The Criminal (1960)

Director:

Joseph Losey

Writer:

Alun Owen (screenplay)

Release Date:

17 March 1961 (West Germany)

Genre:

Crime | Drama

Tagline:

The toughest picture ever made in Britain!

Plot:

An ex-con who's taken part in the robbery of a racetrack is caught and sent back to prison, but he won't...

Plot Keywords:

Prison | Independent Film

Cast

Stanley Baker	...	Johnny Bannion
Sam Wanamaker	...	Mike Carter
Grégoire Aslan	...	Frank Saffron
Margit Saad	...	Suzanne
Jill Bennett	...	Maggie
Rupert Davies	...	Edwards
Laurence Naismith	...	Mr. Town
John Van Eyssen	...	Formby
Noel Willman	...	Prison Governor
Derek Francis	...	Priest
Redmond Phillips	...	Prison Doctor
Kenneth J. Warren	...	Clobber (as Kenneth Warren)
Patrick Magee	...	Barrows
Robert Adams	...	Judas
Kenneth Cope	...	Kelly

Also Known As:

The Concrete Jungle (USA)

Runtime:

97 min

Country:

UK

Language:

English

Color:

Black and White

Aspect Ratio:

1.66 : 1

Sound Mix:

Mono (Westrex Recording System)

Certification:

Iceland:16 | Finland:(Banned) (1960-1966) | Finland:K-16

Filming Locations:

London, England, UK

Company:

Merton Park Studios

Trivia:

First film of Neil McCarthy

Thieving boy

The Criminal (aka The Concrete Jungle) is, for my money at least, one of Joseph Losey's two best films (the other being King and Country), but it never really garnered the kind of success or reputation it deserved, possibly because it had the misfortune to open on the same day as Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, which completely overshadowed it. Billed as 'the most violent film ever made in Britain,' even 45 years on it's still vicious stuff. Indeed, in the entire cast of characters that populate Alun Owen's excellent and unsentimental screenplay - irredeemable crooks, vicious prison warders, prison governors who don't really want to know, amoral molls and assorted perverts and thugs - the only two people in the entire film who aren't totally corrupt are Laurence Naismith's arresting officer (who is still not above letting on about his informants) and the piano tuner who appears in one brief scene. The plot is a simple enough variation on Touchez Pas au Grisbi, with Stanley Baker's con pulling off a big job and immediately being ratted out by one of his partners who wants a bigger share, but the stark execution and background is what carries it. Certainly its vision of the British prison system as a Hellish melting pot of refuse of all persuasions - Irish, Australian, Italians, West Indians, the mentally disturbed - where the guards don't only turn a blind eye to vicious beatings but even facilitate them is a kick in the groin to the more sedate cop movies of the day.

It's also full of memorable little moments, from the prison weasel spreading the news of an informant's return in-between lines of Knick Knack Paddywhack to Kenneth J. Warren's inability to say anything without incorporating the word 'loike.' Robert Krasker's black and white cinematography has more bite to it than most of its contemporaries, from the hard stark edges of the prison scenes to the bleak half-snowscape of the haunting final shots, while Johnny Dankworth's score makes great use of Cleo Laine's mournful prison balled ("All my loving, all my joy/Came from loving a thieving boy"]). The supporting cast is impressive, offering a virtual who's who of perfectly cast 60s British character actors, including many faces that would later memorably turn up among the ranks in Baker's Zulu). Unlike the wave of British gangster flicks to litter the straight-to-video shelves post-Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, this feels like the real thing rather than a bunch of nicely brought up middle class kids playing dress-up. For some curious reason Anchor Bay's otherwise excellent transfer omits the end credits, played over a melancholy shot of prisoners walking in circles in a stark and wintery exercise yard.