Review of Get Carter (1971) by Brock R — 21 Jul 2009

There was never a more controversial year in the history of cinema than 1971. 'A Clockwork Orange,' 'Dirty Harry', 'Straw Dogs', 'The French Connection'.... all of these films displayed a brutal, borderline sadistic level of violence that had critics despairing at the nihilism and fascism spreading into 'entertainment'. Naturally, they missed the point, that each of those films deals with violence in a specific way, though the end shock result is what they were going for too. 'Get Carter' is another into the canon of downbeat movies that would characterise most of the '70s, free from any druggy optimism or celebration from the movies only a few years before.

The British New Wave was all but exhausted by the early 1970s, with the social commentary and realistic drama of things like 'Saturday Night and Sunday Morning' and 'Billy Liar' showing up the scruffy charm of the working class. Like America, Britian had its fair share of scandals and disasters throughout the decade to leave a burnt out public left to endure its glum reprisal from years of partying. 'Get Carter' is a story totally drained of any hope or peace, focusing solely on the quest of its central character. But since every modern British gangster movie apes the attempt at nihilism, they sorely lack two things that make 'Get Carter' and a tiny handful of others a million miles better: style and class.

The former comes from director Mike Hodges, here making his movie debut. He presents Carter's rampage in stark brightness, having very few scenes take place at night or in dark places. Scenes bleed into each other and echo throughout the film, giving a sense that we're hearing Carter's thoughts as he goes to the next location. Carter is the most dapper old-school criminal to ever appear onscreen, surrounded by hot women dressed in that ridiculous but genius '70s fashion of very short dresses. It's an almost clinically methodical film, where every one of Carter's actions and every line of dialogue is important and calculated. The plot stays neatly complicated to keep the audience off guard, being awkwardly introduced to characters and only hearing the hints of relationships; it does what no gangster movie hardly any does: make the audience think.

The latter class comes from Caine himself. Determined to make a gangster film where the criminals weren't stupid or cartoonish, Caine gives an intensely controlled performance, making Carter an unstoppable creature, shark-like, quick-witted and elusive. Caine's huge frame works well to his advantage, as does his air of smooth sexuality. The British public always have this opinion of Caine that he's an ever-smiling cockney chap straight out of 'My Fair Lady', but one look at his mature handling of such a potentially unlikeable character confirms him as one of Britain's best actors. For proof watch the scene where he sees his niece in a tacky porn film, his eyes filling with an enormous chill, only to make way for heart-break and, inevitably, a colossal rage. It's a brief, wordless scene, the quietest in the film, but one of real power, proving that the movie's most startling images are not just the brutal breaking of bones.

Combined, and the film excels dramatically. There's no endless stream of swearing, no over-exaggerated use of drugs, no squeamish sex (why do modern gangsters seem to be disgusting perverts?), just a blunt force of nature. The violence is blink-and-you'll-miss-it, the sex sleazy but strangely arousing at the same time, especially in the delicious form of Britt Ekland. And for the most part the action simmers under a cool malice, Carter slowly unravelling the plot around his brother's murder. But once he's got all the information he needs he sets in motion a train of deadly events on par with a Greek tragedy as he single-handedly decimates the Northern underworld. And that final kill, where Carter breaks down in animalistic rage, is a bitter irony on Caine and Hodges' parts, that as an audience we've been duped into liking Carter and seeing him as an anti-hero, when really he's just another thug at the end of the day.

The visual style is a distinct grey, capturing the drabness of Newcastle (still there after all these years) that matches well the film's central bleakness. It's yet another example of how little modern gangster movies understand the conventions they're trying to show in a different way; films like 'Get Carter' and 'The Long Good Friday' are the most ragged, hand dog form of art, a cocktail of blood and babes, but they're art nonetheless, because they've been made with a peerless craft and attention to detail and swelled with enormous images that they can never be imitated for greatness. Now behave yourself.