Susan Shaw – The Magnificent 60s

Forms a neat trilogy with British Noir New Wave gangster pictures Get Carter (1971) and Villain (1971) both with topline stars attached in the form of Michael Caine and Richard Burton. Laden with atmosphere and intrigue, this carries hefty emotional power as a very tough guy struggles to show his gentler side. The moral of the story is that brains always trump brawn. And it’s one of these movies where the truth only unravels when you hit the twist at the end and every character is shown in quite a different light.

Like Get Carter, this is a revenge picture. Discovering girlfriend Pat (Jill St John) is pregnant by another guy, imprisoned bankrobber Harry (Oliver Reed), serving a 15-year stretch for murder, is turned into a “lethal weapon” by the very thought and determines to break out and kill her. And at the same time collect the loot from his last bank robbery.

His escape, masterminded by the gentlemanly MacNeil (Freddie Jones) and accompanied by long-time buddy Birdy (Ian MacShane), is a tense, exciting sequence. First stop outside is to strongarm another gangster into supplying a Mauser that can be turned, a la Day of the Jackal, into a long-range rifle.

And while the movie brings into play the standard trope of villains seeking their share of the loot, it also hangs on another standard wheeze of the 1960s B-picture of the woman as bait. Anticipating that Harry will make a beeline for his loved one, but unaware of his nefarious intent, Inspector Milton (Edward Woodward) has her under police guard. But the likes of Harry always finds a way to sneak in, which triggers police pursuit, in the course of which Harry commits the unpardonable crime of shooting a cop – the villain world only too aware of the severe repercussions.

There’s a stop-off at the apartment of the moll (Jill Townsend) of Mr Big, Marty (Frank Finlay). That doesn’t go as planned, but still they manage to uncover a hidden sack of cash leaving Harry to knock off, sharpshooter style, the unfaithful girlfriend.

And then the pair make a getaway….Not quite. Birdy turns out to be greedy and wants all the robbery cash for himself and attempts to shoot Harry. That would be enough of a twist to be getting on with but there are a few stingers to come. Pat’s not dead – Harry (too far away to identify her face) just shot a policewoman on protection duty standing in her window. Pat’s not pregnant either, just stuffed a cushion down her jumper to complete the pretense. And she and Birdy are an item. And it’s clear that Birdy simply purloined Harry’s rage to get him to do the dirty work involved in the escape and dealing with the other gangsters.

Except in the case of being willing to knock off his longtime business partner, Birdy, you see has always been averse to violence, cowardly not to put too fine a point on it, though quite capable of pouring a bowl of urine down a captured guard’s throat, or rape.

Villains are as conflicted as anyone else, otherwise how to explain that Harry climbs into the burning car containing his dead girlfriend, gives Pat a gentle kiss and waits for the car to explode and take him to a fiery grave. We’ve seen the softer side of Harry in flashes. He turns down the chance to bed a sex worker in the getaway lorry, doesn’t take advantage of the moll, and buries his face in the moll’s fur coat. The furthest he gets to expressing his feelings is to explain to Birdy that he was very happy with Pat. He’s almost – perish the thought – got a feminist side. And presumably it takes a lot for a tough gangster like him to open up to a woman, which explains why he takes her betrayal so badly.

The fact that he still kills her is somehow beside the point. As I said, gangsters are complex, witness the gay Richard Burton in Villain.

This is Ian MacShane (The Wild and the Willing, 1962) still in matinee idol mode, minus the gravitas and husky tones of John Wick (2014). Once the twists kick in, you look back and realize he’s stolen the film, a weaselly charmer, able to bend Harry (not that hard, mind you) to his will, which was to help him escape, lead him to the money and send him off to live happily ever after with Pat. Where Harry clearly believes in true love, Birdy has no moral scruples. Even with a beauty like Pat waiting for him, he’s happy to indulge in sex with the sex worker and help himself to the helpless moll. (MacShane was equally dubious in Villain).

Oliver Reed’s Thug we’ve seen countless times before, Oliver Reed’s Softie less so. Jill St John (Tony Rome, 1967) manages a British accent and proves herself capable of a better role than usual. Actors often say they build up a character from their walk. Watch Edward Woodward (The Wicker Man, 1973) for a classic example of it.

Douglas Hickox had essayed delicate romance via his debut Les Bicyclettes des Belsize (1968) and it’s to his credit that he touches on Harry’s sensitivity in such subtle fashion. Otherwise, some terrific standout sequences – Harry’s fist battering through the glass into the prisoner’s visiting room, the escape, the duel with motorcycle cops through a fog of washing strung out on lines, the final car chase.

Written by Alexander Jacobs (Point Blank, 1967) from the bestseller by Lawrence Henderson. Superb score by Stanley Myers.

Not quite in the league of Get Carter or Villain but not far short.

Marvellous little drama. Succession the old-fashioned way when promotion was determined by interview, the process not clogged up by internecine family warfare. Doesn’t, either, go for the easy target of the English class system, instead exploring the universality of office politics, the quite different attitudes taken by individuals to superiors and inferiors, the determination to find someone who is not your equal, and the ways of dodging responsibility or simply indulging in dodgy behaviour.

It’s lit up by four superb performances, Donald Pleasance (Soldier Blue, 1970) as the dull accountant, Colin Gordon (Subterfuge, 1968) – usually a comedy foil – as the Machiavellian boss, Harry H. Corbett (pre-Steptoe and Son) as a weaselling manager and Andree Melly (The Brides of Dracula, 1960) as a secretary skirting scandal. The narrative is simple. Prior to the interview we dip into the lives of the three candidates – Victor (Donald Pleasance), high-flying sales manager Selkirk (William Franklyn) and transport manager Harry (Harry H. Corbett) who happens to be the brother-in-law of George (Colin Gordon) the boss.

*Donald Pleasance and Andree Melly let fly when the jig is up.*

Each has a deficiency, Selkirk inclined to show too much initiative, Harry running his department by the seat of his pants, Victor with no initiative whatsoever, a plodder. Each is caught out in an error of judgement, Selkirk striking a deal with a dodgy customer, Harry operating a driver logbook scam, Victor having an affair with his secretary Nina (Andree Melly). And a most unlikely relationship that is, the young self-possessed girl madly in love with a middle-aged man riddled with self-doubt.

When she first appears, in frankly one of the most erotic scenes capable of passing the British censor at the time, I had assumed this was a financial arrangement. That Victor would be reaching into his pocket. It’s only later we discover she’s his secretary and nourishes no ambitions for him to climb the corporate ladder, just believing that at a suitable juncture he will jettison wife and children. Mostly, what they all have to lose is pride. Hen-pecked Harry terrified of reporting failure to his domineering wife, Selkirk already planning how to spend the expected salary increase, Victor desperate to justify his existence by having his name on the letterhead.

Everyone has ideas above their station; everyone gets put in their place. Even the backroom staff jockey for position, Selkirk’s secretary Madge (Marianne Stone) tearing into Nina for her loose morals, in return being hit by bitchy comments about her spinsterhood. Both make a point of wishing the other’s boss “good luck” on the day of the interview in case they win. Madge often refuses to carry out work she considers too menial and seems always on the point of resigning over a minor issue. There is envy over the size of one’s office.

*The two secretaries previously at war bond over male inhumanity. Madge (left) comments that two people should bear the consequences of an affair not one.*

The best elements of the script are how plans go awry, how conversations turn as new information enters the equation and especially how the boss uses any opportunity to destabilize his staff, pitting them against each other, turning triumph into disaster, deftly fending off any threat to his position. George employs a wonderful phrase, “I’ve called you in to tell you why you’ve NOT got the job,” softening the blow by a small salary increase.

And it’s indicative of failings in his personality that he hands the job to the person least likely to challenge his authority – Victor – and that the promotion comes with the rider that the accountant get rid of Nina. And, suddenly, Victor comes into his own, the mouse roaring like a lion, although triumph is temporary. The last scene one of the saddest committed to celluloid, Victor alone, huge pile of work to get through and no solace anywhere.

It’s short, too, would have been intended as a “quota quickie,” release guaranteed by the Eady system, and should really have been lost in the slush pile. Instead, without any of the brutality of Succession, dissects the office mind-set. Donald Pleasance is the standout, but Colin Gordon and Andree Melly run him close. Support from Susan Shaw (Carry On Nurse, 1960) and Roddy McMillan (The View from Daniel Pike series, 1971-1973).

Director Peter Graham Scott (Father Came Too!, 1964) keeps his foot on the narrative pedal, focus never wavering, brooking no diversions. Bill MacIlwraith (The Anniversary, 1968) delivers a tight script bristling with terrific lines. given it only cost £22,300 (about $70,000) it’s quite astonishing.

NOTE: In the absence of a poster, the main photo is by Allan Warren.

Tag: Susan Shaw

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