Over the years, many movies have explored the often challenging life of the gigging actor, from Tootsie (1980) to Birdman (2014). Still, one film is never mentioned alongside these greats: Alvin Rakoff’s 1964 hidden gem The Comedy Man, starring the late Kenneth More.
As the dastardly Honest John and Gideon steer Disney’s Pinocchio towards Stromboli’s Caravan, where, according to them, the little wooden boy will become a star, they sing ‘Hi-Diddle-Dee-Dee, An Actor’s Life For Me’. The upbeat Disney song carries a dark edge as it sells Pinocchio a vision that the conniving crooks know is just an illusion.
Like Pinocchio, many people long to become world-famous actors, but the reality can be far from their dreams. Some rise to the top through sheer talent and determination, others get that lucky break, and a few work their way up by starting at the bottom. But while many succeed, many others face long periods of unemployment, their careers built on short-term contracts that offer little financial security. Over the years, many movies have explored the often challenging life of the gigging actor, from Tootsie (1980) to Birdman (2014). Still, one film is never mentioned alongside these greats: Alvin Rakoff’s 1964 hidden gem The Comedy Man, starring the late Kenneth More.
There are many reasons why Rakoff’s movie has remained hidden over the years, from a poor distribution campaign at its release, which saw it placed in a double bill with Peter Brook’s Lord of the Flies, to studio meddling in the final edit, something Rakoff has never forgiven. However, the most significant flaw was the title itself; The Comedy Man hinted at a knockabout comedy but offered something entirely different.
While there are moments of perfectly timed humour and slapstick set pieces early in its runtime, at its heart, The Comedy Man is the tale of a struggling actor who has fallen out of favour with the entertainment world surrounding him; it is a film that reflects More’s own journey from the 1950s into the early 1960s and the transition to kitchen-sink drama that left him behind. While More would become a household name again in 1967 with The Forsythe Saga, the decade’s early years were a barren period as his middle-class stage image jarred with a new breed of “working-class” actors like Michael Caine and Albert Finney.
After being fired from his job in a rep theatre, Chick Byrd (More) moves back to London to try his luck in the big smoke, looking up old contacts while hanging around the West End pubs that are full of jobbing actors looking for their big break and a cheque that pays the rent. However, Chick has a problem: his last stage role ended after he slept with the producer’s wife, and he then announced that fact on stage after being fired. Plus, his agent, Tommy Morris (Dennis Price), really doesn’t care much for him.
Add an old flame, Judy, the brilliant Billie Whitelaw, who cares deeply for him but isn’t going to wait forever, and a new fling, Fay (Angela Douglas), who sees Chick as a mentor more than a lover, plus an old friend Jack Lavery (Alan Dobie) whose life is slowly spiralling out of control and Chick’s life is a stage melodrama in the making.
With a brilliant ensemble that includes Dennis Price (Kind Hearts and Coronets), Cecil Parker (The Ladykillers) and Jacqueline Hill (Doctor Who), Peter Yeldham’s screenplay based on Douglas Hayes’ novel zips along at an engaging pace, and while modern audiences will baulk at moments of casual homophobia and misogyny, The Comedy Man is a fascinating snapshot of the changing art scene in early 60s London. But in the end, Rakoff’s film’s ability to reflect More’s artistic desert as the early 60s came into view is the cement that holds things together. Maybe elements of The Comedy Man inspired Alejandro González Iñárritu’s Birdman (2014), and possibly some of the ideas and themes found a pitch-perfect comedic voice in Sydney Pollack’s Tootsie seventeen years later. But even if that is so, Rakoff’s The Comedy Man has remained in the wings, never receiving the praise or discussion it deserved.
However, one thing is for sure: Rakoff’s film may have been overlooked on its release, suffering from unnecessary studio intervention, lacklustre publicity, and a lack of public appetite, but sixty years later, there’s a lot to admire in this story of an actor who has fallen on hard times within an artistic community shifting like the sand to meet changing public demand.
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