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King of Thieves

Back to the Windsor Cinema in Nedlands and not much has changed since catching The King's Speech in 2010 or 2011. I reckon Merv and I were among the youngest punters there, and we're not exactly gambolling lambs anymore. But this demographic was pretty apt for King of Thieves, the latest film to explore old spivs getting older and trying to stay relevant. This iteration is based on the true story of the Hatton Garden safe deposit robbery in London in 2015. It stars Michael Caine, Tom Courtenay, Jim Broadbent, Ray Winstone and Paul Whitehouse ('I was very, very drunk') as the geriatric villains who come together at Caine's wife's funeral. A positively pubescent Charlie Cox instigates the gig.

The heist premise of King of Thieves has been done before, even factoring in the 'grey pound' aspect. It's not the most original film but it's worth the ticket price just to hear Caine and gang effing and jeffing all over the place. It's actually quite close to a geezah version of Caine's other recent musings on ageing, the Paolo Sorrentino directed, Youth. Close but so, so far away.

The director is James Marsh, who has some solid pedigree with films such as Shadow Dancer, The Theory of Everything and Project Nim to his credit. There's some nice dialogue that sometimes, just occasionally, tips over into unlikely adjective territory. The actors iron out any rough edges though. Just great to watch these old pros work with halfway decent material. Oddly, Charlie Cox's character's final act seems out of place, though I'm guessing at this point the director wanted to focus on the golden oldies. Incidentally, this character isn't mentioned in official dispatches of the actual crime.

Some other points to note - The drilling through the wall is similar (though more watery) to the heist in Sexy Beast, another Ray Winstone film. I also quite liked the flashback scenes, especially the ones with the actors in films from their younger days. The highlight for me, though, is all the Cockney wide boy phrases, such as, "We gave him a drink", "That's put the kibosh on it" and my personal favourite, "He's lost his arsehole". Can't really argue with a film littered with this type of poetry.

See also:

Certainly, Jonathan Glazer's Sexy Beast (2000), one of the best British crime films of all time. And have a crack at another James Marsh film, Man on Wire (2008), if your knees don't go wobbly.

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