The Rise And Rise Of Michael Rimmer

MADE in 1970 and rarely seen since, The Rise And Rise Of Michael Rimmer is both fascinating and oddly prescient.

Providing a rare big-screen starring role for Peter Cook, it's a cold hearted but slickly entertaining satire on political spin and media manipulation of the public that could just as easily have been made today. As a surreal and anarchic spoof of Westminster and its wicked ways it deserves to be reclaimed as a true cult classic of the genre. Cook is the mysterious Michael Rimmer, who ghosts unannounced into the offices of a clueless advertising agency dressed in his finest Carnaby Street suit and armed only with a clipboard and stopwatch. The employees, led by the idiotic Ferret (Dad's Army stalwart Arthur Lowe) assume he's a time-and-motion man sent by the firm's owner Mr Fairburn (Dennis Price) and their collective guilt at sitting around all day practicing ballroom dancing, flirting with the secretaries or watching the cricket when they should be working allows Rimmer to swiftly take control.

By introducing sex and endless opinion polls to their campaigns he soon turns the business into a huge success that sees both the ruling Labour party and the Tories come running to his door for help.

A slimy spin doctor of the highest order, Rimmer sides with the Conservatives and plots their successful return to power, eventually landing himself the role of prime minister in the process. As his greed for power grows he pushes for full control of the country and runs to become Britain's first ever president.

Cook is remarkable throughout this broadest of broad satires. Aloof and distant, he uses superficial charm to con the public and his sleazy political paymasters. Rimmer feels brilliantly new Labour even though we never get to understand just what motivates his devilish character.

Cook co-wrote the script with director Kevin Billington and his old satirical running mates John Cleese and Graham Chapman and there's much of the classic sketch show vibe at play here. Frantic, Pythonesque skits are played out by a cast that is practically creaking at the seams with great British comedy talent. Ronnie Corbett pops up as an ineffectual pollster, Cleese dances his way through a brief turn as a bored adman and Denholm Elliott slimes his way through proceedings as Rimmer's intellectual henchman.

Despite its A-list cast (Harold Pinter even turns up as a TV host) there are very few actual laughs. The film looks sublime, however, with great London locations, and is directed beautifully by Billington who adds a swish, almost Stanley Kubrick-style glamour to just about every shot. There's super-funky score from John Cameron and great cameos from the likes of supremely statuesque Valerie Leon but there's a coldness at the heart of proceedings that prevents you caring about Rimmer.

As the final shot freeze frames on our new president's enigmatic and faintly diabolical half smile maybe that's the reaction Cook and co wanted us to have.