Little doubt lingers on this being the final film of Michael Caine. He has retired to a life of writing mediocre spy novels and posting viral, often three-word messages on X, formerly Twitter. For his final film, The Great Escaper, to be a retelling of a nursing home breach already told by Pierce Brosnan in the same year is not only a remarkable oversight from producers but a dull end to a legendary career. Still, with Caine often comes quality and he has made the most of some stinkers in his time. Most are recent flicks and the efforts he has put in do not realise his potential nor give him the rewards he is so desperately in need of. Such is The Great Escaper, a retelling of a story not long enough for a feature. Give it a go anyway. Twice over.
The Great Escaper gives off a horrendous odour despite the charm Caine provides. Everyone can be united in hate of cyclists now Jeremy Vine has popularised ramming himself into vans. The likeable charm of Caine is found very clearly in his portrayal of Bernard Jordan. You can see your grandparents in these characters. This is the draw and the way they reel you in. How you cannot hate the people who make it, those they portray or what they do to bring this very plain story, which gave us brief respite from the horrors of the real world, to life. For it means slating Caine and the late Glenda Jackson – both have impeccable chemistry as the fusty old friends who later bounce off the necessary inspiration to go off and seek the respect seemingly deserved.
Though like the Brosnan piece, The Great Escaper feels vaguely nostalgic for a time it decrees as better. There is no greater lie peddled by British cinema than a twee and lacklustre understanding of how the real world was, even if it is as close behind as 2014. Understand the difference between sweet and good and you find yourself wondering where the depth of The Great Escaper is. If it were not for its adventurous, wartime whistles which make up the soundtrack and a sense of adventure in an age where it becomes nigh on impossible to do so, The Great Escaper has a half hour’s worth of story to feed into a ninety-minute running time.
For a man who once thought national service would instil a sense of patriotism in the younger generations, Caine does a hell of a poor job in selling the idea of flogging dead soldier stories. The Great Escaper is a nasty piece of work because its leading man has played the blighted elderly fool with a heart of gold over and over, and has finally cleaned out the massive barrel of good favour. He did it around Kingsman: The Secret Service, to be fair. This will tug the heartstrings of those at Caine’s age, and for those who have fully invested themselves in this overly sick, twee post-Paddington aesthetic which plagues any sort of biographical piece. The Phantom of the Open suffered this too, the bright sparks of colour and flair, as is the case for The Great Escaper, mask an empty, emotionally jagged piece.
