Tonight my Arts Editor and I finished watching The Italian Job (1969), starring Michael Caine and Noel Coward. Briefly, this is about a newly released British criminal who wishes to hijack a shipment of gold in the city of Turin, Italy. We follow along as he runs into the Italian Mob and his own men in their attempts to get the gold; and, once acquired, they run into the age-old conundrum of how one holds onto the slippery stuff – so we are left with a cliff-hanger.
While I’m aware this film has a rabid following, I fear I was somewhat less than enamoured of it. It is the idiosyncratic Brit film of oddball quirks, such as the crime boss Mr. Bridger (Coward) who directs the operations of the syndicate from within a prison, where all the guards treat him like royalty – and he has a fetish for the Queen. Several other characters exhibit a certain Joie de vivre, which serves the film well. And, honestly, I love quirks. But parts of the film lead down dead-ends, such as Caine’s girlfriend, suddenly ejected from the caper (and the film) for no particular reason, never to be seen again. Or why does this gold go through Turin on a predictable schedule? Or … hey, why the gold? (Maybe I missed that part.)
There are striking scenes, of course. As owner of a modern MiniCooper, the three classic MiniCoopers were, of course, attention grabbers, and when each is induced to plunge down a mountain-side, this was viewed with true sadness, even if it did serve a worth plot-driven reason. And the Italian Mob scene, with gunmen blanketing the side of a hill, was quite a vista. But the Italian Mob turns out to be punchless, for all their glamour, and another dead-end for the heedless viewer to wander down and then spin around.
So, in the end, while there was some pleasure … it does not blow the doors off.
