military vehicles and browse the handful of stalls selling vintage clothing, military garb and 2WW collectables. There’s also evening dances if you want to show off your jitterbugging skills. Most compelling of all is the chance to see enthusiasts dressed up as US Army sergeants driving round in jeeps and Nazi commanders in black leather trenchcoats.

We visited on the last day - a dull, cold and drizzly Sunday - and found that the village of Uppermill that was hosting the Yanks ‘camp’ had not yet roused itself. Indeed, it took some effort to find the camp at all, since signposting duties had been neglected. Our timing was off, we were thoroughly drenched by 10.30 and disinclined to hang around for the parade. This was a disappointment, because I had been looking forward to the “the biggest military convoy in the UK” and the attendant genuine army veterans that were to feature. We also missed the re-enactments of scenes from the film, with a Richard Gere look alike. As a reporter, I’m a sad failure, and certainly don’t have the fortitude of those wartime heroes who shrugged off bullets rather than raindrops.

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Posted by Trevira on August 22, 2006 | Permalink | Comments (1)