The First Great Train Robbery (1978)

Michael Crichton’s The First Great Train Robbery (released simply as The Great Train Robbery in some territories) is a delightfully crafted caper film that blends historical authenticity, dry wit, and old-fashioned adventure. Based on Crichton’s own 1975 novel, itself inspired by the true events of the 1855 Great Gold Robbery, the film captures the ingenuity and daring spirit of the Victorian age with panache.

Set in 1855, at the height of Britain’s industrial expansion, the film recounts the elaborate scheme to steal a shipment of gold bullion intended to finance British troops fighting in the Crimean War. The precious cargo travels by train from London to Folkestone, guarded with the utmost security and secured by four separate locks. The robbers’ challenge lies in acquiring the four keys—each held by a different party in different locations—without alerting suspicion.

Sean Connery stars as Edward Pierce, the suave and calculating mastermind behind the audacious plot. Connery brings to the role his trademark charm and gravitas, yet tempers it with a playful, mischievous energy that makes Pierce a thoroughly engaging anti-hero. His performance, understated yet magnetic, perfectly anchors the film. Donald Sutherland plays Robert Agar, the pickpocket and expert “screwsman” recruited to the gang, bringing an air of nervous brilliance and comic timing. Lesley-Anne Down is Marianne, Pierce’s lover and accomplice, who uses guile and seduction to aid in the scheme. Together, the trio form an irresistible ensemble—resourceful, witty, and delightfully audacious.

Crichton, better known as a novelist and later the creator of Jurassic Park, demonstrates impressive directorial control here. His background as a storyteller is evident in the film’s pacing and clarity of construction. The film’s charm lies in its meticulous attention to procedural detail—every stage of the robbery, from the initial reconnaissance to the climactic heist aboard the moving train, is depicted with precision and mounting tension. The planning sequences are almost mechanical in their satisfaction, but Crichton infuses them with humour and style, keeping the tone buoyant and the audience firmly on the robbers’ side.

Visually, the film is sumptuous. Geoffrey Unsworth’s cinematography—his last before his death—bathes the film in rich, earthy tones, capturing the soot, steam, and splendour of Victorian London and the English countryside. The recreation of period detail is first-rate, from the top hats and gaslit streets to the clattering of iron wheels and the gleam of the railway’s brass fittings. Jerry Goldsmith’s rousing score, full of jaunty brass and driving rhythms, complements the brisk pace and period setting beautifully, adding both grandeur and levity.

The tone of The First Great Train Robbery is one of good-natured sophistication. It avoids the grim violence or cynicism typical of 1970s crime films, choosing instead a breezy, intelligent approach reminiscent of The Sting (1973) or the Ealing comedies of the 1950s. There’s an underlying social commentary too—the robbers’ ingenuity is set against the hypocrisy and complacency of Victorian respectability—but Crichton wisely keeps the message subtle, allowing the entertainment to shine foremost.

The film’s climax, the actual robbery sequence aboard the moving train, is a masterclass in suspense and practical filmmaking. Connery famously performed much of the dangerous stunt work himself, including clambering across the roofs of carriages on a train actually in motion. The sequence brims with genuine tension and exhilaration, standing as one of the more memorable set pieces in Connery’s later career.

If the film has a flaw, it lies perhaps in its lightness. The stakes are high, but the tone never strays far from the playful, and those expecting a weightier crime drama may find it more caper than thriller. Yet this levity is very much by design; Crichton aims for charm and elegance over grit, and in that regard, he succeeds splendidly.

The First Great Train Robbery remains a minor classic of its kind—a well-made, witty, and stylish piece of period entertainment that deftly balances history and humour. It showcases Connery in one of his most appealing roles outside the Bond franchise and stands as a testament to Crichton’s versatility as both writer and director. The film captures the spirit of a bygone era, both in its subject and its style, offering audiences a gleaming ride through Victorian intrigue and adventure.

A thoroughly entertaining and intelligent caper, brimming with charm, craftsmanship, and old-fashioned cinematic delight.