The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three (1974) – Review

There’s something about a 70s thriller that just hits different. Maybe because it was a decade so utterly berefted of sanded down edges that just makes the impressively unglamorous decade perfect for the type of crime flick that’s so gritty, it could leave dirt beneath your finger nails. There’s a laundry list of evidence to support this, but I’m only going to need a single film to back up my claim and that movie is the gloriously schlubby grandeur of Joseph Sargent’s The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three.
Where else could you possibly find a movie that not only chooses the grimy surroundings of the New York Transit Service to act as its playground, but who casts the hangdog features of the unfeasibly crumpled Walter Matthau to lead us through this blue collar thriller.
With the infamous attitude of its people and the unmistakable surroundings, the city of New York has always managed to be a supporting character in any film it’s been put in, but are you ready for it to take centre stage in one of the best heist thrillers you’ve ever seen?

As the 6 train, Pelham 1-2-3, rumbles it’s way throughout the subway tunnels that lay under New York City, four identically dressed men board while looking incredibly suspicious.and refer to one another with a string of colour-coded fake names. When the time is right, they pull guns on the motorman and conductor and hijack the train, taking it to a place between stations where they stop, uncouple the rear cars and head off further up the track with eighteen hostages. Led by the enigmatic Mr. Blue, he demands that if he and his cronies aren’t paid one million dollars in an hour, he’ll start executing one hostage a minute until the money is in his hands.
Thing obviously causes something of an uproar among the people trying to do the impossible job of keeping the NY subway system running smoothly even without mad gunmen hijacking trains, but it proves to be an especially big headache for New York City Transit Police Lieutenant Zachary Garber. Not only does he have a desperate hostage situation to deal with and pressure from his peers who just want to get the services running back on time, but he also has to deal with everyone and their dog trying to add their input, from a spirited police chief to and extremely reluctant Mayor.
However, Garber isn’t the only one having to juggle a multitude of stress as the coldly efficient Mr. Blue is also having to deal with a few issues. The noticably cruel Mr. Grey seems itching to plug somebody whether the situation calls for it or not and unbeknownst to his crew, one of the hostages on board 1-2-3 is actually an undercover cop waiting for their moment to strike.
However, while the situation seems to be a tinderbox ready to burst in flames, it seems nothing can quash the unflappable nature of a jaded New Yorker who has seen it all.

Thanks to filmmakers as diverse as Martin Scorsese to Larry Cohen, we all know that New York in the 70s and 80s was a festering shithole, packed to the brim with short tempered denizens and overflowing trash – yet it also proved to be an awe-inspiring melting pot of character when it came to forging an atmosphere that you could practically taste in the back of your throat. Arguably one of the crowning jewels of this lost period of time is the sheer amount of  attitude that seeps out of every pore of every second of The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three, a film that’s so damn enjoyable it actually pre-breaks Joseph Sargent out of director’s jail for making Jaws: The Revenge thirteen years later. Obviously I going to gush about the tone and the actors eventually as they’re all magnificent, however, the true star of the film is from the slightly pained look that remains etched on Matthau’s at all times to some random dude on the street, the film is armed with such a believable, naturalistic and witty cast, it genuinely feels like the contemporary version of Sergio Leone casting memorably looking background people in his westerns. Everyone is surly as shit – even when they’re happy – no one is overly hysterical about the rather absurd notion of hijacking a subway car (“Why didn’t you go grab a goddamn airplane like everybody else?”) and everyone – and I do mean everyone – has a smart-ass remark all loaded up and ready to go at a moment’s notice. The movie is loaded with more sizzling zingers than a fire at a KFC warehouse and each one, be it delivered by old pro Matthau or just some random shmoe on the street, is an absolute bullseye. In fact, I dint think I’ve ever laughed as hard at a supposedly “tense” heist movie in my life, but somehow Sargent manages to balance genuine threat with casual flippancy in ways I’d never seen before.

Of course, leading the snark-flavored charge is Walter Matthau’s quip firing lieutenant who may be a strange idea for a heroic transit cop trying to outwit some very smart criminals, but to have this guy front this movie perfectly spells out what kind of film this is. In fact, his effortless brand of back and forth with everyone from a cynical Jerry Springer to Julius Harris’ Inspector is insanely fun to watch even with the bouts of casual racism and sexism that tends to come with the territory. However, on the flipside of the lawful coin is Robert Shaw’s calculating Mr. Blue who, with his clipped English tones and curt commands is the utter antithesis of virtually every other person in the cast. And yet while other movies would narrow the focus of it narrative to just pinpoint the battle of mitts between Garber and Blue, Pelham One Two Three greatest asset is that it ropes in everyone, from the Mayor, to the people counting the ransom money, to Héctor Elizondo’s vicious gunman, to even a raggedy bag woman snoozing on a seat, to make the entire city a living, breathing entity that’s trying to unite against Shaw’s cunning bastard.
And yet, for a film that mostly trades in bullet wounds for crippling put-downs, so much of The Taking Of Pelham One Two Three is tantalisingly left up to the imagination. Not only is Mr. Blue’s military past sketchily delivered in random snatches of conversation, his nihilistic reaction to Garber’s net rapidly tightening is unforgettable. Similarly, like all good heist movies, we end on a tremendously ambiguous note involving Martin Balsam’s Mr. Green, a million in cash and a fateful sneeze that leads to possibly one of the most memorable, final stares in film history and to cap it all off, David Shire’s uber-brassy score hits with such sassy energy, it feels like Lalo Schifrin had some sort of breakdown in the midst of conducting an orchestra.

Quite how you manage to weave a movie that is both butt clenchingly tense and casually amiable at the same time, I have no idea; but this cinematic proof that such a thing exists is not only endlessly entertaining, it’s also relentlessly quotable. Gritty yet funny, tense yet breezy, warm yet abrasive; if you’re looking for a quintessential heist movie with dialogue that sparks more than the third rail and a great New York flick to boot, all you have to do is count One Two Three…
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