Get Carter (1971)
"A pint of bitter. In a thin glass..."
Friday’s film is Mike Hodges’ Get Carter (1971), a classic of the British gangster genre, starring Michael Caine, a pint of bitter and a shotgun…
They don’t make London gangsters the way they used to. The twitch of the shoulder, a camel hair coat and a mohair suit (a decent East End tailor who knows what he’s doing), the getaway Jag parked outside Lloyds Bank, on the street corner; an evening down the dogs, or a spot of backgammon at the club, a gangster’s moll thrown in for good measure; posh totty.
But when it comes to film, there is, at least, a distinguished British gangster line-up: The Italian Job (1969), Performance (1970), The Long Good Friday (1980), and Mona Lisa (1986) starring Bob Hoskins, who, of course, also appears in The Long Good Friday (1980). And while we’re about it, let’s bring in David Suchet’s Mister Vogel, the nasty gangland boss in The Bank Job (2008), a brilliantly unsettling performance; possibly based on Bernie Silver, a pornographer and racketeer, a ‘working class East Ender with a taste for fine restaurants and flashy clothes.’
And so I sat down to watch Get Carter (1971), a film I had last seen many years ago on late-night television. Fans of Get Carter (1971) will, most probably, be amazed and horrified by this. “What? You’ve only seen Get Carter once before, and fifteen years ago?” For these days, Get Carter (1971) is considered a cult British film, up there with If…. (1968), Performance (1970), The Wicker Man (1973), Don’t Look Now (1973), Withnail & I (1987) and Quadrophenia (1979). Better late than never.
Anyway. Get Carter’s a great film. It just has something about it. That certain je ne sais quoi. Which is what at WEEKEND FLICKS. Cinema for Grown Ups, we’re all about. London hardman, Jack Carter (Michael Caine), travels Oop North to investigate the mysterious drowning of his brother in a Ford Anglia, pulled out of the Tyne by the police, supposedly the result of a drink-driving incident. And bang! We’re immediately into that brilliant opening sequence on the train, which everybody remembers. With Roy Budd’s edgy, pulsating soundtrack. It’s a fabulous period piece. How shabby everything looks! New Britain’s concrete power stations in direct contrast with the Pre-War latticed signals, in the days when they still had proper dining cars — just — where one might smoke cigars or cigarettes, and there were helpful waiters in white mess jackets: a pretence to grandeur; faded glories, even if the varnished teak was caked with grime and British Rail stainless steel had replaced the LNER silver-plate.
