Sean Connery – The Magnificent 60s

Behind the Scenes: Sidney Lumet (“The Offence”, 1973) Talks Movies

There are plenty books about directors but remarkably few that explain with any coherence exactly what it is they do. Until now, the best book I’ve read upon the subject was by Edward Dmytryk, Oscar-nominated for Crossfire (1947) and shepherding home such triumphs as The Caine Mutiny (1954), Raintree County (1957), The Young Lions (1958) and more obviously commercial fare such as The Carpetbaggers (1964) and Mirage (1965). His book On Screen Directing covers every aspect, often with diagrams and instructions, of movie making.

Sidney Lumet takes a similar nuts-and-bolts approach in Making Movies. In turn, he focuses on the script, acting, camerawork, art direction, costumes, the actual shooting, dealing with rushes, editing, sound, and a vital element in the process that you’ve probably never heard of – the answer print.

Lumet has a heck of a portfolio. Five times Oscar-nominated, from debut 12 Angry Men (1957), through The Hill (1965), The Group (1966) and The Appointment (1969) and picking up the pace with The Anderson Tapes (1971), The Offence (1973), Serpico (1973), Murder on the Orient Express (1975), Dog Day Afternoon (1975), Network (1976), Equus (1977) and running through Prince of the City (1981), The Verdict (1982) and Family Business (1989) all the way up to Before The Devil Knows You’re Dead (2007).

The actual physical process begins in the rehearsal room, a “grungy” space in a big city. Key members of the production team will be present. The unit publicist will make a nuisance of themselves. Directors beware a star who arrives with an entourage. Sean Connery, with whom Lumet, made five pictures, arrives alone, bounds “up the steps two at a time, rapidly shakes hands all round, then plops himself down at a table, opens his script and starts studying.” Paul Newman couldn’t be more different. He “treads slowly up the stairs, the weight of the world on his shoulders, puts drops in his eyes, and makes a bad joke.”

But first, of course, came the script. In the best screenplays, “character and story were one and the same. I think inevitability is the key,” the idea that, without removing the element of surprise, the film will end up where the character’s actions insist.

Stars can ruin scripts. On The Verdict initial star Robert Redford’s insistence on changing the main character from a deadbeat drunk into someone more sympathetic had cost the studio a million dollars in scripts and rewrites before he exited the project and Paul Newman, perfectly happy to play an alcoholic, took his place.

Naturally, Lumet has beefs with critics and nowhere is that more heated than on their opposite definitions of style. Since critics don’t really know much about cinematic style, they’ll plump for the most obvious, something deriving from costume or period setting or some fancy camera gimmick. Lumet recalls no critic mentioning style in reference to Prince of the City, a movie he deems one of his most stylistic. Akira Kurosawa noticed it and talked to Lumet about it in some detail.

Lumet views stars as courageous. Called upon to reveal parts of themselves, or their bodies, it’s a never-ending series of demands on their skill-set. On the other hand, they can set out to test the director and make his life a misery. Like everyone else, he confesses to not knowing what makes a star, certainly appearance counts, but more often it’s more mysterious, some alchemy that jumps off the screen. But stars are well rewardd, as we know, but their perks can add substantially to the bottom line. In the 1990s one major star was getting an extra $320,000 in extras, which, in effect, cost the studio four times as much when taking into account how the box office take is broken down.

“Most actors have their best take early.” By Take 4 they’re given their best. But if something’s gone wrong, a faulty camera or light or someone coughing at the wrong time and they have to go again, actors are “emptied” and it can take several more takes to find the vital “refill.” Perseverance isn’t much fun when it takes 34 takes, as on The Fugitive Kind (1960), for Marlon Brando to get it right.

Camera tricks. At the end of 12 Angry Man, the camera was positioned higher and the lens wider. “The intention was to literally give us air, to let us finally breathe, after two increasingly confined hours.” Backlighting is “one of the oldest” devices used to make people look more beautiful. In The Hill, wide angle lenses were used to give the idea of character distortion. On The Deadly Affair (1967) “preflashing” made the backgrounds drab. The documentary feel of Dog Day Afternoon was enhanced by handheld cameras. Chiaroscuro achieved the “old” look of The Verdict.

When the movie starts shooting “the call sheet is our bible. If it’s not on the call sheet, we don’t need it.” But everything you do need, including actors, is itemized on the call sheet for each scene.

The answer print is the last element in the process. Before that can be created, the director calls in the guy from Technicolor. His job title is “timer.” In a darkened room, he watches the movie, relying on a counter beneath the screen. Reel by reel, he makes notes. “This shot is too dark, that too light, this too yellow, that too red,” and so on. Contrast, too, comes under the microscope. “Every scene, every shot, every foot of film is analysed.”

The Technicolor guy heads back to Technicolor where he sits in front of a machine called a “Hazeltine,” a computerized color analyser. “He feeds the negative into the machine and sees a positive image of the picture on a TV screen. Since electronic color is quite different from chemical color, his judgement is crucial.” He can vary the color balance or lighten or darken the image. Just as in photography, the positive stock moves into the chemical bath and the positive print emerges – the answer print.

It’s not as easy as it sounds. The director is looking for the lab to achieve the effects he requires. John Schlesinger had 13 attempts to get it right on Midnight Cowboy (1969).

The last job is to marry the sound track – known as the magnetic track – to the answer print.

That’s not the end of the story. The movie will be screened to a test audience and a report on dozens of points of detail produced. Maybe that will necessitate change – edits, a reshoot.

Then we get to see it without an idea of the effort it took to create.

SOURCE: Sidney Lumet, Making Movies, was published by Bloomsbury about 30 years ago. You should get a copy online easily enough.

Behind the Scenes: “The Offence” (1973)

“Vanity project” – two words to strike terror into the heart of a Hollywood studio boss. It meant some star or director had you over a barrel. In return for them condescending to make a movie for you, they expected you to fork out for a movie you knew would never make a dime. But, in this case, as far as United Artists was concerned, it was worth the risk if it that meant getting the Bondwagon back on track after the disappointing box office of On Her Majesty’s Secret Service (1969). It was a (relatively) small price to pay to get Sean Connery signing on for Diamonds Are Forever (1971).

There was still a financial downside. In the Connery deal, United Artists agreed to stump up two million bucks for two pictures. The actor would cost nothing, so that might be considered a bonus, Connery relying on the back end to recoup his fee and share of profits. But the movie would still need marketing and advertising, which might add up to another half a million dollars per picture.

Worse, this was what was known in the business as a “put picture.” According to director Sidney Lumet that meant the studio “had nothing to say about it. A budget was picked – and in this instance it was $1 million – and then whatever Sean wanted to do with that million he could do. They would have no approval of script, director, cast, what-have-you and that’s how The Offence happened.”

Connery wasn’t the first actor to think he knew better than the studio or who fancied backing his own judgement. That particular line went back to the silent days of Mary Pickford and Charlie Chaplin and later included the likes of John Wayne, Marlon Brando, Gregory Peck and Doris Day.

Connery planned to adapt a play by John Hopkins called This Story of Yours. He’d met Hopkins on Thunderball (1965) for which Hopkins had written the screenplay. UA might have been more interested had the play had been a whopping success in London’s West End and Broadway. But its London run was restricted to a few weeks at the Royal Court Theatre in 1968, so more arty than the general hit play.

Connery’s second choice for a “put picture” was an adaptation of Macbeth in which he would make his directorial debut.

“There was never a moment’s discussion,” noted Lumet, about how this would play with Connery’s global fanbase. “Sean knew exactly what he was getting into, shut his eyes and dived off the board without checking if there was any water in the pool.”

The budget was trimmed further following changes to the dollar-sterling exchange rate and Connery had only $900,000 to play with. But actually this wasn’t such a bad deal. Apart from three pictures, UA had limited budgetary exposure to $1.5 million for the rest of its slate. And Connery was flush, sitting on an estimated $6 million from his share of the proceeds of Diamonds Are Forever, his record fee of $1.2 million augmented by his 12.5 per cent share of $45 million in rentals.

Sidney Lumet, who had directed Connery in The Hill (1965) and The Anderson Tapes (1971) signed up. Ian Bannen, also from The Hill, took the main supporting role and Trevor Howard (The Long Duel, 1967), with just nine minutes screen time, added marquee lure. Lumet managed to bring the film in ahead of schedule, completing the film in just 28 days of shooting following a couple of weeks of rehearsal. The writer was on the set every day.

And UA hadn’t skimped on promotion either. Some of the 154 journos attending a junket for Man of La Mancha were shipped to London to cover The Offence.

Exteriors were shot in and around Bracknell in Berkshire in March and April 1972, making use of the Point Royal flats – the background made enough of an impression for a PhD student to use it for a thesis on the “brutalism” of modern architecture” – with interiors at Twickenham. The town’s library doubled as the film’s police station for exteriors.

The title was changed to Something Like The Truth – artwork was devised for this – and only switched to the “much more impactive” The Offence a month before the movie opened.

All Connery’s Bond hits had opened at big London West End theaters. So although this might have fared better in a smaller house, or a West End cinema known for more discretionary fare such as the Odeon Haymarket or a genuine arthouse like the Curzon, UA slotted it into the 1,993-seat Odeon Leicester Square in January 1974.

In opening week it took $17,900, a few hundred dollars short of the seventh week of the movie it replaced, Charles Bronson thriller The Mechanic, so “disappointing” was an understatement. According to a later article by Variety’s Peter Debruge, it only lasted four days. But it didn’t. It ran for five weeks. Week two brought in $13,700, the third stanza $10,200 and then $8,900 and a final sally of $7,300. But nothing like his Bond box office.

It transferred to the 139-seat Cinecenta – where it might more sensibly have opened and where demand would surely have outstripped supply and led to a lengthy run. In fact, the second week there improved on the first, $2,400 compared to $2,200. And it shifted over to the equally tiny Centa Cinema where its second week sat at $2,400. The Odeon chain gave it a circuit release, backed by a reissue of western Support Your Local Gunfighter (1971) starring James Garner.

The London figures resulted in a distinct lack of interest in the U.S. Not even Connery’s success as James Bond could induce any notable theater to take it on. U.S. reviews didn’t help. Among the New York critics, six were negative and only two positive. However, Women’s Wear Daily commented on the “beautiful acting by Sean Connery” and the Independentl Film Journal noted, “He is so much more right for this than any glossier star would be that he has an unbeatable advantage.”

Peter Debruge reckoned the poor London box office stalled its opening Stateside for a year. That wasn’t true either. Although it was slow out of the gate. It had received an “R” certificate in December 1974, which generally indicated an opening one month or so further on. Instead, the opening was delayed until 11 May 1973 at the 546-seat Festival in New York, by which point Connery was again in the news, having replaced Burt Reynolds on Zardoz.

Again according to Debruge, the distributor “buried it in a bad house” in New York. That wasn’t true either. The Festival, a Walter Reade arthouse, was the ideal location for a difficult movie that needed to find its feet. Success there could lead to a long run. The movie it replaced, Ten from Your Show of Shows, an equally odd proposition being a compilation of sketches from a 1950s TV show, was coming to the end of a 10-week run.

The first five days at the Festival hauled in $9,500 but neither the second nor third week figures were reported, which meant they were dire. That three-week run was the limit of its American release, as far as I could detect after researching the pages of Variety. It may well have turned up somewhere on the drive-in circuit or as a support. Judging from available posters, it was released at least in Germany, Finland, Australia, Belgium and Spain

Apparently, it turned a profit after nine years but my guess that would take a considerable amount of sales to television to get anywhere near recouping the investment. United Artists reneged on its deal to make another “put picture” with Connery, though likely there was a loophole in the contract that facilitated that. Interestingly enough, that might not have prevented Connery going down the directorial route. He was slated to direct and star in The Drooping W, based on a Leo Marks script, for Twentieth Century Fox.

Both Sidney Lumet and Christopher Nolan, possibly attracted by the complex flashback structure, both asserted it was Connery’s best work.

SOURCES: “About UA Financing,” Variety, May 19, 1971; “Connery Truth 1^st of 2 for UA,” Variety, May 29, 1972; “Lumet Brings In UA’s Truth Ahead of Sked,” Variety, May 31, 1971; “UA Backed Mancha,” Variety, June 28, 1972; “Connery May Earn $6-Mil,” Variety, July 19, 1972; “R for Offence,” Variety, December 27, 1972; “Sean Connery Film Retitled,” Box Office, January 8, 1973; “Review,” Women’s Wear Daily, May 14, 1973; “Connery into Zardoz,” Variety, May 16, 1973; “N.Y. Critics Opinion,” Variety, May 23, 1973; “Review,” Independent Film Journal, May 28, 1973; “Fox Out-Races Hounds of TV,” Variety, September 19, 1973; Peter Debruge, “Helmers Tap into Charisma and Wigs,” Variety, June 7, 2006. Box office figures: Variety 1973, Jan 24-March 14 and May 16-30.

The Offence (1973) ****

Surprised no one figured to put Sean Connery on the stage. I know he did some hoofing in his early days and no doubt lacking the classical training of a Richard Burton, Laurence Olivier or Peter O’Toole, the theater snobs might have objected. We know Connery had a commanding screen presence but generally there was never any need for him to be in long shot. Here, that’s exactly what director Sidney Lumet does, setting the camera out as if the set was a stage and allowing Connery to take charge in a theatrical fashion.

Lumet and Connery had worked before, on The Hill (1965) and The Anderson Tapes (1971), and they would work together again on Murder on the Orient Express (1974) and Family Business (1989), and generally when actors and directors align it’s because the director is looking for some specific quality the actor can supply, and mostly that’s kind of a shorthand, the presence of Denzel Washington, for example, in a Tony Scott picture gives you an idea just what to expect.

But on their first three pictures together, Lumet draws something different out of Connery every time. This was something of a vanity project for the actor, made for well under a million bucks, and presented the actor in a completely different light. It was a bold, not to say dangerous move, to move so far away from his screen persona.

Fans of Christopher Nolan will find much to admire. There’s a tricky structure, flashbacks and flash forwards intermingle, we begin at the end and work our way back to the beginning. As well as the audience trying to work out what’s going on, the main character, Johnson (Sean Connery), a detective sergeant, is also trying to work out what he’s doing, why he reacts the way he does and what do his actions (and words) mean about himself. So, tricky in an intriguing way.

There are some unusual aspects. For a start, the other cops try to prevent cop Johnson (Sean Connery) from getting too aggressive with suspect Baxter (Ian Bannen), accused of paedophilia – at a time when British cops were just as skillful as their Yank counterparts in getting prisoners to fall down stairs or accidentally bang their heads into doors.

There’s a slightly arthouse feel to Lumet’s direction. We begin with slo-mo, for goodness sake, and there’s a bright light that pops onto the screen every now and then.

Three stories develop in parallel. The first is that Johnson is close to burn-out, fleeting flashbacks fill us in on his memories of victims he may have failed. The second is that he’s so determined to get his man, so convinced of the suspect’s guilt, that he doesn’t stop to consider his innocence and becomes so infuriated at Baxter’s continued assertion of innocence that he turns to violence, the old adage of beating the truth out of the man. But the third and most disturbing element is that Johnson is closer to temptation than you’d think, skirting an uneasy border into fantasies of murder and rape.

You might as well have shuttered the movie. Who was going to believe in Sean Connery as a rapist? Worse, who was going to watch him play one? It’s a wonder this saw the light of day at all even on a miniscule budget.

This rises or falls on Connery’s performance. We’ve got no problem – on past screen performance – on viewing the actor as a tough guy, even one who plays hard and fast with the rules. But it’s much harder for him to convince as a man on the verge of the mental breakdown and someone willing to accept he is harboring malevolent thoughts.

If you don’t believe in Connery it won’t work at all. So it’s entirely down to him that it works so well.

This must be the greatest amount of dialog he has ever spouted, huge monologues, intense arguments, and doesn’t look for a moment as if he’s struggling. His intensity is awesome. But for all that it relies on speechifying, some of the best moments involve no words. Johnson flinches at the touch of another man, even if it’s a gesture of sympathy.

The cast is superb. Ian Bannen (Lock Up Your Daughters, 1969) is superb, especially when the tables are turned and he gets to crow over his assailant’s weakness. The ever-choleric Trevor Howard (Von Ryan’s Express, 1965) is at his best when he doesn’t have to rein it in and he doesn’t here. Vivien Merchant (Alfred the Great, 1969) has a small role as the disillusioned childless wife.

Sidney Lumet has the good sense to give Connery the freedom of movement and expression he needs. Written by John Hopkins (Thunderball, 1965) from his play.

This tends to be overlooked because of the darkness into which the character delves but it’s well worth a look just to see what else Connery has to offer.

The Longest Day (1962) *****

When critics applauded the inspired use of a reaction shot via Omar Sharif to convey the horror of a massacre on the Mocow streets in Doctor Zhivago (1965), they omitted to mention that the technique had been used to similar stunning effect – and twice – in The Longest Day. The first comes when the camera cuts to Red Buttons dangling from a parachute down a building witnessing a massacre in the square below. The second, oddly enough, in virtually the same locale, when John Wayne arrives and views the aftermath.

Emotion was generally not considered a requisite of this epic war picture about the D-Day landings. The general consensus these days is that at best it’s a docudrama or at worst a star-a-minute mess with a dozen storylines vying for supremacy. In fact, it’s neither, but a surefooted and even-handed depiction of a complex battle, concentrating as much on the backroom staff as the soldiers in the line of fire.

Except for German complacency, the Allied forces would have faced fiercer opposition. The German troops had no air cover except for two planes and the Panzers had been pulled back in reserve. High-ranking officers had high-tailed it out of German HQ to enjoy a night on the town. Yes, the Germans expected the invasion to come from Calais rather than Normandy, but once their mistake became obvious, they did little to counter the attack, spending too much time arguing with each other and being too frightened to wake Hitler from his beauty sleep to trigger the tanks and planes.

Producer Darryl F. Zanuck covered his back by enrolling 40 stars for his venture. While most had varying marquee appeal, he had drawn on leading actors and actresses from countries other than Britain and the USA. And there was clearly a calculated decision to make audiences wait for the two major stars, John Wayne and Robert Mitchum, to put in an appearance. It’s a good 15 minutes before we spot Wayne, that time spent setting up the event from British, French, German and American perspectives.

Unusually for major stars, Wayne and Mitchum are not averse to carrying exposition, something generally left to the supporting cast, Wayne in particular spelling out the pitfalls of his particular parachute drop situation. Incidentally, two of the best sequences took a good less time to show – as later explained in feature-length detail in A Bridge Too Far – the dangers inherent in parachuting into enemy territory and trying to capture and hold vital bridges.

The picture could easily have been titled A Gamble Too Far because Zanuck was betting the future of Twentieth Century Fox, facing a financial burnout, on its box office outcome.

While covering the planning for the landings in sweeping terms, the movie concentrates on three major actions – Omaha Beach and the scaling of the impenetrable Pointe du Hoc featuring the Americans headed up by Brig General Norman Cota (Robert Mitchum), a British commando raid led by Major John Howard (Richard Todd) on the Pegasus Bridge and the parachute drop led by Lt Col Benjamin Vandervoort (John Wayne).

By today’s standards the bloodletting is non-existent but the brutality of combat hits hard. Flight Officer David Campbell (Richard Burton) heads up the victims, knowing he is going to die but trying to keep up his spirits. French peasant Janine (Irina Demick) distracts German soldiers with her beauty. Lord Lovat (Peter Lawford) goes into battle accompanied by bagpipes and beachmaster Capt Maud (Kenneth More) tries to keep troops moving on the beach.. Comic interludes are provided by Private Flanagan (Sean Connery) and his buddy and German Sgt Kaffekanne (Gert Frobe).

Many of the commanders that would feature in later World War Two pictures – Lt Gene Omar Bradley (Patton, 1970) and Brig General James Gavin and General Sir Bernard Montgomery (A Bridge Too Far, 1977), played respectively by Arthur Hill, Robert Ryan, and Trevor Reid. German General Rommel had already had his shot at Hollywood fame through The Desert Fox (1951) and Desert Rats (1953) and was the American nemesis in Patton.

Given the amount of rubbernecking by the audience, it’s worth noting the number of actor in small parts who eventually made good including Sean Connery (Dr No had just appeared by the time The Longest Day opened in the U.K.), Christian Marquand (The Corrupt Ones/The Peking Medallion, 1967), George Segal (Bridge at Remagen, 1969), Tom Tryon (The Cardinal, 1964) and Robert Wagner (Banning, 1967).

You could do an entire review just listing who played who. But in spreading the field and covering French and German activities alike Zanuck brings a wider understanding of the proceedings.

Five directors were involved and unlike most anthology pictures where individual styles clash, here everyone follows the same playbook. Ken Annakin (Battle of the Bulge, 1965), Andrew Marton (Africa, Texas Style, 1967), Gerd Oswald (Agent for H.A.R.M, 1966), Bernhard Wicki (The Visit, 1964) and Darryl F. Zanuck all took a turn at the helm.

While author Cornelius Ryan (A Bridge Too Far) was credited with the screenplay he received help in the shape of Frenchman Romain Gary (Birds in Peru, 1968) , American novelist James Jones who wrote From Here to Eternity, and British screenwriters David Seddon and Jack Pursall (The Blue Max, 1966). Remains an awesome experience, one I’d just love to see in 70mm

Entrapment (1999) ****

Hugely enjoyable caper driven by the sleekest and leanest of screenplays from Hollywood screenwriting royalty Ron Bass (Rain Man, 1989) and William Broyles (Apollo 13, 1995). We learn virtually nothing, not even surnames, about principals Mac (Sean Connery) and Gin (Catherine Zeta-Jones) beyond that they are top-notch thieves. So the narrative isn’t weighted down or driven into the barren wastes of left field by alcoholism or any other addiction, and nobody’s lamenting loss, and career girl Gin has little difficulty knocking back the clumsy romantic attempts of nerdy boss Cruz (Will Patton).

There’s a host of tight twists, not least of which is a reversal of The Thomas Crown Affair (1968) in that Gin, while purportedly hunting down the virtually anonymous Mac for a string of high-tech robberies on behalf of an insurance company, is in fact trying to pin the blame on him for thefts she undertook herself. The climax involves three clever twists in quick succession.

*Connery’s face was so well-known that the poster designers could afford to leave half of it out*.

In keeping with the overall leanness, the narrative concentrates on a succession of clever and increasingly more audacious robberies, culminating in a heist on the eve of the Millenium of a cool eight billion bucks from all the banks in the world. As they join forces, Mac becomes the mentor, although Gin has moments of exerting control in the working relationship. Capable of causing trouble in the background are the agitated Cruz, threatening to work out any moment exactly how he is being duped, a dubious fence Conrad (Maury Chaykin), and a muscle man Thibadeaux (Ving Rhames) who may be playing both sides against each other.

After more than three decades, Sean Connery maintained a position in the top echelons of the box office marquee, in part because of the size of his global audience, but mostly because he continuously delivered. Every three years in the 1990s he knocked out a big one. The Hunt for Red October (1990), Rising Sun (1993) and The Rock (1996) easily offset any movies that produced less.

Catherine Zeta-Jones had announced her candidacy for stardom through a scintillating turn as the foil for Antonio Banderas in The Mask of Zorro (1998) and had she taken a more blatant approach to stardom could easily have been a letter-day femme fatale in the style of Lana Turner or Ava Gardner, but her screen persona encompassed considerably greater guile and discretion.

John Wayne, to compensate for any age difference between himself and the target of potential romance, always came over as all shy and diffident in making an approach, ensuring that it was the woman who did all the running so he wasn’t presented as some kind of creepy predator. Here Sean Connery avoids the complications of seduction and a May-December situation by playing the paternal card, covering up Gin’s half-naked sleeping body, tucking her hair behind her ear.

So where the entire middle act of The Thomas Crown Affair revolved around romance and the final act depended on a will she/won’t she scenario, this steers largely clear of such confusion, concentrating instead on the heists, with the background figures creating such distraction as was necessary to heighten the tension. From the opening sequence of a cat burglar abseiling down a skyscraper and removing an entire window to gain access to the final time-dependent heist, it’s a thrilling ride.

As you’ll be aware I’m a huge fan of Sean Connery and of his minimalist style of action. There were two standouts here for me, both blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moments. You’ve seen plenty actors doing extended stretches or walking around or some such physical mugging to show that they’ve been awake for too long worrying over a problem. Connery’s concession to that is merely a clever trick with his eyes. Then there’s a scene where Gin is trying to put the squeeze on him and one look from him shows that she’s going to fail.

Sean Connery and Catherine Zeta-Jones have a screen chemistry that, unfortunately, was never repeated. British director Jon Amiel (Copycat, 1995) sticks to the screenplay, allowing the romance to seep out around the edges.

Top-notch stuff. Not quite in the Topkapi (1964) category but not far off.

Woman of Straw (1964) ***

In a plot worthy of Hitchcock without that director’s sly malice, rich playboy Tony (Sean Connery) conspires with not-so-innocent nurse Maria (Gina Lollobrigida) to rid himself of heinous upper-class racist misogynistic bully Charles (Ralph Richardson), his uncle. Beyond a savage case of entitlement, Tony has good reason to hate the wheelchair-bound multi-millionaire, blaming him for his father’s suicide and for seducing his widowed mother, now dead. Tony’s ploy, in part by opposing the very idea, is to get Maria to marry Charles, inherit his fortune and provide himself a £1 million finder’s fee when the seriously ill old man dies.

Maria’s refusal to kowtow to the old man and her initial resistance to Tony make her all the more desirable to both. When Maria saves the old man from a potential heart attack, he is moved enough to marry her and draw up exactly the will the pair want. But when he suddenly dies, Maria surprises herself by the depth of emotion she feels.

But that soon changes when she comes under suspicion. A bundle of complications swiftly change the expected outcome. A police inspector (Alexander Knox) doubts cause and place of death.

The first half is the set-up, the various figures being moved into place, not quite as easily as might have been anticipated, which adds another element of tension. Charles is such a hideous person nobody could lament his passing, but still his vulnerability, not just his wheelchair confinement but his love of music, his better qualities coming to the fore as the result of Maria’s presence, accord him greater sympathy than you would imagine.

That the otherwise gallant Tony’s entitled life depends entirely on his uncle’s good wishes lends him an appealing frailty. The nurse’s principles safeguard her against being taken in by riches alone, but there is a sense that she has used her physical attraction in the past to her advantage.

After the first two James Bond pictures, this was Sean Connery’s first attempt to move away from the secret agent stereotype and in large part he is successful. As amoral as Bond, he could as easily be a Bond villain, smooth and charming and larger than life and superbly gifted in the art of manipulation, the kind of putting all the pieces in place that Bond villains excelled in.

It will come as a surprise to contemporary viewers that he is merely the leading man, not the star. Gina Lollobrigida (Go Naked in the World, 1961) receives top-billing because she carries the emotional weight, initially perhaps as cold as Tony, but her attitude to Charles changing after marriage, meeting a need that Tony would not consider his to fulfill, and beginning to regret going along with any devious plan. That she then discovers she may merely be a pawn rather than a partner creates the dilemma on which the final section of the film depends for tension.

Both actors are excellent, exuding star wattage, the screen charisma between them evident, and audiences craving the pairing of Connery with an European female superstar will be well satisfied. Lollobrigida has the better role, requiring greater depth, but it is romance as duel most of the way. Ralph Richardson (Khartoum,1966) has never been better as one of the worst human beings ever to grace a screen. Johnny Sekka (The Southern Star, 1969) brings dignity to the maligned servant and Alexander Knox (Khartoum) is a crusty cop.

A slick offering from Basil Dearden (The Mind Benders, 1963), with one proviso – see seaparate article for the racism in this film. Written by Robert Muller (The Beauty Jungle, 1964) and Stanley Mann (The Collector, 1965) based on the novel by Catherine Arley.

Could have done with expending less time on the set-up and getting to the meat of the thriller quicker.

The Great Train Robbery / The First Great Train Robbery (1978) ****

Back in the day your IP was the star. And here Sean Connery (The Hill, 1965) is the essence of that belief. The camera homes in on him. He steals every scene with an effortlessness that takes your breath away even as co-star Donald Sutherland (Don’t Look Now, 1973), complete with bizarre sideburns and winks to the audience, is huffing and puffing to compete.

Come at it as the standard heist movie and you will struggle to enjoy it because it is made up of too many different components. But approach it from a different perspective, that of The Sting (1973) as one critic suggests, and it takes on a different complexion and the getting there becomes a whole lot of fun. The background, Victorian England of the 1850s, doesn’t help so much as the sets look like they’ve been plundered from Oliver! (1968) and dirtied up a bit.

It’s worth remembering that in an era when the Mission Impossible series has been constantly sold on Tom Cruise undertaking his own stunts that Sean Connery did something much more dangerous than anything attempted by Cruise which was to race along the top of a train travelling at 55 miles an hour.

And if you need some contemporary analogy, look no further than the rich get richer and mostly through plundering. The ending presents the notion of a Robin Hood outwitting the forces of law and order to the acclaim of the public. But that would be to overlook the fact that chief thief Pierce (Sean Connery) is already so wealthy from previous nefarious dealings that he hobnobs with the rich, so accepted in their world of male clubs and high society that, like a financial trader, he is able to pick their pockets of vital information.

Though it’s not quite that easy. The target is a trainload of gold bullion heading for the Crimean War. And the two safes containing the dosh require four keys, each under the control of a different high-up official, requiring several separate audacious thefts. This involves some play-acting from the principals, dressing up in the main from female accomplice Miriam (Lesley Anne Down), clever duping by Pierce and old-fashioned burglary from pickpocket Agar (Donald Sutherland) who waves his fingers around like a demented Fagin, and whose main job is make wax impressions of stolen keys.

So Pierce pretends to be the ardent wooer of the daughter of one of the key holders, and Miriam essays a prostitute to relieve a key holder of the precious possession he wears around his neck. But the other two keys require a more professional approach which involves first of all the springing from prison of cat burglar Clean Willy (Wayne Sleep) to break into the guarded railway premises in a time-dependent operation.

But the cops get wind of the plan and increase security on the train, including adding a new padlock to the outer door. “Find me a dead cat!”, while not quite in the league of “The name’s Bond, James Bond” might well count as one of the best lines ever uttered by Sean Connery.

Said deceased animal is brought in to supply the necessary stink for a corpse should the cops consider opening the casket containing Agar which is to travel on the train, providing the team with the necessary inside man. But Agar and Miriam as the weeping widow of the supposed dead man have very little to do compared to Pierce who has to climb on top of the train, racing along the speeding top, drop down the side in an improvised harness and pick the padlock, then do the whole thing in reverse.

I may be wrong, and I’m sure someone will correct me if I am, but if this wasn’t the first time running along the top of a moving train was employed in a movie it certainly set a new standard, especially in the willingness of the actor to carry out his own stunts.

Pretty much all that remains after that is the twists that see Pierce captured and then escape. You could pick a few holes in it if you wish. The fact that after Pierce swapping coats (the one that had lain beside a dead cat for hours and provided sufficient stink to convince the lawmen) with Agar, nobody noticed the smell seems unlikely. The same would apply to bank manager Fowler (Malcolm Terris) who fails to spot that the widow he shares a compartment with for the entire journey is the prostitute who duped him, though that prospect does increase the tension.

If you’re expecting a standard heist movie then this takes way too long to come to the boil, but if you go along with the conceit and enjoy the playing especially of Sean Connery and ignore the mugging of Donald Sutherland it is in the forefront of the best robbery pictures.

And it’s worth noting the little gems in Connery’s acting. There’s a scene where Lesley Anne Down is berating him for making her become a prostitute (implicit is her fear she might actually need to have sex with the client). He’s eating an orange. Ignoring her complaints as just part of the job, he offers her some of his fruit as if his main worry is being seen to be rude hogging the fruit to himself.

Connery proves exactly why you hire a star. He carries the picture. There’s a lightness to his overall performance, notwithstanding the few times he needs to take a tougher line, that makes the film a joy. Whereas Donald Sutherland is either too heavy-handed or overacting. This proved a breakthrough role for Lesley Anne Down (British television’s Upstairs, Downstairs, 1973-1975).

Director Michael Crichton (Westworld, 1973) cuts himself too much slack in the first half of the picture which could have been considerably tightened up but comes into his own with the tension and twists of the heist and he has the good sense to rely on Connery’s interpretation of Pierce. He also wrote the script based on his own novel, a fictionalization of the actual original robbery attempt.

There already had been an incredibly famous Great Train Robbery in Britain in 1963, hence the need to differentiate this from that by inserting the prefix “First” to the advertising in Britain.

Great fun and worth a watch.

Behind the Scenes: “The Anderson Tapes” (1971) – From Book To Film

Had Sean Connery played the character of Duke Anderson as written, rather than reigniting his career it would have risked killing it off. It was already a significant ask for a star to shift from portraying good guys – even if James Bond had an immoral streak – to essaying a bad guy, though here was precedent – Paul Newman in Cool Hand Luke (1967) and Steve McQueen in some style in The Thomas Crown Affair (1968).

However, it would be difficult enough for audiences to accept a star who is two-timing his girlfriend, never mind one who in turn exhibits sadistic and masochistic streaks.

So that was the first problem for Oscar nominated screenwriter Frank Pierson (Cool Hand Luke) and not surprisingly he settles on the elimination route. The character’s sexual tendences are never mentioned. Theoretically, Pierson gets round the two-timing issue by merging the two girlfriends, Ingrid Macht and Agnes Everleigh, into one, Ingrid Everly (Dyan Cannon).

But Ingrid Everly has little connection to Agnes beyond that she lives in a luxury apartment. In the book, Agnes is a casual pickup, a woman he meets in a bar. She was separated from her husband and retained possession of the apartment, which was in his name. In order to find the legal grounds on which he could regain the apartment, her husband had bugged the apartment.

In the film, the apartment is still bugged, but by her rich jealous boyfriend Werner (Richard B Shull) so, technically, it’s Ingrid who’s doing the two-timing. Whereas in the book Agnes’s husband is perfectly happy for her to be entertaining other men as he hopes this will enhance his chances in the divorce settlement, in the film Werner is the opposite, and does not embrace the notion of what he views as his “property” being involved with anyone else. Ingrid, who was genuinely Anderson’s ex-girlfriend, in the film comes to realize a sugar daddy is a better bet than a criminal no matter how handsome. The only oddity in the picture that when Anderson is confronted and Werner explains that, via his surveillance, he knows Anderson is planning a robbery, that he doesn’t give two hoots about that.

Other changes are equally sensible. In the book, the robbery is intended to take place in the middle of the night. The ploy the thieves planned to use to get the apartment residents to open their doors was that the building was on fire. This wasn’t by triggering the fire alarm but by running from door to door, shouting “Fire! Fire!”. Pierson gets rid of that cumbersome device.

He also knocks into touch the notion that Tommy (Martin Balsam) would find supposedly legitimate reason to gain access to apartments to scout the premises in advance by pretending to be doing a survey for a civic group. In the book Tommy is a two-bit low-level hood and not involved in the actual robbery but with some knowledge of art and expensive items. In the film he transforms into a smooth-talking antiques dealer and Frank Pierson comes up with the idea that the management of the building is planning a refurbishment and wants to ensure that residents have the opportunity to align their interior décor with what is being planned.

In the book as well as eight luxury apartments, there are, on the ground floor two businesses, a doctor and a psychiatrist, but these are also thrown on the scrap heap, although in the book the doctor turns out to have $10,000 hidden away from the taxman as well as medicines that could be sold on the black market.

The pompous Capt. Delaney (Ralph Meeker) who organizes the offensive on the robbers, is drawn virtually word for word from the book. But there’s not room to incorporate all the criminal slang. I was especially intrigued to discover that what I always believed was called “a big job” was known to the criminal fraternity as “a campaign.” Nor the details of organizing such a robbery.

And there are a couple of interesting snippets in the book that Pierson had no room for in the movie. Firstly, author Lawrence Sanders includes verbatim a newspaper report dated 2^nd July, 1968, to the effect that a new electronic communications office has been opened by the police to help cut down, initially, response times. The report included another fascinating fact. Prior to this date to report a crime the American public had to call a seven-digit number. That was reduced to the ”911” emergency number that operates today.

The second element is the call to unite all the different operations running criminal surveillance. Here, including Werner, there were four separate surveillance teams, none in contact with any of the others.

The book is a terrific read. I devoured it in one sitting. It is Sanders who introduces the flash forwards, interviews or somesuch with victims, while in real time the robbery is under way.

But the screenplay is an ideal example of how to trim a book to the bone without removing any of the essentials.

Sanders was also the author of The First Deadly Sin which was filmed with Frank Sinatra in 1980 and reviewed here earlier.

The Anderson Tapes (1971) ****

Director Sidney Lumet has made more critically acclaimed crime pictures – Serpico (1973) and Dog Day Afternoon (1975) earned eight Oscar nominations between them – but none have been as thrillingly entertaining as this mash-up of the heist and surveillance subgenres. Francis Ford Coppola’s The Conversation (1974) has unfairly dominated the conversation regarding surveillance pictures, in large part down to Gene Hackman’s repressed performance, and because it made the ever-popular suggestion that Big Brother ruled the roost and there was nothing anyone could do about it.

These days The Anderson Tapes would hardly get out of the starting gate before everyone was whimpering about civil liberties and the fact that surveillance did the very job the public wanted it to do, which was to prevent crime and catch wrongdoers, would have been largely overlooked in the welter of lawsuits. A very clever device here prevents anyone getting trapped in that moral maze, so that what we’re left with is the inside gen on a superbly-organized and audacious robbery.

There’s a Thomas Crown Affair (1968) feel to this but where Norman Jewison employed split screen to get his various interlinked narratives across, here Lumet relies on speedy flash forwards intercutting the ongoing story.

The incipient danger of star Sean Connery was kept under wraps in the 007 outings, but here audiences get a blast of the full macho man, the take-charge kind of guy, and no bureaucratic buffoons getting in the way, and with no gadgets to rely upon it comes down to the sheer physicality of a magnetic screen personality.

Duke Anderson (Sean Connery) is no sooner out of prison after serving a ten-year stretch than he’s planning an audacious robbery, cleaning out an entire upmarket apartment block in the Manhattan Upper East Side, in which former girlfriend Ingrid (Dyan Cannon) lives in considerable luxury, over the Labor Day Holiday Weekend. After winning initial funding from the Mafia, he enrols, among others, camp antiques dealer Tommy (Martin Balsam), getaway driver Edward (Dick Williams), and “The Kid” (Christopher Walken), a young expert in alarms and electronics. As part of the deal he agrees to bump off another recruit, Rocco (Val Avery), who has fallen foul of the Mafia.

Everything that occurs is being recorded one way or another. Setting aside the building’s closed circuit television, Ingrid’s sugar daddy Werner (Richard B. Shull) has bugged her apartment and the cops have wiretaps on the Mafia and various others. This being a heist picture headed up by the world’s most popular star, as much as you want the criminals caught you want them to get away with it, Sean Connery having a self-justification scene at the outset to set liberal minds at rest.

So this is part docu-drama and part a whole bunch of cameos from the victims of the robbery as their, often heinous, personalities come into sharp perspective: siblings who rat each other out, the husband willing to allow his wife to be abused rather than give up a single dollar of his vast fortune. Even wealthy Werner couldn’t care less about a robbery as long as Ingrid knows her place, she’s his “property,” and has to choose him rather than Duke Anderson because, as feisty as she is, she relies on his dough for the good things in life.

But it’s driven by the hardnosed Anderson who’s not going to let the fact he’s never killed a man before get in the way of doing so now as the alternative would be the loss of the gig. Despite his macho demeanor and being able to run his gang efficiently, he’s aware he’s a small cog in the organized crime wheel.

When the cops get wind of the robbery, that triggers some superb stunt work as cops abseil across buildings.

After the disappointing box office of Shalako (1968), The Red Tent (1969) and The Molly Maguires (1970), Sean Connery roared back to form here, as the likeable hood while adding more edge to his screen persona. Martin Balsam (Hombre, 1967) is otherwise the pick of the supporting cast, though Christopher Walken, on his debut, makes his mark and you can’t ignore Dyan Cannon (Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice, 1969).

But this is just terrific stuff from Lumet, who was apt in his more critically-acclaimed pieces to drift into the overly serious, and while he makes a point – at a very early stage, please note – of the ubiquitous power of surveillance, he lets that speak for itself while he concentrates on the more thrilling and more human aspects of the story. Screenplay by Frank Pierson (Cool Hand Luke, 1967) from the best seller by Lawrence Sanders (The First Deadly Sin, 1980). As a bonus, a first class score from Quincy Jones (Bob & Carol & Ted & Alice).

The Untouchables (1987) *****

The greatest crime picture ever made, outside of The Godfather Parts I and II (1972/1974). A sledgehammer of a narrative that moves like an express train, only slowing down for a number of bravura sequences. Riddled with fabulous lines, built on great performances, and seeded early on with subsidiary characters who will later play significant roles. In any analysis it reads like a greatest hits.

The bloodied finger of Al Capone (Robert DeNiro) holding court to fawning journalists; the little girl’s plaintive cry of “Mister” before she’s blown to kingdom come; the love note included in the lunch of Elliot Ness (Kevin Costner); “poor butterfly” as the first raid goes wrong; the introduction of Malone (Sean Connery) “here endeth the lesson”; the trading of racist insults with recruit George Stone (Andy Garcia); Capone bludgeoning an associate to death with a baseball bat; in the safety of a church, Malone explaining “the Chicago way”; the first big cinematic sequence – the shootout at the border with meek accountant Oscar Wallace (Charles Martin Smith) making his bones and sneaking a drink of beer; Malone “killing” the dead man; “touchables” smeared in blood in the lift; Malone’s fistfight with crooked boss Dorsett (Richard Bradford); Malone’s murder by hitman Frank Nitti (Billy Drago); the second, and greater, bravura sequence – the shootout on the steps of the railway station; Ness pushing Nitti off the rooftop; the disbelieving Capone sentenced.

And those are just the broad strokes. Peppered throughout is the issue of Capone’s tax evasion, the crime that brings him down, with virtually all Wallace’s contribution being reading from documents relating to this. Nitti appears in the second scene, leaving the bomb that will blow the little girl to kingdom come, and again at Ness’s house.

And this is so old-fashioned that not only are we rooting for the good guys but none of those involved has marital or alcohol problems. Cops like Malone may be disillusioned but they don’t take their disenchantment out on the bottle. Anyone who talks about marriage agrees it is a good thing.

Character introduction doesn’t go down the iconic route of The Magnificent Seven (1960) or The Dirty Dozen (1967). Chicago’s Finest sneer at Ness behind his back. Another director would have been tempted into a bolder entrance for Malone. But he’s a loser, still a beat cop in middle age, and on the late shift at that. He doesn’t just know his job, detects Ness is packing a gun, but he’s capable of a sardonic quip or two. Who’d claim to be working for the humiliated Treasure Dept is they weren’t? And he’s not so stand-up as he appears, playing with a key chain like worry beads, keeps a sawn-off shotgun in his record player.

And that’s before we go into the dialog. Screenwriter David Mamet (Glengarry Glen Ross, 1992), revered as America’s greatest living playwright, turns on the style. “You can get further with a kind word and a gun than with just a kind word”; “They pull a knife, you pull a gun”; “do you know what a blood oath is?”; “team!”; “brings a knife to a gun fight”; “all right, enough of this running shit;” “can’t you talk with a gun in your mouth?” “his name wasn’t in the ledger,” “did he sound anything like that?”

And that’s before we get to the score by Ennio Morricone, his best in terms of the consistency of theme (rather than just one standout tune) since Once Upon a Time in the West (1969). Or the rocking title sequence.

Turned Kevin Costner (Horizon, An American Saga – Chapter 1, 2024) into a star, a position, with dips here and there, he’s maintained for half a century. Andy Garcia (Black Rain, 1989), too, though for a shorter duration. Not everyone was impressed by Robert DeNiro’s (The Alto Knights, 2025) florid interpretation, but I wasn’t one of them. Brought Sean Connery (The Russia House, 1990) long overdue recognition for his acting, though it’s worth remembering that the Oscar voters who gave him a standing ovation could have handed him the gong a good time before for any number of excellent portrayals.

Director Brian DePalam (Carrie, 1977) was an Oscar shut-out. And when I look at the films that took precedence in the Best Film nominations, there’s only one, Moonstruck, that I’d seek out.

This is a thunderous achievement, and I can’t wait for 2027 when Paramount surely will bring it back to the big screen for a 40^th anniversary celebration.

Unmissable.