England's Answer to Tony Soprano: 'A Very British Gangster'
An engaging, BBC-style documentary about Manchester, England's answer to Tony Soprano, "A Very British Gangster" is a must-view for casting agents. There haven't been this many slack-jawed mugs with crew cuts and bad teeth on-screen since "Trainspotting." Indeed, one nattily attired teenage aspirant to the working-class mob that the film anatomizes allows that he's already winning small roles in movie productions. His buddy, who looks as if he might be fronting an early-1980s ska outfit, smirks at the suggestion that he memorize lines. Why should he have to look into a camera and mouth a bunch of rubbish? He's already the real deal.
These underlings are part of the social circle led by Dominic Noonan, the robust, bald-headed kingpin of organized crime in Manchester. And their cagey nonchalance seems inherited from their avuncular boss man, whose extravagant career as a felon (prolific in armored vehicle heists) and lengthy prison stays (22 out of his 39 years, as of the film's 2006 production date) is contrasted with the care and affection he gives to friends and family. Noonan, who is currently serving another extended prison term for weapons possession, got his start working security at Manchester's famous Hacienda, the same nightclub celebrated in the film "24 Hour Party People" and the hub of Manchester's 1980s resurgence as a post-punk music capital. He and his crew became legendary for their effectiveness in chasing away troublesome thugs from the venue. All Noonan had to do was hatchet off the head of a dog that belonged to one of the gang members and toss it onto a pool table at the pub where they gathered. No more did they darken the Hacienda's door.
Director and first-person interviewer Donal MacIntyre picks up with Noonan as he recovers from the brutal murder of his elder brother Dessie, and begins to assert more of his own control over Manchester's underground as he assumes his late sibling's mantle. As the loquacious Noonan insists, he wants to go straight but it's the police who won't let him. His ill-gotten gains are being plowed into a security company, and the reclamation of old ambulances and vans into money trucks and paddy wagons. Though there is little doubt of Noonan's ruthlessness, the camera details his central role as a caretaker for the members of his sprawling, working-class family — which extends to various children and adolescents who, while not strictly blood, remind him of himself. In a sense, the Noonans are a breed apart, and yet also are depicted as peacekeepers and crisis resolvers who invoke so much authority that a mere word can discourage further grievances. No need to pull a gun.
It's a rather sunny perspective, implying that if Noonan is a menace to society, he also is somehow integral to the local social order. In the classic gangster paradigm, he provides opportunity where none existed before, keeps the streets safe for his own, and really only hurts those who deserve it. But on the horizon, tragedy looms, and the police hover constantly.
Mr. MacIntyre has a résumé as a gimmicky TV newsmagazine brand of journalist, something that can be felt in the film's approach: lots of "hardball" question-and-answer sessions interspersed between handheld "action" footage as he rolls with Noonan and his young troops. The contrivances never diminish interest in Noonan, who turns out to be a remarkably complex and nuanced figure. This is not only because he stands as a symbolic product of the British underclass, but for other reasons best left disclosed on camera, where Noonan might well make Tony Soprano's jaw drop.
