As 1979 began I was in my second year of film school. I had access to something like eight cinema screens in the immediate area and went to the cinema at least three times a week. The local arts centre was where you went to see the older classics or the more recent foreign language releases, while the mainstream and more successful independent American releases could be caught at one of three very, very large screens within walking distance of the school. Many of these films were decent if unremarkable, but just occasionally were extraordinary enough to convince you that attending the first week of its release made you part of cinema history (Alien, Halloween, Eraserhead). What rarely played in either location were British movies. This was the one thing I felt was missing from my regular trips to the cinema, films that reflected my own life, had characters that spoke as I did, had believable settings and stories that were drawn from real life. Where were the British realist films that had seemed so crucial during the sixties, from Jack Clayton's Room at the Top (1959) through to Ken Loach's brilliant Kes (1969)? Even Loach had fallen into the cinematic wilderness and was working only sporadically in TV. So my hopes were high when I queued up to by my ticket for Scum. I emerged from the cinema bristling with excitement. After close to a year of largely mainstream Hollywood products, this was a thumping kick in the bollocks, brutal and confrontational, but also intelligent and magnificently directed and acted. It seems ironic that this cinema feature was my introduction to the work of one of the country's greatest TV directors: Alan Clarke.

Scum was Clarke's first film made specifically for the cinema, but was never intended that way, having been commissioned as a TV play and then banned (for more details of this and an outline of the plot, see my review of the BBC version). The feature was effectively a remake of this play, using the same script and using many of the same actors, but with a few crucial differences.

The most obvious one to those who have viewed the TV version first is the stronger language. Some have seen this as part of a the process of sensationalising the story for the wider cinema audience, but I could not disagree more - in the original, racial abuse is used as a method of verbal bullying by guards and inmates alike, and the swearing is a logical and non-racial extension of that; had the TV play been made ten years later when restrictions on swearing had been eased for British television, then I have no doubt that this is how the script would have played from the start. Indeed, given the characters and the environment, the idea that such language would not be used is patently absurd, and its inclusion here adds to both the realism and power of the threats, and has given rise to most of the film's most quoted lines. Carlin's confrontation with rival black 'daddy' Baldy, for instance, is transformed by just one word: "Where's your tool?" "What fucking tool?" Wallop. "THIS FUCKING TOOL!" Now THAT is a threat.

Crucial to selling this, though, are the altogether more confident performances of the leads. No longer first-timers and well rehearsed in their parts, they now inhabit their roles as if born to them. This is especially evident in Ray Winstone's electrifying performance as Carlin - where his more low-key delivery worked perfectly for the matter-of-fact approach of the TV play, his burning, ferocious anger here propels the story forward like a bulldozer on steroids. This is perhaps most evident in the scene in which he confronts and defeats incumbent daddy Banks and his cronies - this was always a great scene, but Winstone's calm tooling-up at the snooker table ("Yeah well, carry on"), the viciously physical beatings administered to Richards and Banks and his furiously delivered pronouncement to the defeated Banks, "I'm the daddy now! Next time I'll fucking kill you!" leaves you in no doubt that from now on Carlin is in charge, and it's going to take a force of some considerable power to dislodge him. It is no small testament to our identification with Carlin that when I first saw this scene I nearly stood up in the cinema and cheered. Looking back, this has the very same visceral power as the moment John C. Macreedy unleashed his power in John Sturges electrifying Bad Day at Black Rock (1955). On the commentary tracks of both this and the BBC version, host Nigel Floyd draws comparisons between Scum and classic western plots and characters.

Once again the flipside of Carlin's power-though-aggresion approach is Archer, the intellectual misfit determined to cause as much trouble for the system as he can through methods his custodians, notably the religious governor, have no experience of handling. Played by David Threlfall in the original, his contract with the Royal Shakespeare Company forced a re-casting, and here Clarke struck gold with Mick Ford, a young talent relatively new to film and TV (his only previous film role was in Jack Gold's The Sailor's Return the previous year) who works such wonders with the role that he almost steals the film from Winstone, no mean feat in itself. His cocksure gameplaying with the routines imposed on the inmates are both hilarious and inspiring, a smart, non-violent fuck-you to a system that only knows how to respond to and with aggression, and is in itself dismayingly narrow in its view of those in its charge. personal favourite Archer moments include the comically mannered delivery of his name and number when called before the deeply religious governor, whom he outrages by announcing his calling to Mecca; the drawn-out pronunciation of the word "Trust" when baiting the Matron during a discussion period (his qualifying explanation suggests an intellectual superiority that she clearly finds frustrating), and the painting of the words "I am happy" on a wall he is supposed to be decorating. Ford's interpretation of the role differs from Threlfall's enough that both can be enjoyed for their own reasons - my preference for Ford's interpretation is no slight on Threlfall at all, its just that at times the Archer played by Mick Ford reminds me of me, had I Archer's self-control and natural cool.

The support cast are as consistently impressive as they were in the original, the exception being Richard Butler as Mr. Baildon, the prison Governor, who replaces Peter Powell from the original and seems to relish the lines given to him by Minton, investing almost every word with an extraordinary degree or self-righteous judgment. His delivery turns straightforward lines into memorable dialogue: just listen to how he says the single word "Indeed" when confronted with Archer, a word that simply slipped by in the original. Few who have seen this version will not smile at the memory of "Ah, Archer," or "We'll have no more talk of MECCA!"

Matching this increased confidence on the part of the actors is Clarke's sometimes more animated direction. I've met very few film-makers who would not relish a second stab at a cherished project, and this includes the Hollywood exulted, evidenced by Spielberg's re-working of Close Encounters and George Lucas's endless tinkerings with the very few works he has directed. Clarke takes this opportunity not just to adjust his camera placement (witness the telling reverse of angle on Carlin after has asked for a single cell and is dismissed by the warder advising him to watch his step), but also handling of some key scenes. It is here that the director began to experiment with his 'walking shots', long takes following characters as they move between locations, most effectively used to focus on Carlin when he seizes power from Banks. This adds an undeniable urgency and vigour to an already gripping scene, and was a signpost of things to come, when Clarke would later shoot entire films on Steadicam using walking shots (although the Steadicam was invented and in use by now, the walking shots in Scum were done hand-held), culminating in the extraordinary Elephant.

Another area in which it is claimed that the feature sensationalised a story told with more subtlety in the TV play is the upping of the violence level, but this simply isn't the case. Key scenes used in evidence include the greenhouse rape and the suicide of Toyne following the death of his wife, but both scenes were in the original and fell victim to post-production trimming (the rape was shortened, the suicide completely cut) in an effort to appease those wanting to stop it being shown. Indeed, I would argue that Carlin's bathroom assault on Banks is more violent in the original, the initial ramming of his head into the sink being shown in close-up, where here it is in wide shot. Both the notorious murderball sequence and the final riot are virtually identical in both versions (right down to the swooping track during the pre-riot "Dead!" chant), and lest there be anyone out there in these more cautious times who believes the murderball match is a flight of fancy on the part of the writer and director, be advised that we used to play it once a term at my humble comprehensive school - and it really was that violent every time.

What surprised me most watching Scum again for the umpteenth time is how much of a wallop it still packs. With too much British cinema consisting of either twee middle class romances or ludicrous mockney gangster works, Scum is still around to remind us that once upon a time British cinema was urgent, realistic and had something worth saying. It also had balls the size of asteroids.

Sound and Vision

For anyone familiar with the now budget-priced UK release of the film from Odyssey Video, the print on the Blue Underground disc is going to come as a major revelation. Where the Odyssey print is 4:3, grainy and blighted by a few scratches and dust spots, this new Blue Underground transfer, released as part of The Alan Clarke Collection, is as close to perfect as you could hope for a low budget British film from the late 70s. Framed 1.66:1 and anamorphically enhanced, the print is clean, and sharp, with impressive contrast and colour reproduction. Grain is still evident, but minimal and never intrusive. A very nice job indeed.