Resistance through realism: Youth subculture films in 1970s (and 1980s) Britain

Film scholars have argued that the British social realist films of the late 1950s and early 1960s reflect the concerns articulated by British cultural studies during the same period. This article looks at how the social realist films of the 1970s and early 1980s similarly reflect the concerns of British cultural studies scholarship produced by the University of Birmingham’s Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies during the 1970s. It argues that the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies’ approach to stylised working-class youth subcultures is echoed in the portrayal of youth subcultures in the social realist films Pressure (1976), Bloody Kids (1979), Babylon (1980) and Made in Britain (1982). This article explores the ways in which these films show us both the strengths and weaknesses of the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies’ work on subcultures.


Introduction
With 2014 marking its 50th anniversary, the past few years have seen a great deal of scholarship on the legacy of the Birmingham School (see Bland, 2013;Clarke, 2013;Gilroy, 2013;Hall, 2013;McRobbie, 2013). This article uses film to contribute to this ongoing process of reflection and re-evaluation, revisiting that moment in the Centre for attention from the site of production to the new sites of leisure (Hutchings, 2001;Sargeant, 2005).
The overlap between British cultural studies and social realist drama is seen clearly in the impact of Richard Hoggart's seminal book The Uses of Literacy on the films of the New Wave. The Uses of Literacy was a best-seller read widely both within and outside the academy (Dyer, 1981) and Lovell (1996) argues that the New Wave films, with their romanticised nostalgia for the richness of the working-class culture of England's industrial North, reflect the social concerns conveyed in Hoggart's work. Leach notes that the Northern accents of the New Wave films are evocative of The Uses of Literacy and that most of these films depict popular culture as 'debased and trivial, in line with Hoggart's analysis' (2004: 56). Sargeant (2005) and Hill (1986) also look at the negative portrayal of commercialised popular culture in the New Wave films. Hill observes that Saturday Night and Sunday Morning is in keeping with British cultural studies' interest in sites of leisure as the places in which the identity of the new, affluent working-class was being formed. Murphy (1992) points out the similarities between Richard Hoggart's and Raymond Williams' writing on working-class culture and the themes explored in the films of New Wave director Lindsay Anderson. Like Hoggart and Williams, Anderson Disparaged working-class leisure practices while looking warmly upon traditional forms of working-class culture. Finally, Leach (2004) looks at how the New Wave films worked to reproduce the 'directness' of working-class culture, a feature of working-class culture that was cherished by British cultural studies scholars (Hoggart, 1957;Willis, 1978) and New Wave filmmakers alike.
At this point, it is necessary to qualify my use of the terms 'realism' and 'social realism'. Realism was deployed in the New Wave films as part of a moral commitment to addressing serious social issues (Higson, 1984); Lovell describes social realism as grouping together a number of artistic styles that agree upon the idea that 'the business of art is to show things as they really are ' (1980: 65). 'Realist' and 'social realist' are often used interchangeably, but the latter term emphasises a commitment to social critique. As Samantha Lay puts it, 'A key feature of social realist texts, particularly in the British realist tradition, is the way character and place are linked in order to explore some aspect of contemporary life', sometimes exploring 'contentious issues in a society, especially at moments of crisis or conflict ' (2002: 8-9). Social realist films are guided by the reforming, if not revolutionary spirit of their writers and filmmakers in their attempts to show life as it really is. This is why Raymond Williams (1977) famously argued that social realist dramas extend dramatic narrative to the hitherto ignored working-class in order to interpret that class' social action for a wider audience and for itself. Another aspect of realism is aesthetic, with Higson (1984) arguing that the New Wave films made use of the tension between the drabness of the films' settings and those settings' aesthetic and poetic qualities. Realist drama creates an air of authenticity by having real-life situations reproduced in the real-life accents and modes of speech of the people that the films portray (Williams, 1977). The notion of realism was problematised during the 1970s in the radical film journal Screen (Leach, 2004;Turner, 2002), particularly by Colin MacCabe (1985). Nevertheless, realism remained a popular cinematic form and even though some film scholars argued that it was impossible for art to depict things as they really are (Lovell, 1980), this did not stop filmmakers from trying. As a window not into reality but into the ideas circulating among left-wing intellectuals and filmmakers during the 1970s and into the early 1980s, the social realist films discussed in this article provide unique insights into the social and historical context that produced them.

Youth subcultures and the CCCS
Established by Richard Hoggart at the University of Birmingham in 1964, the CCCS maintained Hoggart's interest in working-class culture but took a decidedly different direction in the 1970s under Stuart Hall's 1 leadership (Turner, 2002). Hoggart had been suspicious of the new mass culture's 'shiny barbarism ' (1957: 193) and, as Gilroy (1996) points out, this was a nationally chauvinistic position pitting the earthy, organic Englishness of 'the pub around the corner' (Hoggart, 1957: 248) against the 'particularly thin and pallid form of dissipation ' (1957: 248) found in the American-style milk bars where the teenage 'juke-box boys' hung out. By contrast, the 1970s CCCS researchers celebrated Britain's new youth subcultures as forms of cultural resistance. Following Muggleton (2000), I use the term 'CCCS approach' to refer to the CCCS' diverse body of work on subculture, which includes the anthologies Resistance through Rituals (1976) and Policing the Crisis (1978) as well as Dick Hebdige's Subculture: The Meaning of Style (1979) and Paul Willis' Profane Culture (1978) and Learning to Labour (1977). 2 As in Hoggart's work, the CCCS analysis of working-class culture took place in the fields of leisure and consumption rather than at the point of production (Clarke, 1976a). 3 Where British cultural studies had been interested in working-class culture in general, the CCCS researchers were interested in those stylised youth groups that formed subcultures. They focused only on those spectacular working-class youth groups who were identifiable by their distinctive stylistic ensembles, groups like the teddy boys, mods and skinheads (Clarke et al., 1976). The CCCS approach provided a novel understanding of the everyday culture of underprivileged groups who were at best ignored and at worse criminalised. Whereas subcultures had previously only been addressed as 'problems' by society or targeted as consumer markets, the CCCS recognised subcultures' value as distinct cultural formations, granting them agency in the process. Youth subcultures had hitherto only been studied by sociologists in terms of their deviancy (McRobbie, 2013), so the CCCS researchers set out to study youth subcultures in a way that did not pathologise them (Hesmondhalgh, 2005).
The CCCS interpreted subcultures as resistance to the experience of class oppression, conceptualising subcultures as part of a class struggle for cultural power. Subcultures were seen as distinctive groups in conflict with both their parent culture (community) and the dominant culture (society). The CCCS scholars used semiotics to interpret the stylised ensembles of these subcultures . For example, the skinheads' tough appearance and heavy boots were read as a way in which working-class youth attempted to 'magically' recover community (Clarke, 1976a) and the teddy boys' Edwardian clothes were described as subverting the sartorial codes of the aristocracy (Jefferson, 1976). This approach has been widely critiqued for an overly rigid application of Marxist cultural theory that treated subcultures as static, class-based formations in order to make youth out to be a radical vanguard of the working-class. Such was the theorists' eagerness to locate resistance that contradictory or reactionary behaviours on the part of subculture members, from casual sexism to racial violence, were explained away as responses to contradictions within the superstructure. Critics point out that in many cases, this 'heroic' 4 reading of subcultures relied on theory, semiotics and secondary research at the expense of fieldwork (Clarke, 1990;Cohen, 1980;Muggleton, 2000). The class dimensions of subcultures were over-stated so that subcultures could be categorised as working-class resistance, overlooking both the fluidity of subcultural membership and subcultures' dynamic relationship with commercial popular culture (Clarke, 1990;Laughey, 2006;Osgerby, 2012;Waters, 1981). In this heroic approach, female subculture members were ignored at the expense of their more-visible male counterparts (McRobbie, 1980).
More recently, scholars have debated whether subcultures even exist anymore, with some preferring to speak of post-subcultures (Muggleton and Weinzierl, 2003;Redhead, 1990), neo-tribes (Bennett, 1999(Bennett, , 2005Malbon, 1999), scenes (Straw, 1991) or club cultures (Thornton, 1996). Others have argued for the continuing importance of subculture (Hodkinson, 2002;McCulloch et al., 2006;Shildrick and MacDonald, 2006), advocated the revision of its theoretical formulation (Evans, 1997) or insisted on a more rigorously sociological application of the term (Blackman, 2005;Laughey, 2006). These debates notwithstanding, the CCCS formulation of subcultures quickly became orthodoxy (Griffin, 2011). What remains significant, as Davies puts it, is that 'The strength of this research was that it located the fragments of British society and brought them into the centre ' (1993: 128). While the work of the CCCS researchers may have had many shortcomings, it is important to remember that they were almost all graduate students and, in the words of Stuart Hall, 'making it up as [they] went along ' (1990: 17).
To understand why this research was so concerned with subcultures as a form of working-class resistance, one must look to the historical and political context in which it was carried out. While the 1960s are associated in the popular imagination with radicalism, in Britain it was during the 1970s that the radical ideas of the previous decade took hold and were put into practice (Forster and Harper, 2010). The 1970s were a tumultuous time of class conflict and hardship, characterised by an 'intensifying atmosphere of crisis' (Dworkin, 2009: 524) with widespread strikes, 3-day weeks, high inflation and political instability (Cannadine, 1999). In the 1970s, even the artists went on strike (Walker, 2002). Dworkin (1997) argues that the British New Left's turn to cultural Marxism represented an effort to understand post-war transformations in British society that orthodox Marxism's economic determinism had failed to account for. The crisis in socialist thinking that had culminated in the failures of the 1968 uprisings caused the CCCS to search for new ways of coming to grips with the relationship between 'structure and agency, experience and ideology, theory and practice' (Dworkin, 1997: 141). This led them to structuralism and the ideas of Althusser and Gramsci in particular, with an emphasis on the role of the struggle over meaning in the battleground of culture (Agger, 1992).
Writing at the end of the 1970s, Paul Corrigan (1979) tells us how the CCCS subculture research emerged from an 'ultra-left' movement looking for a new revolutionary vanguard. Disillusioned with the reformism of the traditional left, Corrigan and his peers had set out to research subcultures in hopes that it would provide a new impetus for revolutionary action. The subject of their analysis (subculture) was very much a product of the period: once-coherent class cultures were fragmenting in the 1960s and 1970s as a result of widespread social and economic change. Along with the new affluence and independence of teenagers, this fragmentation facilitated the emergence of subcultures. With a pervasive sense of social and political crisis characterising the 1970s (Osgerby, 2012), subcultures were treated as a symptom of the disintegration of the post-war consensus (Hall and Jefferson, 2006). Walker (2002) argues that subcultures were just one example of the conflict, pluralism and fragmentation that characterised the 1970s in general, as British society became divided along multiple axes such as taste, music, style, sexuality and politics. Other historians note that the counter-culture of radical cultural theorists was itself a sort of subculture (Dworkin, 1997;Forster and Harper, 2010). 5 In a 2004 interview, Willis described the Centre as a radical experiment in student-directed education: the 'permanent revolutionary council of the [1968 Birmingham University] sit-in extended indefinitely -in our minds at least ' (2004: 205).
Out of this heady period came not just subcultures and scholarship about subcultures but also films about subcultures. The British New Wave films coincided with the era that saw the rise of the teenager (Chambers, 1986), but youth subcultures are conspicuous in their absence from this canon. For a social realist depiction of youth subcultures, we must look to the 1970s and 1980s. Discussions of realist film tend to skip straight from the New Wave films to the late 1980s realist renaissance led by Mike Leigh and Ken Loach (see Lay, 2002;Leach, 2004), overlooking the social realist dramas of the intervening period because they received limited releases or were produced for television (Barber, 2013;Newland, 2013). Pressure, Babylon, Bloody Kids and Made in Britain all portray youth subculture and were all made during these intervening years, a time period which coincides with the years in which the CCCS was most active in publishing on subcultures. We cannot assume that the writers and directors of the films discussed here were familiar with the CCCS subculture research, but there are many similarities in their approach to subcultures.
It is also worth noting that just as the works of Hoggart and Williams were read widely in the 1950s and 1960s, the popularity of cultural studies in the 1970s (Hunt, 1998) meant that the scholarly discourse surrounding youth subcultures penetrated the popular discourse. Sociologist Stanley Cohen, whose work on mods and rockers in Folk Devils and Moral Panics (1980) was a forerunner to the CCCS research, appeared in a 1971 BBC North documentary about Hells Angels and skinheads called All Dressed Up and Going Nowhere (1971). Resistance through Rituals contributor Simon Firth helped prepare a 1979 episode of the South Bank Show (1979) about Rough Trade records, and anthropologists Ted Polhemus and Lynn Proctor, whose 1978 book Fashion and Anti-Fashion owes much to the semiotic reading of subcultures developed by the CCCS, contributed to a 1981 London Weekend Television documentary about New Romantics (Posers -New Romantics). Laing (1994) describes how what he calls the 'Birmingham thesis' was incorporated into journalistic music writing, particularly on the subject of punk, while Hunt (1998) and Osgerby (2012) note the overlap between subcultural theory and the 'youth cult' pulp fiction published by New English Library in the 1970s. For a sense of the impact of Hebdige's Subculture: The Meaning of Style, we can look to the fact that it was reissued annually for more than a decade after its initial publication (Beezer, 1992). Hebdige recounts how 'For better or worse, the two British exports -spectacle punk and Birmingham School cultural studies -got sort of welded together in Subculture and the package went viral' (2012: 401).

Pressure
Horace Ové's Pressure is Britain's first Black-directed feature film (Pines, 2001). Made in 1975, it did not receive a commercial release until 1978 (Walker, 1985). As Newland (2013) argues, Pressure is an extension of the social realism of the New Wave films because it brings marginalised Afro-Caribbean youth to the centre of dramatic narrative. In keeping with the social realist tradition, it does so because of the director's political convictions (Paskin, 1987). As Ové states in a 2005 interview, Pressure was made to both document and represent the racial conflict and political upheaval of the time. Ové explained that 'I was part of it -and I was covering it. I was photographing all those things. Out of all of that came the script of Pressure' (Kelly, 2005). A strongly didactic film, Pressure depicts its young protagonist Tony's increasing alienation from British society as racism prevents him from finding employment after leaving school. Tony is the British-born son of Windrush-generation Trinidadian immigrants. While Tony assumes he is part of British society, institutional racism pushes him into the petty delinquency of the rude boy subculture and eventually into the oppositional Black Power movement. A radical commentary on the Black British experience, scholarship on Pressure has focused on issues surrounding race (see Brunsdon, 2007;Young, 1996). Walker (1985) contextualises Pressure in terms of the rising militancy within London's Black community at the time, describing the film as a response to employment discrimination, racist policing and the resurgence of organised racism. Pines (2001) describes how Pressure combines narrative with documentary realism to critique the failure of institutionalised race relations and multiculturalism. He argues that the making of the film should be understood as a political act because it is a Black director's intervention in an ongoing cultural struggle over the representation of blackness.
Yet as Stewart Home (2005) points out, Pressure is as much about class and youth as it is about race. It is in its approach to the Black British experience as an experience shaped by class, age and style that Pressure overlaps with the CCCS approach. In its depiction of Tony's interactions with his White friend Dave from school, the film takes for granted the multi-racial character of British working-class youth culture, a theme explored in great depth by Hebdige in Subculture (1979). It is during these scenes that Pressure is most explicitly about working-class youth culture ( Figure 1). When Tony runs into Dave and his friends from work at the youth club, they are dressed in the postskinhead style of the 'smoothie' (see Ferguson, 1982). The banter between Tony and Dave about Tony's out-of-date clothing, as well as an earlier scene in which Tony is seen staring longingly through the windows of high street clothing shops, makes it clear that Tony wishes he could afford to dress in that style as well. With their long hair, tank tops and spread collared shirts, Tony's White friends are dressed in the same style as 'the lads' in Learning to Labour (Willis, 1977), Paul Willis' study of why working-class kids get working-class jobs. 6 Willis' study explains how the chief concern of mid-1970s White working-class youth was getting into work and gaining disposable income as soon as possible. We see this phenomenon in Pressure's portrayal of Dave, who despite having graduated with fewer qualifications than Tony, is in work and thus able to afford the leisure activities and clothes that Tony cannot. When Dave invites Tony to ditch the youth club for the disco, Tony is hesitant as he has no money, so Dave and his friends offer to pay Tony's way. The sort of financial pressure experienced by Tony here is described by Willis in Learning to Labour: The pressure to go out at night, to go to a commercial dance rather than a youth club, to go to pubs rather than stop in, to buy modern clothes, smoke, and take girls out -all these things which were felt to constitute 'what life is really about' -put enormous financial pressure on 'the lads '. (1977: 39) The following scene shows Tony and his friends at a commercial dance, with loud rock music, flashing lights and scenes of a young, multi-racial crowd dancing. In contrast to the denigration of commercial leisure spaces in The Uses of Literacy and the New Wave films, this site of working-class leisure is depicted as vibrant and full-of-life, a place where working-class youth create their own culture. The depiction of youth engaging in popular culture on their own terms reflects the implicit assumption expressed by Willis in Profane Culture that 'oppressed, subordinate or minority groups can have a hand in the construction of their own vibrant cultures and are not merely dupes ' (1978: 1).
The next time we see Tony with other youths, it is with a new group of friends who are exclusively West Indian and dressed in the rude boy style described by Hebdige (1976Hebdige ( , 1979): short trousers, blazers, Crombie coats, pork-pie hats and wrap-around shades. Tony's economic exclusion from White working-class youth culture has pushed him into this street culture of unemployed Black youth. Here, as in Resistance through Rituals, Pressure depicts working-class youths using style to articulate their identities against both their parent culture and the dominant culture. A great deal of the narrative in Pressure revolves around the generational clash between Tony and his parents, who do not understand why he cannot take advantage of all the opportunities that British society supposedly offers. Tony's parents exhibit what the CCCS researchers would describe as 'bourgeois consciousness' as they attempt to conform to a racist system. In Policing the Crisis (Hall et al., 1978), the authors describe how second-generation West Indians are more acutely aware of racism because they have the same schooling as their White peers yet are denied jobs. This second-generation lacks the first-generation's immigrant optimism and feels oppression more acutely, especially due to the 'constant pressure of police harassment on the streets' (Hall et al., 1978: 354), harassment of the kind that is repeatedly both referred to and depicted in Pressure. Second-generation West Indians are described in Policing the Crisis as rejecting both the parent culture and the dominant culture as they join the Black youth subcultures of the rudies and rastas.
This is exactly what happens in Pressure as Tony comes into conflict with both his parents and the dominant culture. He is drawn first into the subculture of the rude boys, then into what the CCCS would describe as the counter-culture of Black power militants, whose oppositional politics distinguish them from ordinary working-class subcultures (Hall et al., 1978). The rude boys that Tony hangs out with embody the street-hustler cool that Hebdige (1976) was so impressed by. Smoking marijuana, hanging out on street corners, squatting in abandoned houses and carrying out petty-theft, the rude boys display the sort of 'badges of half-formed, inarticulate radicalism' (Waters, 1981) that are highly unlikely to bring about radical political change (Bennett, 2011;Mungham, 1982). As the CCCS researchers themselves acknowledged, there was no 'subcultural solution' to the problems of unemployment and dead-end jobs; there were only 'imaginary solutions' (Clarke et al., 1976). Yet, the CCCS nevertheless saw subcultures, with their basis in working-class culture and resistance to bourgeois culture, as a necessary pre-condition for a 'struggle for State power' (Corrigan and Frith, 1976: 238) and concluded that the 'final question is how to build on that culture, how to organise it, transform resistance into rebellion ' (1976: 238). For Ové as for the CCCS, the answer was Black Power; the closing shot of Pressure shows Tony at a Black Power demonstration against police brutality. While the racial dimension of the rude boy subculture opens up a path to radicalism for Tony in Pressure, most youth subcultures would not move beyond 'imaginary solutions'.

Babylon
Capturing London's reggae scene at the end of the 1970s, Babylon is another social realist film about Black working-class youth in London (Barber, 2013;Brunsdon, 2007;Park, 1984). Babylon explores many of the same themes as Pressure, which is a major influence both aesthetically and thematically (Newland, 2013). Newland argues that 'filmed entirely on location in a realist style, [Babylon] now stands as a document of the type of racial conflict that blighted English cities during the period that saw Margaret Thatcher come to office ' (2010: 96). Babylon features a number of genuine reggae sound systems, stars the reggae group Aswad and drew most of its actors from estates around the South London areas where it was filmed (Shaw, 2012;Walker, 1985). Like Tony in Pressure, Babylon's protagonist Blue is young, Black, working-class and the son of West Indian immigrants. Blue's style identifies him as what Hebdige (1979) would describe as a 'secular rasta'. The other members of his sound system Ital Lion also dress in the style of either rastas or rude boys. At the beginning of Babylon, Blue has a respectable job at an auto garage, but a confrontation with his racist supervisor leaves him unemployed. This is the first of a number of set-backs experienced by Blue throughout the film, some personal, others structural. Like Tony in Pressure, Blue develops an increased sense of racial consciousness from his experience of racial oppression. The racial abuse from Blue's boss is followed by assault and arrest at the hands of racist plain-clothes police officers who try to stop him for simply looking 'suspicious'. 7 The film depicts a series of confrontations with the racist White working-class residents of the council estate opposite the railway arch where Ital Lion keep their sound system. This conflict escalates over the course of the narrative and upon returning from a night out, Blue finds that the sound system has been trashed and the walls of the lock-up daubed in racist slogans, swastikas and National Front emblems.
After the vandalism has been discovered by the rest of Ital Lion, their White friend Ronnie arrives at the lock-up only to be told by sound system member Beefy that 'his kind' is responsible for the damage. Ronnie protests in the reggae argot that he uses throughout the film, only to be head-butted by Beefy who tells him, 'don't talk fucking black, white man'. Everyone but Blue leaves the lock-up while Ronnie is still on the ground nursing his broken nose, with Blue making no move to help. Dressed in the porkpie hat and 'Harrington' jacket of the 2-tone subculture, Ronnie's presence in the film points to the overlap between Black and White working-class youth subcultures explored by Hebdige (1976Hebdige ( , 1979. Earlier in the film, Ronnie and Blue had even reminisced about their school days together as skinheads. Blue's rejection of his friendship with Ronnie is presented as a failure of multi-racial society -where Ronnie was once integrated seamlessly into Blue's social group through a mutual love of reggae, the racism of other Whites has made their friendship untenable. In the scene that follows, Blue is seen walking to the council estate and confronting one of the suspected vandals. The estate resident then unleashes a torrent of racial abuse upon Blue, who stabs him. The film's finale shows Ital Lion carrying out a millenarian reggae sound system performance as the police gather outside. The film closes with the crowd barricading the doors to the club as the police come charging forward, suggesting an escalation into full-blown conflict as Blue tells the crowd to 'stand firm' and repeats the refrain 'we can't take no more of that' to a heavy reggae beat. The work of White writers/directors Franco Rosso and Martin Stellman, White producer Gavrik Losey and White photographer Chris Menges (Walker, 1985), Babylon reflects the White interest in Black culture that also characterised the CCCS approach. 8 It also continues the tradition of social realist filmmakers looking to oppressed and subordinate groups' culture for inspiration. Co-written by one of the authors of nostalgic mod rock opera Quadrophenia, Babylon was positioned as a movie about youth and class rather than one about race. When the film was released, its producer Gavrick Losey told Film and Filming that while the film's cast was predominantly Black, this did not 'separate it from other stories about poor kids pouring their hearts and souls into making music as a way out of the slums' and told Time Out that 'it's not a black movie' (quoted in Shaw, 2012: 82). While I agree with Shaw that this was likely a way of tempering Babylon's racial politics in order to sell it to White audiences, Losey's statement does not seem entirely disingenuous. There is a long history of British White working-class youth subcultures identifying with Black culture (Hewitt, 2002) and Babylon was produced at a time when reggae was being championed by White punks. Most famously, the reggaeinfluenced Clash celebrated the Black 1976 Notting Hill Carnival rioters in their song 'White Riot' (Gray, 2004(Gray, [1995; Letts, 2008). As a film about rude boys, Babylon really is a 'youth movie'. Newland (2010) and Savage (2008) compare it to other subcultural music films like Rude Boy (1980) and Breaking Glass (1980) that show Britain in a state of crisis and decline.
Babylon celebrates the independence and vitality of the London reggae scene, echoing the CCCS' interest in the politics of style and its analysis of reggae as 'cultural resistance'. The expressiveness and joy of the sound system clash and reggae dance contrasts with the characters' day-to-day experiences of exclusion, racism and boredom. The film's sub-text is clear: reggae is a response to the oppression experienced by Black working-class youth living in what Babylon's rasta cleric calls 'second Babylon'. This resonates with Hall et al.'s description of the rasta subculture in Policing the Crisis: In and through the revivalist imagery of the 'dreadlocks', the music of the dispossessed and insistent, driving beat of the reggae sounds systems came the hope of deliverance from 'Babylon'. The 'culture' of the back-to-Africa sect, the Ras Tafari is crucial here; both in Brixton and in Kingston, in recent years, it is the dress, beliefs, philosophy and language of this once marginal and despised group which has provided the bases for the generalisation and radicalisation of black consciousness amongst sectors of black youth in the cities: the source of an intense black cultural nationalism. It is this 'religion of the oppressed', as embodied in the rhythm and imagery of reggae, which has swept the minds as well as swayed the bodies of young black men and women. (1978: 357) As if scripting Babylon's final scene, Hebdige describes the sound system as 'a precious inner sanctum ' (1979: 38) where 'an exclusively black audience would "stare down" Babylon, carried along on a thunderous baseline ' (1979: 38). Babylon emphasises the central role of the sound system in its characters' lives, showing them assembling it, using it and mourning its destruction ( Figure 2). The sound system is presented as a sort of subcultural totem, matching Willis' (1978) depiction of the motor-bike in Profane Culture. Willis describes how subcultural totems function as vessels for subcultural meanings and attitudes, performing an expressive function that make them 'increasingly the form of cultural, everyday life, for underprivileged groups' (1978: 61, italics his).
Throughout the film, Blue develops a radical racial consciousness and becomes increasingly drawn to the church of Rastafari, with Babylon portraying rude boys and rastas as a sort of political vanguard of Black working-class youth. As Cashmore (1984) notes, the rastas fit the mould of the other spectacular youth subcultures in that they were mostly young, drew their inspiration from music and had a collective identity and a style of dress that was both distinctive and cohesive. The main difference was that the rastas could be truly considered an oppositional subculture in their response to racism and policing. Writing on rastas and rudies, Hebdige describes 'a trend away from the undirected violence, bravado and competitive individualism … towards a more articulate and informed anger ' (1976: 146). In Policing the Crisis, the CCCS researchers refer to British Rastafarianism as 'the seeds of an unorganised political rebellion' (Hall et al., 1978: 357-358), 'the ideological point of origin of a new social movement amongst blacks ' (1978: 357) that 'rereads the culture of oppression from "the roots" up as the culture of suffering and struggle, every activity touched is given a new content, endowed with a new meaning ' (1978: 357). Just as it is portrayed in the film, the reggae culture of South London is described in Policing the Crisis as the staking out of a 'political battleground ' (1978: 358).

Bloody Kids
One of director Stephen Frears' more obscure films, 1979's Bloody Kids is a good example of the sort of realist film that was screened on British television during the 1970s. Due to economic and structural constraints affecting the British film industry during that decade, television became the medium of choice for Britain's best-known directors and producers (Auty, 1985). Because of its mass audience, television became, in the words of Raymond Williams, the main site for bringing 'the working class to the centre of dramatic action ' (1977: 67). Guaranteed revenue-streams meant that serious, challenging and often radical work was produced for television in the 1970s and 1980s (Fitch, 1989;Rolinson, 2010). For directors like Fears, television was the path to cinematic success (Goodridge, 2012;Park, 1984;Street, 2009). While Bloody Kids mixes in film noir elements to surrealist effect (Johnson, 1986), Frears works in the realist tradition (Allison, 2007) and Babylon's photographer Chris Menges provides Bloody Kids with a formal realist aesthetic. Described by James Saynor as 'a highly fevered piece of social commentary about young drop-outs rampaging through the night-time public spaces of Southend' (1993: 7), Bloody Kids extends dramatic narrative to the working-class youths who were the object of analysis in CCCS subculture research. Known, in his own words, for 'scruffy, anti-establishment films' (Goodridge, 2012: 94), Frears was yet another director to look to working-class culture for authenticity (Littger, 2006). Allison (2007) sees Bloody Kids as indicative of Frears increasing politicisation, with its dystopian vision of a town centre overrun by bored teenage delinquents and a public infrastructure crippled by labour conflict and under-investment.
Bloody Kids follows two 11-year-old boys as a pretend stabbing goes awry, sending one boy (Leo) to the hospital and the other boy (Mike) on the run from the police. Mike ends up falling in with a gang of punk rockers and their leader Ken takes him under his wing for a long and eventful night of mischief and mayhem. Mike and Leo are too young to be fully fledged members of any particular youth subculture, but they dress in the snorkel parkas, monkey jackets and boots that had 'defused' (Clarke, 1976a) from the mod and skinhead subcultures into the mainstream of 'ordinary' working-class kids (Clarke et al., 1976). Although Ken tells off a group of punks in a cafe for looking like 'last year's record cover', he and his friends are all punk rockers themselves. Mike accompanies his new teenage friends to a disco, crossing the threshold of adolescence into a liminal world full of alcohol, girls, amphetamines and New Wave music. Like Pressure, Bloody Kids depicts the disco as vibrant and exciting. This contrasts with the New Wave films' denigration of commercial leisure practices in the same way that the CCCS' interpretation of leisure practices contrasts with Hoggart's. Willis enthuses, 'For all the shit, there is a freedom in the market, on the streets, in the pubs and in the dance halls ' (1977: 5).
Paul Corrigan states in Resistance through Rituals that 'the main action of British subculture is, in fact, "doing nothing" ' (1976: 103), arguing that the minor delinquency of working-class youth is a response to this pressing problem of boredom. Bloody Kids similarly approaches petty delinquency as an 'imaginary solution' to the problem of boredom. Boredom and alienation are core themes in Bloody Kids and the film is full of scenes where we see youths getting up to no good for lack of anything better to do: stealing a policeman's hat, vandalising hospitals, pulling smoke alarms and so on. When Leo is caught marking hospital walls, the policeman asks him, 'what do you think you're doing?' to which Leo responds, 'I was bored'. Similarly, Ken's gang of punks roam around the town, from milk bar to disco to shopping precinct, looking for anything that will alleviate the boredom of off-season in a seaside town. The punks' juvenile delinquent leader Ken complains bitterly of boredom. Violence is depicted as a response to this boredom in both the CCCS approach and Bloody Kids. Corrigan explains that fights '… arise out of Saturday's "Nothing" rather than any territorial or group factor on its own. … If these fights were real, the streets of British cities would be littered with corpses' (1976: 105, italics his). Willis (1977) similarly describes 'having a laff', which includes fighting, as an antidote to boredom. Frears paints town-centre violence in much the same way, with Ken leading his group of punks into a late-night scuffle with a group of youths they spot at the other side of the shopping centre ( Figure 3). For all the jeering and posturing, this is a playful response to teenage boredom in which no-one really gets hurt.
In its depiction of the school-life of working-class kids, Bloody Kids is reminiscent of Paul Willis' (1977) Learning to Labour. This ethnography describes how the 'counterschool culture' of Willis' 'lads' works to reproduce their subordinate class position.
Willis nonetheless admires the creativity of 'the lads', who create their own culture against the rules and expectations of the dominant culture. Willis describes an opposition to school culture 'expressed mainly as a style. It is lived out in countless small ways which are special to the school institution, instantly recognised by the teachers, and an almost ritualistic part of the daily fabric of life for the kids ' (1977: 12). Bloody Kids shows the counter-school culture that Leo and Mike create as they ignore teachers with what Willis would describe as an 'aimless air of insubordination ready with spurious justification … impossible to nail down ' (1977: 13). When confronted by a teacher over marks made on the school walls, Leo readily admits to the vandalism. When told that he is going to wipe the marks off, Leo cheekily replies, 'It's very hard to get off sir its indelible', exhibiting the sort of ritualistic, stylistic opposition lauded by Willis. Willis argues that the 'counter-school culture' demonstrates an awareness of class domination that is potentially radical because of the challenge it poses to the dominant ideology. This political aspiration goes some way in explaining why scholars and radical filmmakers alike found creativity and resistance in the sort of hostility to authority and petty vandalism depicted in Bloody Kids.

Made in Britain
The celebration of Leo, Mike and Ken's 'Badges of Half-Formed, Inarticulate Radicalism' (Waters, 1981) in Bloody Kids is taken a step further in Alan Clarke's 1982 television film Made in Britain. Unlike most of the social realist directors, Clarke was from a working-class background (Kelly, 1998) and although he was not as doctrinaire in his socialism as some of his peers, Clarke was ardently anti-establishment (Kelly, 1998;Schuman, 1998). In a 2000 documentary about Clarke, Stephen Frears explained that Clarke was drawn to television because it told the story of 'ordinary working-class people' (Alan Clarke: His Own Man, 2000). Park describes Made in Britain as a work of 'documentary-style realism ' (1984: 17) and argues that it is a high-point of television film. It tells the story of Trevor, a 16-year-old racist skinhead sent to an assessment centre prior to sentencing for the crime of putting a brick through the window of a South Asian-owned shop. The film follows Trevor as he gets into a series of often violent confrontations with various figures of authority including a judge, a job centre clerk, an assessment centre cook, a social worker and a policeman. Early on in the film, Trevor's social worker hands him off to the assessment centre, where he befriends a 15-year-old Black youth named Errol. While under the centre's care, Trevor smashes the windows of the local dole office (Figure 4), assaults the cook and gets locked up in solitary confinement. Then, along with Errol, Trevor destroys his files in the records office, urinates on the filing cabinet, steals a van and proceeds to throw bricks through the windows of a South Asian family's house.
Trevor's friendship with Errol is an uneasy one, and at the end of the film Trevor turns on him. Trevor's racism speaks to the popularity of the National Front among workingclass youth (and skinheads in particular) during the 1970s and 1980s (Brake, 1980;Cashmore, 1984;Frith, 1981;Pryce, 1979). Yet the audience is invited to sympathise and identify with Trevor, not as a racist but as a rebel. Tim Roth, who plays Trevor, explains that while Clarke would have hated Trevor's politics, the idea was to show Trevor as an intelligent individual with agency (Kelly, 1998). Where members of the skinhead subculture had, in Roth's words, only been depicted as 'marauding idiots' (quoted in Kelly, 1998: 144), Made in Britain shows Trevor as an individual with his own voice. In this sense, Made in Britain carries on the Birmingham School project by turning attention to perhaps the most marginal of youth subcultures. Made in Britain's writer David Leland explains that the film was part of a series of films about victims. This instalment was intended to show an 'active victim' who, while trapped by their circumstance and poor life chances, would not go down without a fight (Leland, 2007). A highlight of the film is a long monologue delivered by the assessment centre's superintendent wherein he explains to Trevor that he is doomed to a life of crime and unemployment. The scene makes it clear to the viewer that Trevor's inchoate anger, violence, vandalism and racism are what the CCCS would term an 'imaginary solution' to the experience of alienation and oppression caused by the intersection of Trevor's age and class position.
Leland also describes how he identifies with Trevor and 'his wonderful sense of survival ' (2007). Asked about the violence in the film, Leland replies, 'I think the violence Trevor indulges in is the violence of the time ' (2007). This is a rhetorical dodge worthy of the CCCS. As the critics of the CCCS approach have pointed out, this kind of 'heroic' reading of subcultures is highly problematic, revelling in subcultures' superficial rebelliousness while failing to take subculture members to task for their racism and sexism (Calluori, 1985;Clarke, 1990;Waters, 1981). In Made in Britain, Trevor's racism is glossed over, much like the original 1960s skinheads of Clarke's (1976b) analysis. Their 'Paki-bashing' and 'Queer-bashing' are described as 'the ritual and aggressive defence of the social and cultural homogeneity of the community against its most obviously scapegoated outsiders' (Clarke, 1976b: 102). Such was the CCCS researchers' faith in their theoretical framework that even these reactionary and contradictory aspects of subcultures could be explained away as 'magical' attempts to solve the problem of class subordination. That which did not fit with the CCCS scholars' description of a working-class vanguard was dismissed by recourse to the notion of 'false consciousness' (Clarke, 1990;Cohen, 1980).
Trevor uses the sort of racist language that Willis describes as being simply part of the everyday language of both the bikers (1978) and 'lads' (1977) in his ethnographies. Willis is unfazed by his research subjects' sexist language, a limitation of Willis' work highlighted by McRobbie (1980). She argues that because the CCCS researchers like Willis were young, male and veterans of the 1960s counter-culture, they were much more likely to identify with their research subjects than critique them. The Birmingham School scholars related to the objects of their study through common interests such as rock music, motorcycles, football, drinking and drug-taking. Their celebration of these activities led them to gloss over oppressive aspects of adolescent masculinity, privileging those subcultural spaces in which males were dominant. This left the CCCS scholars oblivious to the ways in which patriarchy made spectacular aspects of subcultural activity, such as hanging out in the street, riding scooters, fighting and experimenting with drugs, more difficult for girls. This sort of uncritical identification with subculture members and inherent masculinist bias characterises all of the films discussed in this article. As in the CCCS subculture research, female characters are marginal if not invisible in these films (McRobbie, 1980;McRobbie and Garber, 1976). While the CCCS may have ignored female subculture members, there were original female teds, mods, skinheads and so on, with their own feminised take on subcultural ensembles (see Ferguson, 1982;Rawlings, 2000). Yet only Bloody Kids, with its female punks, includes female subculture members. Even here, their role can be described as marginal at best. Otherwise, women appear only briefly in the four films discussed here, and only as one-dimensional love interests or family members. All four films celebrate rebellion, delinquency and working-class leisure in masculine and homosocial formations characterised by aggression, violence and casual sexism. Babylon has the dubious honour of being the most uncritical in this respect. When Blue suspects that his girlfriend Elaine has been out with another man, he grabs her roughly and threatens to hit her. The film presents this as nothing more than a spot of 'girl trouble'.

Other youth subculture films
In its focus on a particular type of subculture film, this article has omitted a number of subculture films that are worth mentioning here. The earliest sustained narrative about youth subcultures is Bronco Bullfrog (1969). Like the films discussed in this article, it employs a New Wave aesthetic (Glynn, 2014). While the film pre-dates CCCS work on subcultures, its depiction of youth territoriality and delinquency in London's East End is evocative of The Paint House (Daniel and McGuire, 1972), an ethnography of an East London skinhead gang that is rooted in the pre-CCCS critical criminology tradition (Blackman, 2005). Employing real-life members of the post-skinhead 'suedehead' subculture as actors (Leggott, 2010), Bronco Bullfrog's mode of production was similar to the collaborative approach taken in The Paint House, which was co-authored by the skinheads it studied. Bronco Bullfrog's influence can be seen clearly in Quadrophenia (1979), a film whose realist but mainly nostalgic depiction of 1960s mods kick-started the mod revival. Frith and Horne (1987) have documented the art school impetus behind punk, and punk's avant-garde tendencies are seen in the bricolage aesthetics of Derik Jarman's 1978 punk dystopia Jubilee and Julian Temple's 1980 Sex Pistols mockumentary The Great Rock 'n' Roll Swindle (Huxley, 1999;Monk, 2014). Other subculture films of the punk era such as the Clash film Rude Boy (1980) and the Madness film Take It or Leave It (1981) use elements of realism but mix them with the conventions of the British 'pop music film' (Glynn, 2013;Kiszely, 2012). While Take It or Leave It features a warts-and-all depiction of working-class skinhead and 2-tone youth, one would be hard-pressed to locate any sort of political critique in this film. Rude Boy, on the other hand, invests CCCS-style political meaning in the subculture of its punk rock subjects. Finally, Ken Loach's Looks and Smiles (1981) is set to a backdrop of youth discos and punk rock, and its treatment of youthful working-class alienation has much in common with the four films discussed in this article. However, its narrative revolves around the sorts of 'ordinary' working-class youths that the CCCS is critiqued for ignoring (Clarke, 1990;McRobbie and Garber, 1976).

Conclusion
In this article I have detailed some of the ways that Pressure, Babylon, Bloody Kids and Made in Britain echo the canon of British cultural studies through their depiction of working-class youth subcultures. These films are not meant to be taken as a 'comprehensive, homogeneous description of the mindset of society' (Tarancón, 2012: 463), but they do reflect discourses at work among British radicals and filmmakers during the 1970s and 1980s. These films show that it was not just British cultural studies scholars who saw youth subcultures as a radical response to an experience of oppression shaped by age, class and race. The fact that these films demonstrate the same critical flaws as the CCCS research can help us contextualise some of the Birmingham School scholars' oversights and theoretical excesses. Perhaps this might encourage us to be a little more forgiving as well. Both the work of the CCCS researchers and these films should be recognised for their achievement in bringing pathologised working-class youth into cinematic and scholarly focus.
Pointing out the confluences between these films and canonical subculture studies also provides us with a useful resource as educators. While it may have seemed really hip and 'right-on' to integrate mods and rockers into the curriculum 35 years ago, young people today are unlikely to be familiar with canonical youth subcultures, especially as British cultural studies is so nationally specific (O'Connor, 1989;Wright, 1998). British working-class youth subcultures figure into discussions of a wide range of subjects from fashion theory to critical criminology to popular musicology, but these discussions are meaningless if students have no idea what a rude boy or a skinhead is. All the films discussed in this article are highly evocative of both the CCCS approach and the sociohistorical context from which it emerged. While they may be very-much products of their time, the books and movies discussed here remain highly relevant. The continued demonisation of British working-class youth groups like chavs (Jones, 2011) and hoodies (Ruddock, 2008;Wayne et al., 2008) and the youth riots that swept across England in 2011 suggest that we still have much to learn from the 1970s.

Funding
The author(s) received no financial support for the research, authorship and/or publication of this article.