30 Great British Films: Part I

30- Children Of Men (2006)

Dir- Alfonso Cuaron

Given the incredible legacy of science-fiction and dystopian literature coming from Britain (Wells, Orwell, Huxley, Arthur C. Clarke and J. G. Ballard), it is a bit worrying that there has not been enough of science fiction cinema from the country. But one can settle safely for outsiders from across the Atlantic and beyond to deliver a distinctly English slice of futuristic yarn, from Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange to Alfonso Cuaron's impressively gritty and grubby vision of a disastrous near-future Adapted from P. D. James' equally profound novel, Children Of Men envisions an England ruled by homophobia and terrorism and crippled along with the rest of the world by infertility. Disillusioned government worker Theo (a compellingly vulnerable Clive Owen) is tugged, by circumstances, into a crusade to protect the first woman to be pregnant in many years from vicious radical opportunists. Armed with a uniformly terrific cast (including British greats like Chiwetel Ejiofor and Sir Michael Caine as Theo's Lennon-esque ribald friend Jasper), Cuaron and cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki take us in a jittery and sobering ride through a land with the worst of totalitarianism. Thankfully, the real-life Britain did not turn out to be it. 

29- The Italian Job (1969)

Dir- Peter Collinson

Forget the high-gloss American remake that tried to get Mark Wahlberg (of all people) to fit into a classier pair of shoes. Peter Collinson's sleek and streamlined 1969 caper is the only heist classic with the Mini Coopers that deserves repeated viewing. Sir Michael Caine, then a dapper-looking devilish charmer, plays Charlie Croker, a womanising master-thief who is roped in to avenge the fiery death of a fellow heist artist on the run after a risky job in Italy. After assembling a ragtag crew and even convincing old-school mob boss Mr. Bridger (a crusty Noel Coward), off he goes to steal $4 million in the midst of a sultry Turin traffic jam and soon afterwards, the Coopers start flying the coop. Sure it is all fluff and froth but clocking in at less than 2 hours, it tastes more delicious than any Hollywood heist movie. Photographed dazzlingly by Douglas Slocombe, set to the jaunty tunes of Quincy Jones and punctuated with a repartee of wisecracks, this is entertainment as swinging as London was at the wee end of the 60s. 

28- Theatre Of Blood (1973)

Dir- Douglas Hickcox

Few things could be as lovably English as the Bard of Avon and few English films could be so unabashed in their obsession with the very words that he wrote, as a scalpel-sharp weapon for pitch-black comedy. Shakespeare’s words and his penchant for orchestrating unforgettably dramatic deaths (some which even border on the gratuitous and gruesome) find their best and most perverse possible use in Hickcox’ cynically uproarious comedy. American horror legend Vincent Price plays, with obvious relish, failed thespian Edward Lionheart who has been cruelly written off by a circle of elitist critics. Off he goes on a bloody, morbidly funny trail of revenge as he decides to kill each of them like how the legend killed off his creations in his iconic works. Much chaos ensues, with Hickox expertly pulling together a cast of distinguished Englishmen as Lionheart’s hapless victims and mashing together elements of a detective mystery and revenge drama effortlessly. There is also the feisty Diana Rigg as Lionheart’s deceptively demure daughter who may or may not be involved. It is all very cheeky, recklessly violent and as devilishly sarcastic as the most cutting English sarcasm could be.

27- In The Name Of The Father (1993)

Dir- Jim Sheridan

It is an irony (and an incredible advantage for Hollywood) that Sir Daniel Day-Lewis, de facto the finest actor of our generation, has stunned audiences in lesser films from his own homeland than in films from the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Watch his early English triumphs today, however, and you can still be assured of his consummate craft at breathing flesh, blood, pathos and poignancy into each portrayal. Like Gerry Conlon, the real-life jailbird who was framed wrongfully for the Guildford Bombings at the peak of the IRA insurgency. He is a cocky, reckless youngster, restless to get away from it all to London to be a bohemian when the explosions echo in the city and he, along with his family and friends, is tortured and arrested. Sheridan follows this hapless man-child on a path of unlikely coming-of-age as he finally comes to terms with his failures and bonds again with his dignified, resilient father Giuseppe (a fine Pete Postlethwaite). The film becomes a bellowing barnstormer as it heads for the penultimate legal battle and Day-Lewis turns it into a heart-wrenching tale of agonising emotion. 

26- Kingdom Of Heaven (2005)

Dir- Sir Ridley Scott

Is this the finest and most intelligent British epic made since the days of David Lean, Michael Powell and Emeric Pressburger and Stanley Kubrick? It could be indeed but we can all agree that when Kingdom Of Heaven was first released, it was easily the most misunderstood epic ever. Critics and audiences dismissed the theatrical cut that was cruelly trimmed by Twentieth Century Fox and the right-wing audiences protested against the film’s balanced, even pro-Islamic stance on the Crusades. Then, the Director’s Cut was unveiled and we were treated to more than 3 hours of fiery, furious battles, tempestuous romance and court intrigue and pointed political parables. All this was the courtesy of the uniformly fascinating cast (Edward Norton, Jeremy Irons, Eva Green, Ghassan Massoud, David Thewlis, and (even!) Orlando Bloom), William Monahan’s nuanced screenplay and the meticulous, heartfelt approach of Sir Ridley Scott, who has seldom been in such dazzling form since then. Populated by diplomatic rulers, honorable enemies and insidious traitors and war-mongers, this is just the kind of ambitious and stirring historical swords and sandals yarn that feels eerily prescient in today’s times. 

25- Dunkirk (2017)

Dir- Christopher Nolan

In the tradition of classic British war films from the days of yore, Christopher Nolan’s latest ingeniously devised time-loop of a narrative is at heart a spectacular and stirring tale of heroism told with an intelligent perspective that never leans towards glorification. The three intersecting narrative threads- spanning 36 hours from the increasingly desperate efforts of the stranded British troops to escape massacre at the captured beach to the ultimate respite that came for them from home- are helmed with urgent and jolting immediacy; we are tugged into the futile despair of the young Tommies scavenging for a way out and we soar up in the skies above the English Channel as a trio of Spitfires battle Messerschmitt fighters. In the middle of all the operatic frenzy (shot thrillingly by Hoyte Van Hoytema), a third narrative- of the determined civilian Mr. Dawson (a beautifully understated Mark Rylance) and his son and aide steaming away to the rescue is where Nolan cleverly and crucially locates the film’s throbbing heart of a pastoral English warmth and resilience that makes the final film so effectively poignant.

24- 28 Days Later (2002)

Dir- Danny Boyle

For all his flair at trailblazing, subversive storytelling, one has to also admire just how superbly Danny Boyle can serve up the most tried-and-tested recipes. Be it the oft-repeated apocalyptic science-fiction lark in Sunshine or Bollywood movie tropes in Slumdog Millionaire, clichés become surreal touches in his films so firmly grounded in intensity and immediacy. It was when he decided to take on the most abused horror movie premise (that of hungry, bloodthirsty zombies going full berserk) that a real gem of British horror cinema was born. 28 Days Later is as unnerving as a nightmare come alive, in both its frenzy of crazed horror and its subtler shades of darkness and anarchy. As we follow despairing survivors Jim (Cillian Murphy), Selena (Naomie Harris) and Hannah (Megan Burns) on a blood-splattered chase through from derelict London to the dreary wilds of the countryside, we also witness a total moral collapse of a devastated nation, where survival and rescue come at a price as well. Yet hope lingers on, as Boyle and writer Alex Garland lead their film into an audaciously brilliant coup in the climax. 

23- Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)

Dir- Tomas Alfredson

British intelligence was not really about sex and sizzling globe-trotting action as Ian Fleming's classy novels and the increasingly ludicrous film series portrayed it. The reality, marked by outdated technology, bureaucracy and betrayal, belonged more to the morally grey world of Graham Greene and, most notably, John Le Carre, whose magnum opus was awaiting its deserved big-screen adaptation. True, Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy does not quite succeed in plumbing the same depths of intensity as the dazzling, dense source. (honestly, is it even possible?) But thanks to Alfredson's crisp direction and a finely reworked narrative by Peter Straughan and Bridget O' Connor, the film becomes as mesmeric and elegiac as Le Carre would have had it. Plus, a top-notch, all English cast holds the magnificent production firmly in place, from Gary Oldman's reptile-blooded take on George Smiley to an authentically withered and wizened John Hurt as Control. Most importantly, it lasts as a simmering, beautifully crafted thriller; even as Le Carre purists know exactly what will happen, the pleasure comes from being tugged into the same bleak atmosphere of dread and nihilism. 

22- A Hard Day’s Night (1964)

Dir- Richard Lester

It can be agreed that the 60s belonged to, more than anyone else, four Liverpudlian legends and there is also no denying that 1964 was the year when Beatlemania reached a frenzy that had to be seen, or rather heard, to be believed in its wild ferocity. An entire generation of swooning girls and urban slackers was coming to birth set to the tune of yeah, yeah, yeah. Sure, the band itself traded sensationalism for more subversive experimentation in the relative comfort of Abbey Road but A Hard Day’s Night endures as the heyday of their early chartbusting success, a fast and funny mockumentary that also proved how charming these boys could be. Shot with a frenzied documentary realism by Gilbert Taylor and helmed by American émigré Richard Lester like a Marx Brothers’ side-splitter, the 90 minute musical rollercoaster is nevertheless every bit North English as John, Paul, George and Ringo put together, riffing on some lovely Scouse repartee thanks to an exuberant script by Alun Owen. The songs, too, are still the gold standard for pop writing that is refreshing instead of just rehash.

21- Monty Python And The Holy Grail (1975)

Dir- Terry Jones and Terry Gilliam

Seasoned Python veterans will always vouch for Life Of Brian to be the spikier, more pointedly hilarious film but we can all agree on The Holy Grail on being the wilder, wackier film that really unfastens your seatbelt and pushes you down the aisles, trying to breathe through your relentless laughter. That is, of course, when you are not rolling your eyes at just how gorgeous, gory and gloriously intelligent it looks and sounds. The plot- of an easily embarrassed and even cowardly King Arthur (a pitch-perfect Graham Chapman) assembling together a laughably accident-prone crew of knights (of which Eric Idle’s helplessly terrified Sir Robin deserves special mention) on a disastrous hunt for the Holy Grail- is delicious nonsense of the highest order crammed with crackling set-pieces, from peasants who deride Arthurian legend to a rabbit that devours everyone in sight. Populating the film are a bunch of memorably loony creations played by the members themselves, from Michael Palin’s Swamp Castle King to John Cleese’ Black Knight who refuses to surrender at his own peril. And it is all held together by Gilliam’s freaked-out visuals and animated interludes that amuse equally.

Agent Vinod: The Bollywood Spy Movie That Amazed Me

I would like to think that Ian Fleming would have enjoyed Sriram Raghavan’s Agent Vinod. 

For him, the irascible hedonist, the self-indulgent yet cheekily stylish entertainer and the incorrigible globe-trotter, the code-named, nearly anonymous agent of the film would have been a truer version of James Bond of his novels than the one that was served up on the screen, especially the version that was played by Roger Moore and Pierce Brosnan. Sure, Sean Connery was Commander Bond, right from the scene in Dr. No when we saw him sizing up Sylvia Trench with his shrewdly seductive gaze and thespian Timothy Dalton and delicious Brit-stud Daniel Craig worked real hard at digging out the sadistic pathos that lay wound up inside the Bond of the books. 

But Agent Vinod, borrowing a name from the vintage Bollywood secret agent played by Mahendra Sandhu in the 1977 film of the same name, comes across as more closely cut out to 007 as Fleming knew him best: a coolly brisk and, sometimes, cruelly malicious intelligence man, one that we cannot quite love or admire but one whom we can trust to get the most sticking of all jobs, that is saving the world, right in the nick of time. 

The film begins, with a quip from, of all people, Eli Wallach’s rollickingly raunchy Tuco from Sergio Leone’s The Good, The Bad And The Ugly. It then opens in the middle of a sunbaked desert in Afghanistan, with the somber swells of a harmonica playing in the background. The nod at Leone is ingenious here. As in Once Upon A Time In The West, the wailing of the harmonica sets the stage for a gritty standoff in the sand and Raghavan hands us just that, plunging us in a pre-credits howler of an action scene that feels terse and thrilling without being bombastic and knows just when to end.

Again of course, much of the film is punctuated with a trademark snarky sense of humour. As with Johnny Gaddar and the latest crackling thriller Andhadhun, nods at films and vintage Bollywood music come thick and fast but they are all as much a part of the pulpy, thick narrative rather than just window-dressing. This film is a deliciously nutty feast for those who don’t just love their capers, comedies and spy films but also remember the smallest details. At one point, a character pleads innocence on the word of a certain Iftekhar who, as revealed by the skeptical men in charge of asking questions, turns out to have been killed, adding to the pretender’s woes. At another, a MI6 agent is named Richard Maibaum and, in yet another moment, a suspected spy being interrogated with Pentothal blurts out in song that his name is Anthony Gonsalves. Be ready to have a smile of pure, cinematic pleasure wash over your face. 

But then that is the real fun of watching a spy caper like Agent Vinod, gleefully borrowing influences from films both English and Hindi and making them so much a part of the plot itself, so that we also return to those films and enjoy them in a different light. One of the reasons why we still enjoy films like any of the Indiana Jones outings or even the classic James Bond films is the way they felt like reflections of the popular fashions and fads of entertainment. This is why we still smile when Bond jokes about the Beatles and quips ‘Play it again, Sam’. Raghavan does more than that: he lets us share his love for that particular film, that particular line or detail that stays etched as a remnant of the experience of watching a film in the subconscious. Pritam’s mostly catchy songs take a backseat to a R.D Burman cabaret number, played to puncture the tension with comic relief in one scene and an older classic sung by Mukesh, a lament for harsh realities of the present, when everybody realises just how high the stakes are. 

That would be a question for any uninitiated viewer: just how thrilling is Agent Vinod as a spy movie, as a movie about a heroic and intelligent secret agent saving the day from apocalypse? It is a commendably fast and thrilling film, with a pulpy plot that twists and turns quite stealthily and while Raghavan and co-writer Arijit Biswas have enough fun in between, what with the film references and characters that belong more to an entertaining comic book of entertainingly pompous villains than to any spy novel, they never lose sight of the main drive of the plot, concerning a nuclear bomb with a book of verse as its unlikely trigger. The film dispenses mostly with sentimentality and bombast as well; even as it stumbles on its overarching ambition towards a desperate and harried end, it remains fairly immediate and urgent. It also argues how organised terrorism is more of a game of self-interest and economic subterfuge than any dedicated cause or agenda. 

All this comes as a sharp and sublime relief to the other Bollywood spy movies, in which we have a muscled and brawny action hero posing as an intelligent spy and taking on stock stereotypes of Middle-Eastern terrorist leaders who are modelled superficially and needlessly on their more sinister real-life counterparts, shoddily imitating the more well-rounded characterisation in English-language films. The cast, as always with the director, is pretty memorable. With the sole exception of Ram Kapoor’s ham-fisted, Russian-speaking crime boss Abu Nazer, dubbed memorably as Bud Spencer, the film’s melee of kingpins and suave scoundrels includes yesteryear villain Prem Chopra as the world-weary chieftain David Kazan and Shahbaz Khan as the formidable corrupt ISI bigwig Huzefa. Adil Hussain is a memorably sleek and self-assured operator as the devilish Colonel while promising veterans like Zakir Hussain and Lalit Parimoo get delectable, if smaller, parts that we want more of. 

The film maintains a very solid balance between classic spy movie tropes and the most modern tricks, with the action hurtling from frenetic car chases to gritty fistfights. Agent Vinod shuttles from one exquisite location to another but the choice of locations, like the in-jokes, is pointed and serves its purpose in the plot. Cinematographer C.K. Muraleedharan and long-time editor Pooja Ladha Surti refute touristy exotica in favour of a more coolly perceptive sense of location and milieu. Little quirks like a wizened old man singing a Raj Kapoor song in a Moroccan street café or a leather-clad biker crying foul in frosty Riga are done very well and so are two knockout action scenes in the film: one, a marvellous single-take shootout inside a motel with a few sneaky surprises in store and the other, a physical fist-cuff set to the music of a Ilayaraja chartbuster that, thanks to Surti’s brilliant editing, shuffles from an opulent auction hall to a Sri Lankan ghetto at night.

In Saif Ali Khan’s Agent Vinod, we get an Indian secret agent, who, like the movie around him, is refreshingly casual yet coolly focused about his job. The only time he loses his cool is when he finds himself stumbling on the real horror of the big conspiracy but thanks to Khan’s immaculate flair at both a natural conviction and unflappable style, he takes on the challenge with determined efficiency, without ever losing his vulnerability or charisma. Pitted against him is Kareena Kapoor’s surprisingly effective Iram, an enigmatic femme fatale in the beginning and then a sad-eyed damsel who is seeking the idyllic happiness that is nowhere to be found in this game of cloaks and daggers. The film lets her reign her interplay with Khan with her inherent confidence and grace but it is also empathetic to her increasing predicament at the real nature of the game being played. Thankfully, romance is only hinted between them and the natural chemistry between the actors is never stretched into a full-fledged love story. 

The opening quote is about the interchangeability of names and identities and eventually, in a brilliant stroke, Agent Vinod deals with that; the hero never reveals his real name, which could be anything and also, names and identities of other characters become MacGuffins and red herrings themselves. Khan keeps his anonymous hero on a very finely balanced edge between a firm sense of heroism and a flippant air of enjoying what he has to do. Unlike our most Bollywood spies, who are chest-thumping flag-bearers of nationalism, here is a hero who will save his nation but will play it cool for most of the time.

It is this self-depreciation, this knowing awareness of the chinks in armour that are to be found in almost the novels (and subsequently in none of the movies, where we are compelled to applaud his obvious advantage over the grand villain or smooth seduction of a beautiful woman), that makes Agent Vinod so effective as a spy action film coming from Bollywood. Raghavan and Biswas fashion this titular character with all the flourishes that we have come to associate any dashing secret agent with, from the smartly tailored tuxedo to the pithy quips, but, in a particularly subversive stroke, make him colder, more cynical and strip him of any gadgets worthy of Q Branch and instead leave him on his own in his mission, trusting his dirty and gritty fighter instinct to escape trouble. As I said, Fleming would have smiled and raised a toast, inevitably shaken and stirred, to this film.