Clockwork Orange

The film has been banned in Britain for 26 years, which means that no-one under the age of 44 has been legally able to watch it here. But now it's re-released, and a group of us are going on Tuesday to see it. All under 44, except for moi, who sat "glued to it" 3 evenings on the trot during its first run.

Why so? Because I'd never been so frightened in my life, and the sensation was exquisite, and had to be repeated, at least until the fright began to pale a bit.

So what might happen on Tuesday? I'm risking disappointment here big-time, but nevertheless taking that risk in order to feed vicariously off the reactions of my guests. Unfortunately, one of them has seen a fuzzy pirate video of the thing, which delivers the story without the cinematic experience. We shall see.

Last night Channel 4 showed a 90 min apprecation of the work, with a whole gamut of commentators. "No - they're all too young!" I mentally screamed at the telly. But then on came Alexander Walker, a critic even more senior than myself, and then it was OK. He said the whole point of the exercise now is that you have to be able to imagine Britain as it was 30 years ago, with miners' strikes, Heath Government, 3-day week, and a sudden worrying growth in street violence after the euphoria of the late sixties. Things had changed, since Freddie and the Dreamers, though we thought the party would go on for ever. Unfortunately (or perhaps not), only one of our group will be able to imagine Britain 30 years ago, and that through the eyes of a child.

Ten years after Clockwork Orange, the party of "free love" (for love read lust) would clang shut too, apparently irrevocably, but that was in the future then, and Anthony and Stanley had got tired. Nothing stays; all changes.