Latest news with #AlecGuinness
Yahoo
2 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
The 13 Most Captivating Prison Movies We've Ever Seen
These prison movies are captivating. Get it? Some of the best movies are actually movies about life on the outside, where the prison represents the mental traps imposed on us by society, or our own fears. Other prison movies are about very real prisons, built for the deserving and innocent alike. Related Headlines The 13 Best SNL Sketches in 50 Years of Saturday Night Live The 12 Strangest Movies We've Ever Seen Why We Spent Our Wedding Fund Making Our Horror Movie, Sight Unseen Here are 13 you'll find hard to escape. An early entry in the subgenre of women behind bars prison movies, John Cromwell's Caged is about a married 19-year-old (Eleanor Parker) who is locked up after a botched bank robbery in which her husband is killed. Hope Emerson plays sadistic prison maven, Evelyn Harper, in a story that reveals that prison may be the most corrupting influence of all. The film was nominated for three Oscars. Is it a prison movie? Or a war movie? We would say it's both — David Lean's The Bridge on the River Kwai is a movie that never does what you expect. Set in a Japanese prison camp in Thailand, the film portrays a battle of wills between captured British P.O.W. Colonel Nicholson (Alec Guiness) and his captor, Colonel Saito (Sessue Hayakawa). Saito demands that Nicholson and his troops build a railroad bridge over the River Kwai, which leads to questions of ethics and honor, and how to maintain your humanity while in captivity. It was the most successful movie at the box office in 1957, and deservedly won seven Oscars, including for Best Picture. It's one of those 1950s movies that is both a classic and a joy to watch. One of the greatest prison movies, this Clint Eastwood film was the star's fifth and final collaboration with Dirty Harry director Don Siegel. In fascinating detail, it imagines the circumstances of a real-life escape from the supposedly escape-proof Alcatraz Island in 1962. Eastwood plays the real-life prisoner Frank Morris, whose whereabouts have been unknown since that chilly night in the early '60s. He'll turn 98 this year, if he's still around. The FBI's investigation into the escape remains open. You knew this was coming, so we're putting it in this gallery nice and early. One of the most beloved films of recent decades, and pulled from the same Stephen King story collection, Different Seasons, that also spawned Stand by Me and Apt Pupil, The Shawshank Redemption is a story of refusing to surrender your soul. Tim Robbins stars as Andy Dufresne, a banker sentenced to consecutive life sentences in the killings of his wife and her lover. He befriends Ellis "Red" Redding (Morgan Freeman) — and hatches a plot to dig his way out, while hiding the hole in his cell wall behind a poster of Rita Hayworth. It's one of the best prison movies and one of the best movies, period — IMDb ranks it No. 1 on its list of the Top 250 Movies of all. Paul Newman is transfixing as the title character, a man of few words (and hardboiled egg gourmand) who refuses to bend to the cruelty of his Florida prison camp. Strother Martin, as the captain of the camp, earned a place on the American Film Institute's 100 Years... 100 Movie Quotes for this monologue that begins, "What we've got here is failure to communicate." Guns N Roses fans will also recognize it from the opening of the band's "Civil War." The third film in a series of hit independent prison movies written and directed by Jamaa Fanaka, Penitentiary III is extremely worth watching for the Midnight Thud fight alone. Oh, you don't know about the Midnight Thud? Thud is the toughest fighter in the prison, a powerful little person (played by Raymond Kessler, aka the WWE's Haiti Kid) who delivers one of the most captivating fight scenes ever committed to film when he faces off with our protagonist, Too Sweet (Leon Isaac Kennedy). Also, this is the first of two films on this list to feature the great Danny Trejo. He plays See Veer. Trejo is one of the murderer's row of stars who turns up in Con Air, a prison-on-a-plane movie in which Cameron Poe (played by Nicolas Cage, looking incredibly cool) takes on a whole plane full of felons when its Cyrus "The Virus" Grissom masterminds a hijacking. This is one of those movies that — if you haven't watched it in a while — will have constantly saying, "He's in this, too?" The cast includes John Cusack, Steve Buscemi, Ving Rhames, Dave Chappelle, and many, many more. Some people argue that this doesn't belong on a list of prison movies because the characters are on a plane. But as anyone who's ever flown a middle seat in basic economy can attest, planes can be prisons. Steve McQueen leads an all-star cast playing POWs who heroically escape from a Nazi prison camp in this classic, heavily fictionalized story of British POWs' escape from Stalag Luft III during World War II. Among the concessions to commercialism: sprinkling three Americans into the action. Thanks goodness McQueen's Captain Virgil Hilts was there, or else who could have pulled off that spectacular motorcycle sequence (above)? And now, a prison movie from the other Steve McQueen — the masterful British director whose film 12 Years a Slave won the Best Picture Oscar in 2014. His directorial debut, however, was Hunger, in which his frequent collaborator, Michael Fassbender, plays Bobby Sands, a real-life member of the Provisional Irish Republican Army who led an IRA hunger strike and took part in a no-wash protest behind bars. Hunger is a brutal, hypnotic film that skillfully captures the day-to-day dehumanization of the prisoners. Another grim prison saga that was also the directorial debut of a great filmmaker, Clemency stars Alfre Woodard as a prison ward trying to unemotionally do her job — which includes overseeing the death of a young inmate, Anthony Woods (Aldis Hodge) who maintains his innocence. Many death-penalty films lecture their audiences (who may have already opposed the death penalty), but Clemency writer-director Chinonye Chukwu does not: She just lays out the facts of the situation, with as much restraint as Woodard's warden — until emotions eventually make their inevitable break. This is a wise, patient film that sidesteps preaching and Hollywood hokum in favor of a very chilling, very human story. On the lighter side, The Longest Yard is a sports movie crossed with a prison movie... and a comedy. The film stars Burt Reynolds as a hard-driving, hard-hitting now-incarcerated former NFL quarterback who is tasked by a nasty warden with assembling a team of prisoners to play against the guards. How do you think that works out? Edward Norton stars as a savage white supremacist, Derek Vinyard, who realizes in prison that all of his beliefs are misguided. 'In one deeply allegorical scene, he learns that a Black fellow inmate, Lamont (Guy Torry) received a harsher sentence (six years) for stealing a TV than he received for killing two Black men (three years). In another crucial scene, he learns that the prisons Aryan Brotherhood is just using white supremacy as a facade to manipulate hopeless, uneducated people and wrest power for its leaders. A very different look at prison life, released in the same year as The Longest Yard. We aren't going to claim this low-budget Roger Corman production, also known as Renegade Girls, is a great film. But it is the debut of a very great filmmaker: writer-director Jonathan Demme would go on to make Silence of the Lambs, one of the best films of all time, and to repay Corman for his confidence by casting him in the role of FBI Director Hayden Burke. Silence of the Lambs was also shot but Demme's go-to cinematographer, Tak Fujimoto, who also shot Caged Heat. Caged Heat is a cheap exploitation flick, sure, but it contains some Demme hallmarks: strong female protagonists, a strong sense of empathy for the characters, and social consciousness. A 1975 New York Times story on the rise of "trashy" midnight movies concluded that it "does not set new standards of cheapness, violence or grossness, as most midnight movies seem determined to do. It is a film about women in prison that offers little more than some zippy music, a lot of bosom shots and a perverted prison doctor." High praise from the paper of record. Maybe the best example of the women-in-prison subgenre, The Big Bird Cage is a follow-up, but not a sequel, to 1971's The Big Doll House. It's most notable for a cast that includes the great Pam Grier, as well as horror icon Sid Haig as a radical named Django. Both Grier and Haig also starred in The Big Doll House, though they played different characters. Shot in the U.S. and the Philippines, The Big Bird Cage documents the liberation of a prison camp where women are kept barefoot and scantily clad as they're subjected to hard labor. Even without ever hearing him talk about it, we're confident Quentin Tarantino has some big opinions on this one. Like Caged Heat, it came from the wonderful Roger Corman's New World Pictures, because of course it did. You may also like this list of the 15 Movie Con Artists We Fall for Every Time. Some of them end up in prison. You might also like this list of Gen X Movie Stars Gone Too Soon. Main image: A promotional image from The Big Bird Cage. New World Pictures. Related Headlines The 13 Best SNL Sketches in 50 Years of Saturday Night Live The 12 Strangest Movies We've Ever Seen Why We Spent Our Wedding Fund Making Our Horror Movie, Sight Unseen
BBC News
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- BBC News
Oxford exhibition to showcase John le Carré archive
An exhibition celebrating bestselling spy novelist John le Carré will feature his annotated manuscripts and personal will go on display at the Bodleian Libraries in Oxford on 1 October, offering a glimpse into the Dorset-born author's writing process and personal Carré, whose real name was David Cornwell, wrote acclaimed novels including Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold, and The Night Manager. He died in 2020 aged son, author Nick Harkaway, said holding the exhibition - titled John le Carré: Tradecraft - at the Bodleian felt "like a homecoming." "Oxford took my father in when he was desperate to escape his own father's malign influence and kept his place when he couldn't afford it," said Mr Harkaway."The Bodleian was his refuge then and his choice for his archive now."The exhibition will include research notes, drafts and corrections from le Carré's novels, alongside original sketches, watercolours and letters to fans and the highlights is a letter from actor Sir Alec Guinness, who questioned his suitability to play George Smiley — le Carré's best-known character — writing that he was "not really rotund and double-chinned". The author persuaded Guinness to take the role in the BBC adaptation of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, which aired to critical acclaim in the late display spans le Carré's life, from his time as an Oxford student to drafts written in his final weeks, with some material being shown publicly for the first was curated by le Carré's longtime collaborator Prof Federico Varese and Dr Jessica Douthwaite, with support from the author's a joint statement, the pair said the exhibition would uncover the author's "researcher's spirit, commitment to understanding real-world problems, meticulous attention to detail and working relationships". You can follow BBC Oxfordshire on Facebook, X (Twitter), or Instagram.
Yahoo
4 days ago
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
Alec Guiness letter to be displayed in Oxford for John Le Carre celebration
An exhibition celebrating best-selling espionage author John Le Carre is due to open in Oxford showcasing the writer's annotated manuscripts and letters to friends. Le Carre, whose real name was David Cornwell, wrote spy novels including Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, The Spy Who Came In From The Cold and The Night Manager and died in December 2020 aged 89. The exhibition, titled John le Carre: Tradecraft, will feature research, drafts and corrections for his books as well as original sketches, watercolour paintings and letters to fans and friends. Among them is a letter from actor Sir Alec Guinness which questioned his suitability to play George Smiley, Mr Le Carre's best-known character, in which Sir Alec wrote that he was 'not really rotund and double-chinned'. The author successfully convinced Sir Alec to accept the role in the TV series of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, which aired in the late 1970s to considerable acclaim. Prior to his career as a writer, Mr Le Carre worked in British intelligence throughout the 1950s and 1960s. READ MORE: Film versions of Mr Le Carre's novels include 2001's The Tailor Of Panama, starring Pierce Brosnan, Geoffrey Rush and Jamie Lee Curtis; 2005's The Constant Gardener, starring Ralph Fiennes and Rachel Weisz; and 2011's big screen version of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, starring Sir Gary Oldman, Colin Firth and Tom Hardy. The display at the Weston Library in the Bodleian Libraries will include material that spans Mr Le Carre's time as an Oxford student to drafts written in his final weeks, and is the first time some of the archive will be displayed publicly. It was curated by Mr Le Carre's collaborator and friend Professor Federico Varese and Dr Jessica Douthwaite with the support of the author's family. READ MORE: Nick Harkaway, author and son of Mr Le Carre, said: 'Oxford took my father in when he was desperate to escape his own father's malign influence and kept his place when he couldn't afford it. 'The Bodleian was his refuge then and his choice for his archive now. It feels like a homecoming.' The Weston Library. Picture: David Fleming In a joint statement, Professor Varese and Dr Douthwaite, said: 'Longstanding fans of Le Carre and those unfamiliar with his books will be equally excited by this original exhibition of his writing methods. 'Le Carre's researcher's spirit, commitment to understanding real-world problems, meticulous attention to detail and working relationships are uncovered in an engaging and colourful review of his life and career.' The exhibition's title plays on the term 'tradecraft' which Mr Le Carre used to describe techniques of espionage, but may also be applied to his own craft as a writer and social commentator, organisers said. It is due to open on October 1 until April 6, 2026.
Telegraph
05-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Telegraph
Steve Coogan on Peter Sellers: ‘Selfish, narcissistic – and a genius'
My agent has a sign above his office desk. It pictures a jaunty, smiling man with a speech bubble which says simply, 'Remember, don't be a c---.' A simple piece of advice, which Peter Sellers seems to have never heeded. An emotional tornado of talent caused havoc to all who crossed his path. Tortured genius or spoilt narcissist – depends on your point of view. There is a school of thought that says there is an inherent dysfunction that goes hand in hand with clowning. I've sometimes been compared to the troubled, funny man. It's usually meant as a compliment but makes me feel uneasy. I can't think of any of his brilliant performances without thinking of the cost to other people. And he was brilliant. At his best in I'm All Right Jack or Dr Strangelove, and as his most successful character, Inspector Clouseau, he flew. A perfect combination of intuitive ability to inhabit these absurd but recognisable people with the technical skill honed from years in his craft, trying to emulate his heroes, Stan Laurel and Alec Guinness although even Guinness would find his way into the crosshairs of Sellers's sniper rifle, or more accurately, blunderbuss. Sellers. Shall we call him Peter? It might help him a bit. Peter took the well-worn path through ENSA, which produced a welter of British talent which dominated through the heyday of radio and onto television in the 1960s and 1970s. It's easy to forget that radio was an intrinsic part of the fabric of British life. Before the internet, before video recorders or even audio cassette recorders were available to mere mortals, the only way to catch your favourite show was to be next to the wireless (radio, the original wireless), or for me, sitting in front of the television, when your favourite show was broadcast, and The Goon Show was a favourite for everyone. Arriving at the end of rationing and sober post-war austerity, it was like punk rock in a world of bland pop. Anarchic, disruptive avant-garde, but with enough silly voices to make it popular and inviting. A television in every household was still a decade away and radio could command the kind of audience figures which have all but vanished for any broadcast entertainment today. I caught the tail end of the pre-digital age when I arrived at the BBC in 1991 with my own radio show. We recorded the first series of Knowing Me, Knowing You with Alan Partridge at the Paris Studios in Lower Regent Street, London. As I stood at the microphone performing my comedy character in front of a live audience (they laughed, by the way!), I remember seeing images of the Goons lining the walls, often pictured huddled around that iconic BBC microphone. I remember inviting the ghost of Sellers to haunt the studio where he had recorded The Goon Show and bring us luck. I'm still performing that character 34 years later, but that first show, surrounded by those images of Sellers, has stayed with me. Standing on the shoulders of giants. I was too young by a good 20 years to have heard of the Goons, but as fortune would have it, my dad was a great fan, he owned a handful of the shows on vinyl along with Bob Newhart, Shelley Berman, and Mel Brooks. Later additions, courtesy of my big brothers , were Monty Python, Billy Connolly, Jasper Carrott and Mike Harding. As a child in the early 1970s, I didn't fully understand the content but understood the comedic power of funny voices and how they make people laugh. By this time, of course, Peter was an international film star and the Pink Panther films were at the height of their success. My memory of him at that time is of the slim, tanned, denim-clad, happy, shiny guest on the BBC's Parkinson. He seemed to bear no relation to the black-and-white photograph of a slightly podgy short-back-and-sides demob fella looking back at me from the record cover. How could he exist in two worlds? And yet, he did. Looking back, he seemed to step effortlessly from the monochromatic, joyless, overcast world of the 1950s and into the warm Kodak glow of the late 1960s, of Twiggy, the longer-haired Beatles and, err, 'sexual liberation'? He left the old world and joined the new. He appealed to everyone, a classless, joyous sophistication. He made comedy glamorous as well as funny. He seemed to have everything an adolescent boy would see as the key to a happy life – money, fast cars, beautiful women, cool clothes, a bit of bounce to the hair, probably expensive aftershave, and always smiling. But... is there a but? Yes, I'm afraid there is. Peter spent a lifetime thinking you could find contentment and peace by accessorising yourself into the kind of image you would see in a glossy magazine advert. He swapped his soul for stuff. Lots of stuff. Perhaps he thought if there was enough shiny stuff, the light would drown out the darkness. But it was never quite shiny enough. Like a petulant, spoilt child, Peter never learnt how to behave. I blame the parents. He was selfish, narcissistic and by all accounts a terrible father. On one occasion he returned home with a brand-new Bentley only to find stone chips on the paint work. Witnessing his father's displeasure, his five-year-old son, Michael, found a tin of house paint and dutifully painted over the blemishes. On discovering this clumsy attempt to please his father, Peter proceeded to smash all of his son's toys. The kindest thing you can say about this repulsive behaviour is that he was mentally ill. Certainly, today it is easy to see his behaviour as sociopathic. He wrought havoc on all those he encountered on both a professional and personal level. Women he saw as an acquisition, children an inconvenience. He passed on his dysfunction to his widow, Lynne Frederick, a talented actress who never really recovered from her encounter. And there are countless other tales of woe, recounted in Roger Lewis's forensically insightful biography. He never learnt that happiness comes from being a functioning human being. From understanding that kindness, unconditional love and the generosity of the human spirit are where contentment lies. But the darkness in his soul is what saves him, because he did have a soul. You see it even now in his performances. The inadequacies and failures of his greatest roles betray a loneliness, a poignancy, that lies at the heart of all great comedy. There are so many sublime moments where Peter captures the comedic tragedy of human existence. We literally cry with laughter, that guttural, visceral noise we make as an audience, a crowd of strangers. Shining a light on the human condition we seem to know each other clearly for a second, then suddenly the light fades and we forget what it was that we saw. These moments save us from ourselves. I suppose what I mean to say is that we all like a laugh. And so did Peter, he just wasn't very nice. But when the damage he inflicted and all the bad feelings become fading memories, his comic genius will remain with us, immortalised. Perhaps the best way to remember him is to think of him in those early days. The young man, at the Grafton Arms pub in London, meeting with his comedy friends, before the fame, the money, and the adulation, creating and sharing. Laughing. The Life and Death of Peter Sellers by Roger Lewis, updated with an introduction by Steve Coogan (Quercus, £30), will be published on July 3 Peter Sellers – his five greatest roles By Alexander Larman 1. Lionel Meadows, Never Let Go (1960) There are plenty of roles in which Sellers played it relatively straight, but the only certifiably villainous part he played was as Lionel Meadows, a crooked car dealer, in this gritty slice of late Fifties-set London pulp noir. The film itself is nothing particularly unusual, but Sellers' performance is a fascinating exercise in malevolence and nastiness. He'd played other buffoonish baddies before, in pictures such as The Ladykillers and (gloriously) the strident shop steward in I'm All Right Jack, but it was as Meadows that he turned his gift for observation and imitation inside out. According to his then-wife Anne Howe, Sellers went 'full Method', becoming a brooding and even violent presence at home. The unlovely results are up there on the screen. 2. Clare Quilty, Lolita (1962) The first of Sellers's two collaborations with Stanley Kubrick was only a supporting role – he's on screen a total of around 10 minutes – but his appearance as the vainglorious paedophile Humbert Humbert's nemesis is still one of his finest achievements. Kubrick understood that Sellers was not just a master of disguise but someone who buried what little identity he had under make-up, accents and costumes, so casting him as a fundamentally empty – and deeply sinister – figure was both logical and near-genius. 3. Dr Strangelove, Dr Strangelove (1964) Sellers famously played three parts in his second Kubrick film (and was supposed to play a fourth, as Coogan did on stage, but injured himself beforehand). He's excellent as the hapless stiff-upper-lip British RAF officer Lionel Mandrake, and hilarious as the incompetent US President Merkin Muffley, trying vainly to placate his drunken Russian counterpart. Yet it's his wheelchair-bound former Nazi Dr Strangelove, forever attempting to frustrate himself from giving stiff-armed salutes, that makes for the film's most memorable character. As with many of the roles Sellers played, it's very funny, but very creepy too. The most iconic moment of all, when Strangelove, revitalised by the prospect of imminent nuclear war, stands up and shouts 'Mein Führer, I can walk!' has been imitated and parodied many times, but never to the same effect as here. 4. Inspector Clouseau, The Pink Panther Strikes Again (1976) Sellers's best-loved character is, of course, the accident-prone, wholly impervious Inspector Clouseau, whom he played in five pictures. Any of the films in which Clouseau appeared could be included on this list, save perhaps the first in which he is very much a supporting part to David Niven's suave cat burglar, but for my money, the giddy, mounting hilarity of Sellers' penultimate turn in the part cannot be beaten. Ignore the relatively thin plot, in which Clouseau's insane boss Dreyfus tries, and fails, to murder his nemesis, and revel instead in some of cinema's finest pratfalls. The other great Pink Panther film is the second, A Shot In The Dark, but this one just pips it. 5. Chauncey Gardiner, Being There (1979) It would have been wonderfully fitting for Sellers's greatest-ever performance to have been his last, but unfortunately he went out with the rather less distinguished The Fiendish Plot of Dr Fu Manchu instead. For all that, Sellers's appearance in Hal Ashby's unforgettable black comic satire as the simple-minded Chance the gardener, aka 'Chauncey Gardiner', whose gnomic words of horticultural advice are taken up as incisive nuggets of philosophical wisdom, is not just the best thing that he ever did on film, but one of the finest performances any actor has ever given. He should have won an Oscar for it.
Daily Mail
04-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Daily Mail
Are my two Star Wars Jawa figures from 1978 worth £60,000? DAN HATFIELD replies
I have two Star Wars Jawa figures from 1978. I've had them in my cupboards at home for years and it wasn't until recently that I saw headlines that informed me figures like mine were going for a fortune. Some were sold for £20,000 others seemed to be sold for nearly £30,000. What do you reckon mine are worth? SCROLL TO THE BOTTOM TO FIND OUT HOW TO GET YOUR MODERN TREASURE VALUED BY DAN Dan Hatfield, This is Money's expert valuer, replies: In a galaxy far, far away…specifically, a toy shop in Cheltenham - which, granted, might not be the Outer Rim, but does often feel a little like Tatooine. That's where our story begins. Not in space. Not in a rebel base. But somewhere between the Scalextric aisle and a display of Airfix glue that definitely wasn't age appropriate. It's 1978. Star Wars fever is sweeping the UK, and a child walks out with not one but two small plastic Jawa figures. When Star Wars first hit British cinemas in 1977, nobody, not even George Lucas himself, could have predicted what was coming. The special effects were groundbreaking, the storytelling was classic good vs evil, and Alec Guinness was probably wondering what on earth he'd signed up for. But the real genius wasn't just in the film. It was in the merchandise. Here's where it gets interesting. The film studios thought the toy rights were a sideshow, or as we would call it today a side hustle. Lucas disagreed. He kept them. And what followed was a marketing supernova. It wasn't just a movie anymore, it was a lifestyle, a universe almost as big as the one portrayed in the films was being created in toy form. Children didn't just watch Star Wars; they recreated it, relived it, expanded it in living rooms and school playgrounds across the globe. Sale figures were astronomical. For example between 1977 and 1978, Kenner, the American producer of the toys, sold over 40million action figures, generating around $100million, a staggering return on their modest initial investment of about $100,000. Fast-forward 35 years, and Star Wars toys had generated around $12billion in total retail revenue, with current annual sales estimated at $2–3billion Star Wars merchandise overall, including toys, books, games, and collectibles, has brought in a colossal $29billion contributing to a total franchise revenue exceeding $46billion. Now let's talk about the little robed fellow himself. The Jawa, in cinematic terms, isn't exactly central to the Star Wars saga. He gets little screen time and is seen scuttling around the desert in a giant metal sandcrawler, kidnapping droids and muttering in a language that sounds like someone dropped a toaster in a bath. He doesn't get a backstory, a lightsaber, or even a proper name. On paper, he's background noise. But in the toy world there is a certain incarnation of him that makes him one of the rarest and most sought after toys ever known to man. In the UK, Star Wars toys weren't made by Kenner, they were licensed to Palitoy, a long established and well respected British toy company. Palitoy had already brought us Action Man and the talking Dalek, so they knew their way around a toy line. Their Star Wars figures were nearly identical to the American versions but with subtle differences in packaging, materials, and manufacturing. Differences that, decades later, would send collectors into hysterics. One such item was the Jawas that you suggest you have. With their vinyl cape they are very rare indeed. So why the vinyl cape in the first place? Palitoy wanted to save as much money as possible when creating their toys. To make the Jawa feel more 'substantial' without spending more dosh, they cut a corner: instead of giving him a proper fabric robe, they wrapped him in a vinyl cape — basically a sheet of plastic with arm holes. It looked vaguely cloak like, and crucially, it was far cheaper to produce than sewing tiny cloth garments. But the illusion didn't quite work. Next to other figures with soft goods capes, the vinyl looked stiff, cheap The toy didn't feel 'premium' enough to justify the price. Additionally there were concerns of the vinyl posing as a choking risk. Hardly any of these toys made their way to shops before they were pulled, no announcement, no reissue, just a quiet pivot that most kids didn't notice at the time. In their place, a Jawa with a cloth cape appeared. How rare are Star Wars Jawa toys? Bearing all this in mind just how rare are these little figures? Well actually extremely rare indeed. Estimates vary, but it's believed only a few hundred Palitoy vinyl-caped Jawas were ever made. Fewer still survive. Some collectors suggest there may be fewer than 30 carded examples known to exist worldwide today — and even fewer in original, sealed condition. Loose versions are slightly more common, but the cape is notoriously fragile and often went missing within weeks of being opened. So when a Palitoy vinyl-caped Jawa turns up, especially one with its original card, bubble, or even just the cape still intact. collectors pay attention. Amazingly, you have two of them. Honestly, when I first read your email, I assumed it was a hoax. I thought, 'No one just stumbles across two vinyl-caped Jawas.' But I poured over the photos, studied the cards they come with, carefully examined the waffle like texture on the inside of the capes, and, after some very satisfying detective work, I had to conclude, quite happily, that you do indeed own two of the rarest toys ever produced. How fortune smiled on you that day in Cheltenham. You, fists full of coins, marching into a toy shop with all the excitement a small child could muster, and walking out with a character so obscure he barely registered on screen. And yet, here he is: a little plastic Jawa. Now, before we crack open the champagne let's take a breath. How much are the toys worth? I've seen from your photos that the packaging has been opened. The figures you've seen selling for eye watering prices at auction £20,000 even £30,000, are ones that remain sealed, untouched, time capsules. Please don't berate yourself. What child in 1978 would have thought to keep a toy in its packaging? (Well, I might have, but I was an odd on, I was born a collector, even if I didn't know it yet.) You, on the other hand, did exactly what you were supposed to do. You played with your Jawa. You enjoyed it. You gave it the life it was intended to have. Although, to be fair, if you hadn't, you might be looking at an extra £60,000 in the bank right about now. Also, you've misplaced the blaster that originally came with it, which, unfortunately, doesn't help your case either. So, with all of that in mind, just how much are your two Jawas worth? Taking into account the opened packaging, the missing weapons, and general condition, I'd value each one at somewhere between £1,000 and £1,500. That gives you a potential combined windfall of around £3,000 , which, for two tiny plastic scavengers, is still pretty astronomical. Now, I know you might be feeling a little disappointed. Actually, scratch that, probably very disappointed. You've seen the headlines: 'Rare Star Wars figure sells for £30,000!' And here I am telling you it's worth a fraction of that. But let's put it in perspective: according to the original price sticker still proudly clinging to the card, you paid 99p. So that's a return of roughly 150,000 per cent. You may not be retiring to a private island in the Outer Rim just yet, but you can take satisfaction in the fact that a dusty old toy from a Cheltenham childhood has earned you a tidy little sum, and a great story to tell Send in your Modern Treasures Dan Hatfield is This Morning's money-making expert and resident pawnbroker. He is an international specialist in antiques, jewellery, diamonds and collectibles. Dan's first non-fiction book, Money Maker: Unlock Your Money Making Potential is available now. This is Money's Modern Treasures column is after your items and collections for valuations. Please send in as much information as possible, including photographs, to: editor@ with the email subject line: Modern Treasures We're after post-War items only please and we may contact you for further information. Dan will do his best to reply to your message in his bi-weekly column, but he won't be able to answer everyone or correspond privately with readers. Nothing in his replies constitutes regulated financial advice. Published questions are sometimes edited for brevity or other reasons. As with anything, if you are looking to sell items and collections, it is wise to get a second and third opinion - not just rely on Dan's suggestions.
