I first became aware of low-budget British filmmaker Cliff Twemlow when I saw the VHS box art for his 1983 shot on video crime thriller GBH in a Facebook group for grindhouse film fans. For those that don’t know, “GBH” stands for “grievous bodily harm” which is a British legal term akin to assault and battery in the US. It’s possible that the film may have never shown up on my radar were it not for its inclusion on the UK’s notorious list of '80s-era banned/censored works known as the Video Nasties. As you can imagine, the films on that list carry a certain cache amongst a particular subset of movie lovers.
My curiosity about the film now bolstered by that dubious badge of honor, I set out to find a copy of my own. Unfortunately, in the late ‘10s, that would prove to be difficult as the film had never been released anywhere on DVD and the tapes were commanding collector prices on eBay. In any case, I had stopped purchasing tapes several years prior, after my young son had crammed a granola bar into the deck of my only working VCR. Thankfully, some hero had uploaded the film onto YouTube and I was able to watch it there.
Now, if you’ve been following my writing for any length of time, you know that I love DIY-type films made by passionate amateurs outside of the traditional indie biosphere. GBH falls squarely into that realm and I thoroughly enjoyed it, even though it seemed relatively tame compared to its Video Nasty brethren. Still, its inclusion on that list gave me hope that it would eventually receive a proper physical release. Fast forward to earlier this year and respected boutique Blu-ray label Severin Films announced that they would be gifting us with discs for GBH as well as another Twemlow film entitled The Eye of Satan. Additionally, it was publicized that they would be releasing a documentary on Twemlow’s life and work. This brings me to Jake West’s Mancunian Man: The Legendary Life of Cliff Twemlow (currently making the rounds on the festival circuit).
West has gone all out in providing us with a vision of an interesting but relatively obscure artist. Let’s talk a little bit about Twemlow. He grew up in Manchester, England (“Mancunian” is the demonym for someone or something from Manchester). He began his career making catalog music, theme songs, and jingles, utilizing the nom de plume “Peter Reno.” The likes of George Romero even ended up using one of his songs in Dawn of the Dead (“Cause I’m a Man”). Twemlow would then leverage his affinity for bodybuilding and martial arts into becoming a doorman/bouncer of some repute at Manchester’s most exclusive club in the late ‘70s. The budding renaissance man mined his experiences there for his first novel, The Tuxedo Warrior. This pulpy book achieved some level of popularity and was subsequently adapted into a less-than-faithful film. Disappointed with the massive liberties taken with his work, Twemlow set out to make his own films.
Mancunian Man tells this story with a reverence that’s spiked with good-natured slight incredulity. After all, Twemlow’s relative success does seem quite unlikely. However, it becomes obvious through the various interview segments that Twemlow was in possession of magnetic charisma and can-do gumption. His legitimate filmmaking knowledge was fairly nonexistent, but he did not let this deter him. He broke rules because he wasn’t aware of them and that’s what made something like GBH so absorbing despite its lack of polish. His family members, friends, and various filmmaking partners offer up warm recollections of the ambitious actor/writer/producer/stunt coordinator/composer even while acknowledging some character flaws. Twemlow passed away at the much too young age of 59 in 1993, but he is somewhat brought to life through some choice behind-the-scenes footage and local TV interviews.
In between the standard talking head sequences, we are also treated to scenes from Twemlow’s various films, many of which were abandoned before being completed. West, who also edited the film, deploys some cool animations by Ashley Thorpe to spice up the visuals and I appreciated that even the screen texts have a graphic design flair to them. Combine all that with Vince Knight’s polished camerawork and the resulting viewing experience is more than engaging. Twemlow’s often jaunty but earnest songs season the piece, completing a compelling portrait of a quintessential outsider artist. In a little over two hours, West has expertly painted a humanistic portrait of a heretofore-forgotten artist.
We are on the verge of a possible resurgence in appreciation for Cliff Twemlow thanks to Severin Films’ releases of GBH and The Eye of Satan as well as Jake West’s new documentary Mancunian Man: The Legendary Life of Cliff Twemlow. “Legendary” may seem to be ironic or an exaggeration on the surface. However, Twemlow had big dreams, and even though he never quite realized some of his grander visions, West’s film makes clear that he lived his personal dream. In that way, it pays respect to a beloved, if obscure, cult figure. Mancunian Man is highly recommended for fans of Jodorowsky’s Dune, My Life Directed by Nicolas Winding Refn, and Diary of a Deadbeat: The Story of Jim VanBebber.
Michael Cavender