Financial Times
June, 2020
Nick Foulkes
As caper movies go, The Italian Job has about all the 1960s could throw at it: those Minis; a classless Michael Caine at his “You’re only supposed to blow the bloody doors off!” best; Benny Hill; a Quincy Jones soundtrack; Noël Coward as the monarchy-mad master criminal; clothes by Doug Hayward; a sidekick called Camp Freddie in a double-breasted pink suit; and, if you are a petrolhead, the best title sequence ever with an orange Lamborghini Miura roaring through the Alps, then exploding in a tunnel. I am unshaken in my belief that a large proportion of the seven-figure sums spent by fifty- and sixtysomething millionaires to secure this, the first supercar, can be ascribed to those matchless minutes of celluloid bliss...