Friday, September 21, 2018

Confessions From the David Galaxy Affair (1979)




Produced toward the end of the heyday of British sex films, Confessions From the David Galaxy Affair is as awkwardly constructed as its original release title.  The 'Confessions' part was clearly hastily added to the title at the last minute, doubtless to imply some connection with the hugely popular series of sex comedies starring Robin Askwith, by distributors uncertain that the movie would attract an audience in its own right.  Which isn't surprising, as he whole thing seems to have been cobbled together from several different scripts, with the finished product veering wildly in mood as it, apparently randomly, switches mode between crime thriller, comedy and sex film.  Unfortunately, it doesn't do any one of these genres, let alone all three, sufficiently well to satisfy the potential audience for any of these types of film.  Director/Producer Willy Roe and Executive Producer David Sullivan made two huge errors with the film: they waste Mary Millington in what amounts to an extended cameo in a sub plot pretty much unrelated to the rest of the film and they indulge Alan Lake in the title role.

The way in which MIllington's appearance is effectively fumbled is surprising: she was just about the hottest property in the British adult industry in the late seventies and, at the time the film was made, was the girlfriend of Executive Producer and adult magazine publisher Sullivan.  Indeed, David Galaxy Affair was one of a number of sex films bankrolled by Sullivan in order to showcase Millington's talents.  It was intended to build on the success of The Playbirds and Come Play With Me, both of which had starred Millington, yet her scenes here give the impression that they were added as an afterthought, either to pad out the running time to feature length or perhaps to provide a bigger box office draw than Alan Lake.  Which brings us to the movie's central problem: Alan Lake.  Best remembered now for having been married to Diana Dors (who also appears in the film), Lake was a B-list British bad boy actor, usually cast as thugs and heavies.  In fact, I often get the impression that he was the guy you called when you couldn't afford Derren Nesbitt.  David Galaxy Affair gave Lake a rare lead role and, unfortunately, exposed his limitations as a performer.  While he succeeds in making David Galaxy a smarmy, egotistical and completely unlikeable character, (which, to be fair, seems to be the intent of the film), most of this has less to do with the script and more to do with Lake's lack of charisma.  Worse still, both he and the director clearly think that he is funny and Lake is allowed free reign to avail the audience of his comedy 'talents'.  These comprise primarily of a series of bad impressions (including Bogart and John Wayne) and 'funny' voices.  The latter include the usual caricature West Indian and Pakistani accents and, worst of all, a Larry Grayson inspired camp homosexual.  If nothing else, all of this establishes that comedy certainly wasn't Lake's forte, (many would contend that acting wasn't his forte).

As previously noted, the film's narrative is all over the place, making it near impossible to fully engage with it as it jumps one way and another.  The main thrust of the plot (at least, I assume it was meant as the main plot) involves celebrity astrologer David Galaxy being 'fitted up' by the police for a security van robbery five years earlier.  Alleging that they have a witness who can identify him as the getaway driver, the rest of the film sees Galaxy trying to establish an alibi for the day of the robbery.  Unfortunately, his first two witnesses have subsequently died, another denies even knowing him, (fearing her career will be compromised by an association with him), while another is scared off by the police.   For large stretches of the film, however, Galaxy is diverted into other sub plots.  The main one of these sees him retained to bed Mary Millington, a socialite who has never experienced an orgasm.  He is drawn into this by his friend Steve (played by Anthony Booth with, as ever, all the charisma of a stoat in a cheap suit), who has bet big money on Galaxy - London's top ladies man - being able to perform the deed.  Which, of course, he does - with Steve and the other 'investors' in the scheme (including Kenny Lynch) listening in on the action. Another side plot involves some of Galaxy's former conquests scheming to get revenge on him for his treatment of women and there is some intrigue involving his land lady (Diana Dors).  

Like all of the David Sullivan bankrolled sex movies, Confessions From the David Galaxy Affair has high production values and a slick, glossy look -the cinematic equivalent to the look of his magazines.  While Roe's direction is steady, it is also uninspiring and he makes nothing of the late seventies London settings, with a lot of the action feeling flat and lifeless, in spite of the glossy look.  Ultimately, the whole thing lacks pace, with the main plot of Galaxy's race against time to establish an alibi lacking any sense of urgency.  In common with most British sex films of its era, David Galaxy Affair boasts a supporting cast of 'legitimate' actors, most notably Glynn Edwards as the copper framing Galaxy, (he out acts Lake in their every scene together by the simple expedient of maintaining a poker face in the face of Lake's constant 'comic' mugging).  Bernie Winters bizarrely turns up as a the manager of Galaxy's apartment building, while Ballard Berkeley cameos as the judge at Galaxy's trial.  In the final analysis, despite a decent supporting cast and production values, the film's tangled, poorly constructed, script makes the film a bore.  It quickly becomes tedious with even Mary Millington's well staged sex scene unable to save the movie.  It doesn't help that the motivation for the framing of Galaxy never seems to be made clear, leaving the whole thing feeling more than a little unsatisfactory as the closing titles roll.  Far too long at ninety seven minutes, David Galaxy Affair would have benefited enormously from some tighter editing - particularly with regard to Lake's 'comedy' sequences.  That said, even drastic cuts wouldn't have resolved the twin flaws of a poor script and poor lead performance.

Labels:

1 Comments:

Blogger gavcrimson said...

David Galaxy tends to come across as a thinly veiled account of Sullivan’s life and state of mind during this period. To give a bit of backstory: towards the end of the 1970s Sullivan had been charged with living off immoral earnings, due to claims by undercover policemen that one of Sullivan’s saunas had been offering the ‘full treatment’. Sullivan was then allegedly approached by several police officers who offered to make the charges go away if he paid them a considerable amount of money. Perhaps unwisely, Sullivan refused to play ball and instead reported them for attempted bribery. The trial of the police officers in question had to take place before Sullivan’s own trial, so there was this long, probably miserable period, where the threat of police harassment and serving time in jail was hanging over Sullivan’s head, from which popped out Confessions from the David Galaxy. Given the bitterness and bad mental baggage that the film was born out of, it really should have been played as a straight drama that was more honest when it came to what the film was ‘really’ about. It just doesn’t work as a comedy. Millington was apparently coked to the gills during this time, so the side-lining her in this and Queen of the Blues is understandable, but, as you say, the casting of Lake is the film’s true nail in the coffin. By the end of the film you’re meant to feel as an angry sense of injustice over Galaxy’s fate (the last shot in the film is clearly Sullivan foreseeing his own future imprisonment), yet Lake’s coke crazed, unfunny mugging means you’re pretty much indifferent about him. It’s just one of many filmland stories where the behind the scenes story is a heck of allot more interesting than what ended up onscreen. Lake and Dors seems to have ended up becoming Sullivan hate figures, especially after Millington’s death. The Sunday Sport was always extremely vitriolic about those two, even more so after both of them entered into the domain of ‘they’re dead so we can say what we like about them’. A 1987 Sunday Sport hit piece on Lake, entitled ‘Superstud who couldn’t get it up’ gives you a fair idea of their flavour.

8:42 am  

Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home