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Len Deighton's first spy novel had everything except a name for its off-the-peg hero, so producer Harry Saltzman decided on Harry Palmer and cast the virtually unknown Michael Caine in this adaptation. Designed as a counterpart to the Bond movies, which Saltzman also co-produced, the story uncovers KGB operatives in the British Secret Service and enables Caine to talk Bermondsey, wear glasses and cook his own meals, things that Sean Connery would never do. Instead of the Orient Express, it's the Central Line. It's cunning, calculated and still works, thanks to some droll humour, John Barry's marvellously twangy score, Sidney J Furie's energetic direction and spot-on performances by Guy Doleman and Nigel Green as bowler-hatted spooks. The flashy camerawork, though once highly praised, now seems rather irksome.
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Halliwell's Film Guide
The attempt to present a low-key James Bond (glasses, good at cookery, supermarket shopper) is frustrated by flashy direction and a confused plot. It did herald a new genre though the whole ambiance is now sadly dated, like an old copy of The Sunday Ti