For a long time the 'holy grail' of 1960s' low-budget British genre movies that I longed to see appear as an official DVD or Blu-ray release was the Edward Judd sci-fi oddity Invasion (1966), but that was finally issued by StudioCanal in 2014. Since then, another film from the same period has taken its place on my 'must have' list - Gerry Levy's little-seen and much underrated debut b-movie Where Has Poor Mickey Gone? (1964); the full cut of this film has played a handful of times on Talking Pictures TV over the last year or two, though it still shows no signs of a DVD release on the associated Renown label.
The tale of four nominally 'juvenile' delinquent lads who break into a fairground supplies shop in pursuit of vicious kicks, only to receive a chilling comeuppance at the hands of Warren Mitchell's troubled magician, it mainly resembles a prototype episode of Tales of the Unexpected (complete with a creepy twist ending not unlike something from novelist Roald Dahl's The Witches). Despite some obvious padding included to bring it up to the usual one-hour second feature running time and thus qualify the film for the Eady Levy, it remains a compact little 'short story' that benefits from a genuine sense of mystery and from Mitchell's committed (if not always totally convincing) lead performance.
The quartet of youths are three ne'er-do-well Cockneys and a 'posh nosh' hanger-on, who bully courting couples and pick fights with nightclub bouncers before deciding to give Mitchell's 'The Great Dinelli' a lot of trouble for no reason other than their own boredom and mean-spiritedness. Though Mitchell initially appears cringingly terrified of the boys, he's actually the guardian to some seriously powerful supernatural forces, and it is of unleashing them that he is actually most wary. In this way, the film almost invites the audience to enjoy the eventual fate of the 'boys', which isn't really difficult given that they are well-characterised as genuine assholes, despite being very 'weak beer' by modern standards (remember the days when ASBO kids wore ties and jumpers? Eden Lake this ain't), and the perhaps slightly lacking casting. John Malcolm, who plays the titular gang leader Mickey, was around twenty-seven when the film was made but with his dopey trilby and chronically receding hairline he looks nearer forty (Malcolm continually calling Mitchell 'Pop' seems silly because the two men appear to be the same age - Mitchell was in his late thirties and despite playing a feeble codger, he doesn't really look any older than that). Other members of the gang will be familiar to Tom Baker-era Doctor Who fans; Christopher Robbie was the Cyberleader in Revenge of the Cybermen, whilst John Challis more notably played the nasty Scorby in The Seeds of Doom, although he's obviously much better known as Boycie from Only Fools and Horses.
Levy had a lengthy career in the movies, eventually working as a production manager on 1980s' A-pictures like Out of Africa and Cry Freedom. His only other movie as a director, however, was the Tigon stinkbomb The Body Stealers (1969), a film as lame-brained, unpersuasive and un-scary as Where Has Poor Mickey Gone? is quietly compelling and eerie. Another plus is Ottilie Patterson belting out a great little title track, but unfortunately, Where Has Poor Mickey Gone? didn't see immediate release following its completion and apparently only went out as support to Polanski's Cul-De-Sac in 1966, before vanishing from circulation for over thirty years. Now that it is back doing the rounds, if it turns up I'd advise that you try to catch it.
The tale of four nominally 'juvenile' delinquent lads who break into a fairground supplies shop in pursuit of vicious kicks, only to receive a chilling comeuppance at the hands of Warren Mitchell's troubled magician, it mainly resembles a prototype episode of Tales of the Unexpected (complete with a creepy twist ending not unlike something from novelist Roald Dahl's The Witches). Despite some obvious padding included to bring it up to the usual one-hour second feature running time and thus qualify the film for the Eady Levy, it remains a compact little 'short story' that benefits from a genuine sense of mystery and from Mitchell's committed (if not always totally convincing) lead performance.
The quartet of youths are three ne'er-do-well Cockneys and a 'posh nosh' hanger-on, who bully courting couples and pick fights with nightclub bouncers before deciding to give Mitchell's 'The Great Dinelli' a lot of trouble for no reason other than their own boredom and mean-spiritedness. Though Mitchell initially appears cringingly terrified of the boys, he's actually the guardian to some seriously powerful supernatural forces, and it is of unleashing them that he is actually most wary. In this way, the film almost invites the audience to enjoy the eventual fate of the 'boys', which isn't really difficult given that they are well-characterised as genuine assholes, despite being very 'weak beer' by modern standards (remember the days when ASBO kids wore ties and jumpers? Eden Lake this ain't), and the perhaps slightly lacking casting. John Malcolm, who plays the titular gang leader Mickey, was around twenty-seven when the film was made but with his dopey trilby and chronically receding hairline he looks nearer forty (Malcolm continually calling Mitchell 'Pop' seems silly because the two men appear to be the same age - Mitchell was in his late thirties and despite playing a feeble codger, he doesn't really look any older than that). Other members of the gang will be familiar to Tom Baker-era Doctor Who fans; Christopher Robbie was the Cyberleader in Revenge of the Cybermen, whilst John Challis more notably played the nasty Scorby in The Seeds of Doom, although he's obviously much better known as Boycie from Only Fools and Horses.
Levy had a lengthy career in the movies, eventually working as a production manager on 1980s' A-pictures like Out of Africa and Cry Freedom. His only other movie as a director, however, was the Tigon stinkbomb The Body Stealers (1969), a film as lame-brained, unpersuasive and un-scary as Where Has Poor Mickey Gone? is quietly compelling and eerie. Another plus is Ottilie Patterson belting out a great little title track, but unfortunately, Where Has Poor Mickey Gone? didn't see immediate release following its completion and apparently only went out as support to Polanski's Cul-De-Sac in 1966, before vanishing from circulation for over thirty years. Now that it is back doing the rounds, if it turns up I'd advise that you try to catch it.
