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Under-rated Classic #12: The Silent Partner (1978) – A masterclass in crime plotting and the best Christmas thriller you may never have seen!

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Under-rated Classic Film Review #12: The Silent Partner (1978)

Directed by Daryl Duke

Written by Curtis Hanson – Based on Think of a Number
1969 novel by Anders Bodelsen

Produced by Joel B. Michaels & Stephen Young

Main cast: Elliott Gould, Christopher Plummer, Susannah York, Celine Lomez, John Candy, Stephen Young, Ken Pogue etc.

Cinematography by Billy Williams

Music by: Oscar Peterson

*** MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS ***

The Silent Partner (1978), directed by Daryl Duke and based on Anders Bodelsen’s novel Think of a Number (Tænk på et tal), stands out as not only one of the best Christmas thrillers of all time but also one of the most meticulously plotted crime thrillers outside of Alfred Hitchcock’s grand body of work. The film, which takes place against the snowy backdrop of Toronto, is a slick, taut, and endlessly clever exercise in suspense, filled with smart twists and an ever-present sense of menace.

At the heart of the film is a brilliantly constructed screenplay by Curtis Hanson, which provides the perfect vehicle for its two star actors: Elliott Gould and Christopher Plummer. The story’s premise is deceptively simple: Miles Cullen (Gould), a mild-mannered bank teller, discovers a discarded holdup note revealing an impending robbery. His quick thinking—suspecting the mall Santa, Harry Reikle (Plummer), to be the would-be robber—leads him to secretly hide $48,300 from the bank’s vault and give Reikle only a fraction of the money. When Reikle realizes he’s been swindled, the tension escalates, and Miles becomes the target of the dangerous and unhinged criminal, setting off a high-stakes game of cat and mouse.

The film’s brilliance lies in its ability to build both an intricate plot and a captivating atmosphere of suspense, while never losing its sense of humour. There’s a certain rhythm to The Silent Partner (1978), a precision that evokes the same sense of control as Hitchcock’s best thrillers. The story unfolds with a metronomic pace, carefully stacking one suspenseful moment after another, each new twist feeling earned and expertly timed.

One of the key pleasures of The Silent Partner (1978) is the pairing of Gould and Plummer, two actors who couldn’t be more different in their approaches to character. Gould plays Miles with a cool, calculating detachment—a man who might appear meek and even timid at first glance, but is secretly a clever and pragmatic planner. He’s the type of guy who thinks five steps ahead, carefully orchestrating every move as he tries to stay one step ahead of the increasingly unhinged Reikle. Gould’s portrayal is sharp, cerebral, and fascinating to watch as he navigates the complex moral terrain of his actions.

On the other hand, Plummer’s Harry Reikle is a chilling force of nature—volatile, unpredictable, and capable of explosive violence at the drop of a hat. He’s one of the best screen villains ever with Plummer delivering a performance that’s equal parts suave and menacing. His portrayal of Reikle is a study in contrasts—he’s charming one moment, a psychopath the next. Where Gould’s Miles is a thinker, Reikle is all instincts and rising rage. The tension between these two characters, each representing a different kind of threat, is what drives the film forward. It’s a masterclass in how to craft a compelling dynamic between protagonists and antagonists.

Beyond the characters and their performances, The Silent Partner (1978) stands out as a deeply satisfying crime thriller. The film is full of great set-pieces that slowly ratchet up the suspense—each one feeling like it could be the final nail in the coffin, but instead leading to a further complication. Whether it’s Miles using his wits to stay one step ahead of Reikle, or having to think on his feet having lost the key to the deposit box with the loot, every element of the plot is carefully calibrated. Even the Christmas setting, which could have been just a backdrop, is used effectively to heighten the film’s tension. The festive atmosphere of the holiday season contrasts sharply with the darkness of the film’s themes, creating a stark juxtaposition that enhances the thriller’s sense of dread.

The Silent Partner (1978) is a deeply underrated gem in the thriller genre. With a killer screenplay, two outstanding lead performances, and a plot that’s as intricately designed as a clockwork machine, it’s a film that rewards careful attention and repeat viewings. It’s a perfect blend of Christmas cheer turned upside down, and it holds its place as one of the finest thrillers ever made—one that, unfortunately, remains too often overlooked.

Mark: 10 out of 11

Cinema, Cult Cinema, Reviews

CULT FILM REVIEW – VIDEODROME (1983)

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CULT FILM REVIEW – VIDEODROME (1983)

Written and directed by: David Cronenberg

Produced by: Claude Herroux, Pierre David, Victor Solnicki

Cast: James Woods, Sonja Smits, Deborah Harry, Les Carlson, Jack Creley, Peter Divorsky etc.

Music: Howard Shore

***CONTAINS SPOILERS***

With the lack of cinema-going action, I am now looking at building other review ideas and articles into my blog. I have regular new release reviews, classic film reviews, great ensemble casts and under-rated film reviews. I suppose that’s enough really, but there are some films that don’t quite fit these categories and they are cult movies. How does one define a cult film? It could have been a box-office bomb or be a no-budget gem, be transgressive or have controversial subject matter. Conversely, it could be a video nasty or banned or even an ultra-arthouse film which defies classical filmmaking conventions. More importantly, I do not have to actually like the film for it to qualify as a cult film. It could be a difficult film I am evaluating or re-evaluating from a fan or academic perspective. Lastly, it could just simply be a film that is uncategorizable or so bad it’s bad or so bad it’s good.

My first review in this category is David Cronenberg’s body-horror film, Videodrome (1983). Now, it may fit the specific rules of an under-rated classic laid down in previous articles, however, Videodrome (1983) is not necessarily a film I love or believe is a classic. It is a remarkably original narrative descent into the hellish and surreal world of demented psychological snuff television. It contains amazing practical special effects by the legend Rick Baker, yet, having re-watched it last week I cannot say it’s a film one can enjoy from an entertainment perspective. Don’t get me wrong, David Cronenberg is a true auteur and genius filmmaker, it’s just Videodrome (1983) is a hallucinatory and disturbing nightmare of a film that works outside the boundaries of usual image systems and narrative conventions. Basically, it’s more a powerful set of concepts and scenarios rather than a simple and satisfying story.

The story opens with anti-heroic, Max Renn (James Woods) as president of CIVIC-TV, seeking new content for his Toronto-based TV channel. Despite Woods’ charisma as an actor he is an expert at playing dominant alpha male types who challenge the audiences’ empathy. He portrays Max with a sleazy charm hunting for, what one may consider, soft-pornographic shows for his station. He’s basically an addict looking to push the walls of taste for his sex-hungry viewers. Max then discovers a channel, via a grainy satellite feed, called Videodrome. It shows unfiltered torture and sexual aggression, and Max becomes determined to tap into that market. At the same time, he begins a sado-masochistic sexual relationship with a radio host, Nikki Brand (Deborah Harry). Soon, these two intense narrative strands entwine and threaten Max’s mind, body and very existence.

Videodrome (1983) is a highly intelligent shocker which explores the nature of television violence, notions of taste and censorship, fears of technological programming, and the mental damage caused by over-exposure to violent pornography. It is an extremely psychologically and physically graphic film to watch. Nevertheless, it is also full of incredible imagery involving on-screen murder, Renn being swallowed by his TV; and also literally transforming into a human video cassette player. While an audience may not like Max Renn as a person, his journey is one that grips with magnetic shock and disgust. As he gets ever closer to the Videodrome channel his downward spiral plays out like a demented morality story, with Max representing the journey of those audience members who lose themselves in the illusory realities of television product. As he begins to lose touch with reality, Max experiences a complete lack of control over his mind and desires, all seemingly controlled by a heinous corporation led by insidious suit, Barry Convex (Leslie Carlson).

Incredibly, David Cronenberg apparently turned down directing The Return of the Jedi (1983) to write and direct this more personal vision of cinema. Could there be two more different films? Nonetheless, while it may not be a film I can easily recommend to those of a sensitive disposition or those who like their horror to have tidy conclusions, Videodrome (1983), retains its relevance and power to this day as a shocking critique of modern media. Hence qualifying it as a cult horror film which pushes all the wrong buttons in the right way.