Christmas has come early at Unwell Towers with the arrival of one of the best cross-dressing/Nazi comedies ever thru' my letterbox.
Whilst my dear old Granddad introduced me to the joys of Saturday night B & W horror double bills as a child it was my Nan (she of Cannibal Ferox and not murdering wee boys fame) who opened (some would say poisoned) my young mind to the joys of Dick Emery, Norman Wisdom, Lord Bruce of Forsyth and the fantastic Danny La Rue.
You see, in her younger days she worked at the local theatre cum 'entertainment' club and would often chat away to these Gods of British comedy whilst selling fags in a strange hat.
Which as a small child made summer trips to Blackpool interesting as you'd never guess who'd accost her in the street next.
One day it'd be Tarbie the next 'Mad' Max Bygraves.
Tho' I feel I must confess that none of them ever gave me sweets or commented on my kissy lips.
Bastards.
And you wonder why I grew up the way I did?
Our Miss Fred (AKA Beyond The Call of Duty, Operation: Fred. 1972).
Dir: Bob Kellett
Cast: Danny La Rue, Alfred Marks, Lance Percival, Lally Bowers, Frances de la Tour, Walter Gotell, Jenny Twigge, Frank Thornton, Cyril Shaps and Barrie Gosney.
"You're all woman and something more!"
"You're right!"
Pretty of mouth and slender of hip Thespian Fred Wimbush (the worlds greatest female impersonator and my real Dad La Rue) is busy preparing what will undoubtedly be the greatest ever performance of Hamlet for the British publics viewing pleasure but, as is always the case in these situations, those pesky Germans decide to start the Second World War forcing our hero to do the right thing and join the army as a manly (albeit grease covered) mechanic type.
Your Granddad did. Twice.
Although Fred enjoys his oil covered antics, banging his tool and cracking his nuts all day, he misses the roar of the greasepaint and the smell of the crowd so decides to join one of the army's stage troupes.
Unfortunately the only place left is that of a female impersonator.
What are the chances?
Swallowing his pride (and tucking his ample tackle between his smooth thighs) Fred throws himself wholeheartedly into the role and soon finds himself shipped off to France to 'entertain' the troops.
Everything is going swimmingly until one night, halfway thru' Fred's rousing melody of Cher hits a squad of Jew hating, minority exterminating (yet incredibly well dressed) Nazis burst in and take every single one of the soldiers prisoner.
Everyone that is except Fred.
You see, his drag act is so convincing that the Germans have mistaken him for a real woman!
Seizing his chance, Fred totters out of the theatre in an attempt to evade capture (and possibly a severe arse shagging) by the nasty Nazi's and get back to dear old Blighty before his true gender is discovered and he's shot as a spy.
And then arse shagged.
"The gas bill's HOW much?"
Dodging horny, garlic eating Frenchmen and randy, sausage guzzling German soldiers along the way, Fred finally joins forces with two upper crust English schoolteachers, Miss Flodden (Harry Worth sidekick Bowers) and Miss Lockhart (Rising Damps Ms. Jones, the horse faced yet vaguely erotic de la Tour) plus their group of sex starved schoolgirls (none of whom are under 25) stuck in Paris after a trip to the Louvre.
Or something.
Comme quoi se sent-il pour être merde dans la bouche?"
This causes even more problems for poor Fred, you see even tho' he's camp as pants with scary blue rinsed man-gran hair he is, in fact the most heterosexual man on the planet and can barely control his almost John Leslie-like urges and stop himself from jumping on the schoolies, ripping off their flimsy white cotton shirts before cupping their smooth, budding breasts and knobbing them senseless.
Especially as the script has then continuously bending over and exposing their huge blue pants and formidable 1970's arses.
Which I'll admit had me fairly aroused but Danny La Rue?
Sometimes you just find it impossible to suspend your disbelief.
Somewhere to leave your Grifter.
Suddenly veering from trannie-based action movie to tragically camp holiday sightseeing film with endless scenes of Fred and co. travelling thru war torn France on a lorry singing the classic schoolyard (well, it was if you attended Hogwarts like me) ditty
Hitler Has Only Got One Ball, the pace suddenly picks up with the introduction of Fred's nemesis, the evil, Gerbil cheeked General Brincker (Brit Teevee stalwart Marks) who (not too surprisingly) falls for Fred's ample charms (and curvy buttocks) and invites our hero to join him for a romantic dinner in a scene so great that it was copied (sorry, homaged) in the criminally underrated 2001 Stefan Ruzowitzky movie All The Queen's Men.
Only this time the pairing was of a tarted up Matt LeBlanc (who actually looked hot as fuck) and the world's sexiest man, Dame Udo of Kier, dressed to the nines in a gorgeous white SS uniform.
My pants have never recovered.
But I digress.
"Believe us, you wouldn't survive the titwank!"
Discovering that the have a transvestite and a group of young girls trapped behind enemy lines (and needing a way to steer the movie to a climax that doesn't involve Fred being forced to fellate a Luger whilst a trouser-less and scarily aroused General Brincker orders his troops to violently deflower the defenceless schoolgirls), the British Army have no choice but to send their best man in to rescue them.
Enter (roughly from behind obviously) the Rat-faced upper crust air force officer Colonel Smallpiece (Percival) who, knowing Fred's true identity (if not his sexuality) rushes over to France to save his friend and hopefully score some underage tail for himself in the process.
But will he get to Fred before General Brincker discovers the truth?
What your Gran did during the War.
Written specifically as a vehicle to launch top Teevee 'comic in a frock' Danny La Rue onto the big screen (his only other movie role was in the Freddie and The Dreamers fiasco Every Day's A Holiday), Our Miss Fred is a gentle enough comedy that's as harmless as it is inconsequential.
At the time criticised due to the problem of tailoring an entire script around a man whose talent was the very theatre friendly art of female impersonation, La Rue does a good enough job of holding his own whilst the dependable Teevee friendly cast fire a volley of sub Talbot Rothwell Carry On gags at all and sundry.
Plus good old Danny has a stunning set of pins that even the most hetero of man would be hard pushed not to want to ski down.
And you can't say fairer that that.
