When it was announced that Steve Coogan was to play king of porn Paul Raymond it seemed like the perfect casting and with Coogan’s old pal Michael Winterbottom at the helm it had fans licking their moist lips.
So it’s with a heavy heart and genuine sense of regret to announce this is such a disappointment. It tells the story of Raymond’s conquering of Soho adequately enough, but what’s missing is any insight or inner life in any of the characters. Coogan inhabits Raymond to an impressive degree, but there is absolutely no sense of what’s behind the sunglasses and fur coat what drove a lad from Liverpool to become king of porn? It’s a film financed by Film4, and sadly has all the hallmarks of a TV biopic with lots of tits and bare bums thrown in. It’s tempting to say the biggest boob is the script and the biggest arse is the man who directed it.
For those who don’t know Raymond’s story, it winds back to the 1970s when Raymond, already the owner of several theatres in Soho how we don’t know is putting on burlesque cabaret acts which become more and more risqué. He meets his wife Jean, played with dead eyes by Anna Friel, makes a lot of money, they buys a house in Wimbledon and a roller, and have kids. Raymond is in particular devoted to his daughter Debbie.
There then follows the usual story of highs and lows Paul has affairs, divorces Jean, marries Fiona Richmond, buys Men Only, discovers drugs, gets busted, bounces back, has more affairs, takes more drugs and so on and so on. Eventually he trains Debbie as his protégé, after she suffers a series of disastrous setbacks trying to be a stage performer all financed by Daddy. She realises she will never be a star, especially after one especially bad show, so throws herself into his business and his drug habit, which he seems perfectly happy about.
When Debbie meets her perfect man all seems ok again, but the demon coke is never far away, and eventually proves her downfall. He ploughs on until eventually meeting his maker, giving his enormous fortune to his grandchildren.
What’s so disappointing in all this is there is so much talent on display, but put to so little use. Coogan is great as Raymond, sleazy but charming, tough but vulnerable, always good copy for the many journalists following his story. Yet there is no insight into what is his underlying motivation. He utters the line “not bad for a lad from Liverpool with five bob in his pocket not once but twice, but how and more importantly why did he do it? Why does Jean put up with his many affairs but finally crack when he meets Richmond? What does she get out of it?
Even weirder is Raymond’s own relationship with sex. He consistently denies that his magazine empire is pornography even in private and seems uneasy with threesomes, even when he initiates them. Is he driven by sex or love? What are at the basis of his relationship with Men Only editor Tony Power (Addison, annoying)? Why does he suddenly have an attack of modesty when Power starts talking about “tits and arse? None of these problems or issues is ever addressed, let alone resolved. The film is happier telling the story in chronological order, which it does but so what?
Far too often the film falls into stereotypes. David Walliams does his Frankie Howerd impression for about the fifth film in a row only one of which was actually about Howerd Matt Lucas is wasted as Divine, Anna Friel as brittle as ever, and Tamsin Egerton nowhere near tough enough to convince as Richmond. None of that would particularly matter if the script and structure had a bit more life to it, but sadly it doesn’t. One scene, where Raymond meets his estranged son, now an adult, for a sad, uncomfortable Sunday lunch, has some pathos, and when the son leaves the building and spots Raymond’s wife younger than him there is a genuine moment of sadness. But it’s all too little too late.
Even when Debbie reveals her fatal condition Winterbottom resorts to some truly cheesy music which completely undercuts what should be a tragic moment. It’s very difficult to feel any sympathy for the tragic girl.
Overall verdict: A missed opportunity. Winterbottom’s film tells the story of Paul Raymond’s life but explains and adds nothing to it. A weirdly empty, flat experience with just an engaging performance from Coogan to give it anything to recommend it.
Reviewer: Mike Martin