Part seven of my memory backup… I was supposed to carry on from where I left off in part six, but I’ll write about the South of France another time. Meanwhile, does anyone remember Max Headroom?
Way back in 1985, Cefn Ridout, the editor of Starburst magazine, and I were invited to the screening of the British-made cyberpunk TV movie, Max Headroom: 20 Minutes into the Future. I was just about to completely redesign the magazine, and we both thought the show would make a good feature for the relaunch. Little did we know that thirty-nine years into the future, that very magazine would be showcased in an exhibition at Leicester Museum, photographed here by my good friend Strictly Kev, nicked from his Instagram account.
Anyway, back to the past… While watching the screening, I had a strange feeling I’d seen the actress Amanda Pays, who plays the character of Theora Jones before. Then it dawned on me… she used to model at Carlton Photographic Studios, where I’d worked five years earlier. As chance would have it, I found some test shot Polaroids that I’d kept from 1980, and here they are.
In fact, I discovered a few Polaroids that took me back to December 1979, when I decided I really wanted to get a job that was more photography-related than window display. Scouring the jobs section in the newspaper, I spotted one advertising for a props and styling assistant at a large photographic studio near Marble Arch in London, called Carlton Photography and Design.
Props and styling is very similar to visual merchandising. It’s the dressing of a photographic set rather than a window, and stylists can work on photo shoots in various industries, including fashion, food, or interior design. This studio catered to the entire gamut and specialized in fashion photography for high-end mail-order catalogues.
At this time, I had more than insect illustrations in my portfolio. I now had all of the project work from two years at the CDT (College for Distributive Trades), and my British Display Society certificates, plus photographs of my window displays. So, I called the number in the ad and wangled an interview.
Part of the requirement of the job was to be able to drive out to various prop hire companies and their warehouses to source and collect different assets. I couldn’t drive, which was a bit of a major-league handicap, but the property master, Mark Rimmell, said he’d hire me and arrange for the company to pay for driving lessons, on the proviso that if I failed the first test, I’d have to pick up the tab for the second one myself, which seemed incredibly fair. I started the position on 6th January 1980, and after a few driving lessons in the heart of London, I passed the first time, so that was a relief!
Mark, the property master and head stylist, was a terrific guy, and the first thing he taught me was that a stylist’s address book was an indispensable Bible for sourcing props in a hurry. That combined with the yellow pages and a telephone. There were no cellphones in those pre-internet days—I can’t believe I’m even typing this. How the heck did we get anything done without the internet?!?
If a photographer required corn dollies for a shoot, you should be able to turn to the ‘C’ pages in your book and see where you could buy or hire them. The reason I mention corn dollies is because this was one particularly challenging task I was given, and it took me two whole days of traipsing around London’s West End until I found some in a now long-gone Department Store called Bourne & Hollingsworth on Oxford Street. I can’t remember why they were needed, but they were.
I’m now aware that it was the wrong season for corn dollies, because I befriended the shop assistant who sold them to me, and we went to see one of the first screenings of American Gigolo after her shift that day in May 1980 when the film was released in London. Little did I know that a year later I’d get to meet the incredibly enigmatic and good-looking Richard Gere… but that’s another story.
According to the fountain of knowledge, corn dollies are traditionally made during the harvest season, which typically falls in late summer or early fall. This is when the grain crops, like corn, are harvested, and the practice of creating dollies is often tied to the harvest festivals and celebrations. We had a props store of our own, but there was a limit to what we could supply at a moment’s notice, and corn dollies were not on the inventory.
Apart from working on the photographic sets, going out with wads of petty cash to buy stuff was basically spending the whole day shopping, and I had a great time. The immediate area had a couple of small, expensive boutiques that we had arrangements with. We could borrow stock from them by leaving a deposit, then pay a daily hire rate. As long as the goods were still in perfect condition, we’d return them after the shoot.
If we required antiques or really obscure items, they were to be found in places like Superhire, which was a massive warehouse rammed to the gills with just about everything you could possibly imagine. Another was Louis Koch, where, coincidentally, my pal Dave Brain was now working since he too had left Allders department store. Koch was well-known for selling and hiring antique furniture in unrestored condition.
Carlton Studios was tucked away in an old mews in quite a fancy area, opposite Hyde Park, and I’d often see the pop star, David Essex taking his dog for a walk.
Somehow, props master Mark used to get invitations to various movie previews, the most impressive being the Royal Premiere of The Empire Strikes Back, that I wrote about previously, but a month before that he handed me two tickets to Steven Spielberg’s 1941, with a command to ‘COME IN FORTIES DRESS’ at the bottom of the ticket.
My friend Simon and I decided we’d turn up as American G.I.’s after a trip to the army surplus stores in London. The clothing is not historically accurate, and our 80s hairstyles were a little too long for the army, but with our helmets on, we figured we’d get away with it.
So, Tuesday, April 15th, 1980, there we were in full G.I. combat gear traveling up to London’s West End on overground and underground trains, getting some right funny looks from people only to discover on arrival that NOBODY else had bothered to make the effort!
Time Out magazine’s photographer seemed thrilled that he was able to get shots of the only two people wearing retro attire, and he took our home addresses down and promised to mail us the photos, which he did. I can’t seem to locate them at the moment, but I did find a couple of photos of our practice run before the event.
I went on to wear that US Army shirt a lot back then. It seems odd that American Army fatigues became fashionable in the UK at the time, but I blame it all on Sting and The Police!
Next: Anarchy at the Seaside…
Great days! I think that was the first Starburst I ever bought, so the redesign worked! Max Headroom was terrifically exciting to us computer obsessed kids - I can vividly remember him breaking into the transmission on Channel 4. Such a memorable character: concept, design, voice, attitude - all capturing the mid 80s zeitgeist perfectly. So different getting hired then too, ring up a guy, convince him you’re okay, and he pays for your driving lessons! Top man.
Good one Steve. I well remember that preview screening and was suitably impressed, though having not seen it since then I'm not sure how well it's stood the test of time. What has stood the test of time is that redesigned masthead-cum-brand of yours as attested by its continued use 40 years later. Not many mags' mastheads can claim that honour...