A few unwelcome scatological moments of surreal humour not withstanding, Albert Finney's only film as a director, "Charlie Bubbles", remains both a remarkable period piece and one of the most imaginative British films of the sixties, perhaps not the masterpiece I first thought it to be, (it was my best film of the year), but unmissable nevertheless. Finney made it in 1968, from an original screenplay by Shelagh Delaney, a time when the Kitchen Sink was no longer fashionable and a new kind of New Wave, typified by films like Nicolas Roeg and Donald Cammell's "Performance" and Richard Lester's "Petulia", was coming into play. This is certainly good enough to make you wish Finney had directed again.
He plays a working-class writer who has made it big, (he drives a Rolls and his books have been turned into films), and the film is set over the weekend he drives North and back to his roots with his unofficial secretary in tow, (a very good, if unlikely, Liza Minnelli), to see his nine year old son, (a first-rate Timothy Garland), who lives on a farm with Charlie's ex-wife, (a terrific Billie Whitelaw). Not much happens and at times Delaney's screenplay is a little too Pinteresque for its own good, but it's also a richly observant picture of Britain at a particular moment in time and is greatly enhanced by the superb cinematography of Peter Suschitzky.
