VERTIGO CONDITION CRITICAL
65
THE
SLADE
SCHOOL
AND CINEMA:
PART TWO
By Henry K Miller
In 1960 Britain’s first university film department
was opened at the Slade School of Fine Art at
University College London. The second article
in a four-part history unravels the institutional
to-and-fro behind the unit’s foundation and the
eventual appointment of Thorold Dickinson as
senior lecturer.
As Slade Professor, William Coldstream’s
mid-Fifties stomping ground had changed little
since his student days three decades before.
Regular haunts of the GPO documentary unit,
like Bertorelli’s restaurant on Charlotte Street,
remained constant; but Coldstream was no longer
a struggling painter nor a dissatisfied filmmaker.
His professional life as a player in public arts
administration settled into an agreeable round
of private views, lunches with eminences and
coming men, and committee meetings. The art
critic and Slade lecturer David Sylvester teased
that his friend had become ‘not merely a pillar, but
a veritable colonnade of the Establishment. What
with quietly running, besides the Slade, practically
the whole art world in this country, he has had little
time for the practice of art.’a
Notwithstanding his art-world clout, Coldstream
still kept a hand in films. When his protégée
Lorenza Mazzetti, formerly of Rome’s Centro
Sperimentale film school, charged the lab costs
of a Slade Film Society effort to the School,
he was indulgent enough not only to cover the
bill but to invite the Director of the British Film
Institute, Denis Forman, to its debut screening in
December 1953.b Forman in turn invited Mazzetti
to apply to the BFI’s Experimental Production
Committee, a new and unusual venture launched
just two months before.
The EPC* was something of an anomaly within the
Institute, even under the radically revised terms of
operation being implemented by Forman.c Set up
by educational interests in 1933 and marginal to
film culture in that decade, the BFI of the Fifties
had been reoriented toward ‘film appreciation’,
engaging not just schoolteachers but a growing
art-house audience. Forman, who had worked
under John Grierson at the Central Office of
Information, main sponsor of the documentary
movement during its late Forties twilight, had
overhauled the Institute’s flagship Sight and
Sound in 1950 by bringing in the editorial board
of Oxford’s Sequence magazine and worked
towards founding the first National Film Theatre.
*also known as the Experimental Film Production
Fund, or Experimental Film Fund
These novel efforts intersected with the concern
of progressive elements in the business,
embodied foremost by the British Film Academy,
to encourage a discerning audience; but the kind
of practical intervention in production represented
by the EPC—seen as industrial ‘research and
development’ by its members—was yet further
removed from the educationalist and archival
core functions of the BFI; and in some ways it
functioned as a sub-committee less of the Institute
than of the Academy. Chairman Michael Balcon
and members Thorold Dickinson, Basil Wright,
and Frank Launder were all BFA insiders, and the
committee met not at the BFI’s headquarters in
Shaftesbury Avenue but at Balcon’s Ealing studios.
The Fund’s historian has found that ‘its existence
was not even acknowledged in official BFI
documents (including annual reports) until 1956.’d
‘Lorenza Mazzetti
in Italy’ by Michael
Andrews, ex-Slade
painter and star of
Together, 1954]
‘AND LETS
THEIR TRASH
BE HONOURED
AS THE QUICK’
66
Michael Balcon and
Thorold Dickinson
on the set of Secret
People (1951)]
While the Free Cinema phenomenon reverberated
through the media, much to the BFI’s advantage,
its new Director James Quinn and second-incommand Stanley Reed paid a visit to D. W.
Logan, Principal of the University of London, to
tell him that ‘the Institute has become increasingly
conscious of the absence of interest in and study
of what might be termed the historical and artistic
background of films on an academic basis.’ Logan
related to Ifor Evans, Provost of University College,
that he had told them that London had no drama
department; but that they had suggested that a
visual arts institution might be a more appropriate
home for the venture. Evans in turn forwarded the
Principal’s letter to his colleague at the Slade.
Stanley Reed, an ex-schoolteacher, had been
brought in by Denis Forman to head BFI Film
Appreciation in 1950. This field of the Institute’s
activities, which encompassed the its lecture
service, summer schools, and occasional
publications, remained his main interest after he
became Secretary in 1956; and yet setting up
a lectureship in film for serious research—and
indeed, higher education in general—was not
a priority of his department, nor of its clients
in the education sector such as the Society of
Film Teachers (SFT) and British Universities Film
Council (BUFC), both of which, where they were
interested in university-level film studies at all,
focussed on opportunities for training teachers in
the use of film in schools. Like the EPC, the Slade
project would proceed on a tangent from the BFI’s
main business.
‘Secret People came as a welcome bloodtransfusion, a stranger bride in a family tending
towards inbreeding’.
Michael Balcon in Making a Film: The Story of
‘Secret People’
‘The only one that I went mad about, that I
initiated, was Secret People, and that was sort of
my undoing.’
Thorold Dickinson, Film Dope, January 1977
The need to rejuvenate the industry through the
EPC and other initiatives was particularly pressing
for Thorold Dickinson. Following the commercial
failure of Secret People in 1951 he had been
taken off a Rank war movie about the defence of
Malta for his desire to shoot it ‘neo-realist’ style.
Like Denis Forman and William Coldstream,
Dickinson was a cultivator of talent. He had
first encountered the Sequence group in the
late Forties, and supervised the writing of Karel
Reisz’s The Technique of Film Editing—meant
to distil the wisdom of the book’s distinguished
supervising committee, Dickinson and his future
EPC colleague Basil Wright among them—for the
BFA in 1949. With similar aims in mind he had
enlisted Lindsay Anderson to write a ‘making of’
book about Secret People. Reading the result one
senses the experience put Anderson off studio
filmmaking for life; and the practical mode of Reisz
and Anderson’s early commissions would not
become the norm at Sight and Sound.
The BFI had been involved in the University of
London’s extra-mural courses on film, but with the
possible exception of the film module at Bristol’s
pioneering drama department it is unlikely that
any of the tentative steps made towards university
screen studies were on Coldstream’s horizon in
February 1956. Nonetheless he jumped at the
prospect of film at the Slade, telling Evans that
he would confer with his ex-GPO contacts—John
Grierson and Basil Wright—on the subject.e By
mid-March the Provost was able to tell the Principal
that he and the Professor wanted to go ahead.
After June 1956 Reed and Logan dropped out
of discussions, and the matter—at the heart of
which was financing, forthcoming neither from the
University nor the BFI—would rest with Coldstream
and Quinn, with some input from Evans, for the next
three years. Aims were set low. ‘Apart from a lecture
room, projector and basic library facilities’ wrote
Quinn, ‘nothing elaborate would be required.’
Mazzetti’s pitch, titled Glass Marbles, was formally
approved by the EPC at its second meeting on
9 March 1954, the first full production to get the
green light. Coldstream’s diaries record numerous
appointments with his favoured student in the
run-up to the meeting, and one with his old
GPO collaborator Basil Wright, who assumed
practical supervision of what would eventually
be titled Together, a few weeks after the film’s
approval. Dickinson’s involvement seems to have
been concentrated in the film’s difficult postproduction period long after the shoot, but both
he and Coldstream were able to attend the NFT’s
first Free Cinema programme, which comprised
Together, Reisz and Tony Richardson’s EPCfunded Momma Don’t Allow, and Anderson’s
O Dreamland, on 5 February 1956 as patrons
of what was widely hailed as a breakthrough in
British cinema.
Stanley Reed and
James Quinn at the
London Film Festival,
October 1959]
After his fruitless labours in the early Fifties,
Dickinson recalled, ‘my bent for fiction was
broken, and at the invitation of the United Nations
Secretariat I took charge of their film production
in 1956, convinced that Grierson’s creative
interpretation of reality was a bigger and more
exciting challenge than the pursuit of pipe dreams.’f
Taking rooms in New York’s famous Chelsea
Hotel that autumn, Dickinson—who had received a
formative exposure to world cinema in the polyglot
metropolis of 1929—quickly reacquainted himself
with the city’s buzzing film scene, in particular at
Amos Vogel’s film society Cinema 16. Lindsay
Anderson’s sour response to Dickinson and
Vogel’s efforts towards launching Free Cinema
there must only have confirmed the wisdom of the
move, however unsatisfying Dickinson’s UN film
work tended to be.g
Perhaps written with a sense of freedom from
BFA–BFI–EPC committee politics, Dickinson’s
essay ‘This Documentary Business’, published
in the October 1957 issue of Jonas Mekas’
proto-underground Film Culture, was the clearest
statement yet of his long-muted disagreement
with the British documentary mainstream. At the
time of writing Dickinson was embarked on the
sole personal project he was able to undertake
at the UN, Overture (1958), a work of illustrative
montage honed over two years, self-consciously
in the early Soviet tradition of assemblage from
pre-existing footage. With film and essay both
he tried to wrest the tradition of Eisenstein away
from the Grierson tradition. Instead of opposing
‘documentary’ to ‘fiction’, Dickinson argued that
cinema formed a continuum with at one end the
more conventional ‘ability to particularize’, and
at the other, Eisenstein’s discovery, ‘the great
but untapped potential to generalize—to explore
theories and to dramatize ideas.’
Following the initial flurry of correspondence
between the BFI and UCL early in 1956,
negotiations became more knotty and more
sporadic. A memo worked up by BFI Film
Appreciation which did not envisage obtaining
funding for more than two years and which put
the project’s usefulness in terms of producing
accredited film teachers was received coolly at
the Slade. Coldstream and Evans held to a fiveyear minimum, agreed to early in 1957 by Quinn,
who asked Coldstream to put together his own
memorandum in consultation with documentary
stalwarts Basil Wright and Arthur Elton, which
he would then take around potential benefactors.
With Wright in particular a regular lunching partner
of Coldstream’s, it is interesting to note that Quinn
saw Thorold Dickinson with equal regularity,
from at least early 1956. While Dickinson was
involved with the EPC—and with an school-age
educational venture, the Merseyside Council for
Film Appreciation—that year, he continued to see
Quinn in London on his brief trips there from New
York throughout 1957 and 1958, after the end of
these projects.
During these years the project seems to have
been driven by Quinn and by Coldstream at
meetings at their respective clubs (Guards and
Athenaeum), a world away from SFT and even
BFI Film Appreciation. While much of this time
was likely spent on financing and accommodation,
there was also the nature of the post itself to
67
consider. From 1957 the BFA had begun to
campaign for national film training of some kind,
inspired by the success of the Polish and Italian
schools, and Quinn was moving the BFI towards
involvement in the scheme, eventually selling the
Slade lectureship to the industry on the basis of
‘the practical value and benefit which could be
expected from the postgraduate research work.’
Meanwhile the Slade in the late Fifties, with Ernst
Gombrich, then at work on Art and Illusion,
lecturing on art history, was pioneering in its
attempts to bring art theory and art history to bear
on the raw art practice that was the sole concern
of most schools at the time, and Coldstream’s
vision of the film lectureship was conceived in
the same spirit despite the lack—at this time—of
filmmaking facilities. But finally the lecturer’s duties
were left remarkably open-ended, if under-funded.
Portrait of Sir Ifor Evans
by William Coldstream,
1959]
‘Bill said to me once, that, whenever he walked
round the table after a committee […] in order to
look at the doodles that were left there, he always
found his own doodles much less interesting than
anyone else’s.’
David Sylvester, The Burlington Magazine,
November 1987
After half a year of lobbying the trade Quinn
was able in March 1959 to set up a meeting
with Rank overlord John Davis and Sir Philip
Warter, chairman of Associated British Pictures
Corporation in Ifor Evans’ rooms at UCL. It was in
the weeks before this meeting that a new name
came up in Quinn’s discussions with Coldstream.
As well as the GPO veterans with whom
Coldstream was still frequently in contact, Quinn
proposed ‘someone of the calibre of Thorold
Dickinson’. Whether or not the appointment was
discussed on the day, the meeting was a success,
and having obtained pledges from Rank and
ABPC, Quinn swiftly secured £1,500 from the
British Film Producers Association.
Rank and ABPC had to make good on their
offers, and UCL in turn had to give the lectureship
a formal nod, and it was October before the
appointment question could be raised in earnest.
Coldstream was given the chair of a committee
of seven UCL professors. Dickinson’s application
arrived with him at the start of November; the
next day, he received a letter from another
candidate, Paul Rotha, who pleaded ‘be nice
enough to remember the chap who got you into
the GPO Film Unit so many years back!’ One
might have expected Coldstream to have favoured
a documentarist, if not Rotha; but his reply was
tepid. Whether through Quinn’s influence or
otherwise it is likely that Dickinson was already
the first choice. In July 1959, months before the
selection committee was in place, Dickinson had
met Coldstream and Quinn at the Guards club—so
far as can be ascertained the first time the three
had met. The appointment was made formally after
a lunch at the Athenaeum with Quinn, Coldstream,
and two members of the UCL committee, on 23
December 1959.
Between the first visit of the BFI’s senior officers
to the University of London in February 1956
and Dickinson’s appointment four years later,
the cinema in Britain had lost about half its
audience. The documentarists who had sought
the Slade post had reason to sound a note of
defeatism—‘The actual making of films’, Rotha had
told Coldstream, ‘by independent people such
as myself is as good as dead in this country’. Yet
Dickinson, on his return to London in the autumn
of 1960, had been revitalized by New York, and
the film culture of the young people he now
encountered—energized by new currents from
Paris as well as the US—would leave the concerns
of the Sequence–Free Cinema group, once his
protégés, resembling not so much an authentic
new wave as the long Sunday afternoon of the
Griersonian Thirties.
Soon after arriving at the Slade, Dickinson
lamented his distance from the academic scene
across the Atlantic to a colleague in New York.
Running practically a one-man operation with no
budget for conferences overseas, Dickinson asked
‘If you were to explain to all our colleagues there
the lonely pioneering situation I am in at present,
perhaps they would provide extra copies of their
papers and notes of the discussions.’ But he
was able to reflect that ‘The stimulus here is the
keenness and sharp intelligence of the small group
of students who have begun pioneering with me.’
Henry K. Miller is a writer on cinema.
Archival research was carried out at the BFI, Camberwell
College of Arts, and Tate Britain.
a
b
c
d
e
f
g
‘Grey Eminence’, in About Modern Art
Christophe Dupin, ‘Soup Dreams’, Sight and Sound,
March 2001
See Christophe Dupin’s ‘The British Film Institute as
a sponsor and producer of non-commercial film’ (PhD
thesis, 2005)
ibid., p. 50
Coldstream’s diary records a ‘Mr Reid lunch’ a week
before Quinn and Reed went to Logan: some prior
knowledge of their proposal is not impossible given
their collective involvement in Together
A.I.D. News, November 1972
Dickinson, complained Anderson to Vogel, ‘doesn’t
take our ideas seriously enough to realise that we
believe in them.’ See Wide Angle 19.2, 1997