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This chapter examines the changing attitudes of the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) towards film censorship since the 1990s, focusing on how it dealt with the cinema of the new extremism. By looking at the BBFC's response to Gaspar Noé's Seul contre tous (France, 1998) and Irréversible (France, 2002), the chapter argues that the BBFC eventually distanced itself from the concept of censorship towards a policy based on ‘classification’ and the principle that adults should be free to choose their own viewing (provided it does not contravene British law). It also revisits what happened between the BBFC's cutting of images of explicit sex in Seul contre tous, a film that can be considered part of the ‘first wave of the new extremism’, and its decision to release Irréversible uncut just four years later. The chapter concludes by declaring that the release of Seul contre tous and Irréversible heralded the emergence of a new form of provocative European cinema that coincided with the beginning of an increasingly open, accountable, and liberalised form of film censorship in Britain.

This chapter states that the Video Recordings Act and the ‘extreme pornography’ provisions of the Criminal Justice and Immigration Act 2008 need to be understood as measures that transcend matters of narrow party policy. It then elaborates what kinds of material are still likely to find themselves cut from films, and more particularly DVDs, in contemporary Britain, even in the adults-only ‘18’ and ‘R18’ categories, and, more importantly, explain the reasons behind such acts of censorship. Sexual violence is a theme that has continued to preoccupy the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC), and is one of the most common reasons for cuts at the ‘18’ and ‘R18’ levels. 2009 saw the passing of the Coroners and Justice Act, sections 62 to 68 of which criminalise possession of what is termed a ‘prohibited image of a child’.

This chapter discusses how the succession of events surrounding the British censorship of The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) is perhaps one of the longest in the annals of the British Board of Film Classification's (BBFC) history. Before the film was submitted for classification at the then titled British Board of Film Censors, Chain Saw Massacre had already garnered a growing global reputation as being one of the most frightening films ever made. While this would seem to imply that such a film would be statured in scenes of graphic violence and bloodshed, this imposed status for Chain Saw came about from the very fact that there was so little violence and gore within it. Instead, audiences and critics were affected by the film's sheer emotional intensity, experiencing the horrific events, almost in real time, alongside protagonist Sally Hardesty. With the majority of films across all genres, such a reputation serves only to stimulate an increased audience curiosity and anticipation, potentially indicating larger audience figures (and therefore larger financial return) on the film than initially expected. Indeed, Chain Saw was eagerly anticipated but its most effective quality would impede its UK cinema release for nearly twenty-five years.

This chapter presents the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) being bullied by Associated Newspapers to restrain it into banning David Cronenberg's Crash, and to encourage local councils to do likewise. It specifically demonstrates how the Daily Mail and its stable-mate the London Evening Standard signally failed in their campaign to get Crash banned from cinemas nationally. Alexander Walker charges the film of ‘promulgating a perverted creed’. He is simply making the classic mistake of assuming that whatever a film shows it also endorses. The inclusion of Crash in the London Film Festival gave the Mail and Standard the opportunity to pressure the BBFC before it had had a chance to classify the film. Crash was a huge critical and commercial success in France. Westminster Council renewed its ban on Crash soon after.

This chapter illustrates the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) trying repeatedly to liberalise its guidelines relating to ‘R18’ videos, and being prevented from doing so by the then Home Secretary Jack Straw. The story of the ‘R18’ began in 1982. The differences between Section 2 and Section 3 proceedings under the Obscene Publications Act (OPA) are explained. Bernard Williams' unwillingness to recommend that sex shops should be licensed had by 1987 been amply justified. The combined efforts of Customs and the Home Secretary brought to an end the trial liberalisation period. The Makin' Whoopee! was passed by the Video Appeals Committee (VAC). It ‘may offend or disgust but it is unlikely to deprave or corrupt that proportion of the public who are likely to view it’. Straw ultimately failed to bend the BBFC to his will makes the existence of those powers no less disturbing.

This chapter explores why the Video Recordings Act (VRA) looks set to be a permanent feature on the statute book. A draft Video Recordings Bill was notified to the EC on 10 September 2009. The British Video Association urged its members to continue submitting DVDs as normal to the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC). The Secretary of State for Culture, Media and Sport played the role of ‘intervener’ with the result that the Obscene Publications Act is abolished. ‘Harm’ is defined in the context of media legislation. It is argued in this chapter that the VRA should simply be abolished hook, line and sinker. As far as film and video censorship in contemporary Britain is concerned, the message from the political class continues to ring out loud and clear: there is no alternative.

This chapter discusses an interview with James Ferman. John Trevelyan has close relations with many British film-makers, frequently advising them on censorship matters before and even during production. Ferman puts the public first, and is more concerned with basically moral questions than was Trevelyan. The Video Recordings Act requires that virtually all videos currently on the market be classified within the next three years. Despite the fact that there have been no prosecutions of British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) certificated films for many years, Ferman is keen to discount suggestions of a ‘gentleman's agreement’ between the Board and the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP). The DPP has to consider who is likely to view videos taken into the home. Ferman is equally determined to reject the suggestion that the ‘video nasties’ affair (and the Video Recordings Act) was greatly facilitated by a new crusading spirit in the DPP's office.

This chapter assesses the censorship travails of Ken Russell's The Devils (1973) and the various versions of the film which have appeared on both big and small screens. The Devils is a film which, in the main, has not been well looked after since it debuted in cinemas in 1971. For the most part, the various versions of the film which exist are inextricably linked to its censorship history. The film has spent much of its life being squeezed on both sides, as both internal and external censorship have played their part in altering Russell's vision. This was not the first time a film had had its wings clipped by both Warner Bros. and the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC), as a similar fate had previously befallen Performance (1970). Trying to compare various releases really is an onerous task, as running time—even when frame rate is taken into account—is no reliable guide, given that cuts can be made via substitution and transfers can happen at wonky speeds, plus there are the vagaries of distributor logos and so on. However, one can run through the film's main incarnations on the big screen, and also look at some of the home-video options that are out there.

This chapter draws on a 2005 study sponsored by the British Board of Film Classification to evaluate the ways in which real audiences (not audiences artificially assembled for purposes of a laboratory-like ‘test’) make sense of and respond to watching sexual violence on screen in extreme cinema. It argues that such an endeavour is imperative because it challenges the widespread tendency to make general predictions regarding the ‘ways in which films might affect audiences’. Looking at the different responses that Critics (those who reject the film) and Embracers (those who engage with it) had to the violent ending of Catherine Breillat's À ma sæur! (France, 2001), the chapter concludes by arguing for the importance of heeding the ‘rich and complex’ ways that Embracers engage with films, noting that we need as film scholars to learn how to learn from them rather than falling back onto generalised predictions about the figure of the spectator.

The first part of this book investigates the origins of the Video Recordings Act 1984 (VRA), and situates these firmly in the moral panic about ‘video nasties’ which started in 1981. The second part looks at how the Act was interpreted in the second part of the decade, and at some of its consequences for the video industry. The next part examines how the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) interpreted the amended Act. The last part concentrates on isolating the kinds of material which the BBFC refuses to pass today even in the adults-only ‘18’ and ‘R18’ categories. It is noted that VRA helped cut and ban a remarkable number of videos. The BBFC gradually became liberal, but it is still extremely strict by continental European standards. The press played a key role in the censorship process. New Labour, when in power, was instinctively interventionist and dirigiste in social matters.

This chapter focuses on the reputation and reception of the Korean director Kim Ki-duk. Kim was a central figure in Tartan’s Asia Extreme brand, and the frustrated efforts of Tartan’s owner and general manager Hamish McAlpine to get Kim’s notorious The Isle (2000) released in the UK uncut, over the ruling of the BBFC, were themselves used to generate goodwill among fans and increased attention. This chapter considers the very specific construction of the Asia Extreme brand by examining Kim Ki-duk films released by Tartan both with and without Asia Extreme branding. Debates around animal cruelty and censorship are considered. Finally, the response of expert critic Tony Rayns to Kim’s increasing visibility is discussed as an expression of cultural anxiety over the changing status of Korean cinema in the West.

This chapter highlights that Juice was later separated for particular praise for its moral stance by the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC). It also explores the works on how the Board operated under the improved Video Recordings Act. The role of the press in the censorship process looms large in the Annual Report. The BBFC's pusillanimity in the face of newspaper campaigns against certain films, or certain kinds of films, is all the more puzzling since its report to Michael Howard actually contains some very useful snapshots of real public opinion properly gathered, and not populist ranting posing in the press as ‘public opinion’. Panics which the BBFC itself openly admits are ill-founded but which it treats as a symptom of ‘public opinion’ rather than dismissing them with the contempt such populist antics deserve.

This chapter presents an interview with Robin Duval. One of the difficulties with the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) throughout a large part of its history was that it left an awfully large space available for newspapers and others who were hostile to the Board to fill in their own interpretations. It is asked whether the Video Recordings Act simply mistake offensiveness for harmfulness. The only way in which to deal with films fairly is to start from first principles in terms of the way things are now. It is suspected that the ‘gentleman's agreement’ has been comprehensively forgotten by the Crown Prosecution Service. The chapter also mentions that the ‘R18’ affair had long been a running sore for the BBFC.

This chapter presents an update regarding film and video censorship five years after the establishment of the Video Recordings Act. It specifically describes the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC) Annual Report for 1988. This report stressed its ‘alleged potential for encouraging anti-social violence on the streets of Britain’. The BBFC cut violent material from fifty-four videos and seven films, a total of sixty-three minutes' screen time, in 1988. It was particularly preoccupied with the question of sexual violence, and general violence against women. It was also taken up with what it quaintly called ‘manners’. This turns out to be the problem of bad language. The chapter then investigates some of the issues raised in the Report I through a discussion with the BBFC Director, James Ferman.

This chapter demonstrates how difficult the British Board of Film Classification (BBFC)'s job was made by a press which repeatedly and shrilly insisted that videos somehow ‘caused’ crimes such as the murders of James Bulger, Suzanne Capper and Les Read, and by politicians who were all too easily panicked by such hysterical nonsense into a ‘something must be done’ mode. No causal links between Child's Play 3 and the Bulger and Capper murders were made. Most of the press simply recurred on repeating ad nauseam that there must be a link because ‘common sense’ demands it. The problem is all the more tricky when those ‘common sense’ assumptions concern the media. It is noted that when it comes to law-making in Britain today, it is not reason that prevails but the saloon bar pundits of the populist press and the braying mob on the floor of annual Tory Party conferences.