Peter Watkins makes The War Game. The Beeb are told by Powers Unnamed to bin it. The Beeb bin it. Watkins, never a temperate man at the best of times, does his nut. James Heyman turns up with a Johnny Speight script about the oppressive nature of yoof culture for Watkins to direct. Watkins, no teenybopper himself, watches the same Paul Anka biopic for hours on end as homework. Paul Jones is cast as hapless singer Steven Shorter, taking a bizarre prison cell stage act from Birmingham to the international stage in front of hordes of screaming, beehived girls. A fascistic Con-Lab pact butter him up and get him to get the yoof to do their bidding. A conclave of bishops does likewise. As do, er, the apple farmers. Jean Shrimpton turns up to paint a cod-Francis Bacon portrait of Jones. Jones shags her. Thus emboldened, they set out to Smash the System. Watkins wraps it all up in his brilliantly observed but slightly too on-the-nose pseudo documentary style. ‘I fink the director’s a bleedin’ nutter!’ The Rank Organisation, still under the staunch Methodist hand of J Arthur, kick the film out of their cinemas for its church-baiting undertones. Watkins gets madder still, and naffs off to Sweden.