The Italian Job. (PG.)
Directed by Peter Collinson. 1969
Starring Michael Caine, Noel Coward, Benny Hill, Raf Vallone, Tony Beckley, Margaret Blye, Irene Handl, John Le Mesurier, Fred Emney and John Clive. 99 mins. Back in Cinemas for Father's Day, June 16th. Also available on 50th anniversary Blu-ray/ DVD from Park Circus.
To my eternal shame and embarrassment, I walked out of this film as a child. I was about 6 or 7 and had thoroughly enjoyed Monte Carlo or Bust but was finding this second part of the double bill to be a bit of a chore being full of kissing and talking and no cars. Had my mum told me that there was a car bit, a very substantial and memorable car bit, towards the end I might have stuck it out. (A few years later I'd do the exact same thing to my favourite Bond film, On Her Majesty's Secret Service, deemed an inferior double-bill companion to Live And Let Die.) Now, of course, all that talky stuff is a major reason why this is such a treasured film, a beloved British institution.
It was made while England were still the World Cup holders - part of the plot is the use of an international football match with Italy in Torino the day before as a cover - and to the generation born after 1966 it's become something of a substitute, what we have to make up for not being around on the big day. Watching the final ten minutes, as the minis emerge from the drain system and board the bus to take them over the Alps to safety while Mr Bridger (Coward) accepts the acclaim of a prison full of inmates chanting England! England! produces a sense euphoric happiness that feels very much like a victory celebration. For 90 minutes England played a blinder and wiped the opposition off the pitch.
(Of course, they find a way to blow it in the end, but even that is tinged with hope, or at least a refusal to accept defeat.)
The first thing that should be said about the film is that it is, objectively, a fantastic film. Everything works: the music, the dialogue, the humour, the action and the performances are all exceptional. It's the variety that really impresses. The opening sequence in the Alps is beautifully shot by Douglas Slocombe (he'd go on to shoot many top films including Rollerball and the original Indiana Jones trilogy for Spielberg) and the Matt-Monro-sung Days Like These gives it a kind of Bond class. The British sequences are a celebration of British comedy tradition mixed with Swinging Sixties laddism. And at the end, there is this classic action sequence, the red, white and blue mini car chase that looks just as good now as it must've done fifty years ago.
So you have this glamorous international jet set crime drama filled with parochial English japes: the Royal family obsessed crime boss Mr Bridger (Coward) running his empire from his prison cell, Benny Hill being caught in the front room doing something with a net/Annette. Yes, we all love the only suppose to blow the bloody doors off line but I get as much pleasure from this exchange: Camp Freddie: So, Butch Harry, tell us about Fulham. Butch Harry: (sucking on his teeth) Well now, Fulham, bit dodgy at the moment.
It's a perfect summation of the swinging sixties, the new energy and optimism of youth working in unison with our sadder, repressed comedy traditions.
And linking it all is Caine at his most unstoppable. Look at him as he emerges from the cell, a big grin on his face and eyes darting from left to right, taking it all in, full of excitement and anticipation, ready for anything and desperate to get back into the swing. His Charlie Croker is a perfect London lad, as comfortable faced with a hotel room full of women in their underpants as he is with Irene Handel and her greenfly. He conveys threat and authority with his trademark slow measured style but just at often his line delivery is hesitant and filled with ums and ers. Plus, he does look great in the suits.
It is all a bit brexity, Michael Caine cheerleading a celebration of British invention, spirit and independence in which we calmly outwit a bunch of excitable foreigners. (Of course, it's the Italian job because nobody is as excitable and as foreign as the Italians.) The film is back in cinemas for Father's Day but it could also be seen as a morale booster for flagging Leave voters, a reminder of what it was all about. The difference is that they have a plan and one that will make Britain financially better off. Though if you think about it, the late Mr Beckerman's plan is perhaps not the elegant work-like-clockwork scheme it is sold to us as: it seems to involve the three minis having to play hide and seek with various Italian police cars and manipulating various large vehicles through the Turin traffic jam to be at exactly the right place at exactly the right time to ambush that security van full of gold. So, actually, it is more wildly over-optimistic piece of wishful thinking than cunning scheme.
We might also reluctantly point out that it is a bit racist too. This elaborate collaboration between straight and gay villainy, Benny Hill, much of England's travelling football fans and a girl, only falls down because of the actions of the only black man involved, Big William (Harry Baird.) Still, this deluded racist Brexit fantasy is one of the finest films this island has ever produced, an institution, the cinematic equivalent of Rodney and Del Boy dressed as Batman and Robin.
Directed by Peter Collinson. 1969
Starring Michael Caine, Noel Coward, Benny Hill, Raf Vallone, Tony Beckley, Margaret Blye, Irene Handl, John Le Mesurier, Fred Emney and John Clive. 99 mins. Back in Cinemas for Father's Day, June 16th. Also available on 50th anniversary Blu-ray/ DVD from Park Circus.
To my eternal shame and embarrassment, I walked out of this film as a child. I was about 6 or 7 and had thoroughly enjoyed Monte Carlo or Bust but was finding this second part of the double bill to be a bit of a chore being full of kissing and talking and no cars. Had my mum told me that there was a car bit, a very substantial and memorable car bit, towards the end I might have stuck it out. (A few years later I'd do the exact same thing to my favourite Bond film, On Her Majesty's Secret Service, deemed an inferior double-bill companion to Live And Let Die.) Now, of course, all that talky stuff is a major reason why this is such a treasured film, a beloved British institution.
It was made while England were still the World Cup holders - part of the plot is the use of an international football match with Italy in Torino the day before as a cover - and to the generation born after 1966 it's become something of a substitute, what we have to make up for not being around on the big day. Watching the final ten minutes, as the minis emerge from the drain system and board the bus to take them over the Alps to safety while Mr Bridger (Coward) accepts the acclaim of a prison full of inmates chanting England! England! produces a sense euphoric happiness that feels very much like a victory celebration. For 90 minutes England played a blinder and wiped the opposition off the pitch.
(Of course, they find a way to blow it in the end, but even that is tinged with hope, or at least a refusal to accept defeat.)
The first thing that should be said about the film is that it is, objectively, a fantastic film. Everything works: the music, the dialogue, the humour, the action and the performances are all exceptional. It's the variety that really impresses. The opening sequence in the Alps is beautifully shot by Douglas Slocombe (he'd go on to shoot many top films including Rollerball and the original Indiana Jones trilogy for Spielberg) and the Matt-Monro-sung Days Like These gives it a kind of Bond class. The British sequences are a celebration of British comedy tradition mixed with Swinging Sixties laddism. And at the end, there is this classic action sequence, the red, white and blue mini car chase that looks just as good now as it must've done fifty years ago.
So you have this glamorous international jet set crime drama filled with parochial English japes: the Royal family obsessed crime boss Mr Bridger (Coward) running his empire from his prison cell, Benny Hill being caught in the front room doing something with a net/Annette. Yes, we all love the only suppose to blow the bloody doors off line but I get as much pleasure from this exchange: Camp Freddie: So, Butch Harry, tell us about Fulham. Butch Harry: (sucking on his teeth) Well now, Fulham, bit dodgy at the moment.
It's a perfect summation of the swinging sixties, the new energy and optimism of youth working in unison with our sadder, repressed comedy traditions.
And linking it all is Caine at his most unstoppable. Look at him as he emerges from the cell, a big grin on his face and eyes darting from left to right, taking it all in, full of excitement and anticipation, ready for anything and desperate to get back into the swing. His Charlie Croker is a perfect London lad, as comfortable faced with a hotel room full of women in their underpants as he is with Irene Handel and her greenfly. He conveys threat and authority with his trademark slow measured style but just at often his line delivery is hesitant and filled with ums and ers. Plus, he does look great in the suits.
It is all a bit brexity, Michael Caine cheerleading a celebration of British invention, spirit and independence in which we calmly outwit a bunch of excitable foreigners. (Of course, it's the Italian job because nobody is as excitable and as foreign as the Italians.) The film is back in cinemas for Father's Day but it could also be seen as a morale booster for flagging Leave voters, a reminder of what it was all about. The difference is that they have a plan and one that will make Britain financially better off. Though if you think about it, the late Mr Beckerman's plan is perhaps not the elegant work-like-clockwork scheme it is sold to us as: it seems to involve the three minis having to play hide and seek with various Italian police cars and manipulating various large vehicles through the Turin traffic jam to be at exactly the right place at exactly the right time to ambush that security van full of gold. So, actually, it is more wildly over-optimistic piece of wishful thinking than cunning scheme.
We might also reluctantly point out that it is a bit racist too. This elaborate collaboration between straight and gay villainy, Benny Hill, much of England's travelling football fans and a girl, only falls down because of the actions of the only black man involved, Big William (Harry Baird.) Still, this deluded racist Brexit fantasy is one of the finest films this island has ever produced, an institution, the cinematic equivalent of Rodney and Del Boy dressed as Batman and Robin.
