The fact that this film was by far the biggest draw of its year at the British box office makes it far more interesting, as a historical document of the culturally regressive preferences of a population on the verge of the 'progress' of currency decimalisation, than as an otherwise ineffably disturbing episode in British cinema history. That is to say, the extent to which the working-class without money were prepared to pay out of said penury to witness the spectacle of the 'working-class' with money get even more, by virtue of their supporters' subservient quest for populist media identity.
Tangentially, this would shortly go on to coincide with the ultimate and unjust critical decline of the 'Carry On's, achieving nothing but giving the briefly commercially successful green light to the subsequent 'Confessions' series and it's suitably innumerable illegitimate offspring.
In the 'grand' (ie overridingly sexist) tradition of the enormously popular coitaneous ITV sitcom, the 'plot' centres around resident lovable 'rogue' duo Varney and Grant's aghast reaction to the promotion of female canteen workers to female bus drivers at their depot. However, their prevailing "Owight darling (nudge wink)" attitude; inherent to their apocryphally predicated physical 'charms'; wins the day without any hint of irony whatsoever save for the interludes of 20-stone ogre husbands coming home early 'inbetween bus stops' to interrupt the otherwise cogently countenanced anti-late-60s ideology of women daring to claim any place in society outside of the bedroom of 'men on the job'. Otherwise of course, you ended up as a perpetually ironing 'mum' or the perpetually unsexed, unloved 'Olive'.
People moaned enough about the early 70s Hammer studios obsession with combining blood and breasts to earn a profit, and whilst this has no blood to be sure, breasts are 'spilled' within the first few minutes no doubt as a Confessions-precursory 'More Than We Could Get Away With on TV' draw.
It remains inconceivable that such a purveyor of finely crafted films could also be responsible for one of the year's most cinematically redundant and, to quote a previous reviewer, what amounts to little more than a cut-and-paste job of any given 3 TV episodes.
In other words, faultlessly artless nostalgia for those who would especially succumb regardless to pre-PC humour. So yes, I did laugh, and shamelessly so...
Tangentially, this would shortly go on to coincide with the ultimate and unjust critical decline of the 'Carry On's, achieving nothing but giving the briefly commercially successful green light to the subsequent 'Confessions' series and it's suitably innumerable illegitimate offspring.
In the 'grand' (ie overridingly sexist) tradition of the enormously popular coitaneous ITV sitcom, the 'plot' centres around resident lovable 'rogue' duo Varney and Grant's aghast reaction to the promotion of female canteen workers to female bus drivers at their depot. However, their prevailing "Owight darling (nudge wink)" attitude; inherent to their apocryphally predicated physical 'charms'; wins the day without any hint of irony whatsoever save for the interludes of 20-stone ogre husbands coming home early 'inbetween bus stops' to interrupt the otherwise cogently countenanced anti-late-60s ideology of women daring to claim any place in society outside of the bedroom of 'men on the job'. Otherwise of course, you ended up as a perpetually ironing 'mum' or the perpetually unsexed, unloved 'Olive'.
People moaned enough about the early 70s Hammer studios obsession with combining blood and breasts to earn a profit, and whilst this has no blood to be sure, breasts are 'spilled' within the first few minutes no doubt as a Confessions-precursory 'More Than We Could Get Away With on TV' draw.
It remains inconceivable that such a purveyor of finely crafted films could also be responsible for one of the year's most cinematically redundant and, to quote a previous reviewer, what amounts to little more than a cut-and-paste job of any given 3 TV episodes.
In other words, faultlessly artless nostalgia for those who would especially succumb regardless to pre-PC humour. So yes, I did laugh, and shamelessly so...