Hanging With Frank

The last execution in Scotland was in December, 1960, at Barlinnie Prison, Glasgow. The official hangman came from England to do the job. Frank was a deathwatch officer, which meant he kept an eye on the condemned man, who was not allowed to be seen by the other prisoners. The entire cell block would be locked down when he went to the lavatory, for example. "I was quite sad to see it go," Frank says, meaning capital punishment.

He is a lugubrious character, hardly forthcoming and never cracking what is known as a smile. The rope was three quarters Italian hemp - what was the other quarter? Dundonian? - with calf leather round the noose so that it would feel soft on the neck. The weight of the body was carefully judged to avoid strangulation, or worse, the head snapping off.

The camera follows Frank into the derelict chambers where these acts were performed ("We could do three at a time in Barlinnie") and there is no sense of it, of what has happened here. The rooms are bare, desolate. The place has lost its breath, which sounds ironic, in the circumstances. Visually, nothing breaks the monotony of dumb walls.

Documentaries should have a rhythm, a pace, another voice behind the voice on the soundtrack, a reason for being. Hanging With has Frank, but he's not good company. Perhaps, he wasn't asked the right questions. There is a sadness, almost bitterness, about him, as if his emotions have been cauterised.

Where is the life in death? Not here, alas.