Spike Milligan's take on the life and times of William Topaz
McGonagall, a notoriously awful Victorian poet. Whilst I consider myself a fan
of Milligan, I have to admit that his output - perhaps understandably, because
there was so bloody much of it - could be distinctly patchy, and [i]the Great
McGonagall[/i] presents Spike at his unfettered, self-indulgent worst. If you
thought his [i]Q[/i] series could be a slog to get through, you should give
this film a very wide berth. The film deconstructs itself as it goes along,
disintegrating entirely about halfway through when Milligan and his co-star
Victor Spinetti (Peter Sellers appears only briefly) make a hash of a scene and
proceed to go over their dialogue, apparently out of character, as director Joe
McGrath awkwardly coaches them. Having effectively scuppered itself, there's no
reason the viewer should hang on for the remainder either. There are occasional
flashes of genius, but nothing more, and the sludgy, underlit, squalid look of
the piece erodes the viewer's interest even before the opening titles have
finished rolling. One IMDB reviewer claims that this film is proof that Spike
was let out of the loony bin too early, and whilst that's a harsh verdict, it's
sadly not far from the truth.