THE ITALIAN JOB, if nothing else, would be the movie to pick if you’re thirsting to see automobiles of various makes and expense smashed up and pushed over cliffs. Today the 1969 heist lark has attained a certain cult status, but back when, while a hit in the U.K. (14th place), this Brit entry only made it to #40 in the States. The $6,600,000 gross, together with international returns, was enough to cancel the $3,000,000 price tag, some reviews gave it a nod for its trendy cheek and the stunt work, and then it faded into the been-there bin until cult resuscitation. Somehow your omnivorous reviewer missed it when I was 14 and catching everything on two spools—ah, for the days of double-bills, drive-in’s and R-ratings with giggling friends. Would’ve liked it then, for the brash star (Michael Caine), the well-designed car chases and demolitions, and the bevy of ready & willing beauties displayed for the leading man’s leisure time. Seen at a 5½ decade remove, its self-amused silliness is mostly a chore, of fleeting interest as a time capsule peek at another era’s attitudes. You kinda had to be there. The auto gags still travel.

Cockney thief with connections ‘Charlie Croker’ (Caine, en garde) gets backing from his former prison warden (who’s also a beloved crime czar) to head a crew for a bullion heist in Turin, Italy, hijacking a shipment in broad daylight. Using a city-wide traffic jam as cover, dodging the police and the Mafia, Charlie’s mob of beer & football blokes go for the gold. Mind that escape velocity…

Directed with due precision by Peter Collinson, who’d made a lurid splash with The Penthouse, the set-up blends heist flick intricacy with post-Bullitt chases, Bondish womanizing and twee-droll humor that leans to the smug and insular. Throw in Noël Coward (69, his final role) for pompous preciousness as the warden, and insert tease play with Maggie Blye as Charlie’s too-loud American girlfriend—26, she was boosted at the time via Hombre and Waterhole #3—presumably there for chick-bait and to dig at gauche Yanks. For corole locale and heavily accented accents add Raf Vallone and Rossano Brazzi, then toss in Benny Hill in case the other Brit lads weren’t mugging enough. And, since it was sexy ’69, a bevy of half-clad playgirls.

They didn’t call it 1969 for nuthin’

The cast gets in the spirit (Caine’s sharp and confident), there are great views of the Italian mountain scenery and Turin (more filming was done in England and Ireland), clever and audacious stunt driving figures throughout (it’s practically a textbook for extended vehicle tumbles into ravines) and finish with a literal cliffhanger. Audiences left smiling.

Written by Troy Kennedy Martin, who did much better with his next job, another heist picture with a smirk, Kelly’s Heroes. Quincy Jones’ cutesy score is wearying, as are repeated refrains of an aggressively dumb tune “The Self-Preservation Society”. All in, not my cuppa tea (having missed it on delivery, there’s no lingering nostalgic tug), but a lot of people think its smash & grab is a smash to grab.

99 minutes, with Tony Beckley, Irene Handl, Stanley Caine (Michael’s brother), Robert Powell, Lelia Goldoni and John Le Mesurier.  Remade in 2003, expensively and unnecessarily.