This week we’re on the dark, rain-wet streets and grimy
urban landscapes of the British crime thriller. Firstly, because we yet again
are going to be talking about my forthcoming new release, ASHES TO ASHES, which
is now only four weeks away. Secondly, because I thought this would be an
opportune time to pick out and highlight the TEN BEST BRITISH CRIME MOVIES YOU’VE POSSIBLY NOT SEEN, and thirdly, because I’m also going to be reviewing
and discussing Mark Roberts’s gritty and tension-riddled, Liverpool-set
crime novel, DEAD SILENT.
As always, that book review can be found at the lower end of
today’s post. In the meantime, as mentioned above, ASHES TO ASHES, the sixth
DS Mark ‘Heck’ Heckenburg novel, is due to hit the bookshelves on April 6. This
time, we’re taking the lonely hero home to Bradburn, the Lancashire mill-town
where he was born and raised, and which has haunted him all his life because of
certain dreadful things that happened there.
But in ASHES TO ASHES, Heck goes back to Bradburn not so much
unwillingly – he never likes returning ‘home’ – but determinedly, because the
town of his birth is now overrun by criminals and drug-addicts, and at the same
time being terrorised by two rival killers, who seem to be running up
scorecards of victims in defiance of each other. And these are not
run-of-the-mill stranglings or throat-cuttings. One of the killers is a
professional torturer, who uses the most ingenious and protracted methods to
despatch his subjects, while the other, known by the press as ‘the Incinerator’,
wears heavy body-armour and wields a flame-thrower.
Yes, it gets nasty … which has often been a hallmark of
British crime fiction, and especially British crime movies.
By their very nature, I’ve long found these a fascinating
animal. Certainly, up until the more recent age of the mockney/cockney antics
we started seeing in romps like Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels
(1998), Layer Cake (2004) and Sexy Beast (2000), British crime cinema took its
main inspiration from the American noirs of the 1940s, telling dour, downbeat
tales of weary individuals trying to forge their way through cities blighted
by squalor and vice, featuring lead-characters – be they cops, PIs, or even
villains – who were often no better than they had to be, establishments that
were inherently corrupt, and an underworld that was all-consuming.
The tone was bleak throughout, and they rarely ended well.
Most students of the genre will be familiar with the
classics in this field. Brighton Rock (1947), Get Carter (1971) and the Long
Good Friday (1980) are still in many ways the benchmark, but it also seems to
me that there has been a whole swathe of British crime thrillers which rarely
get a mention these days, and yet which tick all the boxes and stand up very
well indeed.
And so here, just for the fun of it, and in no particular
order, are …
THE TEN BEST BRITISH CRIME MOVIES YOU’VE POSSIBLY NOT SEEN:
The Squeeze (1977): Alcoholic Scotland Yard detective Stacy
Keach has to throw off the DTs when his ex-wife is kidnapped by gangsters as
part of a plan to pull a massive heist. Stephen Boyd and David Hemmings add
kudos as the lead blaggers.
The Reckoning (1969): Nicol Williamson is the northern-born
executive, successful at business, but whose inner loutishness isolates him
from the London middle-classes. When his elderly father is beaten to death by
Hell’s Angels, he heads back home looking for revenge.
The Internecine Project (1974): James Coburn is the
London-based spy chief, who opts to clean house by arranging for his operatives
to kill each other all on the same night. Rousing support from a cast of old
reliables like Ian Hendry, Harry Andrews (left), Lee Grant and Michael Jayston.
Hell is a City (1960): Manchester DI Stanley Baker’s life
falls apart as he goes all out to catch an old lag who has busted out of jail
and is determined to reclaim the loot from his last job. Brit noir at its most
intense, at the dawn of the swinging 60s.
The Offence (1973): Detective Sergeant Sean Connery
struggles to contain his inner beast when he collars suspected child molester,
Ian Bannen. Trevor Howard and Peter Bowles are his fellow detectives. Unrelentingly bleak cop drama, way ahead of its time.
Villain (1971): Vicious East End gang boss Richard Burton over-extends
his reach when he joins forces with a rival firm who neither trust nor like
him. Ian McShane is the underworld fixer who can’t prevent his gaffer from
making this final, fatal mistake.
Sitting Target (1972): Psychotic killer Oliver Reeds busts
out of prison, but eschews the escape route his gang have laid out, by looking
to get even with the wife who betrayed him. Edward Woodward is the cop
determined to nail him.
The Psychopath (1966): London cops investigate a string of
murders in which the horribly mutilated victims all have dolls left by their corpses.
Blood and guts from the ‘Pan Horror’ era of crime thrillers. Patrick Wymark is
the DI with the least enviable job in town.
Eastern Promises (2007): Midwife Naomi Watts falls fouls of
the Russian Mafia when she comes into possession of a baby, the mere existence
of which proves they are trafficking underage prostitutes into the UK. Vincent
Cassel and Viggo Mortensen are the menacing mobsters.
The League of Gentlemen (1960): A bunch of former WWII
commandos, unable to reintegrate into society, reconvene to carry out a complex
and violent bank robbery (pictured top). A host of classy talent includes Jack Hawkins, Bryan
Forbes and Richard Attenborough.
THRILLERS, CHILLERS, SHOCKERS AND KILLERS …
An ongoing series of reviews of dark fiction (crime,
thriller and horror novels) – both old and new – that I have recently read and
enjoyed. I’ll endeavour to keep the SPOILERS to a minimum; there will certainly
be no given-away denouements or exposed twists-in-the-tail, but by the
definition of the word ‘review’, I’m going to be talking about these books in
more than just thumbnail detail, extolling the aspects that I particularly
enjoyed … so I guess if you’d rather not know anything at all about these
pieces of work in advance of reading them yourself, then these particular posts
will not be your thing.
Outline
Liverpool in the depths of December. Christmas is
approaching, but there is little joy to be had in the Sefton Park district of
the wintry city.
DCI Eve Clay and her team of experienced homicide
investigators are baffled and horrified when they are called to the murder of
retired octogenarian college professor, Leonard Lawson, an expert in medieval
art. To make the case even more disturbing, Lawson, who was ritually
slaughtered inside his own home and then fastened to a stake in the fashion of
a game-animal, was discovered by his daughter, Louise, an ageing and rather
fragile lady herself, who is so shocked by the incident that she can barely
even discuss it.
This resolute silence, whether it’s a natural reaction to
the horror of the incident, or something more sinister – and Clay is undecided
either way – impedes the police, who are keen to delve into the victim’s past,
not to mention his current circle of acquaintances, to try and work out who
might harbour such a grudge that they would inflict such sadistic violence on
him.
At least Clay can call upon a considerable amount of
expertise. DS Bill Hendricks is her strong right-arm, and a no-nonsense but
deep-thinking copper who knows his job inside out. DS Gina Riley is the softer
face of the job, another experienced detective but a gentle soul when she wants
to be, and very intuitive. Meanwhile, DS’s Karl Stone and Terry Mason are each
formidable in their own way, as are the various other support staff the
charismatic DCI can call upon.
With such power and knowledge in her corner, it isn’t long
before Clay is making progress, a matter of hours in fact, though the mystery
steadily deepens, leading her first to a care home for mentally disabled men (including the likeable, innocent Abey), and yet run by the non-too-pleasant Adam Miller
and his attractive if weary wife, Danielle (who may or may not be more than
just a colleague to the young, modern-minded carer, Gideon Stephens).
Yes, it seems as if there are mysteries within mysteries to
be uncovered during this investigation. However, Clay and her crew continue
to make ground, finally becoming interested in Gabriel Huddersfield, a
disturbed loner who haunts the park and makes strange and even menacing
religious speeches, and being drawn irresistibly towards three curious if
time-honoured paintings: The Last Judgement by Hieronymous Bosch, and The Tower
of Babel and The Triumph of Death by Pieter Bruegel.
These garish Renaissance masterpieces were all regarded at
the time, and by modern scholars, as instructions for the benefit of mankind,
giving warnings about his fate should he stray from the path of righteousness,
each one incorporating terrifying and brutal imagery in order to deliver its
fearsome message.
But even though these objects inform the case, and Clay and her team soon develop suspects, the enquiry continues to widen. What role, for
example, does the rather strange character who was the late Professor
Noone have to play in all this, and what exactly was the so-called ‘English
Experiment’? All we know about it initially is that it wasn’t very ethical and that it somehow involved children.
Clay herself becomes emotionally attached to
the case, its quasi-religious undertones affecting her more and more, because,
as a childhood orphan, she was raised by Catholic nuns, though in her case –
and this makes a welcome change in a work of modern fiction – it wasn’t all
negative; Clay owes her empathetic nature to the love and affection she
received from her guardian, Sister Philomena, while the tough but kindly Father
Murphy recognised and nurtured the spark of leonine determination that would go on
to gird her greatly for the challenging paths ahead.
But all this will be rendered null and void of course if the
Selfton Park murderer is not apprehended quickly. Because, almost inevitably,
he now strikes again, committing two more equally horrific ritualistic slayings.
Clay and her team find themselves racing against time to end
this ghastliness, a race that takes them into and around some very notable
Liverpool landmarks, the city’s two great cathedrals for example, and all
along the snowy, slushy banks of the Mersey (all of which are generously mapped out
for us). And all the while, they become ever more aware that this is no
ordinary level of depravity they are dealing with. Nor is it necessarily the
work of a single killer. Who, for example, is ‘the First Born’, and who is the
‘Angel of Destruction’? Whoever these ememies of society actually are, however
many they number, and whatever their crazed, fervour-driven motives, it soon becomes apparent that they are just as likely to be a threat to the police
hunting them as they were to those victims they have already butchered …
Review
Dead Silent is the second Eve Clay novel from Mark Roberts,
and a pretty intriguing follow-up to the original outing, Blood Mist.
From the outset, the chilly urban setting is excellently
realised. You totally get the feeling that you’re in a wintry Liverpool,
the bitter cold all but emanating from its pages, the age-old monolithic
structures of the city’s great cathedrals standing stark and timeless against
this dreary backdrop, the gloomy greyness of which is more than matched by the mood;
the murder detectives certainly have no time for the impending fun of Christmas
as they work doggedly through what is basically a single high-intensity shift,
pursuing a pair of truly malign and murderous opponents.
And that’s another vital point to make. Dead Silent is
another of those oft-quoted ‘page-turners’, but in this case it’s the real deal
– because it practically takes place in real time.
The enquiry commences at 2.38am on a freezing December
morning, and finishes at 8.04pm that night, the chapters, each one of which
opens helpfully with a time-clock, often arriving within a few minutes of each
other. This is a clever device, which really does keep you reading, especially
as almost every new chapter brings another key development in the
multi-stranded tale.
If this sounds as though Dead Silent is exclusively about
the enquiry, and skimps on any additional drama or character development, then
that would be incorrect. It is about the enquiry – this is a murder
investigation, commencing with a report that an apparently injured party is walking
the streets in a daze, and finishing with a major result for the local murder
team (and a twist in the tale from Hell, a shocker of an ending that literally
hits you like a hammer-blow!), with very few events occurring in between that
aren’t connected to it. However, the rapid unfolding of this bewildering mystery,
and the warm but intensely professional interplay between the various
detectives keeps everything rattling along.
Because this is a highly experienced and very well-oiled
investigation unit, each member slotting comfortably and proficiently into his
or her place, attacking the case on several fronts at once, and yet at the same time operating as a super-efficient whole,
of which DCI Eve Clay is the central hub.
Of course, this kind of arrangement is replicated in big city
police departments across the world, and is usually the reason why mystifying murders are reported on the lunchtime news, only for the
arrest of a suspect to be announced by teatime. As an ex-copper, it gave me
a real pang of pleasure to see one of the main offenders here, a cruel narcissist and Pound Shop megalomaniac, expressing dismay and disbelief when he learns how
quickly he is being closed down.
And yet, Mark Roberts doesn’t just rush us through the case.
He also gives himself lots of time to do some great character work.
As previously stated, Eve Clay is the keystone, the
intellectual and organisational force behind the team’s progress, but at the
same time, while a mother back at home, also a mother to her troops, someone
they can confide in when they have problems, but also someone they
have implicit faith will lead them from one success to the next. What is
really fascinating about Clay, though, is the way her difficult childhood in a
Catholic orphanage has strengthened her emotionally and gifted her with a
warmth the likes of which I’ve rarely seen in fictional detectives (and which,
at times, is genuinely touching). She makes a fine if unusual hero.
To avoid giving away too many spoilers, I must, by
necessity, avoid discussing the civilian characters in the book, except to say
that Mark Roberts takes a cynical but perceptive view of the kind of people police officers meet when investigating serious crime.
Ultimately, all those involved in this case, even if only on
the periphery, are abnormal in one way or another, while those at the
heart of it … well, suffice to say that some kind of insanity is at work
here. Because surely only insanity, or pure evil, or a combination of both, can lie at the root of murders like these. Roberts investigates this wickedness to a full and satisfying
degree, completely explaining – if not excusing – the terrible acts that are depicted, and yet at the same time using them to underscore the dour tone
of the book. Because there is nothing particularly extravagant or
outlandish about the villains in Dead Silent, even if they do commit horrific
and sadistic murders. They may be depraved, but there is still an air of the
kitchen sink about them, of the mundane, of the self-absorbed losers that so
many violent sexual criminals are in real life – again, this adds a welcome flavour
of the authentic.
To finish on a personal note, I also loved the arcane, artistic elements in the tale. Again, I won’t go into this in too much detail,
but I’ve long been awe-stricken by messianic later-medieval
painters like Hieronymus Bosch and Pieter Bruegel. Though replete with multiple
meanings, their lurid visions of Hell and damnation, of a world gone mad (or
maybe a world born mad!), are among the most memorable and disturbing ever
committed to canvas. It’s distressing to consider that such horror derived from
men of artistry and intellect, but then to see these ancient atrocities
interwoven with latter-day insanities like the English Experiment (which again has emerged from men with
talent and education!), is fascinating, and gives this novel a richness of aura and
depth of atmosphere that I’ve rarely encountered in crime fiction.
Read Dead Silent. It’s a class act.
And now, as always at the end of one of my book reviews, I’m
going to be bold (or foolish) enough to propose a cast should Dead Silent ever
make it to the screen, though most likely that would only happen if Blood Mist
happened first. Nevertheless, here are my picks:
DCI Eve Clay – Claire Sweeney
DS Gina Riley – Tricia Penrose
DS Bill Hendricks – Liam Cunningham
Danielle Miller – Cathy Tyson
Adam Miller – Paul McGann
Gideon Stephens – Tom Hughes
Louise Lawson – Alison Steadman
Leonard Lawson – Malcom McDowell
DS Karl Stone – Stephen Graham
DS Terry Mason – Joe Dempsie
Gabriel Huddersfield – Luke Treadaway
Abey – Allen Leech
