Arranging My Affairs (1979)

D. Bob Spiers
Colour


Fans of ‘The Fall and Rise of Reginald Perrin’ should seek out this rare starring role in cinema for Leonard Rossiter. Normally on the big screen he was limited to playing weary policemen in ‘Pink Panther’ sequels, or small roles in Stanley Kubrick movies, but here he is the star and centre of everything. Playing an unnamed Cabinet Minister in the British government, Rossiter is absolutely astounding. Speaking as quickly as Reggie Perrin, Rossiter presents his politician as that rare thing – an almost still whirling dervish. He doesn’t charge or race around, but clearly his mind is always whirring and spinning, with words spilling out of him so fast, constantly twisting one way or another. He obfuscates, he misleads, he tells half-truths, semi-truths and even resorts to just lying, all to get out of various jams of his own making. And it’s brilliant to watch, as Rossiter makes this man immensely likeable, even when ‘ethics’ and ‘morality’ are clearly just half remembered words in the dictionary. This, without a doubt, is one of the most cynical films ever made about politics and politicians.


Suddenly finding himself at risk of exposure for his various misdeeds, our political hero has a day or so to get all his affairs into order so that he can present a squeaky clean image to the general public. This includes sorting out some dubious loans from his ultra-seedy cousin (Peter Sallis, in a role which seems like the dark twisted mirror to Norman Clegg; the antichrist to Wallace); getting hold of some compromising snaps from a brothel madam (Kate O’Mara, purring over line like creamy liquor); and ending affairs with a duo of glamorous mistresses, Joanna Lumley and Lynn-Holly Johnson (both actual Bond girls) and ridiculously handsome toy-boy, Anthony Andrews (who surely must have been considered for Bond). In addition he has the attention of a blackmailer (Michael Ripper), a problem which may need more drastic measures to resolve. All the way through Rossiter talks, carving and chipping away with words, as if they can alter reality itself. This is a man who is dangling by a thread, but who won’t admit that the thread is anything other than a sturdy rope and far from dangling he is floating above serenely taking in the panorama of the situation. He sweats, undoubtedly the panic rises, but no matter how dire the predicament he doesn’t give up. He just keeps on talking and talking and talking. It’s no wonder that when his wife, Sian Phillips, stares at him it’s with a smile of pride rather than a snarl of frustration.


If we’re honest it looks more like a TV movie than an actual film. It’s made by television professionals and never really escapes that. But in Rossiter’s magnificently shifty yet sincere performance, in the seediness of the tabloids which pursue him, in the way that the political establishment rallies around and supports him when the danger is not just hammering his door but trying to climb through the window, we have an extremely cynical and wonderfully funny film which is just as horribly applicable today.