St Ives

Neither Houseman's presence as the criminal mastermind, nor Lucien Ballard's crisp photography can rescue this routine thriller from the implausibilities of script (from a novel by Ross Thomas, writing as Oliver Bleeck) and heavy-handed direction. Bronson seems tired from the start as the ex-crime reporter turned would-be novelist who gets involved in a simple theft that escalates into murder and large-scale robbery. Though the script is larded with post-Watergate cynicism - the caper is the stealing of an American electronics firm's huge bribe to an Arab oil sheik, and all the cops but one are corrupt - the film consistently skirts the issues it raises, however obliquely, preferring instead such time honoured clichés as the cutaway to Bisset looking glamorous/mysterious or Bronson looking muscular/brooding for its resolutions.