Shiner review

It's something of a cinematic in-joke that for every classic movie starring Michael Caine there is a clunker of equal proportions lurking in the cupboard. Think of The Italian Job, The Man Who Would Be King, the Harry Palmer movies and then cast your mind back to the disasters that were The Swarm, Jaws The Revenge and Bullseye! Caine himself readily admits that he often spent more time reading his pay cheque than the script of his latest film and was once quoted as saying 'You get paid the same for a bad film as you do for a good one'. Thanks to his recent resurgence (Knighthood and Oscar for The Cider House Rules), it's now okay to laugh about this: after all, if you've starred in 122 movies (and counting) there are inevitably going to be some turkeys amongst the award winners. It's also true that the process of making a good film is reliant on so many different and complex factors that the actor has little or no idea as to whether he will be starring in a contemporary classic or an out and out laughing stock.

Perhaps we can forgive this great British icon therefore for his appearance in this woeful and distinctly third rate boxing thriller. How was he to know that he had signed up for a film that would rank down there with The Hand, Waterand Blame It On Rio? Actually, Shiner is arguably worse than any of these, since it quickly turns from being merely laughable and inept into something that is downright offensive and insulting.

Caine stars as Billy 'Shiner' Simpson, a shady down-at-heel boxing promoter who finally has his shot at the bigtime, thanks to the success of his son Eddie, the 'Golden Boy' (Matthew Marsden). After spending years pushing underground fights and chasing gangsters, this is Harry's one chance and he is determined that it will lift him into the big league. In a bout to determine who will fight the world champion, Golden Boy is up against the protégé of top American promoter Frank Spedding (Martin Landau). The fight is set up to take place in East London and even Sky TV have turned up to beam it out live to the expectant masses.

There's nothing particularly terrible about this idea, but there is little to commend in its execution. Matthew Marsden (making his big screen debut after spending time on Coronation Street and trying to become a pop star) is simply dreadful; the fight itself is one of the most unconvincing renditions of a boxing match ever committed to celluloid; and Martin Landau seems simply aghast to be involved in such a sorry mess. There is some confusing back story involving sundry members of Harry's family, and he has the added complication of being questioned by two of London's most feeble coppers over his alleged involvement in organising bare knuckle fighting. The direction is lacklustre (courtesy of John Irvin) and it's as if everyone involved had stopped seeing British movies after 1975.

. Once the fight is over and the film's single plot twist occurs, it goes even more downhill. Harry turns from promoter to vengeance seeker and the story and acting become utterly bewildering and unthrilling. The violence level is turned up and at one point we are treated to the unedifying spectacle of Caine threatening a pregnant woman with a gun. There is nothing to recommend in this regrettable tale: it's not even bad enough to be funny and it lacks any class or polish. A strong candidate for the year's worst film.

Paul Hurley