Shot by the man who shot Get Carter.
Wolfgang Suschitzky photographed it in 1963 — eight years before Get Carter. The same unblinking eye, already out on the British street.

One of Britain’s great overlooked films — Soho, 1963, five hours and three hundred pounds. Seen whole, for one December night, in a room of fifty-five.
Sixty-three years on, The Small World of Sammy Lee looks like one of the finest British films of its decade — and far too few people have seen it on a screen. Four reasons it deserves one December night.
Wolfgang Suschitzky photographed it in 1963 — eight years before Get Carter. The same unblinking eye, already out on the British street.
The clubs, the caffs, the doorways, the East End — a London still patching itself up after the war, before it swung and long before it was sold.
Ken Hughes wrote Sammy for the BBC in 1958 — half an hour, Newley alone on screen. The film opens the door and lets him run.
What Kind of Fool Am I? took Song of the Year in 1963. He spent that year playing a man with nothing left — and gave the performance he should be remembered for.

The film is where it still stands.
Hackney boy, child actor, pop idol, Broadway writer, the voice a young David Bowie borrowed. Anthony Newley’s fingerprints are all over seventy years of popular culture — and somewhere along the way, his name slipped off the label.

Born in Homerton, East London, on 24 September.
Sixteen years old, in David Lean’s Oliver Twist.
Why and Do You Mind? — both top of the British charts in the same year.
The Strange World of Gurney Slade — six episodes of television so odd it is often called a forerunner of The Prisoner.
Writes it with Leslie Bricusse, directs it, stars in it. The West End, then Broadway.
Makes this film. Marries Joan Collins. Their daughter Tara is born in October.
The lyric for Bassey — and Feeling Good, written for The Roar of the Greasepaint.
David Bowie’s first album arrives wearing Newley’s voice — and Bowie said as much himself.
Pure Imagination and The Candy Man — and an Oscar nomination for the score.
Inducted into the Songwriters Hall of Fame.
Dies in Florida, aged sixty-seven. The songs never stopped.
Come up and find a seat. Fifty-five of them, every one close.
Jason Solomons opens the film up with Tara Newley and Mel Hughes — the picture, the man in it, and the man behind the camera.
Steve Furst sings Newley — a handful of the great songs, live, a few feet from your seat.
A short break before the lights go down.
The Small World of Sammy Lee, in full — 107 minutes, lights low, phones away, watched in company.
Heath Street in December, with Soho, 1963, still running in your head.
Part One — the story. Part Two — the picture, whole.
Film critic, broadcaster and author — former chair of the London Film Critics’ Circle
He leads the conversation — how the picture got made, why it slipped through the net, and why it still cuts.
Daughter of Anthony Newley and Joan Collins — born in October 1963, the year of the film
On the man on the screen — the performer, the father, and the Soho he carried with him.
Daughter of the director, Ken Hughes — who went on to make Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
On the film from the inside — the shoot, the streets, and the man who took a camera out into them.
Actor, comedian and Circle & Star’s artistic director — Little Britain, Matilda in the West End, Fagin in Oliver! at Leeds Playhouse
Then he sings Newley — the songs the man on the screen gave the world, in a room of fifty-five.


Sammy Lee has five hours to find three hundred pounds, or the men he owes will take it out of his hide. A Soho strip-club compère runs the length of his own small world — bookies, brothers, last favours — in Anthony Newley’s blistering race against the clock. The London nobody sent home on a postcard — all neon, nerve and borrowed time.
The week before Christmas. Heath Street lit up outside; Soho, 1963, on the screen inside. A conversation, a handful of Newley’s songs, and then the film — the whole of it, in company. We’d love you to be in the room.