The Man With The Gong

For years, the beautifully carved torso of the Rank Organisation Gongman, bashed the importance of cinema into my Sunday-afternoon-on-the-sofa head and left me clinging to its resonance. As he swung his arms lustily towards the gong, I was in no doubt of the power of the olden days. My! That man could kill tigers with his bare hands.

So, it was rather a disappointment to see the gong resting limply against a wall in The london Film Museum this weekend. Its papier-mâché frame looked as insignificant as the wall display of a jaded infant teacher. And a felt tip sign was stuck disrespectfully to one side, asking us not to touch.