This film occupies a significant stage of Hancock's life and career - the moment it all went wrong. His first post-Galton and Simson project has gone down as the moment when hubris ran rampant and he fatally cast himself adrift from the totems that had secured his success. Hancock probably thought that a distinguished writer such as Philip Oakes was a step-up from Ray and Alan, but the art of TV comedy writing is a very difficult, considerably underestimated one. Galton and Simpson benefited from the break with Steptoe and Son but Oakes, and the others who followed, could not help but subliminally be influenced by their writing of the East Cheam buffoon, only - like those who followed Eddie Braben writing for Morecambe and Wise - their version was a shallow facsimile of the sparkling original that took the catchphrases but none of the depth or understanding. Whereas THE REBEL should nowadays be regarded as a minor classic of Britfilm comedy and a worthy glass display case of a considerable comic talent at the top of its game, THE PUNCH AND JUDY MAN is an interesting misfire. One can clearly see that Hancock was aiming for a more cinema verite style of comedy away from the Astrakhan coat and phrases like "stone me!". But the tone varies too much and the overwhelming sense of melancholy overwhelms the proceedings - especially when viewed in hindsight. Some gags are astonishingly vulgar and crude for the Lad Himself - the flowers up the china pig's orifice and the two-fingered salute. The scene with the boy in downing the ice cream sundae is worthy of Chaplin, but the one where Hancock dances about in the street and inadvertently wanders into a lingerie shop looks too much like inspiration running dry and devising a visual set-piece for the film's trailer. Elsewhere, the annoying of the Yaks with the hatches in the restaurant is a sequence that catches fire but the bread roll throwing at the finale falls flat (why not go the whole hog and use custard pies?

Instead of playing the overreaching buffoon with ambitions beyond his reach, Hancock played a character content with his lot in life - however trivial. He works well with Sylvia Syms and his comedic talents had yet to be irretrievably ruined by booze and his mental turmoil. But, even in the midst of the squalor that his later life became, it was impossible to dislike him and once can only respect the Lad Himself for attempting to broaden his horizons.

John LeMesurier later recalled this as both the happiest and the saddest film he ever made. Happy because filming in Bognor was such a pleasure; sad because of the untimely deaths soon afterwards of several of the cast, LeMesurier citing Mario Fabrizi, Walter Hudd and, of course, Tony Hancock himself. (Although Sylvia Syms happily is still with us; her stock as an actress having risen considerably in recent years.)

While it's glossier, brasher predecessor 'The Rebel' had been the boxoffice hit - and more than half a century after Hancock's death remains the better-known of his two big screen vehicles - Hancock himself had dismissed it as "a fake thing". Despite 'The Punch and Judy Man's dismal boxoffice performance and mauling by the critics (which makes it still more melancholy to contemplate), Hancock felt a special affection for it and it's stature is assured for those that care.

Beautifully photographed by veteran cameraman Gilbert Taylor for Hancock's own company MacConkey productions. It's obvious everybody involved cared about the film; perhaps a bit too much, since the straining after effects is a bit too obvious. But you haven't lived till you've dropped into The Igloo for a Piltdown Delight.