“It is strictly forbidden to use the shortcut!”

The early 1970s, eh? Never mind Spangles, The Bay City Rollers and Mr Benn (or whatever your cultural touchstone happens to be), let’s talk about schoolgirls. It was a time when people had peculiar views about this particular community. Even back then most people could agree that attacking them was wrong. That was pretty much a given. But lusting after them? Giving them a cheeky phwooarr? Copping a quick feel? Nothing wrong with that, surely. Even if you were a gurning 40-year-old man.

Tragic, I know. But not my fault, I was a toddler at the time and with the best will in the world, it was a bit early for me to be phwooarring anyone, and it’s unlikely anyone would be particularly bothered anyway, if the phwooarrer was a decade younger than the phwooarree. In fact, cards on the table here, I’ve never actually phwooarred anyone, even by accident. I’m now wondering if somehow I’ve missed out on something? But I suppose that something is probably only a kick in the balls by an annoyed young lady. If you, dear reader, have ever phwooarred anyone, I suggest you take a good hard look at your life.

So moving on, phallic symbols, eh? Get a load of that electricity pylon, standing proud like a big old metal willy and being given special prominence as the film starts. “Aha,” says the switched-on 21st century audience for whom schoolgirls aren’t a source of endless sexual fascination. “That pylon is clearly going to be an important part of the next 90 minutes. That and, one assumes, some kind of assault.”

Yup, here we are at what can yet again (much like the recently-reviewed Revenge) be called a “Carry On horror thriller”. Only this one ladles the Carry On-ness with an even bigger trowel (or massive tool, if you will). Clearly Sid James, Kenneth Williams, Joan Sym and Barbara Windsor were busy when Assault was shot, and we got, respectively, Freddie Jones, Tony Beckley, Suzy Kendall and Lesley-Anne Down, instead.

Add in some jaunty music, a lot of familiar-looking middle England locations and an assortment of suspiciously mature-looking “schoolgirls” wearing miniskirts, and the only surprise is that included in its myriad of given names (In The Devil’s Garden, Satan’s Playthings, Molested, The Creepers) no-one thought of calling it Carry On Targeting Young Girls. Or even, given its close association with the aforementioned Revenge (which came out first, from the same producer) Carry On Again Targeting Young Girls.

Into this world comes a post-school assault in nearby woodland, as one of the aforementioned “schoolgirls” (Down) gets attacked by us, the audience, in wonderful wobbly POV underneath the also aforementioned pylon.

Two months later the police are no nearer catching the attacker, although they have been pulling every “mentally subnormal” man in the area in for questioning. The victim, Tessa, isn’t helping at all as she’s selfishly withdrawn into a near catatonic state.

Cue another girl from Tessa’s art class deciding that two months is enough time wasted avoiding the shortcut through the woods, and we get a repeat of the first attack (complete with remarkably similar bra-groping).

Her teacher Miss West (Kendall) has piled the rest of the class into her funky(ish) Morris Traveller and they’ve gone to look for the errant girl, but are too late – this attack has ended in murder. Miss West spots the killer lit up by her brake lights, but doesn’t get a clear view and he escapes.

The police are called, and in a very 1971 way they completely ignore the upset witness whilst doing a lot of mansplaining to move the plot along.

And so, we get introduced to a lot of potential (male) suspects, most of whom are a tad seedy in some way and all of whom have a problem with boundaries. Put it this way – Miss West might be able to identify the killer, so she’s assigned some police protection. And even HE somehow manages to come across as a potential rapist. And then there’s Leslie Sanford (Tony Beckley), the husband of the school’s headteacher, who freely admits he has fantasies about raping the girls IN THE SCHOOL WHERE HE WORKS. Truly, the 1970s were a different time.

The local journalist (Freddie Jones) isn’t much better, seemingly under the impression that forcing his way into people’s homes and breathing chewing gum fumes all over them is somehow part of his job. And as for the assumed love interest for Miss West, he’s a bit full-on himself (“No ‘buts’, love – you’re coming”).

Luckily, the journalist is busy taking photos of all these prime examples of toxic masculinity (or as it was known in the 70s, “masculinity”). That’ll come in handy for a pervert mood board later on, I’m sure.

Miss West comes up with a scheme to set herself up as bait (Chief Inspector: “It’s crazy, absolutely crazy. So crazy, it might just work!” Fully deserving of his rank, that man), and she then gets a call from the killer trying to trick her back onto the common. THIS leads to a convoluted plan by Miss West and the police (a plan otherwise known as “just hide under this blanket”) which leads to her near-strangling-to-death.

Things carry on in this slightly hysterical vein, with everyone in the cast who owns a Y chromosome looking like they may be the murderer at some point. Further highlights include Frank Finlay’s astonishing put-down of Tony Beckley’s raping ability (personally I didn’t know this was something us men had to grade ourselves by) and a guffaw-inducing blink-and-you’ll-miss-it appearance by one David Essex.

Sorry, but I’m going to HAVE to expand on that for anyone who hasn’t seen it, because it’s just too good. No sooner has the casual viewer uttered the words “Hey, isn’t that David –“, than the future star of stage and screen explodes. Yup. Worth tracking the film down for that one scene, I’m sure you’ll agree.

Without wanting to spoil things too much (don’t worry, there’s a lot more going on I’ve just glossed over), the ending is fairly brilliant. And, as expected, is pylon-related. Full marks for the last shot, too – which has everyone witness the killer get their just desserts and then put their hands in their pockets and wander off.

So, if you want your worst fears about what the early 1970s were like utterly and conclusively confirmed, Assault is required viewing. Possibly on a double-bill with the equally bonkers Revenge.