The Phantom of the Open

 The Phantom of the Open

Maurice Flitcroft was a middle aged crane driver from Barrow on Furness. He was a respectable member of society, a pillar of his community, looked up to and respected for the man he was and always would be. Flitcroft was a man of simple tastes and clean living. He would clock on in the morning, climb into his vehicle and just earn a decent wage and living for his loving family. He wanted nothing out of life and just strove to be a good husband to his wife and two sons. There could never be anything wrong with that. Surely.

Then one morning he woke up, flung open the curtains and decided he needed something more out of life than the usual domestic routines from life. Our Maurice had harboured a lifelong ambition to take part in the British Open golf tournament. It was now that Flitcroft's expectations became far from realistic. Besides, it isn't every day that you suddenly change your career and just move off into a completely different direction. 

But that's what happened to Maurice Flitcroft. One day he switched on the TV and saw Tom Watson, the legendary American golfer, winning the British Open. How much more of an incentive does one need before picking up a set of golf clubs, woods and irons and striding across the fairways of Britain's finest courses? Flitcroft looked in wonderment at the sheer brilliance of Watson's golf, gasped for a moment or two and then started rolling golf balls into cups strategically situated at the other end of his living room. 

Here the story begins. Flitcroft's sons become passionately interested in disco dancing, entering innumerable championships. His ambitious wife to be amusingly suggests that all she wants from his husband are diamonds, champagne and the luxurious lifestyle of the rich and famous. But then the panama hatted Flitcroft buys the familiar golfing attire of chequered cardigan and gloves. Here began the first leg of Flitcroft's thrilling golfing odyssey. 

Late at night he ventures out into some lonely piece of woodland and proceeds to carve out an illustrious career in contented mediocrity. Flitcroft is determined to take part in the British Open but not before attracting the notoriety of becoming the worst golfer in the world. He digs out his driver before lumping and chipping out of the rough one single golf ball. He does so with an unashamed enthusiasm because he just thinks he isn't that bad. He will become renowned for his perseverance and he won't be deterred. TV comes calling. They can't stop me so he'll just battling away and defying the odds. The opposition from the top will just have to deal with Flitcroft's defiance because he isn't going away.  

Against the better judgment of all concerned, Flitcroft, a humble and unassuming type, remains undeterred. In some of the most hilarious moments of a quite joyous film, the man from Barrow in Furness participates in his first British Open. He then proceeds to plough his way laboriously around the fairways and bunkers with record-breakingly low scores of over 64 for the day. He then lands in the bunker where the ball just becomes a stubborn enemy to our Maurice. Your heart goes out to a man who, by his own admission, thinks there is a conspiracy against him and the world is just mean spirited.  

Flitcroft now becomes a figure of fun to all who come into a contact with him. The blazered members of his golf club and the authoritarian figures who think he's just a fool, combine to reduce the man to a quivering wreck. The two gentlemen who make up the Open organising committee tell our man to go home in no uncertain terms. But then Maurice sticks up two disdainful fingers at those in the know and keeps plugging away in the face of adversity. 

Then after constant rejection Flitcroft wanders sadly back to the shipyard and thinks that perhaps his future does indeed lie in heavy machinery work. His son, now established in senior management,  memorably lectures his father on the embarrassment he may have caused to everybody within the company. Flitcroft, by now battle hardened, then discovers a whole new audience in America. Appearing on TV chat shows, he insists that he quite clearly isn't the worst golfer in the world. Besides, if the likes of Jack Nicklaus or Tom Watson can appear at golf's blue riband tournament then so can he.

So it is that the very accomplished Mark Rylance cuts a brave and heroic figure with that admirable insistence that practice is the road to perfection. Our British commentator continues to pour forth cynicism and ridicule on Flitcroft. There then follow some glorious scenes towards the end of Phantom of the Open. Going under the French pseudonym of Gerard Hoppy and then some very glamorous, blond Jack Nicklaus figure, Flitcroft is rumbled by the Open organisers who, on a spying mission, notice a player out on the course whose amateurishness then betrays him, as he clumps his way out of a bunker.

In a classically funny scene straight out of the Keystone Cops, the local police force are summoned to arrest Flitcroft. Jumping into a golfing buggy with his fellow work mate, our scratch, novice golfer races away from pursuing cops. Once again our determined underdog escapes into the setting sun. It is a film of breath taking quality, a film that will infuse experienced movie goers with yet another slice of feelgood seconds and desserts.

 It is a BBC made film that will have you rolling around with good, old fashioned laughter. In the closing scene, we see original footage of the real Maurice Flitcroft interviewed by both American and British interrogators, still maintaining his natural golfing prowess and telling global TV that he isn't the worst golfer in the world. You found yourself wondering why there aren't any other Maurice Flitcrofts on the horizon. The world certainly needs more of his like. Let's hear it for the Flitcrofts.