Following the discussion of English holiday camps sparked by The Toff Goes to Butlin's, I became intrigued by the concept. After some online research I took Paw Broon's suggestion and viewed Holiday Camp, a 1947 feature released by Gainsborough Pictures. Much of the film was shot on location at Butlin's camps. It provides a fascinating glimpse at what, to my American eyes, looks like another planet.
The movie is an odd mixture of drama and comedy, following the intersecting lives of several vacationers. The central figures are the working-class Huggett family (Huggett, not Hoggett; there are no talking pigs) Rubbing elbows with them are gamblers, a middle-aged spinster looking for meaning in her life, an unwed mother, even a serial killer. The story is okay and the acting is good. Viewers liked the Huggetts so much that they spun off into three more films.
I looked up Holiday Camp on IMDB and scanned the reader reviews. Most were what you'd expect: plot synopses, opinions about the production, and reminiscences from people who'd been to Butlin's. I was brought up short by one entry, a diatribe of astonishing bitterness glorifying the Huggett family and decrying how "six decades of Social Progress" have destroyed their world:
"The Huggett family [was] deeply rooted in working-class culture, decent, God-fearing, patriotic, proud of their place in society and secure and optimistic about the future for both themselves and their country. 60 years later their descendants, hedonistic, alcohol-fuelled, violent, stain their country's reputation in countries their great grandfathers helped to free from the very sort of nihilism they display."
The comment is written with such ferocity that I had to wonder what the world did to this fellow that he should end up so thoroughly miserable. Anyway, social progress aside, Holiday Camp demonstrated some curious cultural differences.
The first thing that struck me is how "communal" (for lack of a better word) the camp was. The idea of paying a fair amount of money to spend a week sharing a bedroom with a randomly-assigned stranger is incomprehensible to me. Maybe in 1947 there were also such arrangements in the USA. I can't say because I hadn't been born yet. On the whole, though, Americans always like to keep a perimeter around themselves. Consider the Butlin's meal arrangement. Everyone eats at the same time in a huge hall, the diners sharing tables with people they don't know. Over here that might happen if every single table were occupied, but it would make for an uncomfortable meal. More than likely one would sit outside and wait for a table to open up.
Group activities seem to have been a big deal. The campers gather for calisthenics on the beach. The whole gang celebrate their vacation's end by dancing through the camp in a huge conga line. Speaking of huge, the camp's population is enormous! At one point someone says there are five thousand people in attendance. That's a thousand more than lived in my home town.
One final item caught my eye: the buttcycles. They look like ordinary bicycles, but they aren't powered by feet turning pedals. Instead your feet are planted on stationary pegs and you propel the vehicle by pumping your posterior up and down. It looks terribly uncomfortable.